"Hahahaha! Didn't expect this, did you? I used up three entire knight's potions to finally break through."
"Now that I possess battle aura, what do you have to fight me with?!"
Sir Warren laughed wildly, even finding time to try poaching Baron Hudson's allies.
"Wyatt, we've known each other for years. Why not join me instead? Following that useless Hudson, you'll never become a noble."
In the distance, seeing the dark battle aura rising from Sir Warren's body, Ronan was also somewhat surprised.
"Sir Warren is actually a Bronze Knight?"
"He's got guts," Ronan murmured. Advancing from a regular knight to a Bronze Knight must've come at a steep price—he may have emptied his entire fief.
Beside him, Hudson grew completely tense and stammered,
"Ronan, what do we do now? Should we retreat?"
Ronan ignored him, eyes fixed on Warren's aura. After a moment of inspection, he relaxed.
"Don't worry, Lord Hudson. Warren doesn't practice the Nightmare Knight breathing technique of the Morgans Duchy ducal family. Even as a Bronze Knight, his strength is limited."
A proper knight might be able to kill a hundred slaves, but against a hundred trained soldiers? He'd be dead. The strength gap among low-tier knights wasn't insurmountable.
"But still…" Hudson gritted his teeth.
No matter how incompetent he might be, he didn't want to see his already limited forces consumed here.
But in the next moment, his eyes went wide with shock.
At some point, Brandon had closed in on Warren. He had discarded the iron sword borrowed from Hudson and now wielded a dagger crafted from a stag's antler, plunging it toward Warren with force.
Though battle aura clung to his armor—solid and thick—a flicker of fear crossed Warren's face.
He realized that Brandon's strength actually surpassed his own.
The sharp dagger, after a brief resistance, pierced through the armor.
Warren grabbed at Brandon's hand in disbelief, but his strength rapidly drained away.
Their eyes locked—Brandon's bloodshot gaze meeting Warren's bewildered one—and in that moment, a stag's roar seemed to echo in Warren's mind.
Boom!
The heavy knight armor crashed to the ground. A pool of blood flowed out from beneath it.
It wasn't Sir Wyatt who reacted first, but the surrounding Warren soldiers.
They had been stationed just beyond the perimeter but were completely held back by the thirty knight retainers from the Frostholm Barony and couldn't break through to save their lord.
With Warren down, some soldiers dropped their weapons and fell to their knees.
Others, still confused, were quickly cut down in the chaos.
"The knight is dead!"
Panic and hopeless cries rang out across the battlefield, and in an almost surreal moment, the fighting ground to a halt.
Even the peasant soldiers, unsure of which knight had died, stopped fighting immediately.
"He... he's dead?"
Baron Hudson stared wide-eyed. Even he, who lacked true knightly strength, could see Warren's fall.
"Hahahaha!" Hudson burst into laughter—then quickly grew uneasy.
He turned to Ronan. "Ronan, this…"
Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, in his heart he had acknowledged that Sir Warren had the potential to become a noble.
Once the Solar Empire's internal struggles settled, Warren—with his strength and knightly domain—could've easily earned a baron title.
But now that potential baron had died—in a war with his own domain.
Even Hudson couldn't help but worry about repercussions from other nobles.
"What's there to worry about, Lord Hudson?" Ronan smiled calmly.
"As long as Warren remained a frontier knight, that's all he'd ever be. A frontier knight dying in battle? Who's going to hold us accountable? Many such nobles have died over the past few decades."
Ronan deliberately emphasized "us", and sure enough, Hudson calmed down.
Safety in numbers—an eternal truth.
"Right. Warren was just a frontier knight. Even the Morgans family can't say anything."
"Exactly. He only married into the Morgans family. I, on the other hand, am a blood relative of the Reed family."
Ronan reinforced Hudson's confidence again.
"Now then, shouldn't we be thinking about something else?" Ronan's voice was like the whisper of a devil, tempting Hudson.
Hudson's breathing grew heavy.
What happens when one fief wins a war against another?
Plunder.
Everything the loser had—gold, women, slaves—all fell within the spoils of war.
"Let's go, quickly, to Sir Warren's domain!"
Without another word, Hudson left the iron mine behind and rushed toward Wattendale with his men.
The slaves and the Redstone Iron Mine weren't going anywhere, but the people in Wattendale?
That was another story.
Wattam Manor was closer to the mine than Hudson's town, and in their excitement, the two barons brought only squires with them.
Soon, they reached the village called Rottam Village.
Warren had named the village himself—a sign of his ambitions.
Rottam Village could one day become Rottam Town, or even Rottam City.
But now, everything here belonged to Ronan and Hudson.
The soldiers stormed into the village. Sir Wyatt shouted loudly:
"Warren is dead! From this moment forward, everything here belongs to Lord Hudson… and Lord Ronan!"
The villagers were stunned at first, but none dared to protest.
It seemed that across the Solar Empire, no noble had ever lied about such a thing.
Charging in, Wyatt kicked open the doors of Wattam Manor, and chaos quickly erupted throughout the village.
Naturally, Ronan and Hudson didn't need to get their hands dirty—they just waited.
…
"Only this much gold?!" Hudson roared, furious, accusing his soldiers of stealing.
But soon, two female beastkin slaves with feline features drew all his attention.
His eyes practically glued themselves to their scantily clad forms as he began tearing at their clothing.
Ultimately, the spoils were far less than the two barons had hoped.
700–800 gold coins in a pinewood chest
7 or 8 sparkling gems
300+ silver coins
Over 12,000 copper coins
For a knight on the verge of baronship, it wasn't much.
Hudson's few warhorses were worth more.
"Looks like Warren paid an even steeper price than we thought to become a Bronze Knight."
But wealth wasn't limited to currency. In this, Hudson was even more experienced than Ronan.
"Tear it down! That tree is Winter Mist Pine—dig it up and replant it at my estate.
And those houses—built from enchanted oak—take them apart too!"
Real estate and materials were part of noble wealth.
If fields and forests could be hauled away, Hudson wouldn't hesitate.
Beyond that...
Hudson looked at the several hundred villagers and slaves, then waved decisively.
"From now on, you all belong to me, Lord Hudson!"
Most people reacted with numb silence. Some faces turned grim, while a smaller number ingratiated themselves immediately.
"Lord Hudson, our family are free citizens—look, here's our free citizen certificate."
Hudson didn't even glance at it.
"Warren stole my iron mine. I haven't even settled that debt. He owed me thousands of gold coins—I'll be reclaiming that from this domain."
"Selling you off is just breaking even."
The civilians didn't panic. With fawning expressions, some even pulled out hidden silver coins and offered them to Hudson.
Seeing this, Hudson finally smiled.
"Looks like you really are free citizens."
He ordered his soldiers to gather all the silver into a chest.
The villagers, though still standing, now wore expressions of despair.
Free citizen or slave—more often than not, it was simply whatever a noble declared.
And in a domain where the lord was dead, civilians had no protection at all.
Nobles had countless ways to exploit civilians and reduce them to slaves.
"You must have some ability if you were free citizens.
Want to come live in my barony?" Hudson asked casually.
Immediately, a crowd pledged allegiance.
They didn't have much choice. Still, some saw opportunity in the lawless state of Warren's former domain and stayed behind to try their luck.
Gold, silver, jewels, timber, buildings, people—everything that could be stripped, was.
Only then did Ronan and Hudson begin dividing the loot.