The eastern market of Frostspear City was battered by howling winds.

The air was thick with the stench of animal hides, the aroma of roasting meat, and the sharp clang of iron tools.

The stalls lining both sides of the street were crude. Most were nothing more than a few wooden poles propping up a canopy, with goods scattered about haphazardly.

This had once been a modest trading post, where the occasional farmer or hunter would come to barter grain for daily necessities.

But ever since the Northlands Colonization Edict was issued, trading companies had caught the scent of gold and swarmed in like hungry wolves. They'd forcibly transformed this little market into a bustling commercial hub.

At the market's eastern edge, a ring of rough-hewn wooden fencing enclosed an open yard. Inside stood a crowd of slaves in tattered clothing.

Most huddled into themselves, heads bowed, long accustomed to being another person's merchandise.

Here and there, defiant glares still smoldered in certain eyes. But a few sharp cracks of the slave trader's whip were all it took to snuff out any spark of resistance.

Though the slave trade was technically a gray zone within the Empire, in the chaotic Northlands it was an open secret.

Colonization Lords and smugglers alike understood what this place needed most: manpower.

"Come take a look! Strong young laborers! Mining, logging, hauling, cotton-picking—they do it all, better than oxen!"

"These ones are Snow Kingdom prisoners of war! Not fully broken yet, but they're cheap! A few months of discipline and they'll obey like dogs!"

"Looking for smarter stock? These ones can read! They can even help manage your accounts!"

The shouts rose and fell in a chorus as the slave merchants hawked their wares with practiced ease.

To them, the slaves before them were no different from horses or merchandise.

One merchant noticed Louis's group and immediately plastered on an ingratiating smile, hurrying forward. "Good sirs! Come, take a look! The finest laborers in all the Northlands, guaranteed tough, cold-resistant, hunger-resistant—definitely worth the price!"

The official accompanying Louis frowned and warned the merchant, "This is Baron Calvin. Measure your words carefully. Don't get any crooked ideas."

"No, no! Of course not!" The merchant waved his hands frantically, his grin widening. "My business is honest and fair—prices are more than reasonable! Every one of these slaves is a hardy worker. Farming, woodcutting, construction, cotton-picking—there's nothing they can't do!"

He swept an arm out, motioning for the slaves behind him to straighten up. Some obeyed, reflexively stiffening their backs. But most simply stood there, lifeless and numb.

"Look at these ones. Strong, sturdy boys. Strong as two oxen!" The merchant walked over to several dark-skinned slaves and clapped them on the shoulder.

"Don't let their lean frames fool you. They eat little and work hard! Give them a mouthful of food, and they'll labor till sundown without a single complaint."

He lowered his voice then, a suggestive smile creeping onto his face. "Of course, if my lord has… other interests, we also carry a higher grade of merchandise. Southern imports. Fair-skinned. Meticulously trained. Guaranteed to satisfy."

Louis frowned, barely perceptibly. "Not interested."

The merchant instantly switched back to his professional smile, nodding eagerly. "My lord is clearly a man of vision. With the Northlands opening up, it's labor that matters most. These rough field slaves are the real value. Rest assured—my stock here is not only hardy and obedient; they won't cause you any trouble!"

Louis swept his gaze across the slaves before him.

Tattered clothes. Pale skin. Most faces were etched with numbness.

For all the merchant's boasts of their strength and capability, the reality was that most were malnourished. Some could barely stand, their legs too weak to support them.

Still, by slave-market standards, these specimens were decent enough.

His gaze moved across the group until it settled on a thin, slight youth.

The boy was curled tightly against a woman, his frail body shivering like a frightened animal.

But Louis recognized exactly what he was: a system-marked target. Weir, a boy with Peak Knight potential.

Looking at that timid figure, it was hard to imagine this child could one day grow into a force capable of deciding wars. Without the system, nobody would have guessed.

In another corner of the slave pen, an even skinnier man kept his head low, his body slightly hunched as he tried to disappear into the crowd.

His face was hidden behind tangled gray hair, his gaze darting and evasive, deliberately avoiding all eyes.

Unremarkable in every way. More wretched, even, than the other slaves.

A normal observer would see nothing but a broken wretch tormented to the edge of collapse.

But Louis knew exactly who this was: Hilko, the alchemy apprentice who had fled to the Northlands after being hunted for theft.

Seeing Louis's flicker of interest, the slave merchant hastily thumped his chest. "My lord, buy from me and I guarantee you won't be disappointed!"

Louis didn't rush his decision. "How much per slave?"

"Men, eight Silver Coins. Women and children, four," the merchant replied with a smile.

Louis nodded. The prices weren't cheap, but they weren't outrageous either. The merchant was clearly wary of the official at Louis's side and didn't dare push too hard.

"How many do you have here?"

"Three hundred and eighty or so on site. We can bring in more from outside if my lord requires."

"I'll take these," Louis said flatly.

He then visited several other merchants, purchasing another 120 slaves. In the end, he had assembled five hundred slaves at a total cost of 380 Gold Coins.

In one transaction, his assets had nearly halved.

*(Currency conversion: 10 Iron Coins = 1 Copper Coin, 10 Copper Coins = 1 Silver Coin, 10 Silver Coins = 1 Gold Coin)*

Afterward, Louis bought large quantities of grain, seeds, tools, weapons, and other essentials for colonization. Prices in the Northlands were at least double those in the south, stretching his finances even thinner.

By the time everything was settled, he counted his remaining funds: sixty-eight Gold Coins.

He was broke.

During his two days in Frostspear City, Louis hadn't just been shopping. He'd also encountered several other nobles dispatched as Colonization Lords.

After brief interactions, he lost all interest in them.

Some spent their days drunk in taverns, hiding from reality.

Others wore expressions of ashen despair, cursing the Emperor's folly and their parents' cruelty, desperate to flee back south. In Louis's presence, they raged openly.

Louis merely smiled and stopped paying them any attention.

Two days later, outside Frostspear City's gates, a column of nearly a thousand stood ready to march.

Louis swung onto his horse and gazed into the distance, toward Crimson Tide Territory. His territory.

"Move out!"

With his command, the column set forth in full force, advancing toward Crimson Tide Territory in the southeast of the Northlands.