As Ronan Reed considered how Northwindshire was far from as peaceful as it appeared on the surface, he finally returned to the topic at hand and asked Baron Hudson:
"Lord Hudson, is warhorse trading an annual event in Lindenford City?"
"Of course. Every spring, when the weather thaws, merchant guilds from the south bring quality goods to Northwindshire in bulk."
"Lindenford City is already considered remote, so not many merchant guilds go there, but there are still a dozen or so."
"The most eye-catching each year is the Imperial Trade Guild, which is under royal control. The highland warhorses all come from them."
Ronan thought for a moment and asked again:
"Only a hundred horses?"
"Yes, only a hundred," Hudson replied.
Ronan was momentarily speechless. Baron Hudson was even less clever than he had thought.
So he said bluntly, "The highland pastures that breed warhorses are located even farther south near Aurelia. Transporting them all the way to Northwindshire is a massive effort. How could there be only one hundred horses for the entire Lindenford County, one of the seven counties?"
"Just think—there are so many nobles and knights in Lindenford County. How could a hundred horses possibly be enough?"
"Exactly," Hudson replied, eyes showing confusion. His not-so-bright mind clearly couldn't come up with a better answer.
"So, there must be far more than a hundred warhorses. Before the Imperial Trade Guild puts them on sale, the surplus is already distributed."
"That hundred is just what they're willing to share—because they don't dare keep all of it for themselves."
A few horses meant little compared to the four or five hundred people a typical barony could raise, including serfs.
After speaking, Ronan glanced at Baron Hudson.
"It seems that your relationship with Viscount Miller and Viscount Drake isn't that great."
His words made Hudson's face flush with embarrassment. He nearly lost his temper at Ronan, but remembering the purpose of this trip, he managed to calm himself.
Still, in his heart, he noted that once this matter was settled, he would have to build better ties with the two viscounts.
Among nobles, matters weren't always settled with swords—often, they required social maneuvering.
At the same time, he developed a slight distaste for Ronan.
Hypocrisy and acting were inherent skills for any noble, yet Ronan had exposed Hudson's weaknesses so openly in front of others—not exactly proper noble conduct.
Catching the flicker of emotion on Hudson's face, Ronan was inwardly satisfied.
He didn't want his name to spread too quickly among the nobles of Northwindshire. After this conversation, Baron Hudson probably wouldn't be singing his praises to others.
For Ronan, that was ideal. With his spiritual gift to open dimensional gates, he preferred to quietly grow powerful in the White Expanse.
The somewhat tense conversation concluded, and the group picked up speed. By noon, Ronan had spotted the Redstone Iron Mine hidden among the hills.
After many skirmishes and disputes, the mine had been fully occupied by Sir Warren. Baron Hudson hadn't received any income from it for months.
What Ronan found exasperating was that even though their large group of several hundred had come within 200–300 meters of the mine, no one had noticed them.
Apparently, Sir Warren wasn't as clever as he thought.
After waiting a dozen minutes or so, a mining slave spotted the dark mass of approaching troops while hauling ore and started shouting in terror, throwing the whole mine into chaos.
Soon after, some squire knights roared to restore order, and about 700–800 people assembled outside the mine—without any real formation. At the front stood over a hundred combat-ready soldiers from Wattendale.
Hudson looked in shock at the iron-armored figure standing at the head of the group.
"Warren! Why are you here!?"
"Hahahaha! Hudson, I knew you wouldn't give up so easily, so I came early to wait for you. You've got less patience than I thought. But that's good—it means I can head home sooner. I've nearly rotted sleeping in these mines!"
Sir Warren clearly anticipated Hudson's refusal to relinquish the Redstone Iron Mine. Now he felt vindicated in his strategy. However, his gaze landed on Ronan beside Hudson, and his brows furrowed.
He hadn't seen Ronan before, but the noble air surrounding him was unmistakable.
After a brief moment of shock, Hudson smirked. "So what if you planned ahead, Warren? Today, you're giving up that mine."
He turned to Sir Wyatt and ordered, "Go!"
Once again, Ronan was speechless. After the lords exchanged shouts, the serfs on both sides charged with pitchforks and wooden spears—utterly uncoordinated.
Still, the sight of over a thousand people clashing was enough to stir the blood. Ronan noticed Hudson at his side clench his knight's sword tightly, his face flushed red.
"Ronan, I need your help," Hudson said. After repeatedly losing to Warren, his confidence was clearly lacking.
"Don't worry, Lord Hudson. We're friends."
Ronan nodded toward Brandon. The knight urged his steed forward to join the battle between Sir Wyatt and Sir Warren, while thirty-one squire retainers formed two phalanxes and charged as well.
Ronan wasn't a commander—he couldn't change the nature of the battle. But controlling his own men was enough.
Against a force of starving, emaciated serfs, the disciplined squires cut through their ranks with ease, smashing into Sir Warren's trained soldiers.
Ronan's troops, blessed by the Stag Spirit Tribe, quickly gained the upper hand. Warren's soldiers had no real combat formation and were no match.
Of course, the most critical battle was between the three formal knights.
Sir Wyatt and Brandon almost overwhelmed Sir Warren. Even though Warren wore expensive, custom-made armor, against two knights, he couldn't hold out for long.
As Warren was struck from his horse and crashed to the ground, the battle between the three shifted from horseback to foot.
Truth be told, none of the three were particularly adept at mounted combat. Ironically, Brandon, who had only trained for a few hours, performed the best.
The heavy fall left Sir Warren struggling to rise. As he did, Sir Wyatt was already upon him, thrusting his sword.
At that moment, Wyatt's eyes were filled with excitement. He was trying to earn merit—enough to one day obtain a Frontier Charter from the Hudson family and be granted land.
But just as the sword was about to pierce him, Sir Warren—fully armored—grabbed the blade with one hand.
A faint dark mist seemed to ripple across the surface of his armor.
"Bronze Knight!"
Terror filled Wyatt's eyes as he shouted.