CHAPTER 39: CHAPTER 39 – BRAND ESTABLISHES HIS MIGHT

When Ryan heard Harrington Rimehart’s voice, he couldn’t help but take a deep breath.

Everything he had worked so hard to accumulate over several months—his wealth and resources—still didn’t match even half the value of this arriving convoy.

So this is the terrifying wealth that the most powerful noble families of the Empire possess?

Ryan was certain: these resources were standard for any baron sent out from House Rimehart. Enough to surpass 90% of barons in the Empire—yet still insignificant in the eyes of the entire Rimehart count’s household.

Even if a baron squandered everything in life, with this kind of foundation, his barony would still remain strong upon his death—decline was practically impossible.

Twenty thousand gold coins worth of materials lay before Ryan. But he didn’t feel particularly excited.

He could earn these things himself one day—it was only a matter of time.

Still, there was no denying the difference between acquiring them by slow personal effort... and having them delivered to his doorstep, now.

More importantly, the arrival of these resources signaled a change in Ryan’s status.

Not just within Imperial noble circles—but especially within Northern Wind Province’s aristocracy.

Because all these resources had been sent to Baron Ryan’s territory, it meant that the Rimehart Count—who had already returned to the Empire—was publicly acknowledging the outcome the other nobles had tried to fix behind closed doors.

Ryan had marched thousands of miles into the northern frontier, defeated a mammoth-people tribe, and brought back a divine essence. The baronial title he earned—one in Northern Wind Province—was earned by merit. And now, the count no longer contested it.

From that moment on, Ryan Rimehart, previously unremarkable among the count’s many children, would never be the same again.

He wasn’t just a baron. This title rested upon a foundation of immense, undeniable merit.

Ryan looked up suddenly and smiled at the bright sunlight.

He would show those nobles that this baron they forced into place was the biggest political mistake they had ever made.

—

Harrington Rimehart was stunned—and so were the other four Rimeharts beside him.

Before coming here, they had done their homework: Ryan Rimehart was considered the most obscure and forgettable of the count’s many children. His territory, the Frozen Wastes, was the Empire’s northernmost frontier—a land buried in snow, without the slightest hope for development.

They had prepared for the worst. In House Rimehart, no one dared disobey the Count—let alone servants merely bearing the Rimehart name.

But it turned out... this Frozen Wastes territory was far better developed than expected.

The training grounds, for instance, were made from top-quality timber. The highland warhorses trotted over carefully selected soil, not just any rough patch that would wear out hooves. The iron tools for knight training were clearly crafted under strict quality control.

What shocked Harrington most was the iron armor set displayed at the center of the wall.

It was more exquisite than what he wore himself. With the trained eye of a noble, he could see that each joint was made of numerous articulated parts, designed to offer maximum flexibility in combat.

The chainmail lining beneath the chest plate, woven like a tight fishing net, maintained excellent protection while eliminating the stuffy, suffocating feel of traditional armor.

For knights—whose hearts needed to beat fiercely in battle—this was perfectly engineered armor.

The helmet, too, was remarkable. A seamless mask with a single, narrow cross-shaped slit—it gave Harrington a chilling sense of awe.

It was as if a solemn, sacred knight stood before him.

"This kind of armor... there can’t be many of them," Harrington muttered.

"Of course not," a voice suddenly said from behind.

Startled, Harrington and the others whirled around—they hadn’t even noticed him approach.

Brand stood there with arms crossed, looking down at the five of them.

"The lord said you’re to be squad leaders under my command. So, I’m curious—just how good are you?"

"What?"

Harrington’s face turned red. He, a Rimehart noble, had come to the Frozen Wastes—only to be told he couldn’t command the army?

Humiliation burned in his chest. A knight’s pride flared.

He drew his sword.

"I challenge you. A duel—to the death!"

"No need for that. You’re still a Rimehart—our lord wouldn’t want you dead," Brand replied, walking out toward the yard.

"But if even one of you five can beat me—the position of commander is yours."

—

High on Rhinoceros Horn Mountain, Ryan stood watching the duel below. The 150 newly arrived soldiers were already forming a circle, cheering and watching.

"What do you think? Can they win?"

Old Beard and Little Beard stood behind him. The elder steward smiled without answering. But Little Beard hesitated.

"Sir Harrington and the others were trained by House Rimehart. They even practiced the Flame Dragon Knight breathing method. I... I don’t think they’ll lose?"

He still didn’t know where this Brand fellow had come from.

"Is that so?"

Ryan smiled and kept watching, eyes fixed on the fight.

—

"Come!"

The spirit of the stag roared. Blood-red battle aura surged from Brand’s body—completely unafraid of Harrington’s searing red aura, which burned like a blazing flame.

With massive force, Brand hurled his fists toward Harrington.

From Harrington’s nose and mouth came faint vapor. It was not just breath—it resembled the breath of a dragon.

His skin darkened with a metallic sheen. He wasn’t afraid of mere flesh and bone—not even a metal shield would make him flinch.

The two collided with immense power—both men stunned.

Brand was surprised someone could match his strength.

But for Harrington, it was a shock.

How could someone match the strength of the Flame Dragon breathing method?

The Flame Dragon Knight method was created to forge knights into human-shaped dragons.

Yet here stood a man—origin unknown—matching him blow for blow.

In the next moment, Harrington realized he’d been wrong.

Brand fell back ten meters, then roared and charged again.

In that instant, Harrington saw not a herbivore deer—but a ferocious war-stag barreling toward him.

The world spun. Harrington was flat on the ground—someone was helping him up. Around him, every soldier stared in shock at Brand, who stood tall and boiling with wild energy.

Was it really the Stag Spirit Breathing Method that was so strong?

Ryan didn’t think so.

It was Brand who was strong.

If any other knight trained in the Stag Spirit method had fought, they would’ve lost to Harrington without question.

"No doubt about it—he’s my guardian knight."