“What do you feel as we walk?”

Her sudden question made me tilt my head in confusion.

“Pardon?”

“No, no, it’s nothing. For an ordinary human, that’s perfectly natural. In some ways, it’s a relief.”

Isabelle nodded to herself as she spoke in riddles.

‘Ordinary human? Does she still suspect me of being an Imperial spy hiding my true abilities?’

It seemed she had used our brief conversation to subtly test me.

“The reason I called you here, Sir Arad, was to show you this,” Isabelle said, dropping the pretense and moving straight to action.

“Girls!”

“Yes!”

Tap! Tap! Tap!

At her signal, the witches walking at a distance used their brooms to strike the ground.

[Heheheheheh!]

With mischievous laughter, earth spirits summoned by the witches began digging into the soil.

Rumble!

The ground cracked open, revealing layers of earth as deep as a small courtyard.

“Could you take a look at this soil?”

Even before Isabelle could finish her sentence, I crouched down to inspect the dirt.

The knowledge and instincts of this body, honed to MAX in farming, kicked in.

“This is…”

It didn’t take long to realize why the witches had brought me here to see the soil deep beneath the surface.

“The fertility is poor,” I concluded.

Though the North’s harsh winters made farming nearly impossible, the mana stone mines in the area usually enriched the soil, allowing even hardy weeds to thrive despite the cold.

“Is it just here?”

“So far, it’s only around High Castle.”

“So far…?”

“Yes, it’s worsening and spreading year by year.”

Unlike most of the North, the land around High Castle was losing its fertility.

For now, it wasn’t dire—people could still gather weeds from the fields—but in fifty years, the area would likely turn into a barren wasteland incapable of supporting any growth.

“What do the spirits say?”

“They refuse to explain. Or rather, they seem reluctant to.”

“Could this be the work of the warlocks from the Abyss?”

“We suspect the Empire is behind it.”

“The Empire, the Abyss—it’s all the same,” I replied.

“Exactly. Especially after what happened recently in the Abyss.”

“Hm… I’ll need to conduct further research.”

Saying this, I took a small sample of the soil. As I gathered the dirt, memories of a catastrophic event from the original timeline surfaced in my mind.

‘The Great Northern Famine! This is the beginning.’

The timing matched almost perfectly.

Whether or not this was a scheme by the Empire remained to be seen. For now, I needed to reserve judgment.

“Does Her Grace know about this?” I asked Isabelle while filling a wooden box with the soil.

“Of course she does. It’s one of her greatest concerns,” Isabelle replied.

However, the answer came not from Isabelle but from a familiar voice behind me.

“The Grand Duchess greets you.”

Turning, I saw Arina, the Grand Duchess of the North, arriving with her entourage of maids, knights, and officials.

They approached in a bustling crowd, their presence commanding attention.

***

The Imperial Goyt of Ragot, a high-ranking diplomatic institution, had finally received a delegation from the Northern Grand Duchy of Renslet after a long hiatus.

Though it had been a while since such a visit, the delegation from Renslet was ushered into a private audience with the Imperial Crown Prince, conducted with utmost secrecy.

“It seems the Grand Duchess narrowly avoided a catastrophe?”

“Indeed, Your Highness,” replied Count Gard, the head of the delegation.

“What an unfortunate incident,” the Crown Prince, Canbraman, remarked with feigned sympathy.

“The Empire had no involvement in this matter, I presume?”

“Of course not, Count Gard. This was the act of a few unruly Imperial adventurers,” Canbraman answered smoothly, his tone echoing through the audience chamber.

Grit.

The sound of grinding teeth from the Northern delegation was plainly audible.

‘Whistle~ Whistle~.’

The bold insolence was palpable, but Crown Prince Canbraman, ever mindful of the delicate situation, pretended not to notice the breach of decorum.

The audience unfolded much as both sides had expected—a subtle exchange of accusations and denials.

“How impressive the Imperial adventurers have become,” Count Gard said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Maintaining a space-distorting barrier for nearly two weeks would cost the yearly budget of even a marquisate. Quite the feat.”

The Northern delegation’s subtle jab was sharp, bordering on outright accusation, true to the North’s straightforward and practical reputation.

“They must have colluded with the Abyss’s warlocks to perform some forbidden magic,” Canbraman replied dismissively. “Rest assured, I’ll make sure the Imperial adventurers are properly reprimanded.”

The Crown Prince’s measured response hinted at his familiarity with the Northerners’ brash tendencies.

As this exchange played out, Canbraman’s gaze drifted to the belts of the Northern delegation.

Each member wore a bag of the same design, one he had never seen before. Its elegant and sophisticated style seemed out of place for the North, a region known only for its rugged practicality.

‘What’s with those bags? They’re mesmerizing.’

“Lately, it seems Imperial adventurers carry even the highest-grade potions typically reserved for the royal family?” Gard continued, his words drawing the Crown Prince’s focus back to the conversation.

“Such potions are rare in the North, given the absence of an established clergy. A pity, really. The Empire would gladly send priests if only the witches of the North didn’t terrify them,” Gard added, his tone dripping with mock sympathy.

“Ah, I see,” Canbraman replied flatly.

“As a gesture of condolence, I shall send two chests of gold coins along with some high-grade potions to the Grand Duchess. May she recover swiftly from her injuries,” Canbraman said after some deliberation, hoping to end the discussion.

Gard, however, was not satisfied. His eyes gleamed as he seized the opportunity to push further.

“Our Grand Duchess requests additional concessions: a reduction in the prices of wheat, rye, silk, and fabric by 30%. In exchange, the North will increase the price of mana stones by 20%. Surely, Your Highness understands that the current rates for mana stones are far too low.”

“Hmm…?”

Canbraman’s crimson eyes grew cold at the bold demands.

“That’s excessive.”

“Excessive, Your Highness? Imagine how the Northern populace might react if word of this unfortunate incident spread across the region. Wouldn’t they, in their anger, march southward into the Empire, causing chaos in the mid-northern provinces? Our Grand Duchess is deeply concerned about this possibility. Surely, we must placate the people by ensuring their bellies are full,” Gard said, his tone thick with veiled threats of widespread raiding.

“How dare you—!”

An Imperial chamberlain, unable to restrain his anger, reached for his sword.

“Enough,” Canbraman commanded, stopping him.

“Hmm…”

The Crown Prince bit back his retort. Now was not the time to escalate tensions with the Northern delegation or the region they represented.

‘If I reject this here, the relationship between the Empire and the North will be irrevocably broken.’

The Empire and its royal family desperately coveted the North.

If circumstances permitted, they would spill rivers of blood to claim it.

But now was not the time. The Empire’s internal stability was precarious, and any major conflict would leave them vulnerable to opportunistic wolves, both within and beyond their borders.

“Our Grand Duchess wishes to believe in the sincerity and innocence of the Imperial family,” Gard added, driving the point home.

After a tense silence, Canbraman made an unexpected counteroffer.

“Send a formal letter confirming that the Grand Duchess has taken my prior marriage proposal seriously. Only then will I consider this matter further.”

Crack.

Gard’s expression tightened, the veins on his forehead bulging.

“Your Highness, unlike before, the North now has Arad Salt,” he replied sharply.

The air in the chamber grew colder as Gard continued.

“I hear Imperial merchants are singing praises lately. Selling Arad Salt at exorbitant prices not just within the Empire but also to neighboring kingdoms.”

The meaning behind Gard’s words was clear: the North would no longer tolerate economic pressure from the Empire.

Just as the North desired Imperial food and fabrics, the Empire now desperately needed the North’s Arad Salt.

Silence.

The audience chamber was heavy with tension, the atmosphere thick with unspoken threats.

The Crown Prince and his royal knights glared at the Northern delegation as if ready to strike them down at any moment.

The Northerners, however, met their gaze with equal defiance, embodying the unyielding spirit of their homeland.

After what felt like an eternity, Canbraman finally relented.

“…Very well.”

“Your generosity knows no bounds, Your Highness,” Gard replied, his voice dripping with mock gratitude.

Thus, the audience—and the brief negotiation—came to an end.

The North walked away with significant gains, including economic concessions and a subtle shift in the power dynamics between the two regions.

Meanwhile, the Empire, humiliated, offered no banquet to send off the delegation.

“Karaso! Astra!”

Instead, the Crown Prince summoned the Imperial Chancellor and the head of Sigma, the Empire’s intelligence agency, in a voice laced with fury.

“You called for us, Your Highness?”

The two officials hurried forward from the shadows.

“That damned Arad Salt! And those cursed Northern weeds! You will deal with them at once!” Canbraman roared, his anger boiling over.

“It’s a bit premature… but there are ways,” Karaso said cautiously.

“Though we will need the assistance of the Mage Tower… and its master,” Astra added, exchanging a knowing glance with Karaso.

***

Renslet, the central stronghold of the Northern Grand Duchy—commonly known as High Castle.

Within the Hall of Glory, located in the castle's grand audience chamber, a long-awaited spring had finally arrived in the North.

This event marked another milestone—the ceremony to grant me my noble title was about to commence.

‘Has it already been half a year since I arrived in this world?’

I had landed here around November, and now, with the changing of the calendar, April had arrived.

Walking down the hall, I let myself sink into nostalgia.

The pristine white throne of the Northern Grand Duchess stood at the center, flanked by knights, officials, witches, noblewomen, and dignitaries on either side.

A deep, resonant sound soon filled the chamber.

Bvvvwoooooom!

It was one of Renslet’s traditional instruments—a massive horn carved from the tusk of a glacial mammoth.

At the heart of the hall, a crimson carpet stretched out beneath the falling white petals of Northern cherry blossoms, drifting down like snowflakes from the ceiling.

Following proper ceremonial decorum, I walked along the carpet.

Step. Step. Step.

When I stopped precisely at the predetermined spot, a commanding voice echoed through the hall.

“Arad Jin, receive the grace of your sovereign.”

Hightai, the chief administrator overseeing the ceremony, announced solemnly.

“Renslet! Rune Renslet!”

“Renslet! Rune Renslet!”

“Renslet! Rune Renslet!”

“Renslet! Rune Renslet!”

The hall resonated with the chant of Renslet’s motto, repeated by all present.

“Arad Jin, descendant of the Jin family rooted in the Eastern Continent, of noble blood, has wandered Arcadia without losing his noble spirit and dignity. Finally, he has established his roots here in Renslet.”

Hightai’s voice carried solemnly through the silent chamber as everyone listened intently—Grand Duchess Arina on her white throne, me kneeling with my head bowed, and the assembly gathered in the hall.

“Guided by his family’s vision, Arad Jin created Arad Salt in the North, a miraculous seasoning rivaling the spices of the East. This gift brought endless joy to the people, knights, witches, nobles, and rulers of our land.”

As Hightai recounted my deeds, I found myself growing increasingly self-conscious.

“In addition to his contribution of salt, Arad Jin crafted the Golden Carriage, a marvel that shook heaven and earth. He used it to conduct trade within the Abyss and, during a time of crisis,…”

The summary of my accomplishments in this otherworld continued, leaving me slightly embarrassed.

“…Therefore, Her Grace the Grand Duchess of High Castle has decided to bestow a noble title upon Arad Jin. The title of Count, with hereditary succession, is deemed fitting for his contributions.”

The announcement of my title made my head spin—it had climbed far higher than I’d ever imagined, starting from an honorary baronetcy.

“As recognition of his unbroken connection to his roots, the surname ‘Jin’ shall remain intact for the Count of Jin.”

A Countship, especially one with hereditary rights, was the highest rank a Grand Duchess could bestow.

“The fief of Count Jin shall be the coastal region of Shinria, five days’ ride west of High Castle. From this day forward, Shinria shall be renamed ‘Jin’ in honor of its new lord and recorded as such.”

Hereditary countship with land—a reward among the most coveted in this world, particularly for a human.

Of course, as someone who would eventually return to Earth, the reward held little meaning for me.

‘That coastal region, Shinria… If I recall correctly, it’s practically uninhabited,’ I thought.

Shinria was remembered as a desolate area in Era of Silver 1, with not even a proper village, let alone a city.

Surrounded by glacial seas, it was home only to a few small fishing hamlets.

‘Still, I suppose granting land like that was a necessary political maneuver.’

Even in the North, the sudden rise of a count-level noble would inevitably stir opposition among the established aristocracy.

Granting an insignificant, barren region as a fief was a way to placate the other nobles.

Given the current unrest caused by recent large-scale purges, Shinria—now renamed Jin—seemed to be a political compromise on Arina’s part.

‘A coastal area… If handled correctly…’

To me, however, the fief represented an entirely different opportunity.