"What’s a bit of cold wind in the Northern Wind Province compared to the Frozen Wastes?"
In the fortress atop Rhinoceros Horn Mountain, Ryan, wrapped in a deerskin cloak, felt much warr.
Looking down at the thriving village at the foot of the mountain, he saw a scene of prosperity. Ever since he brought back food, the entire Frozen Wastes Territory had been plunged into celebration.
Food was the key. But more importantly, no one had expected their lord to be so generous as to give away half of the provisions without asking for any compensation.
"Sotis, free things co at the highest cost."
"Milord, the food is ready."
A maid’s soft voice ca from behind. Not long after, Ryan was seated at a large wooden table, being served by several maids.
He was finally living this kind of life—and this damn feudal system, he thought, had its charms.
Hot, tender venison lted in his mouth. Especially the aroma of fruit preserves stirred his appetite. Ryan couldn’t help but call for Brand.
"Brand, your jam-making skills could sell like hotcakes even in the Imperial Capital."
Brand replied respectfully:
"Mr. Ryan, every follower of the Deer Spirit is both a talented bard and a skilled brewer. The jam is just a small sideline."
"Brewing, huh..."
A look of longing appeared in Ryan’s eyes.
"But that consus a lot of food."
He understood this well. He’d even tasted so of the hundred-year-old stag wine brought by the Deer Spirit villagers. That wasn’t wine—that was liquid gold.
But brewing required grain. And grain—even in the south—was a strategic resource highly valued by the nobility. As for the North?
Just being able to eat and drink one’s fill was a miracle. The idea of having surplus grain to make alcohol was fantasy.
Even the most decadent nobles wouldn’t dare brew on a large scale, because doing so would cost more slave lives than the brutal fourteen-hour shifts in the mines.
Better to take things slowly.
"How is the cultivation of the lanberries going?"
Ryan turned to the old steward Beard, whose white hair now seed full of energy like a mighty eagle.
"The lanberry seeds from the other dinsion are growing well. According to Arnor and the others, in just three months we should have our first harvest. If you wish to brew wine, young master Ryan, fruit wine has decent sales in the Empire."
Old Beard offered this suggestion. As a steward, he didn’t care about the lives of slaves. The comfort of his lord always ca first in his heart.
"One harvest every three months... Two or three tis a year. In the early years, even four tis isn’t unreasonable. Add in hunted at... Still, for over two thousand people in the Frozen Wastes, that’s not enough."
"We still need farmland."
As a transmigrator, Ryan had a strong obsession with farming. He couldn’t go around "borrowing" from others forever, could he?
After finishing his al, Ryan instructed the old steward to gather a group of villagers from the Deer Spirit settlents, along with Brand and his knightly attendants, and head toward the surrounding foothills.
The Frozen Wastes Territory was surrounded by mountains on all sides, with only a few gentle slopes providing access—like a bowl with several missing edges.
Heading south would naturally take one into the Northern Wind Province. But if Ryan didn’t go south, then wherever he developed, the imperial nobles wouldn’t interfere.
Strictly speaking, every lord on the empire’s frontier was a "pioneer lord," free to expand into unclaid lands.
If Ryan wanted arable land for wheat, he had to find a way around these surrounding foothills.
"From the Northern Wind Province heading north, the land becos increasingly frozen. The further north you go, the deeper the permafrost. In the farthest reaches, the soil surface is permanently frozen—nothing can grow there."
"I don’t ask much of you. Find an acre of plantable land, and I’ll give you a silver coin. For every additional acre, I’ll add twenty-five copper coins."
Ryan announced loudly. He knew well that to motivate the people, he had to offer rewards.
And his offer was indeed generous. The only problem? In the Frozen Wastes, money had little use.
But the villagers clearly hadn’t thought of that. At the ntion of silver coins, they beca as frenzied as if injected with stimulant.
They even ignored the fact that the true rulers of these foothills were the hungry beasts forced out of hiding in search of food.
Watching the enthusiastic crowd disperse, Ryan turned to Rosen.
"Take so n and patrol the area. Drive off any wild beasts."
That was all he could do to protect the civilians to a certain extent.
Civilians without even the strength of apprentice knights had only survived in these primitive foothills by adapting over the course of many brutal winters. Finding arable land suitable for wheat was no easy task.
Otherwise, the Frozen Wastes wouldn’t have remained so undesirable. Even when it was unclaid, no one had wanted to develop it.
Baron Ryan’s silver coin reward was not going to be earned easily.
"Birch trees..."
As the lord, Ryan didn’t participate personally. He stood before a tree whose white bark looked as if it had been frosted by snow, marveling aloud.
Birch trees were treasures in their own right. Even naturally shed bark was precious—used in dicine, decoration, and as a material rivaling leather.
To nobles, it was even considered high-end stationery for writing and correspondence.
Looking around, he saw birch trees scattered throughout the foothills—his wealth.
The entire northern frontier was a treasure trove, waiting quietly for him to develop it.
Thinking of this, Ryan began to feel so real anticipation for the North.
"When we return, tell everyone: Trees like these birches—don’t even burn their bark, let alone cut them down for firewood or housing."
Common trees could be used for building hos. For firewood, even being extravagant, pine would suffice. Birch trees had comrcial value in the future.
"As you wish."
Old Beard replied. He didn’t understand why young master Ryan valued these white trees so much, but his job was only to follow orders.
Thinking this, old Beard couldn’t help but feel resentnt toward the peasants and even the slaves.
Young master Ryan had generously allowed them to chop down noble-owned trees to build houses and had taken no money from them—yet these people showed no gratitude at all.
"You must understand: free doesn’t an without cost."
Ryan would always say this to the old steward, who had been steeped in the rigid traditions of House Rihart.
As for exploitation? In Ryan’s view, the nobles of the Empire simply lacked creativity.
About an hour later, soone ca running back in excitent from the distance.
"My lord! We’ve found a large patch of land suitable for farming!"
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