"Black Goat Orcs—cruel and evil."
"But to many brainless orc tribes, they’re seen as symbols of wisdom. Goats themselves symbolize intelligence, and the Black Goat tribe certainly doesn’t lack for that."
"This is troubleso..."
"The Empire doesn’t fear the orcs heading south en masse. Every winter, the northern orcs invade the warm southern lands. The Empire is humanity’s first line of defense."
"But if the orcs invade with strategy and intelligence, then the nobles of the Empire will suffer heavy losses."
"I wonder if Northwind Province can withstand them."
"This should be the first ti the Black Goat tribe has appeared in Northwind Province."
In the darkness, Ryan could already imagine the terrified expressions on the faces of Northwind’s nobles when they heard that the Black Goat Orcs had arrived.
"Brand, make preparations—we head to Lingdu City tomorrow."
With that, Ryan returned to the baronial keep.
At dawn the next day, when Ryan woke up, Brand was already training the new knight squires.
Indeed, the appearance of the Black Goat Orcs had made Ryan feel a sense of urgency. Though food was limited, he still chose to bless fifty more individuals, bringing his army to nearly ninety soldiers.
Any more than that, and the food supply simply wouldn’t be enough.
"This ti, I’m bringing back so blacksmiths. That several-thousand catties of refined iron won’t forge itself—once it’s made into armor and knight swords, Brand and the others will be ten tis stronger in battle."
"Also, I need to purchase a large batch of food. The territory’s population keeps growing—we need enough to survive the winter."
"I’ll leave the new fifty soldiers here with you. If the orcs launch a full assault, abandon everything outside—focus on defending Rhinohorn Mountain. If even that can’t be held... then escape."
Beard solemnly dressed Ryan in baronial ceremonial attire. Hearing Ryan’s voice, the old steward couldn’t hold back his tears.
"Don’t worry, Young Master Ryan. Even if I die, I’ll defend your territory."
"And if it truly cannot be held... I’ll take as many orcs with as I can, and send the Viscountess to Northwind Province."
"Huh?"
Ryan looked at Beard, unsure what had gotten into the old man.
"I’m entrusting this to you. Of everyone in the territory—you’re the only one I trust."
Ryan stepped out of the keep, taking in the frozen world around him. Yesterday’s celebrations had already ended, and the people of the land had returned to their fervent labor—everyone wanted to beco the next Bain family.
As for Ryan, he took the great-horned deer and ten ox carts, and once again set out for Northwind Province.
With thirty soldiers, Brand, and over twenty slaves, they traveled light and fast.
Through the mountains and forests, Ryan couldn’t help but think about the orcs’ southern movent.
"Maybe... not building roads for now is a good thing. That way, even if orcs co, they can only appear in small numbers in the Frozen Soil Territory."
His territory was relatively defensible—surrounded like a bowl with natural protection. And if it ca down to it, Rhinohorn Mountain was a natural chokepoint. If Brand’s strength was high enough, a low wall built halfway up the mountain could make a real difference.
Besides, every year orcs invaded the southern lands, yet the Empire remained unshaken. Maybe he was overthinking things.
After a day of travel, they crossed the forest and reached the frozen marshlands, where the road flattened, and the pace quickened.
Passing through Baron Hatton’s domain, Ryan greeted the baron—and couldn’t help but wonder what decision Hatton would make when he learned of the orc invasion.
Ryan chose not to tell him about the Black Goat Orcs. Their relationship wasn’t that close—and besides, Ryan was planning to sell that information for a good price.
"Ryan, my friend, are you sure that bearskin rug isn’t negotiable?"
Baron Hatton asked again. He had taken a keen interest in the flawless, pure-colored bearskin rug Ryan carried. Even in the Empire’s core, such a pristine hide would fetch an astronomical price.
Hatton wanted to snatch the deal—owning such a rare item would give him great prestige among the barons.
Recently, Hatton had been making efforts to integrate into noble society, which explained his desperation.
"Baron Hatton, I’m planning to sell it to the rchant guilds in Lingdu City. What kind of price could you possibly offer?"
Hearing this, Hatton deflated. He knew he couldn’t outbid the guilds.
"If you get sothing else good next ti, promise to sell to first."
"Next ti, for sure."
The caravan continued on. By sunset the next day, Lingdu City—the only city in Lingdu County—appeared before them.
Its two- to three-story-high walls had kept it safe from many orc attacks over the years.
As for the fine collectibles in Ryan’s wagons? Those were from Viscount Whitman’s estate. Items from another world, combined with a viscount’s private collection—these were treasures of imnse value.
So long as the news of the orc invasion hadn’t yet spread, no one had reason to lowball him.
But Ryan’s first order of business wasn’t comrce—it was to pay respects to Viscount Miles.
This was noble protocol—and gaining the viscount’s favor would only raise the perceived value of Ryan’s goods.
What Ryan didn’t expect was that Viscount Miles was even more formal and aloof than anticipated.
It wasn’t until noon the following day, while staying in a city manor lent by another baron, that Ryan finally received word from the viscount’s steward: he would be granted an audience at midday.
"Give my regards to Baron Barnes."
Handing over a finely crafted goose feather quill in its ornate box, Ryan added:
"Please convey Baron Ryan’s greetings to your lord."
"I will be sure to pass on the baron’s ssage."
Lingdu City had a population of just a few tens of thousands, yet Viscount Miles’s estate occupied nearly a fifth of the entire city.
The remaining nine-tenths were dotted with other nobles’ properties and rchant guilds. In truth, the common folk were simply dwelling on land owned by others.
Through a tall iron gate, across over a hundred ters of stone walkway, into a mansion rich in history and grandeur, through three or four more side doors, Ryan finally found himself before a massive dining table.
There sat the elderly, white-haired Viscount Miles, along with his seven children.
"So you are Ryan Rihart?"
The old viscount looked at the young man’s face.
Ryan’s warm and refined smile imdiately won favor among the ladies present. He perford a perfect noble salute, then lowered his fist from his chest.
"Ryan greets Viscount Miles. I’ve long heard that the Miles family descends from the legendary hawk-hunters. Seeing you today, I finally understand why the Miles family has endured since the days of old, for over three centuries."
"Hahaha! The Rihart family is not to be underestimated either—descendants of dragon-slayers, are you not? Co, Ryan, sit beside ."
Clearly, the mutual flattery between nobles was just the right way to win Viscount Miles’s favor.
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