CHAPTER 52: CHAPTER 52: FIVE HUNDRED, NOT A COIN MORE

"Hmph!"

At the noisy clamor in the hall, Count Winter let out a cold snort. A wave of Saint-rank pressure swept over the room, his gaze sharp and unfriendly.

That 1.5 million gold coin tax had indeed disrupted his original plans—but for anyone to expect him to lead the charge and contribute even more? That was absolutely out of the question.

His Skywolf cavalry had suffered heavy losses, and there were far too many holes in the budget. The 200,000 coins he was already offering annually had been a decision made after family deliberation. There was no room for change.

The Empire had already half-abandoned the Northern Wind Province. If the orcs invaded again, they would be left to fend for themselves. And without money—how could they protect their wealth?

Thinking of this, Count Winter felt somewhat deflated.

Indeed, when the orcs returned, they couldn’t rely solely on themselves.

The three counts exchanged glances and, with silent consensus, slightly loosened their purse strings.

"Given the devastation caused by the orc incursion last year, how about the three of us each provide an additional 50,000 coins annually for the next five years to help cover the gap?"

As Count Winter spoke, his tone was full of sighs. But even that meager 50,000 was enough to draw internal complaints from many of the nobles present.

How much of that yearly one million in Imperial development funds had you three taken over the years? You’ve conveniently forgotten?

"And if we still can’t collect enough..."

"Well, the Empire should understand the hardships of the Northern Wind Province. A shortfall shouldn’t be too surprising."

With that, it was essentially settled: this year’s tax collection would absolutely not reach 1.5 million coins.

They might manage a million—but one and a half? Impossible. Every household had its own set of unspeakable troubles.

Yet, the entire Northern Wind Province was little more than a makeshift troupe. After the three counts had spoken, no one followed up.

The rest was left to the local nobles within each county—sitting there, frowning at the enormous numbers.

The nobles of Lingdu County also gathered at Viscount Miles’ estate in Northwind City.

"Tell me—do you think the Empire even understands what the Northern Wind Province is really like?"

A baron sighed, unable to hold back.

"Even if they know, what difference does it make? My Shama Territory doesn’t even have a single lord yet. At most, we can offer 1,000 gold coins per year."

Hatton spoke up directly. That 1,000-coin figure hit everyone like a dagger to the heart.

"Hatton, your mine produces tens of thousands in annual profit. How can you claim to be short of a mere thousand?"

"What, just because you say it can sell for that much, it does? You buying?"

"Hmph! If Hatton can only give 1,000, then my Crow Territory won’t give more than that either—1,000 coins."

"You’ve got the nerve to say 1,000?"

Hatton shot back, direct and scathing.

"You’ve got three pioneer knights under you—at least three towns’ worth! Your Crow Territory must be pulling in 100,000 gold a year!"

He was, of course, exaggerating wildly. But Baron Roch still couldn’t help smirking.

"100,000? Hatton, don’t be ridiculous. And that mine and those slaves from Knight Walter’s domain? You

took those. I’ll contribute 10,000 this year at most."

"Over my dead body!"

With the addition of newly titled pioneer nobles, Lingdu County now had nine barons. Watching Hatton and Roch bicker, Viscount Miles wore an increasingly pained expression.

"You two, settle down. Since this is a tax, let’s base it on population headcount. Roch, your domain now has more commoners—your share should be higher. Hatton... 1,000 isn’t enough. At least 5,000."

"And Kendler—your domain has the largest population in Lingdu. 15,000 gold coins."

Miles turned to an old man with narrowed eyes. Baron Kendler had long supported the Miles family, but even he frowned at this.

"My domain can’t sustain that much..."

He hadn’t even finished speaking when Viscount Miles’s gaze turned sharp with unspoken pressure.

"Only your domain and the Tundra Territory escaped the orc raids in all of Lingdu."

Hearing this, Baron Kendler said no more. He simply replied:

"My domain can provide 15,000 gold annually for five years. If development falters after that, no more than 5,000."

At this moment, Ryan also stood up. His voice echoed through the chamber.

"You all know exactly what the Tundra Territory is like. 500 gold coins—that’s my absolute limit."

Surprisingly, no one objected. Still, some nobles couldn’t help but scoff. With Ryan contributing so little, the remaining gap would fall on their shoulders.

"If Baron Ryan can’t meet the tax, perhaps he should borrow from the rest of us—500 coins from each house to make up the 5,000."

Baron Roch raised his head arrogantly and smiled at Ryan.

If Ryan dared to ask, he’d dare to lend—noble-debt sealed by reputation, binding even Ryan’s descendants should he die.

"Roch, if you’re that rich, why not lend me some instead?"

Baron Barnes interjected, glancing at Roch, who fell silent.

Baron Barnes was now considered the most militarily powerful baron in Lingdu County beneath the two viscounts—though Roch had no idea what his relationship with Ryan was.

"I’ll give 50,000."

The second viscount of Lingdu, Viscount Dragoon, finally spoke. He looked directly at Viscount Miles.

"If you hand over control of Zero Crossing City to me, I’ll contribute 100,000 per year."

"Hmph."

Viscount Miles gave him a cold, hostile look. There was no way he’d give up control of the county seat. But with that, Dragoon’s offer of 100,000 had put him in a bind.

If he didn’t also offer 100,000 annually, then the other nobles would be left to cover the extra amount—and Dragoon’s family prestige would soon surpass his own.

That damn old bastard!

In that moment, both viscounts were mentally cursing each other to an early grave.

"So this is how rich they really are."

Watching the lively debate unfold, Ryan couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. These nobles—always stingy about paying three, five hundred, or a few thousand coins—suddenly had all this money to throw around.

He was genuinely curious just how much profit they had made off selling their mines.

As Ryan and Hatton left Viscount Miles’s residence and walked along Merchant Street, Ryan couldn’t help but ask:

"Mr. Hatton, does your mine really bring in tens of thousands per year?"

Hatton eyed Ryan cautiously. After seeing Ryan’s soldiers, he had become much more wary of his neighbor.

"Not nearly as much as Roch claimed. If I can pull in ten or twenty thousand in a year, that’s already good. And I still have to buy grain from the Imperial Merchants."

Hatton spoke helplessly. Every year, when spring came to the Northern Wind Province, nearly every noble had to buy grain from the merchant caravans arriving from the south.

The food crisis Ryan’s Tundra Territory faced was shared by many territories in the province—especially after the last orc incursion, which had only widened the gap.