Brandt Establishes His Authority

Brandt Establishes His Authority

Hearing Harrington Clayton's voice, Ryan could not help taking a deep breath.

After several months of painstaking effort, all the wealth he possessed was not even worth half as much as this convoy.

Was this the terrifying wealth possessed by the Empire's most powerful noble families?

Ryan believed that these were things every baron sent out by the Clayton Family possessed—enough to surpass ninety percent of the Empire's barons—yet to the entire Count Clayton Family, they were insignificant.

With just these things, no matter how corrupt or wasteful a baron might be, when he died, his baronial territory would still remain powerful. It would be impossible for it to decline.

Items worth two hundred thousand Gold Coins had been placed before Ryan, yet he was not particularly excited.

Sooner or later, he could obtain these things by himself.

But he had to admit that obtaining them on his own would take quite some time, which was different from having them appear before him right now.

And the moment he saw these things, Ryan knew that his status had changed.

Not only within the Imperial Noble circles, but even more so among the nobles of Northwind Province.

Because these things appearing in Baron Ryan's territory represented that Count Clayton, who had returned to the Empire, had accepted the outcome forced upon him by those Imperial nobles before his return—the outcome of having his achievements buried.

He had marched thousands of miles into the Northlands, shattered a Mammoth-folk tribe, and brought back divine achievements. Yet Count Clayton no longer intended to pursue the matter of a baronial title—moreover, a baronial title in Northwind Province.

Then Ryan Clayton, once an unremarkable and overlooked child among Count Clayton's offspring, had gained an entirely different status in that instant.

He was not merely a baron. Beneath that baronial title lay achievements great enough to shake the heavens.

At that thought, Ryan suddenly lifted his head and smiled at the bright sunlight.

He would tell those nobles that this baronial title would become the greatest mistake in their political struggle.

Harrington Clayton was somewhat stunned, as were the other four Claytons beside him.

Before coming here, they had learned that Ryan Clayton was the most obscure among the Count's dozen or so children. The Frozen Earth Territory under his command was the Empire's northernmost frontier, buried in the Northlands beneath winter and snowstorms, with no room for development whatsoever.

They had already prepared for the worst. After all, within the Clayton Family, no one dared defy that Count. Much less them, people who bore the Clayton surname but were still merely the Count's servants.

Yet the development of the Frozen Earth Territory seemed far better than they had imagined.

The parade ground where the military camp stood had been built with the finest timber. The ground for the Highland Warhorses' stable had also been carefully selected, with soil brought in bit by bit rather than simply finding a patch of land and allowing the warhorses' hooves to wear down. Even the iron training equipment had clearly been made with great care and must have been strictly supervised.

What surprised Harrington most was the suit of iron armor hanging in the center of the wall.

The armor was even more refined than the one he wore. With the discerning eye fostered by a noble family education, he could tell that every joint was composed of numerous components, allowing a knight's joints to move more flexibly in battle. The chainmail inner layer around the chest, like a dense fishing net, ensured protection without producing the chest-tightening, oppressive feeling of other armor.

A knight's heart was the most active part of his body. Such a design was more suitable for knights than any other armor.

As for the helmet, it fit perfectly, while the faceplate left only a narrow cross-shaped slit that did not extend to the edges. The instant Harrington saw the armor, he felt a sense of awe.

It was as though a majestic, solemn knight stood before him.

"There can't be many suits of armor like this, right?"

Harrington asked, shaken.

"Of course not. It took ten blacksmiths working together for a full month and a half just to forge this one set."

A voice suddenly came from behind them. Harrington and the others spun around, startled. They had not noticed anyone approaching.

Brandt stood with his arms folded, looking at the five of them.

"The lord said that from now on, you'll be commanders over the soldiers under me. I'd like to see what you're capable of."

"What?"

Hearing Brandt's words, Harrington's face flushed red. He had come to the Frozen Earth Territory, yet under a baron of the same Clayton Family, he could not even become the army's highest commander?

In an instant, humiliation and a knight's pride became unbearable. He drew the longsword at his waist.

"I challenge you to a duel—a duel to the death!"

"Forget a duel to the death. You're a Clayton too. The lord definitely wouldn't want you dead."

After saying that, Brandt walked outside. "The five of you—if even one of you can beat me, the position of Legion Commander is yours."

On Rhino Horn Mountain, Ryan watched the battle in the military camp below with great interest. It was being observed by the one hundred and fifty soldiers who had just arrived.

"Do you think they can win?"

Old Beard and Little Beard both stood behind Ryan. The Old Steward merely smiled without speaking, while Little Beard hesitated somewhat.

"Mr. Harrington and the others are all knights trained by the Clayton Family, and they cultivate the Blaze Dragon Knight Breathing Technique. They shouldn't lose, right?"

He did not even know where this Brandt had come from.

"Is that so?"

Ryan said with a smile, his eyes fixed motionlessly on the battle below.

"Come!"

The Spirit of the Stag roared. Blood-colored battle aura surged around Brandt's body, and he showed no fear of the blazing red aura that resembled flames. With immense strength, his fists smashed toward Harrington.

Blaze Dragon Breathing. A faint breath escaped Harrington's nose and mouth, like breathing and yet also like a dragon's breath.

The sheen of his skin darkened. Forget a pair of flesh-and-blood fists—he would not fear even a massive metal shield.

The two tremendous forces collided, and both men were somewhat surprised. Brandt was surprised that someone could match his strength, but Harrington's surprise was entirely different.

He was shocked that Brandt's strength could actually equal his own.

After all, the ultimate goal of the Blaze Dragon Knight Breathing Technique was to forge a knight into a humanoid dragon.

Yet this man of unknown origin could actually stand on equal footing with him.

The next moment, Harrington realized he was wrong.

Because in the next moment, Brandt retreated more than ten meters, then roared and charged toward him. In that instant, Harrington felt as though he saw a ferocious stag crashing into him. It looked nothing like a deer that grazed on grass.

The world spun, and Harrington found himself being pulled up from the ground. Everyone stared in shock at Brandt, who stood in the distance with his blood and vitality boiling violently around him.

Was the Deer Spirit Breathing Technique truly that powerful? Ryan did not think so. The truly powerful one was Brandt himself.

If any other knight who cultivated the Deer Spirit Breathing Technique had come here, he definitely would not have been Harrington's match.

"As expected of my Guardian Knight."