Transmigrated with a Demon-Refining Pot: Hehehe, Refine in an instant

Windsor remained silent for a while, then climbed onto the dragon's back without saying anything more.

The brass dragon spread its wings, soared into the air, and flew south. The remnants of the duchy's army, under the officers' orders, regrouped and slowly retreated.

On the wasteland, only corpses and shattered flags remained.

Ron brought Margaret back to the camp, and the silver dragon landed, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"My lord!" Hart rode over, covered in blood, with several holes in his armor, but in good spirits.

"The duchy's army has withdrawn; we've won?"

"We won." Ron turned around, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.

"Take stock of the casualties and regroup the troops. Summon all the lords who have submitted; I have something to announce."

Those who deserted in the face of battle, find an opportunity to kill them all, and then take back all the rewards we gave them before.

"yes!"

Hart accepted the order and left. Abaddon walked over carrying a spiked club, with several wounds on his body. He was now one of the top fighters in the first level.

He faced three level-one knights alone, yet only suffered minor injuries.

When the two dragons wreaked havoc, there was no longer a chance to fight, so they hid and fled for their lives.

"My lord, that brass dragon is nothing special." Abaddon grinned, revealing a set of white teeth.

"That's because Margaret is good, not you," Ron glanced at him.

"We suffered a huge loss this time in terms of formal knights and grand knights. You need to work harder next time. I have high hopes for you."

Aiba scratched his bald head, responded, and walked away carrying his spiked club.

Ron stood at the tent entrance, gazing at the still-smoking battlefield on the distant wasteland. As dusk fell, torches were lit one by one, and soldiers, exhausted, began clearing away the corpses.

Half an hour later, Hart, Selena, Gray, and Erin arrived, along with more than a hundred lords. The candlelight flickered in the tent, and a few drops of dried blood stained the map.

"Tell me about the casualties," Ron said, getting straight to the point from the head of the table.

Hart opened the ledger: "More than 17,000 dead, nearly 30,000 wounded. At least a third of the surrendered lords have fled, the exact number is still being tallied."

From the duchy, our scouts reported that the casualties were about the same as ours.

However, their direct subordinate units suffered more than half their losses, all killed by Lord Silver Dragon's dragon breath.

That's right, the enemy's direct troops are too easy to recognize, Ron and Margaret can just keep an eye on them and kill them.

On their side, due to the excessive expansion of their army, the original 10,000-plus troops were scattered. In fact, the losses were not significant and were acceptable.

The biggest losses on Ron's side were suffered by the lords who had defected to him.

From the very beginning, the knights were at a disadvantage, and the battle later turned into a slaughterhouse for the two dragons.

When the lords here saw that Ron didn't care about their lives at all, some of them ran away.

And it wasn't just a few; most of the lords simply didn't have time to leave. That brass dragon didn't discriminate; it would unleash its breath wherever there were many people.

The battlefield was too chaotic, and they couldn't escape.

"What about the lords who died in battle?" Ron asked.

"Thirty-three." Hart handed over a piece of parchment.

"Most of them were killed by the brass dragons on a whim; their names and original territories are recorded on it."

Ron glanced at it and put the list down.

"Issue a decree that their heirs shall be permitted to pledge allegiance to me and inherit their lands. Furthermore, no one shall be allowed to lay a hand on their lands for ten years."

I will not allow those who have been loyal to me and sacrificed themselves to be treated unfairly.

The hundred or so lords in the tents began to approve of Ron's approach, and then they heard Ron say something else.

"Those who are disloyal to me, do they think they can escape? Hmph! Block off several passes in the Tianluo Mountains and the western outlet to the sea."

Let's see where these guys run.

"Furthermore, take back all their original territories and I will reward those who have rendered meritorious service this time."

"Your Excellency is wise!"

Everyone spoke in unison, and some lords were still feeling lingering fear, thankful they hadn't run away, otherwise they would have been in serious trouble.

Then they gloated over the lords who had run away.

Ignoring the commotion of the lords, Ron stood up and walked to the tent entrance. In the darkness, campfires had already been lit in the distance, and the soldiers sat around them, silent.

Ron withdrew his gaze, suppressed the discussion in the tent, and spoke:

"We won this battle hard, but we won it nonetheless." He turned around.

"I have decided to establish the Silver Grand Duchy based on the current territory after some time!!"

"Everyone here will become the founding nobles of my Silver Duchy. Aren't you all happy?"

Some lords thought to themselves, "We were doing just fine as nobles in the frontier before you came," but they didn't dare say it out loud.

Instead, they stood up and echoed each other, fearing that if they were late, the Grand Duke would think they were disloyal.

Ron neither confirmed nor denied their thoughts, but he didn't keep exploiting them and offered them some incentives.

"I have decided that each lord will be given one pioneering quota. You may choose to give it to the second son of your family or to a loyal knight, it is up to you."

Once it's finalized, send over the list.

"I am willing to die for the Duke!!"

This made the voices of these lords even louder.

Two days later, the army finally rested and recuperated, and the neighboring duchy's army showed no signs of attacking again.

Ron then led his men back.

The army set off, the wounded were housed in castles along the way, and the bodies were taken away by the Grand Duke.

The explanation was to prevent the spread of plague, so they were taken away and cremated. The soldiers didn't understand, but they did as instructed.

Along the way, as they passed through various territories, lords left the party, leaving only Ron's original army of ten thousand.

When the Duke of Windsor saw Ron and his men swaggering away, he couldn't help but think of Ron's last words that day.

He didn't believe Ron would bring reinforcements, because unless Ron was stupid, he wouldn't offend a duchy with dragons again.

If she were to be sold off again, Margaret alone might not be able to withstand the consequences.

Would Ron trust the Duke of Windsor's character? Don't be ridiculous.

Even so, the Duke of Windsor was still tempted.

Why is it that only the Bronze Duchy is injured?

Ron is a barefoot guy, not someone I can mess with. And you, the Black Iron Duchy, shouldn't even think about just watching from the sidelines.

He rode on the back of the brass dragon, gazing eastward toward the territory that belonged to the Black Iron Duchy, his eyes filled with gloom.

His chest still throbbed with pain; Margaret's tail had broken at least two of his ribs and seriously injured his internal organs. But he couldn't fall, at least not in front of the ducal nobles.

He gritted his teeth and dragged his injured body back to the camp.

"Send the order: the entire army shall rest for three days. Then... advance eastward."

The adjutant hesitated for a moment: "Your Highness, advance eastward? That's the territory of the Black Iron Kingdom."

"I know!" Windsor's voice was cold.

We'll split the spoils when we meet at the pioneering site!

I'm already here, so this is the rule.

If you don't give it to me, I'll take it!