CHAPTER 23: CHAPTER 23: THE ORCS MOVE SOUTH

What truly made Ryan give up on meditation was another reason: his fifteenth birthday was coming up.

This winter, the Frozen Soil Territory welcomed its first festive celebration.

The lord celebrated together with the people.

Coincidentally, on this very day, one of the three farmland plots—the Bain family’s terraced fields—was officially completed, and the next step was enriching the soil’s vitality.

The 110 mu (~18 acres) of farmland had practically driven the Bain family mad with joy. When they saw Ryan, they were kneeling every three sentences, and throwing in a deep bow every five.

As for the Bain family themselves, now considered part of the upper tier of the territory’s populace, they made the rest burn with envy. Ryan was confident the remaining two plots would soon be developed.

"Young Master Ryan, congratulations on turning another year older."

At the Baron’s Keep atop Rhinohorn Mountain, very few people had the privilege of sitting at the same table as Ryan.

Outside the keep, Derren couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. He should’ve taken the spot of that man Rosen inside—now, he was stuck outside on guard duty.

He looked at the dancing firelights dotting the village at the foot of the mountain. Maybe... maybe he really shouldn’t have refused back then. The Frozen Soil Territory was becoming more prosperous. It felt... warm here.

This day would probably be remembered by many. Even the slaves lived almost as well as commoners—since money still had little use in the territory, everyone lived off the food granted by the lord.

Today, even those peasants could eat meat stew. Ryan’s orders were absolute—the cooks didn’t dare cut corners.

Hopefully, the warmth of today would motivate the peasants to finish clearing the remaining fields tomorrow.

The grain from the Knight Walter’s domain was growing worse—mixed and inferior.

Only Ryan, perhaps, could have imagined cultivating farmland in those mountain forests. He even lured birds to come and defecate on the fields, supposedly to fertilize the soil.

Terraced farming—even unheard of in the southern provinces—but able to produce dozens of times more usable land. Truly impressive.

Today, the mountain probably didn’t even have anyone on patrol. Still, wild beasts were unlikely to damage farmland.

Derren looked into the distance—his eyes narrowed.

Today was a grand day. Ryan’s fifteenth birthday. The people were celebrating. Everyone was in the territory, and yet...

Why was there firelight up on the mountain?

Derren hadn’t become captain of the guards for nothing.

He stared into the distant dark, summoned a few soldiers, and issued orders.

"Young Master Ryan, we’ve been in the Frozen Soil Territory for nearly two months. By now, the Earl should have returned to the Empire."

The old steward gave a subtle reminder, and Ryan fell into a moment of silence.

Now that Earl Rimehart had returned to the Empire—who knew what storms he’d stir up in the capital? And how those waves might reach the Frozen Soil Territory?

But in these two months, Ryan had already come to accept his new life.

Everything was going well.

Domestic affairs were handled by Beard, military matters by Brand, patrols and guards by Rosen, and even managing the maids in the keep had been taken up efficiently by the viscountess, saving Ryan a great deal of trouble.

Aside from the growing pressure on food supplies as the population expanded, everything was in good shape.

Even the orcs, as usual, had no interest in the barren Frozen Soil Territory.

And yet—as soon as Ryan thought it, it happened.

Derren rushed in from outside, looking flustered:

"Young Master Ryan—our patrols have spotted orcs!"

In the cold wind of the night, Ryan rushed out of the Baron’s Keep and immediately saw firelight in the distant forested hills.

"What kind of orc tribe is it?"

Derren replied from the side:

"I didn’t let our men get too close. They said the orcs had horns shaped like curved knives, about as long as a forearm."

"The woods are dark, and the orcs have keen senses. Staying back was the right call."

"As for what type..."

"Orcs with horns like that... and this close to Northwind Province... could it be the Black Goat Tribe?"

Ryan’s expression darkened. He immediately issued orders:

"Extinguish all fires in the territory. Every single one."

The soldiers rushed toward the foot of the mountain.

From atop Rhinohorn Mountain, they could see the firelight in the hills—but from below, the trees would likely block the view. The orcs might not notice them.

Black Goat Orcs.

In many legends, the black goat is a symbol of death—a sign of evil. And the Black Goat orc tribe lived up to that reputation.

Most orc tribes moved south simply out of hunger. There were too many mouths to feed. Most only resorted to cannibalism when they couldn’t plunder enough grain.

But the Black Goat Tribe...

They enjoyed eating humans—especially human children.

And aside from children, they favored tender young women.

The younger and more well-kept, the more they craved them.

Worse still, they were powerful—rumored to have received blessings from the gods.

When Ryan finished describing them, the viscountess and several maids nearby all turned pale.

"Don’t worry," Ryan said calmly. "A full-scale appearance by the Black Goat Tribe isn’t likely—not yet. The true winter hasn’t fully set in. What we’re seeing now is probably just a scouting party."

Ryan stayed composed. After all, if it came to the worst, he could still retreat into the alternate world. With that fallback, he had confidence.

In truth, the Black Goat scouts had spotted the territory long before Derren had spotted them.

To be a scout for the Black Goat Tribe required real skill. But...

They simply didn’t care.

"Big bro, there’s a human noble’s domain here. Should we raid it real quick? If we find some kids, that’d be perfect."

One black goat orc, covered in fur with palm-length horns, spoke greedily. But before he finished, he was slapped hard by a giant hand, teeth flying from his mouth.

"Idiot. Do you even know what we’re here for?"

The taller orc pointed toward the firelight in the distance.

"Do you know what this place is?"

"No..."

"This is the Frozen Soil Territory. A poor, barren place."

"Ten years ago, a Hyena Tribe tried to raid this place in winter. Know what happened?"

"No..."

"Fool. After they raided it, thirty percent of the tribe starved to death on the way home. The other seventy percent? Half of them starved during winter, and the rest survived by eating their own dead."

"After that, they became a joke."

"Do you know why our Black Goat Tribe was chosen to lead the southern invasion this year?"

"No..."

"Because we’re smart."

"Smart?"

"Yes—intelligence! We lead the orc armies because we know where the food is, where the children are, where the richest provinces lie."

"Wow. Intelligence is awesome."

"Exactly. That’s why I’m the captain—and you’re just a dumb glutton."

"Got it. You’re smart. I’m not..."

"Now let’s be cautious. If we’re careful now, we can go all out later."