CHAPTER 80: CHAPTER 80: RANSOM AND REPARATIONS

He hadn’t lost to Baron Hatton—he had lost to this man from the Frozen Territory, the noble from that easily forgotten province in the Northwind Frontier.

Baron Roch stared hard at Ryan. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t comprehend how that desolate, barren land known as the Frozen Territory could possibly field soldiers of such caliber.

The only possible explanation, perhaps, was Earl Rimehart.

"Speak. How much gold do you want for my release?"

At this moment, a trace of despair flashed in Roch’s eyes. The turmoil in the Northwind Frontier was about to erupt. His original plan had been to consolidate the resources and wealth of a few knightly territories and Baron Hatton’s lands—then sell out at a handsome price. But now, he had no leverage left.

In the Northwind Frontier, military strength far outweighed political maneuvering. In the southern regions, a noble without an army might still be able to confront a powerful lord. But not here.

Here, a noble without military might had nothing.

His father had understood that all too well—hence why Roch had managed to field hundreds of properly trained soldiers, unlike other nobles who filled their ranks with peasants that fled at the first sign of battle.

But now...

Roch glared at Ryan with burning hatred. He swore he would never forget this humiliation.

Ahem.

Ryan cleared his throat lightly, then smiled as he looked at Baron Roch.

"Since Baron Roch is willing to ransom his freedom with gold, all the better."

"Let’s calculate, shall we? First—your own ransom. You’re a baron, fifth rank of the Empire. Baron Roch, how much do you think your own freedom and life are worth?"

"Five thousand gold coins."

Roch answered instantly.

"Five thousand?!"

Hatton exploded in outrage nearby.

"Roch, are you telling me you’re only worth five thousand? Unless you cough up fifty thousand, don’t even think about leaving my territory!"

"Fifty thousand? Hatton, why don’t you just rob me outright?!"

"Hmph! You own an entire barony, three knightly territories, and at least five iron mines! Don’t tell me you can’t produce fifty thousand gold!"

Hatton was quite familiar with Roch’s Ravenhold, as the two had been rivals for years.

"You think gold falls from the sky? Ten thousand. I’ll pay no more than ten thousand gold to redeem myself—or I’ll just wait for the noble council to come after you."

Roch turned to look at Ryan. After all, his true defeat was at Ryan’s hands.

Ryan nodded slightly.

"Very well. Baron Roch will pay ten thousand gold coins, to be split evenly between Baron Hatton and myself, to redeem his freedom."

"I said ten thousand total," Roch snapped, heart bleeding.

Ryan smiled and said:

"Ten thousand in total? In that case, I might as well make a trip to Ravenhold myself. I’m sure I’d find plenty more there. What do you think, Baron Roch?"

Roch went silent, visibly rattled. Ryan continued:

"Now then, let’s discuss your soldiers. We captured five hundred sixty of Ravenhold’s troops. Each soldier is a valuable asset. I’d say thirty gold coins apiece."

"Thirty?! Most of those are slaves. Thirty coins for a slave? What are you playing at?!"

Ryan shrugged with both hands.

"I didn’t know they were slaves. On the battlefield, they picked up weapons—that makes them soldiers."

"Ridiculous! A serf is worth ten at most. Other soldiers—fine, twenty-five a head. That’s the standard among nobles."

Hearing this, Ryan exchanged a glance with Hatton, who nodded in agreement.

"Very well. That comes to 9,300 gold. We’ll round up—9,500 coins."

The apparent compromise gave Roch a sudden uneasy feeling. A dreadful suspicion rose in his chest. He looked at Ryan.

"My... my knights... where are they?"

"Them?" Ryan replied, tone calm. "Not a single one survived."

Roch swayed—dizziness overwhelmed him.

"I... you..."

He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white as he stared at Ryan’s handsome, composed face.

"And then there’s Knight Watt," Ryan continued. "He’s your vassal. Since your own ransom is ten thousand, paying five thousand each to both of us for his release seems reasonable, doesn’t it?"

Roch remained silent, still reeling from the loss of his entire cavalry. But in the end, he nodded grimly, accepting the terms.

"Next, we must address war reparations to both of us."

Roch’s eyes flew wide open—as did Hatton’s.

"There’s more?"

"Yes, there is."

Ryan looked at Roch, brow slightly raised.

"Why? Is that surprising?"

"I was merely a guest in Baron Hatton’s domain. Then out of nowhere, your vassal Knight Watt storms in to plunder his wealth. And then you yourself arrive with a full army. This is war. A violation of territorial sovereignty."

"By the laws of nobility, we have the unrestricted right to defend ourselves."

"You started this war. But you don’t get to choose when it ends."

"Without reparations, how is this war considered concluded?"

"Surely Baron Roch doesn’t naively believe we lack the strength to continue fighting?"

Hatton clapped joyfully beside him.

"Exactly! Roch, you started this war. Without reparations, that means it’s still ongoing. The war between Ravenhold and Shenma Territory will never end."

Ryan gave a small nod.

"The damage and disruption this war has caused can only be healed with gold."

"How much?!"

Roch’s eyes locked onto Ryan’s face. Just moments ago, he’d considered this black-haired, red-eyed youth from the Rimehart family the very image of noble grace.

But now—he saw only the face of a devil.

"In short—100,000 gold coins for the damages this war has caused."

Ryan spoke with calm certainty. Ransom was nothing compared to war reparations.

"One hundred thousand. Not a single coin less."

Hatton’s eyes sparkled with joy.

"One hundred thousand?! That’s impossible! Fifty thousand—no more!"

Ryan cut him off coldly:

"Baron Roch, I don’t think you’ve realized your position. This isn’t a negotiation."

"100,000 gold coins is non-negotiable. If Ravenhold can’t pay in full, it can be made up in grain, iron ore, or refined iron. Final payment can be delayed until the end of the year."

"There’s no bargaining for the loser. In matters of war reparations, you are no longer a noble—you are the defeated."

At those words, all color drained from Roch’s face.