CHAPTER 81: CHAPTER 81: THE LADY HAS GIVEN BIRTH

"We’ve struck it rich, struck it big!"

Baron Hatton was overjoyed in the castle, so much so that he barely glanced at the maids around him.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself. Out of that 100,000 gold, 70,000 belongs to me."

Ryan replied coolly at his side.

"What?!"

Hatton froze, staring at Ryan with barely veiled hostility, as if the young baron were a thief who had robbed him of his fortune.

"Baron Hatton," Ryan said, calm and matter-of-fact, "you must understand: I’m the one who won this war. Strictly speaking, all of the war reparations should be mine. I’ve simply chosen not to claim them in full."

"Furthermore, at least 70% of the weapons and armor on the battlefield should be considered my spoils."

"And finally, Baron Hatton, you invited me into this war—so aside from the agreed-upon grain, you’ll also need to provide a portion of the gold to reward the victory my forces delivered."

Hatton listened, counting on his fingers. After a long pause, his face turned pale as he looked at Ryan.

"Ryan, you devil... my gold..."

Though he began to wail in distress, Hatton made no move to resist. He knew full well the extent of Ryan’s military strength—and that this neighbor was not someone he could afford to offend.

The war had also nearly completed Ryan’s deal with Mihai. After a few more days of negotiation, all outstanding goods were successfully purchased.

With the spoils of war in hand, Ryan returned to the Frozen Territory.

He instructed Beard to head once more to the Kingdom of Andala to purchase grain, and to bring with him all the captured weapons and armor. Ryan himself resumed his frequent travel between Furnace City and the Frozen Territory.

But on the last day of the warmest month of the year, Ryan received an official visitor in his castle—an envoy from Baron Barnes.

"My lord sends his greetings to Baron Ryan," the knight declared. "May the Flower of the North Wind witness the friendship between my lord and yours."

Ryan smiled and nodded.

"I have always considered myself a friend to Baron Barnes."

After the formalities, Ryan turned to the knight and asked:

"And what is the reason for Baron Barnes’s invitation?"

The knight, named Barak, responded respectfully:

"My lord earnestly invites you and your army to station yourselves at the castle of the Flower of the North Wind."

Ryan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

It seemed Baron Barnes had heard about Ryan’s recent war with Baron Roch—and now wished to invite him in.

The conflicts between nobles in the Northwind Province were becoming increasingly primitive and brutal as imperial law waned. The aged Viscount Miles of Lingdu County could no longer maintain control. His natural opposition, Viscount Dragon, had already emerged, and now a third force was stepping forward.

Baron Barnes was clearly unwilling to become the subordinate of either viscount.

Yet Ryan had no intention of declining.

The influx of nearly 20,000 people from Furnace City into the Frozen Territory had put immense pressure on his resources. Only war could relieve that burden, and only during war would he have the freedom to manage such a population effectively.

He looked at Barak—a peak bronze knight, someone who would be considered elite among baronial circles.

"Then tell me: what will I gain? What will I be expected to shoulder? And finally—what will I become?"

Ryan’s three questions clearly left Barak bewildered. He was a knight, not a noble, and couldn’t grasp the full implication.

"Then take my message back to Baron Barnes," Ryan said. "Tell him I am willing to enter the castle of the Flower of the North Wind—but I will require grain and gold in exchange. I will stand with him against the pressure of higher nobility."

"At the same time, I must have absolute command over my army. And if his military operations fail, I must be allowed to take control of his forces to protect the interests of both sides."

"Deliver my words exactly as spoken. If Baron Barnes agrees, then my army will march into that ancient fortress—the one they say is the oldest bastion on this land—as allies."

With that, Barak departed.

It was clear that he did not have the authority to make such a decision on Barnes’s behalf. It also seemed unlikely that any future knightly appointments within Barnes’s territory would be granted to Barak.

On the first day of July, Ryan received good news: the Viscountess of the Whitman family had given birth.

When Ryan descended from Hornridge Mountain, he found the old steward and Mr. Azel, standing outside a stone manor with Azel’s newlywed wife, both of them visibly anxious.

"Why the rush, Mr. Azel?"

Ryan asked with a smile, noting that Azel’s wife also appeared to be slightly pregnant.

"This is my grandchild," Azel declared, "and born with the bloodline of a viscount—a natural heir to—"

He abruptly stopped himself. Age had made him slow. Only now did he realize: in the Frozen Territory, there was only one noble.

"Lord Ryan... I’m simply happy for my daughter."

Ryan nodded. Then he turned to the maid who had just emerged from inside.

"How is the lady’s condition?"

Childbirth had always been a brush with death. Even many noblewomen were not spared. Baron Hatton’s wife, for example, had died giving birth. For some reason, Hatton had never remarried.

"The lady gave birth to a girl. Both mother and child are in good health."

The maid replied respectfully.

Shortly after, Ryan and Azel visited the sweat-soaked but radiant Viscountess.

"Thank you, Lord Ryan. If your medical knowledge spreads, I believe it could save many women."

She spoke from the heart. Ryan gave a gentle smile.

"It will. It seems you’re recovering well. In my castle, the female officials may soon have a stern instructor."

The viscountess blushed slightly, as if recalling something.

"I’ll make sure to teach them well."

In the Frozen Territory, no one could simply enjoy luxury. Families like Azel’s had to pioneer and govern the land. Even the viscountess had to work for her pay.

After offering a few more words of encouragement, Ryan’s eyes passed over to the old steward standing nearby, who gave him a slight nod.

"Then rest well. I’ll take my leave."

Ryan and the steward stepped out. The old man produced a slender crystal vial—a gift from Mage Lura, given in gratitude for Ryan’s help.

Inside the vial flowed a single drop of crimson blood—from the newborn girl of the Whitman viscount family.

"The legacy of a viscount’s bloodline... To be preserved by a high mage... Surely, it must be something quite valuable."

Ryan returned to the fortress atop Hornridge Mountain. To ensure safety, he had even invited Mage Luna to join him.

She, too, was intrigued. Even for her, this kind of magic was something she had never encountered before.