CHAPTER 10: CHAPTER 10 – THE FIRST BATCH OF SLAVES

Ryan couldn’t help but feel that these nobles were truly exhausting the pond to catch the fish. It was undeniable that most of the lords had minds filled only with indulgence and rot, but to exploit the slaves and freemen of the Northern Wind Province so recklessly and without restraint—it was simply too brutal.

"Perhaps... there are other reasons at play."

Still, this version of the Northern Wind Province gave Ryan immense confidence. It was the reason he dared to head south with just over thirty men, without any concrete plan at all.

Don’t be fooled by the number—thirty-one knight-attendants and a single knight. Even so, such strength already surpassed that of over ninety percent of the frontier lords in the province.

Among the barons themselves, Ryan felt this power could be considered above average. It was Brand who gave him such confidence.

One mustn’t overestimate those nobles clinging to the shadows of their ancestral glory—they were far more useless than most would imagine.

Hadn’t you seen the way old Beard looked at Ryan? Just that meager bit of awareness and method had already stunned the old steward as if he’d witnessed a genius. From that alone, it was clear what kind of parasites infested the Empire.

Of course, there were capable nobles. But Ryan was smart enough to avoid those who obviously weren’t to be underestimated.

Through gloomy forests and over frozen marshes, as the evening light fell, more than a hundred people had begun to trail behind Ryan.

Aside from Ryan and his steward, Brand, Rosen, and the thirty knight-attendants, there were now seventy to eighty bandit-slaves. Their hands had been bound with coarse hemp rope into a long chain.

These captured slaves wore expressions of utter despair. Ironically, the ropes that now restrained them had originally been prepared by them to kidnap passing villagers in the mountains.

Their eyes, when they looked at Brand and the other guards, were full of terror.

Naturally, they hadn’t dared attack this noble convoy—but their methods were poor. Ryan had easily detected the traces they left and followed them straight to their hideout.

He had even found seventy or eighty shining, worn silver coins. As for gold "punks"—those only circulated among the aristocracy or major guilds affiliated with great houses. Either group was far beyond these men’s ability to provoke.

Seeing the distant silhouette of villages and keeps emerging in the dusk, Ryan finally stopped and turned to face the group of slaves.

"Untie them."

The group of former bandits stared at Ryan in confusion, still filled with dread. They feared this noble was simply preparing to execute them.

Then Ryan raised his voice and declared:

"I now give you two choices."

"First: I send you as a gift to my friend, Baron Hutton."

"Second: From this moment on, you are my slaves—and you will return with me to the Frozen Soil Domain."

"I want an answer from each of you. Now."

Hearing his words, the slaves all let out a breath of relief—it seemed they wouldn’t be killed after all.

When no one answered, Rosen, standing beside Ryan, shouted at them. The pressure of a knight’s presence made every one of them tremble to their core.

"You have one minute!"

At last, one man stepped forward, his voice trembling:

"My lord, I wish to go to Hutton’s domain..."

They hadn’t chosen to flee to the Frozen Soil Domain—because they knew full well it was too cold. They’d likely freeze to death in a matter of days.

Ryan stared at the man coldly, then laughed.

"Think carefully. All of you are escaped slaves from other lords. If Baron Hutton finds out you’re fugitives, do you really think you’ll have a chance at anything beyond a mine shaft?"

Hearing this, the slave’s expression changed dramatically, and he immediately fell to his knees before Ryan.

"I am willing to become your slave, my lord. I know how to farm—I once tended an acre of land..."

"Enough. The lord doesn’t need a peasant’s rambling," Old Beard interjected coldly.

His use of the term "mud legs" for these slaves was deliberate—sycophantic, opportunistic, willing to strike others while they’re down. Morally, they stood at the lowest tier.

Not to mention, Ryan had nearly died in the forest because of these very slaves. Beard’s anger had yet to fade.

And so, the rest followed suit—thus forming the very first group of slaves under Baron Ryan.

"What a wicked age," Ryan muttered, glancing at the blend of fear and flattery in their eyes. He couldn’t help but click his tongue.

"Thank the heavens I began this life as a noble."

Hutton Keep

A pot-bellied man was greedily devouring a greasy pig trotter handed to him by a maid. And his hands?

They were busily groping within the almost-transparent garments of two delicate young maids. Beneath the table, another long-haired maid was visibly... occupied.

At that moment, the steward entered, head bowed, casting a covetous glance at the flushed cheeks of the two maids before speaking:

"Lord Hutton, a baron is requesting an audience outside."

"A baron? Who?" Hutton asked absentmindedly, his jowls quivering.

"He says his name is Ryan Rimehart. A young man."

"Ryan? That brat from the Rimehart family? The poor sod who inherited that cursed Frozen Soil Domain?"

Hutton sneered, glancing at the steward.

"And what do you think the little punk wants?"

The steward kept his head bowed. "This... I do not know."

Hutton snorted.

"Fool. That Ryan probably just arrived in that godforsaken place. There’s no food there at all."

"It’s still winter. You can’t grow anything in that frozen wasteland."

"Hahaha! If that brat doesn’t want to starve to death in his territory, he’ll definitely come here to buy grain."

The steward looked up, pretending to be astonished—taking another greedy glance at the two maids.

"Lord Hutton, you are truly wise!"

Hutton clearly enjoyed the flattery. He pulled his hands away and waved them dismissively.

"Very well, let’s go meet this Baron Ryan."

From afar, Ryan saw a rotund figure rolling toward him. All around, the slaves and peasants of Hutton’s domain either knelt or stood frozen in place.

"Hahaha! I’ve heard the Frozen Soil Domain finally has a lord. Baron Ryan, my friend—it is a great pleasure to meet you!"

"Baron Hutton, I’m equally glad to see you."

Although Hutton had sneered when he first heard Ryan’s name, he appeared genuinely happy in person.

And it wasn’t an act. He lacked the talent for subtlety or performance. Besides, Ryan had specifically chosen him for that very reason.

Among the Empire’s nobles—and even across the continent—there was a rather well-developed hierarchy of contempt.

Great nobles looked down on lesser nobles. Lesser nobles from great houses scorned those without such backgrounds. The truly minor nobles looked down on the wandering nobility from fallen families. The wandering nobles mocked those who married into titles.

And the ones who married in? They looked down on former nobles who had fallen so far they were forced to serve as pioneer knights, stripped even of their titles.

The Hutton family had been a hereditary baronial house. In the previous generation, old Baron Hutton made the bold decision to abandon his increasingly encroached-upon lands and relocate to the Northern Wind Province.

Unfortunately, the old baron hadn’t lasted long—succumbing quickly to the province’s brutal winters.

So Hutton still held a certain fondness for Ryan. After all, despite both being barons, Ryan came from a better lineage—and in the great chain of contempt, that made all the difference.