When it comes to interests, no noble wears a smiling face.
"No need to discuss—I'm taking all the grain. That's the main reason I came."
"Can your Frostholm Barony even consume that much food?"
"You know I'm the Baron of Frostholm. If I don't prepare enough now, what will we eat next year? Rob again like this?"
As he finished, Ronan cast a glance at Baron Hudson, making the latter feel a chill run down his spine.
The territories closest to Frostholm were his and Sir Warren's. Now that Warren's was stripped clean, could Ronan be planning to take from his barony next?
Wrapping himself tighter in a freshly plundered bearskin coat, Baron Hudson took a step back.
"But you don't need that much. This is enough to feed two thousand people for half a year."
"Which is why I'm also taking a group of slaves," Ronan said as if it were only natural.
"No way! You already got half the gold, Ronan, now you're just being greedy."
"Don't forget, Baron Hudson—if not for me, it might've been your knight captain who died today. And with a Bronze-ranked pioneer knight next door, how would you ever sleep peacefully again?"
"I just solved a major threat for you. From now on, Wattendale is wide open for your expansion."
That was a big advantage. Hearing this, Hudson decided not to press the issue further.
Ronan hadn't even mentioned the Redstone Iron Mine—naturally, that now belonged entirely to Baron Hudson. Just imagining the stream of gold coins made Hudson feel like they were falling from the sky.
Compared to the mine, what was a little grain and a few slaves?
"Fine then. But those two cat-girls—I'm keeping them."
"Fair enough."
Although Ronan was also curious about the anatomy of beast-eared girls, he had too many pressing issues in his territory. He let it go.
After a brief division of the spoils, Ronan didn't bother with how Hudson handled things. He ordered the slaves to load all the grain onto ox carts and wagons.
Even though these carts were technically Hudson's, Ronan took them too—Hudson didn't object.
He knew what kind of place Frostholm was. He even suspected that half the food would be lost just on the way there.
…
Ronan was grateful that the marshlands between Frostholm and the rest of Northwindshire were frozen in the winter. Otherwise, as Hudson had guessed, the wagons would have sunk, and half the food might've been lost.
The frozen marshlands helped preserve the food, but the mountain forests posed their own challenges.
There was no proper road to Frostholm—just steep mountain paths.
"You, go help them carry the food up." Eventually, Ronan called on the knight retainers, whose strength far surpassed that of the slaves. Brandon alone managed to carry an ox over a ravine.
In the vast snowy forests, everything was covered in white. But what Ronan hadn't expected was that slave casualties had already exceeded food losses.
"We've only traveled a short distance, and already more than twenty slaves have died?" he asked Roland sharply.
Roland looked nervous, unable to explain.
It wasn't long before Ronan understood.
The nobles' exploitation of their slaves was endless. These slaves were barely fed—and now it was the dead of winter. Even traveling through the mountains, the death count could've been much worse.
All things considered, only losing twenty was a sign Ronan had pushed them at a reasonable pace.
Accepting this reality, Ronan sighed and told the slaves: once they reached Frostholm, each would get black bread.
This promise sparked a little hope among the weary.
But with winter's chill deepening and the snow falling endlessly, more people vanished as the journey continued. The once bustling group grew quiet.
In that silence, the old steward, Bernard, finally spoke.
"Young Lord Ronan, you should've fought harder for more."
He couldn't understand why Ronan had settled for so little—surely he didn't grasp the value of the goods.
"If it weren't for us, Baron Hudson wouldn't have taken the mine, nor all that wealth from Wattendale."
"You only took grain and slaves. You didn't even take Sir Warren's armor, his warhorse—or a share of the iron mine. That's a huge loss."
"Haha, Bernard, so you finally said it. I thought you were going to speak up back in the marshes."
Ronan laughed.
"Bernard, Wattendale and the iron mine aren't as easy to claim as you think."
"Did you forget? Sir Warren had an heir. Even if he's dead, that knightly domain doesn't belong to Baron Hudson."
"Warren married a woman from the Morgans family, and his ancestral merit helped him get that Frontier Charter."
"But if Warren could hold that decree, then his wife—and his son—must have played a big part in securing it."
"That sixteen-year-old kid isn't in Wattendale. That proves it—he's probably studying in the Morganshire Duchy right now."
"Now that Warren is dead, his son will have to return to inherit the territory. If he doesn't, the knightly domain will fall into ruin—like Frostholm once did."
"I left Hudson with all that stuff for a reason. When young Warren returns, who's he going to blame—Hudson, who took everything, or me, who's on the far side of the marshes and mountains?"
"Besides, I've figured something out. Even though Duke Morgans lost his bid to control Northwindshire, he clearly hasn't given up on it."
"Don't worry. Baron Hudson will come begging me soon enough—and satisfying me then won't be so easy."
Bernard stared at Ronan in astonishment. He hadn't realized his young lord had such far-sighted vision.
In that moment, the steward's gaze returned to what it had been when he first swore loyalty.
Young Lord Ronan would become a great noble of the Solar Empire.
"And besides, Bernard, these slaves—they're the real prize."
Ronan said no more but looked at his personal stats panel.
Spirituality: 788
Divinity: Blessing of the Stag Spirit
More than 700 points of spirituality—that was Ronan's greatest reward.
Even without that, population was essential for any territory's growth. And with how dangerous development in Frostholm would be, many would die.
Ronan would need a lot of slaves.
For Frostholm, nothing was more valuable than people.
If not for concerns about food supply, he would've taken every slave from Wattendale.
And speaking of food—this 70,000 to 80,000 jin (35–40 tons) of grain would never last the six months Hudson claimed.
Ronan wasn't like Hudson, who neglected his slaves.
To rapidly grow his territory, he'd need incentives—and grain was key in the north.
Warmth and food could make these slaves work 20 hours a day.
Snow fluttered like petals across the sky. Ahead lay the sweeping view of Rhinestone Peak.
At the end of December, Ronan finally returned to his loyal Frostholm Barony.