In the northern frontier, the greatest hardship was food.
But Ronan hadn't expected that on his very first day arriving at his own territory—before he even had a chance to think about how to exploit his subjects—he'd already have to face the food shortage issue.
"I'm a noble lord, and I still have to worry about getting you people bread?"
Well… yes.
Ronan sighed and looked at the translucent panel before him. His Spirituality value was gradually increasing.
10, 11, 12, 13...
Eventually, the number settled at 35. Looking at the 26 villagers before him, Ronan began to understand the source of this growth.
Twenty-six villagers, eight trainee knights, and one old steward—figuring out the pattern wasn't hard.
Each subject seemed to contribute a single point of spirituality.
But what exactly did this spirituality do? Could it magically create food?
He wasn't sure, but for now, it clearly couldn't. Ronan could feel that he still needed more spirituality before anything could be activated.
"Go. Call over every villager in Stagwarden Village."
It didn't matter what this place had been called before. Now that Ronan was here, it would be called Stagwarden Village.
Beside him, Darren instinctively stepped forward. His burly and intimidating figure looked like a beast to the terrified villagers.
They scattered like frightened birds, but Darren caught one and threatened him into gathering the rest.
Soon, at the center of the village near a grinding stone, Ronan saw all the subjects of his barony.
Each was wrapped tightly—not in fine cotton garments, but in coarse fabric woven from tree fibers.
Only a few wore clothes made from animal pelts, and their status was clearly higher than the others.
Poor and cold. Ronan finally realized what kind of territory he had inherited.
Still, as his spirituality value rose to over ninety, Ronan decided not to press the villagers for now.
A total of 125 people. Among them were 31 elders who looked like they were on death's doorstep, 10 children barely half his own age, and the original 20-some he'd met earlier. Altogether, they had contributed 84 points of spirituality.
"93 points. I'm still seven short of triggering some change."
Feeling a bit helpless, Ronan put the thought of spirituality aside for now and looked at the villagers of Stagwarden Village.
"Who is the village chief?"
An elderly man with no teeth, leaning heavily on a cane, hobbled forward with the support of a middle-aged man and knelt before Ronan.
"Humble servant Harold greets the Lord."
"Stand up. Is that your son beside you?"
Ronan looked at the middle-aged man beside Old Harold—Henry.
"Yes."
"From today onward, he will be the chief of Stagwarden Village."
"Ah?"
Seeing Ronan frown, the middle-aged man immediately dropped to his knees, bowing so low his forehead touched the icy ground.
"Thank you, my lord!"
Ronan couldn't imagine that this frail old man—who might not even survive the winter—could manage a village. So he simply replaced him.
This was no big deal. As the baron of Frostholm Barony, Ronan had absolute authority. Technically, these villagers were his private property.
After dismissing the surrounding villagers, Ronan kept only Harold. The middle-aged man stood nervously before him, clearly uneasy.
"Don't tell me... that's my baronial castle up there?"
Ronan pointed northward—to the mountain shaped like a rhino horn. Even from here, a fortress could be seen perched on its peak. It had likely been built by the Solar Empire after conquering Northwindshire.
But looking at the howling snow and wind above—and the long-abandoned fortress—Ronan couldn't help cursing whoever had built it.
Just looking at it, he could feel how unbearably cold it must be up there.
"Those damned parasites. That's how they use imperial funds?"
Beside him, Harold dared not speak up and only muttered softly:
"They say... the view from the top is nice."
Nice view? Ronan seriously doubted his current body could survive a night in that place.
"So this territory… other than you hundred or so, is there no one else?"
Harold shook his head.
"Frostholm hasn't had a baron in a long time. The village once had several hundred people, but over time, those with skills gradually left. All the villagers here are freemen. As long as they're careful not to be caught and enslaved, they can survive by working their trades in other lords' lands."
"Later, some blacksmiths and carpenters left. After they settled, others followed."
After hearing this, Ronan said nothing. Instead, he turned to Darren and ordered:
"Go back the way we came. Hunt two beasts. Also, find those bandits made up of runaway slaves. Tell them—if they come here, I'll grant them freeman status!"
Darren looked shocked.
"My lord, those mud-dwellers should be burned alive!"
"Did you not understand my order?"
Ronan's sharp gaze made Darren tremble and fall to his knees.
"Yes, my lord. I'll go at once."
Beside them, the old steward Bernard remained silent, but his eyes filled with growing approval as he watched Ronan.
He believed that Young Master Ronan was becoming more and more like a true noble lord.
Because of what Harold had mentioned, Stagwarden Village now had several empty homes. After Ronan declared all those who'd left as outcasts, these houses became available for use.
"One day, I will live up there."
Ronan looked at the fortress atop the horn-shaped mountain—Rhinestone Keep, standing resolutely in place.
The Flame Dragon Knight Breathing Technique—the knightly breathing method of the Reed family. Ronan knew full well that to establish himself in the north, he needed extraordinary strength.
As a lord, he absolutely could not appear weak.
One day, two days passed. Darren, who had taken five trainee knights with him, still had not returned.
"They... wouldn't have run away, would they?"
Ronan asked Bernard while gnawing on a rock-hard piece of black bread.
"They wouldn't dare," Bernard replied, his face filled with pity as he watched Ronan coldly chew the bread, his eyes burning with murderous resolve.
"Their families are freemen within Count Reed's domain. If they run, their families will all be enslaved. And even if they escape, no other lord would shelter them."
Traitors were hunted across the entire Continent.
On the third day, just after dawn, Darren finally returned with the corpses of five elk and over thirty bruised and ragged vagrants.
Ronan declared ownership over these thirty-four former slaves from other lands. His Spirituality value rose to 127.
[Spirituality: 127]
Ronan could now feel it—he was ready to consume his spirituality and open a portal to The White Expanse.