On the third day after regrouping, the ancient stronghold of Northern Flower saw 2,700 soldiers and 1,200 slaves finally set out under the leadership of three nobles, advancing toward the Icepeak Forest.
These three nobles, of course, each commanded their own forces. But Lien, driven by instinct, gravitated toward Ryan, and eventually handed over command of his army to him.
"Baron Ryan, I only want to train a powerful army for my father."
Lien’s words revealed how he was gradually breaking free from Baron Hatton’s influence, realizing that military power is the foundation of noble authority.
"A worthy goal," Ryan replied. "But tell —do you know what makes an army truly powerful?"
Lien pondered for a mont. His eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at the fully armored knight regint behind Ryan.
"An army composed entirely of transcendent warriors. If they were all knights, then they’d be invincible."
"No," Ryan corrected. "A powerful army is not defined solely by the strength of its individuals. That would be a knightly order, not an army."
"What makes an army truly formidable is battle discipline."
"Do you understand what that ans?"
"I don’t," Lien admitted humbly. He knew full well that such military insight was rare among nobles, and listening attentively now was a way of building the Hatton family’s long-term strength.
Ryan raised his hand and pointed to the rear troops.
"Go tell your n—ten soldiers per row. If soone falls behind into the row behind—kill him. If soone marches too fast and steps into the front row—kill him."
"If you can’t manage your army, then leave mine imdiately. I won’t allow undisciplined soldiers to interfere."
Lien left with confusion written on his face. Soon after, angry shouting rang out from the rear, and then, after one soldier was executed, silence fell.
Two days later, when Ryan saw the Carllan River, Lien stood there in stunned silence, shocked by how orderly and coordinated his own 400-man force had beco.
"Now go. Organize so n to chop down trees and build a bridge."
Because of the location of Barnes’s territory, the part of the river they needed to cross had no bridge. One had to be built from scratch—such was common in warfare across this world, where terrain always played a key role.
As Harrington led a team into the nearby woods, Ryan rode over to where Baron Barnes’s army was encamped.
"Ryan, that mithril armor of yours—will you sell a set?"
Barnes looked longingly at Ryan’s gleaming mithril armor. He was sure that no one in the entire Northwind Province, aside from the three earls, could afford sothing so extravagant.
"Not for sale," Ryan replied with a smile.
He knew Barnes, who still wore no knight’s armor even now, would likely just hoard it if he had one.
"Barnes, there’s no noble etiquette on the battlefield. When do you think we should advance?"
"How about tomorrow morning we cross the river?"
"Once we cross, we’ll be just half a day from the Icepeak Forest. At any mont, we could encounter the armies of those two viscounts."
Then Ryan proposed another idea:
"Why not let them fight each other first? If we arrive a day late, there’s a good chance they’ll have killed each other off."
Barnes’s eyes lit up.
"Let’s do that. That’s exactly what I was thinking."
Ryan smiled and withdrew, riding to the bank of the rushing Carllan River, gazing toward the distant Icepeak Forest. In the distance, he could just make out the forest’s lone mountain, its summit blanketed in snow.
...
A day earlier, the forces of Viscount Dragón and Viscount Miles had already arrived at the Icepeak Forest, occupying its eastern and western flanks. After a full day of failed negotiations among the nobles, tension among the soldiers reached a boiling point.
By midday, both Viscount Dragón, clad in knight’s armor, and Viscount Miles, robed as a mage, appeared at the valley where the mana crystal vein had been discovered—a gorge 350 ters long.
"Miles, you’re old,"
Dragón shouted, raising his knight’s sword to point at the distant viscount across the gorge.
"Still daring to co here? Planning to die before this winter ends?"
He laughed madly, his words filled with unrestrained arrogance.
"Leave now, Miles. Abandon Zeroth City, and I’ll let you take your wealth. But if you wait until I break through, you won’t have a single coin left!"
On the other side, Viscount Miles, white-haired but still refined in appearance, stood silently. The air of death clung to him—everyone could see it. He looked ready to return to the embrace of the Lord of Dawn at any mont.
"Dragón, you’re too impatient. You ca here without first eliminating Barnes and the others. And Northwind Province doesn’t belong solely to us in Zeroth County."
"So what? They wouldn’t dare set foot here," Dragón sneered.
"As for Barnes... just a bunch of fledglings. Even their fathers didn’t dare face in battle. I understand their youthful arrogance—but I’ll teach them who the true ruler of Zeroth County is."
"Fathers? That includes the Baron of the Frozen Territory too?"
Dragón hesitated, then snorted coldly.
"Miles, you really are old. Today, my army will send you back to your grave!"
With that, Dragón turned his horse and rode to the other side of the gorge.
Ancient war horns sounded. The earth trembled.
As Dragón and the gathered nobles shouted their house war cries, their soldiers had already begun to charge.
anwhile, Viscount Miles ordered his mages to tear spell scrolls. Arcane energy surged through his troops, enhancing their speed.
"Soldiers, the glory of war calls you! Riches and rank await! In this war, you will rise!"
"Go! Slay our enemies! Raise their heads on your weapons! Make all who see you tremble in fear! Let your nas be carved into the stone of this forest! Let your blood lt the ice that has never thawed!"
Dragón’s words sent his soldiers into a frenzy. They roared and surged forward, clashing violently with Miles’s n.
"Ready the cavalry!"
Dragón’s eyes glead sharply as he watched the chaos unfold.
"Don’t hold back your knights and warhorses. If we win this, we’ll all walk away with more than we imagined."
"Of course, my lord viscount. Our cavalry are yours to command."
One of the nearby nobles answered. He, too, was mounted and ready to lead the charge.
This was Enzo Dragón, the viscount’s son, who had personally defeated Miles’s second son and earned the title of baron.
Behind him, nearly 500 cavalry ford ranks.
"Enzo, my son, you’ll bring victory,"
Viscount Dragón placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. The young baron’s eyes blazed with fire.
"Father, this war will go exactly as you’ve foreseen."
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