CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 41: SO MANY NOBLES

A group of more than a dozen people trudged through the wind and snow, quickly arriving in front of a tower—it was an estate.

From the windows, flickering lights could be seen. Clearly, someone had already noticed their arrival, but it was too cold outside for anyone to willingly come out.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Brand pounded forcefully on the heavy wooden door. It was unclear how long the door had gone unopened, and under the weight of his blows, shards of ice scattered across the ground.

"No need to call out. Let’s just go in."

As Brand forcefully broke through the door, they weren’t met with any resistance.

Walking into the courtyard of this somewhat Gothic-style manor fortress, they soon came before the inner door. This time, not even the strength of the Bronze Knight could budge it.

"What a clever design. A few locking mechanisms can seal a door weighing over a thousand pounds."

Ryan had just finished speaking when a voice came from behind the door.

"We have no food left. Go away."

"We’re not here to take your food. We’ve come to bring you warmth and supplies."

But upon hearing Brand’s words, the people inside visibly panicked.

"Are you cultists?!"

"Cultists?" Brand looked confused.

"We’re not cultists. Open the door—there are only a few of us. What are you so afraid of?"

Ryan stepped forward, his voice steady and commanding:

"I am Viscount Whitman. Open the door!"

After just a few breaths, the door creaked open.

The person who had opened the door took one look at Ryan’s figure and paled.

"You’re not Viscount Whitman."

At that moment, more people approached from around them, all holding weapons. But it was obvious they weren’t well-trained—many were struggling just to hold their arms steadily.

"I may not be Viscount Whitman, but I am still a noble."

Ryan reached toward his helmet and removed a rhombus-shaped mithril faceplate, revealing a face that clearly did not belong to a commoner.

"You..."

The young man hesitated, then finally said:

"I’ll take you to see the barons."

After passing through several sealed doors, Ryan noticed that the interior had become much brighter, and there were even soldiers on guard, although they looked tired and listless.

At last, Ryan was led to a dining hall—where he saw many nobles.

Yes, not just one. There were eight nobles present. They were finely dressed, their hair immaculately styled, but in stark contrast, the mush in their elegant silver plates did not match their noble status.

"Mashed potatoes?" Ryan was surprised. He actually saw potatoes. In an instant, warmth seemed to surge through him.

These things must be good at withstanding the cold, he thought.

Sensing Ryan’s intense gaze, the nobles assumed he had come to steal their food, and one by one, they began eating faster.

Only after finishing their food did the noble barons finally turn their attention to Ryan.

"Who are you? I don’t recall any noble of your status living in the nearby estates."

"I am Ryan, Baron of the Frozen Lands."

"You all don’t seem to be doing very well?"

Ryan looked at the barons. Clearly, under the grip of Eternal Winter, they had huddled together for survival.

"Hmph. And are you doing any better? In this cursed weather, can you even light a fireplace?"

A fireplace? That’s actually a good idea. How had he forgotten?

"Perhaps... I actually can."

Ryan looked at the nobles and asked directly,

"How many people do you still have here?"

"What do you mean?" one of the barons asked warily.

"I can help you escape this deadly winter. But let me be clear—once you leave here, you will lose all of your noble titles. From that point on, you will be commoners."

But the group seemed to ignore the second half of his sentence. Their eyes widened, and they crowded around Ryan.

"You can really take us to the southern city with the magical furnaces?"

"Take me! I’ll give you gold—ten thousand coins!"

"I have jewels—all yours—just get me to the South!"

"Enough!"

Ryan cut through the noise.

"One at a time. Tell me what you’re willing to offer. But first—aren’t you going to introduce yourselves?"

After that, the nobles seemed to regain their manners.

"I am Baron Arzel."

"Arzel? What is your relation to Viscountess Whitman?"

"You mean Shala? You’ve seen her? How is she? Is she well?"

"She’s doing well. Has a small garden. Grows flowers and plants. No longer suffers from the bitter wind."

"Good. That’s good."

Baron Arzel relaxed visibly, and his trust in Ryan grew.

After hearing all the barons introduce themselves, Ryan continued:

"The place I intend to take you to is not the South, but another world—my territory."

"Once there, your noble titles will mean nothing. No one will recognize you as nobles, even if you look the part."

"At best, they’ll see you as wandering nobles. And wandering nobles aren’t much better off than commoners. So understand this: if you want to survive, you will no longer be nobles."

"Everyone here—including the soldiers who once served you—will become my subjects."

The nobles were stunned into silence.

Eventually, Baron Arzel was the first to recover.

"What you’re saying... is true?"

"I have no reason to lie. And your daughter is in my territory. You can see her again."

"Very well. I agree. Once in your territory, I’ll live as a commoner. But you must allow me to keep my family name."

"Agreed."

Ryan nodded, though he had no intention of simply trusting them.

"Then swear it—in the name of the Lord of Dawn."

Whether or not the Lord of Dawn’s influence extended to this world was unclear. But in the Empire, in places where the Dawn Lord’s light shone, breaking an oath brought consequences far worse than death.

At this, one of the barons couldn’t help but protest:

"You can’t strip us of our noble rights! I demand you let us retain the status of wandering nobles!"

"My territory has no place for wandering nobles."

Wandering nobles meant potential rivals for loyalty. What if the commoners believed in them and followed? That was a risk Ryan couldn’t afford.

"But we are all mage apprentices! How can we be reduced to the same status as dirt-footed peasants?"

"We were born noble!"

Ryan looked at them with a hint of helplessness.

"Fine. Let’s compromise. I won’t let you live as nobles in my territory. You must swear the oath."

"But if you’re willing to pay the price, I can grant you a plot of barren land where you may build your own manors and farm the land. However, your land and all its harvests will be taxed."

"This is my bottom line. I may let you become wealthy landowners, and in time, with enough effort from your families, you may even earn noble titles again."

"But in another world, who will know your noble blood? Aside from me, no one will care where you came from. You can call yourselves nobles, but no one will believe it."

"Still, becoming manor lords means you will be allowed to hire servants, guards, and even slaves. In the future, this gives your family a better chance than commoners to rise to nobility again."

After Ryan finished, the eight barons fell silent.

Eventually, following Baron Arzel’s lead, they all agreed to Ryan’s terms—and swore the oath.