As Ryan considered how the Northwind Province was far from as peaceful as it appeared on the surface, he finally returned to the topic at hand and asked Hatton:
"Mr. Hatton, is warhorse trading an annual event in Lingdu City?"
"Of course. Every spring, when the weather thaws, merchant guilds from the south bring quality goods to Northwind Province in bulk."
"Lingdu City is already considered remote, so not many merchant guilds go there, but there are still a dozen or so."
"The most eye-catching each year is the Imperial Chamber of Commerce, which is under royal control. The highland warhorses all come from them."
Ryan thought for a moment and asked again:
"Only a hundred horses?"
"Yes, only a hundred," Hatton replied.
Ryan was momentarily speechless. Baron Hatton was even less clever than he had thought.
So he said bluntly, "The highland pastures that breed warhorses are located even farther south near the imperial capital. Transporting them all the way to Northwind Province is a massive effort. How could there be only one hundred horses for the entire Lingdu County, one of the seven counties?"
"Just think—there are so many nobles and knights in Lingdu County. How could a hundred horses possibly be enough?"
"Exactly," Hatton replied, eyes showing confusion. His not-so-bright mind clearly couldn’t come up with a better answer.
"So, there must be far more than a hundred warhorses. Before the Imperial Chamber of Commerce puts them on sale, the surplus is already distributed."
"That hundred is just what they’re willing to share—because they don’t dare keep all of it for themselves."
A few horses meant little compared to the four or five hundred people a typical barony could raise, including serfs.
After speaking, Ryan glanced at Baron Hatton.
"It seems that your relationship with Viscount Miles and Viscount Dragon isn’t that great."
His words made Hatton’s face flush with embarrassment. He nearly lost his temper at Ryan, but remembering the purpose of this trip, he managed to calm himself.
Still, in his heart, he noted that once this matter was settled, he would have to build better ties with the two viscounts.
Among nobles, matters weren’t always settled with swords—often, they required social maneuvering.
At the same time, he developed a slight distaste for Ryan.
Hypocrisy and acting were inherent skills for any noble, yet Ryan had exposed Hatton’s weaknesses so openly in front of others—not exactly proper noble conduct.
Catching the flicker of emotion on Hatton’s face, Ryan was inwardly satisfied.
He didn’t want his name to spread too quickly among the nobles of Northwind Province. After this conversation, Baron Hatton probably wouldn’t be singing his praises to others.
For Ryan, that was ideal. With his spiritual gift to open dimensional gates, he preferred to quietly grow powerful in the Frozen Wasteland.
The somewhat tense conversation concluded, and the group picked up speed. By noon, Ryan had spotted the iron mine hidden among the hills.
After many skirmishes and disputes, the mine had been fully occupied by Knight Watt. Baron Hatton hadn’t received any income from it for months.
What Ryan found exasperating was that even though their large group of several hundred had come within 200–300 meters of the mine, no one had noticed them.
Apparently, Knight Watt wasn’t as clever as he thought.
After waiting a dozen minutes or so, a mining slave spotted the dark mass of approaching troops while hauling ore and started shouting in terror, throwing the whole mine into chaos.
Soon after, some squire knights roared to restore order, and about 700–800 people assembled outside the mine—without any real formation. At the front stood over a hundred combat-ready soldiers from Knight Watt’s domain.
Hatton looked in shock at the iron-armored figure standing at the head of the group. "Watt! Why are you here!?"
"Hahahaha! Hatton, I knew you wouldn’t give up so easily, so I came early to wait for you. You’ve got less patience than I thought. But that’s good—it means I can head home sooner. I’ve nearly rotted sleeping in these mines!"
Watt clearly anticipated Hatton’s refusal to relinquish the iron mine. Now he felt vindicated in his strategy. However, his gaze landed on Ryan beside Hatton, and his brows furrowed.
He hadn’t seen Ryan before, but the noble air surrounding him was unmistakable.
After a brief moment of shock, Hatton smirked. "So what if you planned ahead, Watt? Today, you’re giving up that mine."
He turned to White and ordered, "Go!"
Once again, Ryan was speechless. After the lords exchanged shouts, the serfs on both sides charged with pitchforks and wooden spears—utterly uncoordinated.
Still, the sight of over a thousand people clashing was enough to stir the blood. Ryan noticed Hatton at his side clench his knight’s sword tightly, his face flushed red.
"Ryan, I need your help," Hatton said. After repeatedly losing to Watt, his confidence was clearly lacking.
"Don’t worry, Mr. Hatton. We’re friends."
Ryan nodded toward Brand. The knight urged his steed forward to join the battle between White and Watt, while thirty-one squire retainers formed two phalanxes and charged as well.
Ryan wasn’t a commander—he couldn’t change the nature of the battle. But controlling his own men was enough.
Against a force of starving, emaciated serfs, the disciplined squires cut through their ranks with ease, smashing into Knight Watt’s trained soldiers.
Ryan’s troops, blessed by the Deer Spirit, quickly gained the upper hand. Watt’s soldiers had no real combat formation and were no match.
Of course, the most critical battle was between the three formal knights.
White and Brand almost overwhelmed Knight Watt. Even though Watt wore expensive, custom-made armor, against two knights, he couldn’t hold out for long.
As Watt was struck from his horse and crashed to the ground, the battle between the three shifted from horseback to foot.
Truth be told, none of the three were particularly adept at mounted combat. Ironically, Brand, who had only trained for a few hours, performed the best.
The heavy fall left Knight Watt struggling to rise. As he did, White was already upon him, thrusting his sword.
At that moment, White’s eyes were filled with excitement. He was trying to earn merit—enough to one day obtain a pioneer decree from the Hatton family and be granted land.
But just as the sword was about to pierce him, Knight Watt—fully armored—grabbed the blade with one hand.
A faint dark mist seemed to ripple across the surface of his armor.
Terror filled White’s eyes as he shouted.