"Hahaha, Ronan, come on! This is mare's milk brought all the way from the south. If it weren't for the cold weather in Northwindshire making it easy to preserve, you might not have gotten the chance to try it!"
Hudson eagerly poured the snow-white mare's milk for Ronan. Several attractive maids stood nearby, obediently holding iron kettles.
Ronan accepted Hudson's hospitality without hesitation—after all, it had been a long time since he had eaten such food.
What's more, ever since becoming a knight, his appetite had increased dramatically—three to five times that of an average person.
It wasn't just the food; even the beds in Baron Hudson's territory were far softer than the hard planks back in the Frostholm Barony. Ronan felt like he hadn't slept in such comfort since arriving in this world.
"Soon, I'll have my own."
Without any attachment to the soft bed, Ronan pushed open the door and headed to the soldiers' training ground.
There, he saw the only knight in Baron Hudson's domain — Sir Wyatt.
A knight with a surname. Yes, his ancestors had been nobles, though the family had declined. Wyatt now served as the captain of Hudson's knights, and likely hoped that Baron Hudson might one day grant him land to restore the Brynn family's former glory.
But Ronan didn't think Wyatt would have such an opportunity—considering the state of Baron Hudson's affairs, just holding onto his current lands was already worthy of historical recognition.
As for hoping he'd make something greater of himself? Ronan glanced at the maids bustling back and forth in the distance and shook his head.
"Sir Wyatt, do you know how many soldiers Sir Warren has?"
"Greetings, Baron Ronan." Sir Wyatt respectfully gave a standard knight's salute, seemingly flattered by Ronan's mild tone.
Glancing at Brandon standing silently behind Ronan, Wyatt responded:
"Sir Warren has a total of one hundred soldiers. Of them, twenty are squire knights; the rest are trained militia."
Ronan nodded and then asked:
"What about slaves?"
He knew well that the number of soldiers a lord could raise was rarely as it appeared.
In times of war, lords would drag slaves onto the battlefield. After the battle, the survivors would return to the mines or farms.
A brutal pecking order of cannon fodder.
Of the hundred Wyatt mentioned, Ronan could already guess—besides the twenty squires, the eighty militia were probably only part-time fighters.
"One hundred capable soldiers," Ronan mused. Compared to Sir Warren's domain, Hudson's barony was in much better shape—thanks to Baron Hudson having a decent predecessor.
"Baron Hudson's territory has one hundred and twenty soldiers, all fully armored. Thirty of them are squires," Wyatt added with some pride—it was, after all, his own achievement.
Ronan didn't quite get why he sounded so proud. Despite having the stronger force, he always ended up being bested by Sir Warren.
"Go wake Baron Hudson. It's time for us to depart."
Eventually, Baron Hudson appeared before Ronan, yawning widely.
The two barons led the way, followed by a force of five to six hundred soldiers marching boldly toward the contested area between Hudson and Sir Warren.
A small iron mine. Though small, it had brought great profit to both the barony and the knight's domain.
…
Riding a highland warhorse from the south, Ronan couldn't help stroking its mane enviously.
Was a knight truly a knight without a mount? Was a noble still a noble without one?
Baron Hudson lacked many things, but not the ability to read people—a basic skill for any noble.
With pride, he patted his brown warhorse and said:
"Ronan, in Lindenford City where Viscount Miller resides, every spring, hundreds of highland warhorses are brought in from the south. If you're interested, have your servant wait there for one."
"But," he added, "each warhorse is quite valuable—less than a few hundred gold coins won't be enough."
In other words, Hudson couldn't resist showing off his wealth. Ronan, hearing this, couldn't help clicking his tongue.
A single warhorse in Northwindshire could sell for several hundred gold coins. Distance really did create value.
From what he remembered, a fully grown warhorse in the southern Solar Empire sold for between several dozen to one hundred gold coins. Yet here at the Empire's edge, the price had increased tenfold.
To his knowledge, Northwindshire didn't produce horses—despite having plains.
The reason? Too cold.
Distance and harsh weather made horses expensive.
Because of that, even Baron Hudson's domain only owned five of them.
Naturally, Ronan and Hudson weren't going to travel on foot. Besides them, the other riders were Sir Wyatt and Hudson's eldest son, Logan Hudson.
Logan was only a year or two younger than Ronan, but noble upbringing gave him a mature appearance. As he looked at Ronan, his eyes held a hint of envy.
There was a clear difference between a baron's heir and a baron—especially since both of them still looked like teenagers.
The last warhorse was under Brandon, Ronan's knight protector—clearly the one most enamored with his mount. Interestingly, the warhorse seemed to enjoy Brandon's touch just as much.
Watching this, Hudson burst into laughter.
"Ronan, looks like you'll need to prepare a fine steed for your knight!"
Ronan didn't refute him. Instead, he began asking about Lindenford City.
He only knew that it was the city closest to both the Frostholm Barony and Baron Hudson's lands.
Viscount Miller was the lord of that city and also one of the seven governors of Northwindshire, governing Lindenford County.
The viscount's domain spread outward from the city. In the entire county, besides Viscount Miller, there was another viscount, about seventeen or eighteen barons, and roughly the same number of knightly domains.
The Solar Empire had a very simple administrative structure: Empire > Province > County > Town/Village. In the south, even the smallest towns were ruled by nobles. In addition to the formal administration, there were also privately held noble fiefdoms.
For example, the four dukes of the Empire all lived in their own ducal territories. Some earls, and even viscounts, did the same.
These noble fiefs weren't part of the Empire's official administrative system—they were like countries within the country. But one thing all such nobles shared was:
Confidence born of power.
For instance, Viscount Miller could collect taxes annually from Lindenford City—his territory's economic lifeline.
This made the city incredibly valuable to the Miller family.
Some nobles dreamed of owning such a city to provide steady income. Others, confident in their own power, looked down on such cities as unnecessary.
Thinking of this, Ronan couldn't help wondering:
"I wonder if Viscount Drake of Lindenford County is the former… or the latter?"