novelzi Chapter 779 - 430: Red Tide Aid (3)
Chapter 779 - 430: Red Tide Aid (3)
Thorne’s hand was already on the sword hilt, but he also knew that managing such a chaotic place still depended on the local thugs.
Pete didn’t get angry; instead, he just raised his hand.
Two knights came forward, holding the strong man from left and right, dragging him away from the line.
"What are you doing!" The strong man struggled, cursing.
Pete’s voice was low, yet it carried clearly to everyone’s ears: "Tie him over there."
Beside the gruel stand was a wooden platform with a pole originally used to hang flags.
The strong man was bound to the pole, a cloth shoved into his mouth, causing him to emit muffled whimpers.
Pete didn’t spare him another glance: "Continue serving the gruel."
The first bowl was handed out to the orphan who had been pushed down.
The child held the crude pottery bowl, his hands trembling fiercely, yet he bowed his head and took large gulps.
Steam rose against his face, but he didn’t care about the heat, only focused on stuffing his mouth.
The aroma of meat wafted repeatedly through the air.
The line moved slowly forward.
The strong man tied to the pole initially struggled, his gaze fierce.
Soon, the fierceness was suppressed by hunger.
He watched as those inferior to him left with bowls, watched as others ate until they burped, watched the orphan licking the grease at the bottom of the bowl.
The whimpers changed tone, turning into uncontrollable cries.
This was the process of both body and consciousness being crushed simultaneously.
The gruel was all handed out.
Only then did Pete turn around, giving Thorne just a look.
Thorne understood, drew the Longsword smoothly.
A cold light fell, and the crying stopped abruptly.
Blood splattered on the pole, soon swallowed by the damp cold air.
After drinking the gruel, people slowly regained their strength.
With something solid in their stomach, the trembling in their limbs gradually ceased.
Suddenly, someone knelt down, their forehead thudding heavily into the muddy ground, producing a dull sound: "Tha... thank you, my lord..."
The voice quivered, yet was sincere.
This kneeling seemed to unlock something.
More and more people followed suit, the old, the young, those holding children, all bowing toward the direction of the gruel stand, repeating the same phrase over and over.
"Thank you, my lord..."
Pete did not accept this gesture, raised his hand signaling the knights to steady the scene, then moved to the front of the crowd, his voice suppressing the chaotic kowtows: "Don’t thank me."
Someone hesitated, raising their head.
Pete reached out, pointing to the red flag unfurled in the wind at the village entrance: "If you must thank, then thank the Red Tide."
His finger lifted slightly: "Thank Lord Louis, who planted this flag here."
The crowd followed his gaze.
The bright red flag flapped fiercely above the gray-black swamp.
Someone hesitated for a moment, then lowered their head once again.
This time, the direction of their kowtow changed.
Only then did Pete continue to speak, his tone regaining calmness.
"After eating your fill, return home. Tomorrow morning, if you want to keep eating, gather at the red rope."
He waved his hand, and the guards began to guide the crowd to disperse.
The crowd slowly retreated, their steps still staggering, but no longer as chaotic as before.
The crowd gradually dissipated, the fire still burning, the leftover gruel in the pot bubbling softly over the small flame.
The aroma of meat faded, yet still lingering with warmth.
Pete scooped a bowl, handing it to Thorne who had stood aside all along without moving: "Eat some."
Thorne took the bowl, feeling the heat clearly in his palm.
He looked down at the rolling wheat grains and oil droplets, his Adam’s apple moving, yet he did not drink immediately.
"Today’s routine," he said in a low voice, "was indeed impressive."
He raised his head, looking at Pete, his tone still calm.
"But I still say, this cannot go on forever. Tomorrow they will still be hungry, the day after too. That red rope of yours, how many times can it hold?"
Pete wiped the remaining oil from the corner of his mouth, didn’t refute.
He followed Thorne’s gaze, looking into the distance. The ice river flowing in the twilight, the abandoned mines standing like a row of silent shadows.
"Thorne, do you think this bowl of gruel is free? Today’s meal is to ensure they still have the strength to move rocks. The Red Tide isn’t doing charity, we’re making an investment."
Pete pointed to the red rope that hadn’t been put away: "In a few days, those standing behind the rope won’t be beggars, but workers. If they want to eat, they have to work, earn credits for what they do."
Thorne didn’t say anything, just listened.
"As for whether it can last..." Pete smiled lightly, "When that dam gets built, you’ll know the answer."