CHAPTER 22: CHAPTER 22: THE VALUE OF THE LADY

"I... I..."

The viscountess’s teeth were chattering slightly.

Ryan’s guess was correct—she was indeed a few months pregnant.

"He’ll never know,"

the viscountess pleaded tearfully.

Sigh... I’m still too softhearted, Ryan thought, squeezing the lady’s soft white skin as he glanced at the corpse of Viscount Whitman beside them.

"Let’s hope he never finds out."

"He won’t. I swear he won’t."

Ryan had already turned to face the surrounding slaves.

"According to noble customs, you all now belong to me."

A large crowd dropped to their knees. They had changed masters. The same went for the soldiers.

But in the next moment, Ryan turned toward Brand and gave him a look. Brand stepped forward with his longsword and approached the soldiers.

Ryan didn’t want to leave any loose ends. These soldiers had once served Whitman, flaunted their power, and abused it. If he let them live, they might one day seek revenge in the name of Whitman’s heir.

Slaves, on the other hand, were safe.

Slaves didn’t even have the right to swear loyalty. They were property, objects. They had no choice but to serve their master—loyalty didn’t even apply.

Some soldiers tried to resist, but in the end, they were cut down. Another twenty or thirty bodies joined the dead.

Fortunately, the spiritual energy they left behind hadn’t vanished.

Only after this did Ryan finally turn to inspect his new property.

Five cattle, thirty-two mules, ten great-horned deer, and a glittering stash of 2,500 gold coins.

Though the coins weren’t quite the same as imperial ones—these bore the image of a stag’s head—that didn’t matter.

The value of a gold coin lies in its weight. As long as the weight is the same, so is the value. Gold is also a magical medium, giving it intrinsic value as a precious metal.

If necessary, he could have them reforged back in his territory. Purchasing power wouldn’t be an issue.

The same went for silver. Among Viscount Whitman’s property were nearly 50,000 silver coins.

With a gold:silver:copper ratio of 1:20:100, twenty silver coins equaled one gold, and one silver was worth one hundred coppers.

The massive disparity in value came from magical properties. Both gold and silver could serve as magic conduits—copper could not.

In total, the silver hoard was worth nearly as much as the 2,500 gold.

As for copper? Only around 100,000 coins.

Ryan thought for a moment and quickly understood why.

On this pRyan, the constant frost and blizzards had wiped out countless people. Noble territories were extremely distant from each other, and gold and silver coins were mostly used in noble circles.

Among commoners—and the slightly better-off slaves—copper was the standard. For a slave to be seen holding silver or gold? That was basically a death sentence.

No one would believe such wealth belonged to a slave.

Because gold and silver didn’t circulate easily among commoners, they were hoarded. Copper, however, was still in use. Even Viscount Whitman didn’t keep much on hand or care about it.

After all, a single gold coin fits in your pocket. But its copper equivalent requires carrying a bag.

The choice was obvious.

In any case, all of it now belonged to Ryan.

"These great-horned deer—were they controlled through magic?"

After ordering the corpses buried, Ryan approached the ten calm, docile deer.

"He specialized in magical handling. As an apprentice mage, he spent 6,000 gold to purchase the Beast Taming Sigil, the most expensive sigil available at the apprentice level."

"The sigil was engraved on their foreheads, enabling them to understand simple commands and grow accustomed to humans. After long-term training, they reached this level."

"So what you’re saying is... I just lost 6,000 gold?"

Ryan looked at the viscountess. The more he looked, the younger she seemed. It turned out—after asking—she was only five or six years older than Ryan. Nineteen or twenty.

"That magic weaving you mentioned—what’s it worth?"

The viscountess lowered her head.

"Magic weaving is a basic magical path. I don’t have much talent."

Seemingly worried she wasn’t showing enough value, she quickly added:

"But I can weave clothing—given the right materials, the clothes themselves can hold magical effects like enchanted artifacts."

"Hmm. Sounds average."

"Later, hand over the meditation method you learned. I’ll give it a try."

Ryan didn’t notice the blush on the viscountess’s face. At that moment, a soldier came running toward him from the distance.

"My lord! We’ve found the goblins’ iron mine!"

"Oh?" Ryan’s eyes lit up.

Soon, he saw cart after cart of refined iron—and his face lit up with pure joy.

Seven to eight thousand catties of fine iron! With a blacksmith, he could forge it into armor or knightly longswords. This trip to the other pRyan had been beyond profitable!

"Move it. Everyone take a share. Empty it out—leave nothing behind!"

With that command, Ryan led his new army of slaves on the return journey.

Back in the Frozen Soil Territory, amid gasps of shock and awe, Ryan returned with the viscountess to the Baron’s Keep at Rhinohorn Mountain.

It was just a widow and a boy. Ryan didn’t know where else he could send them where they’d survive—so he had them stay. After all, mages weren’t like knights—they didn’t eat much.

Late at night.

"Do I really have no talent for meditation?"

"Tch—what kind of posture is that?! Why does it hurt so much? I’m a knight!"

Ryan stared at the viscountess, now dressed in a form-fitting bodysuit. He admitted—he’d acted on youthful impulse.

But the pain radiating from his bones made it impossible to focus on the sweet scent around him. He kept hissing through clenched teeth.

"To weave magic, one must first present the body in its perfect natural form. Only then can the clothes be enchanted to fit the user."

"The first thing an apprentice mage learns is an understanding of one’s own body. Knowledge is power."

"It took me three days to fully grasp the basics of meditation."

"Three days?!"

Ryan cried out. Even during his training in the Rimehart family’s Flame Dragon Knight breathing techniques, he had never experienced such bone-deep pain.

"Is that... hard?" the viscountess asked in confusion. Still, to prove her worth, she did her best to teach him.

She even used herself as a demonstration. But in doing so, her figure—suddenly more prominent—only made Ryan’s struggle worse.

Why am I only fourteen...?

At the baron’s keep, the elderly steward Beard had rushed back after hearing reports—only to sneak away on tiptoe after seeing the scene, equal parts uneasy and comforted.

The Rime hart family, after all, was the envy of the imperial nobility for one key reason:

They were famously fertile.

"Young Master Ryan is only fourteen... he really should take it easy."

Half a month later.

Ryan completely gave up on cultivating the meditation method.

At the pace he was progressing, it was impossible to say when he’d become a proper mage.

He looked at his spiritual energy panel.

"I’m sure... someday I’ll receive a divine blessing tailored for magic."