After pulling back a safe distance, Phield ordered the column to halt and wait.
"Now I understand why the corpses were out here." A muscle twitched in his cheek as he adjusted the longsword at his hip. "Thank the gods the orcs are held back by the same gray mist—and the peace treaty. Otherwise the empire's proudest defense line would be a laughingstock."
"Then… noble lord, we won't trouble you further." The villagers clustered together, awkwardly nudging one another forward. None wanted to draw his ire; the baron looked furious. In the end they pushed one man out to speak. "We'll be going now. Thank you for saving us."
Phield was still seething. Modern upbringing or not, he refused to be anyone's doormat. His eyes narrowed, cold and predatory like a wolf sizing up prey. "Did I give you permission to leave? Your lord abandoned you. You're masterless now—which means I'm claiming you."
Free labor was free labor, after all.
"No—no, my lord, please!" the villagers protested, panic rising. "We're freemen!"
They'd overheard the earlier exchange; this baron was bound for the Nightfall Domain—a cursed land of certain death.
"I can release you," Phield said coldly, drawing his sword with a smooth rasp. "Five gold coins each for your redemption. I saved your lives—that's my due. So: come with me to the Nightfall Domain, pay up, or get hacked into dog food. Choose."
The villagers exchanged terrified glances. In the face of real menace, resistance crumbled. They dropped to their knees one by one, begging to follow him.
Dead if they stayed, dead if they left—better to gamble on the slim chance he offered.
"Pathetic to the bone," Phield muttered, sheathing his blade with a sigh, rubbing his brow in exasperation. Fists always spoke louder than words.
"My lord, don't lose heart!" Ashina ventured closer, seeing his dark mood, her voice small with concern.
Phield glanced at her—and froze. He stared so long that unease crept into her crimson eyes before he snapped out of it, offering a quick smile. "I'm fine. Just lost in thought for a moment."
She had gone from malnourished to merely needing conditioning. More importantly, her status had shifted from Unawakened to Ready for Awakening. One touch of an awakening crystal, and he would have his own Divine Chosen—immediately.
Onward they rode. As the fortress gates loomed closer, Phield's breath caught: his minimap suddenly blazed with a dense field of red skull icons.
"This is the 'perfectly safe' gate that idiot bragged about?"
The treacherous little fool—taking coin to escort him, then trying to lure him into a corpse-filled trap. If Phield had charged straight in, he'd likely be swarmed and dead by now.
Irritation flared, then shifted into calculation. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The baron's idiot son has barricaded himself in the inner keep and abandoned the outer defenses… which means no one's watching them."
Perfect opportunity.
Phield had never pretended to be a saint. Honor and decency were luxuries for those with power; the weak got none.
He straightened his cloak and spoke in a low, decisive tone. "Kaor, round up everyone who dared fight the corpses earlier. If we're short of thirty, pick the strongest to make up the number."
Though timid, Kaor was efficient. Soon thirty slaves of various races stood assembled.
"First, some pests need removing." Phield cast a cool glance toward Connor, whose face had soured in the distance.
"Valiant Captain Connor," he called out with mock courtesy. "Though this isn't my land, as a noble of martial virtue I feel compelled to aid the local folk and clear the corrupted. Will you join me in this glory?"
Connor stared as if Phield had lost his mind. He'd already lost one rider to the corpses and was fuming over the pension payout—now this fool wanted to play hero?
"No thank you," he replied flatly. "I've brought you to the very border—one gate away. My duty ends here; I return to the count to report." A laugh escaped despite himself. "Forgive me, but charging corpses with this rabble is less useful than bringing pigs—at least the dead would get a meal."
Phield feigned regret. "Pity. I thought you'd share the honor."
"Don't forget imperial law and family decree," Connor warned as he wheeled his mount. "Arrive on time."
With that, he and his cavalry galloped off, leaving Phield no chance to remind him about the horse dung.
"Are we truly going to provoke more corpses?" Kaor asked, voice quivering.
Phield waved him off. "You stay and guard the slaves. Anyone tries to run—burn them to ash with the contract."
He said it loudly. The slaves paled and shrank back.
Kaor exhaled in profound relief, as though granted a reprieve from execution.
Phield armed his thirty chosen slaves with scythes, manure forks, and wood axes, then rode out with Ashina at his side.
Ten minutes later he veered into a secluded copse. Once the minimap confirmed they were alone, he reached into a saddle pack and drew out a beautiful crystal orb.
Ashina's panel had indeed changed—he'd stared earlier to be certain he hadn't imagined it.
She had shifted from malnourished to merely needing conditioning, and—most crucially—her status had changed from Unawakened to Ready for Awakening. One touch of an awakening crystal, and Phield would instantly gain his own Divine Chosen.
"My lord… is something wrong?" Ashina asked, a nervous quiver in her voice.
After ten straight days of pork ribs, her attitude toward Phield had warmed considerably. When she was captured, life had been unspeakable misery—scrounging wild grasses just to survive, every breath feeling like a stolen luxury. Now this strange noble fed her rich meat daily. Life, it seemed, was nothing but surprises.
"What's this?" she asked, eyeing the orb he produced.
"An awakening crystal," Phield answered, a faint wince in his tone. "Cost me sixty gold—more than a tenth of everything I have." He had started with only five hundred, after all.
"Every Awakening Day, the empire uses these to search for Divine Chosen across the realm."
A single crystal could test nearly a thousand women.
"You… truly believe I'm one?" Ashina stared, dumbfounded. "My lord, please… let's not joke about this."
"Close your eyes and feel it," Phield said solemnly, weaving the lie with practiced ease.
"The gods have spoken to me. You have nothing to fear."
Ashina didn't believe for a moment she could be Chosen, but she hated the thought of disappointing him. In these few days together, he had treated her better than anyone ever had—at least better than any human noble should treat a demi-human slave.
The instant her fingers brushed the crystal, countless motes of blue starlight erupted outward, coalescing into the ethereal silhouette of an elegant, icy goddess.
"The Goddess of Winter!" The demi-human slaves gasped in instant recognition—their own patron deity. "Gods above—Ashina is truly the Winter Goddess's Divine Chosen!"
They dropped to their knees as one, trembling with fervor, some pressing foreheads to the earth as though ready to offer their very hearts.
Phield's pulse thundered in his ears; sweat prickled his back. This was his first true miracle—raw divine power made visible.
The azure light condensed into intricate runes. Ashina reached out instinctively; the glow flowed into her, settling at last as a glowing mark upon the back of her hand.
Her body transformed before their eyes: taller, statuesque, legs long and perfectly sculpted. Skin like fresh snow, expression cool and distant, crimson eyes now carrying a glacial edge. Her features sharpened into breathtaking refinement; her entire presence elevated—aloof, commanding, effortlessly alluring.
Strength, disdain, seduction—all woven together as naturally as breath.
"I… I really am a Divine Chosen," Ashina whispered, voice trembling with awe. She turned to Phield, eyes wide with reverence. "How did you know, my lord?"
Even the emperor's own daughters had manifested no such gift. The appearance of a Divine Chosen was utterly unpredictable—pure divine whim.
The other slaves could scarcely comprehend it. They had all been captives together—yet a few days of the lord's special care, and Ashina ascended? They had assumed he was merely indulging a new plaything. Now they understood: only the favor of the gods could explain it.
Phield must be chosen by heaven itself.
They looked at him now with something perilously close to worship.
"A trifle," Phield said airily, waving a modest hand while inwardly swelling with triumph. He strode before the kneeling crowd. "Now—does anyone still doubt our journey north? Does anyone still resist my plans for the Nightfall Domain?"
Silence. Not a single voice rose.
"Trust me," he declared, voice ringing with authority. "Do your duties well, fulfill my commands, and I will not only grant you freedom—I will see you live lives of plenty."
Ashina stepped forward first, chin high. "Please, my lord—let me bind the covenant with you."
She remembered his earlier words: he had intended to raise her into a Divine Chosen precisely for this purpose—to reclaim the cursed domain together.
"Of course," Phield replied, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "It was fated from the beginning."
Forming the divine covenant was simple. Ashina summoned the power within her new rune; a thread of light linked their souls, and the bond snapped into place—mutual strength, shared growth, unbreakable.
Once the covenant sealed, Phield drew out her old slave contract. Though the brand had already vanished under the purifying touch of her new power, he made a show of it nonetheless: tearing the parchment dramatically before the assembly and proclaiming Ashina a free woman of the Nightfall Domain.
The slaves cheered—some in hope, some in awe, all now bound to him by something far stronger than fear.
Ashina's lips curved in a faint, confident smile. With a graceful lift of her hand, the rune on her skin flared—and a massive black Drakewolf materialized from thin air, leaping forth with a savage roar. Jagged, ice-glinting plates armored its hulking frame, fangs bared in a terrifying snarl that sent the assembled slaves stumbling back in shock.
"What… is that?" Phield stared, momentarily stunned.
"A Drakewolf," Ashina replied calmly, smoothing an errant strand of snow-white hair. Every gesture now carried effortless poise and nobility. "My mount, I believe—bestowed by the Goddess. And… I seem to have mastered a great many combat techniques."
Divine Chosen often received strange and wondrous gifts upon awakening; even if they fell in battle, those treasures endured. House Ross itself possessed a sixth-tier divine lance inherited from the fallen "Crimson Rose" Divine Chosen.
Phield pulled up Ashina's panel.
Name: Ashina
Level: First-Tier Divine Chosen
Class: Wolf Rider
Divine Skill: Spear of Frostpierce
Legion Skill: Howling Charge (Allied cavalry charge power increased by 100%)
Her combat strength had skyrocketed. That mount alone could probably stand toe-to-toe with a third-tier knight
With real power at his side, why should he ever fear his stepmother or that sniveling brother again? Utter nonsense. Once he built his strength, he'd grind them into the dirt.
A genuine smile spread across Phield's face. "Now—let's pay a visit to the barracks and armory."
As they neared the outer walls, red skull icons swarmed across his minimap—still moving.
"Corrupted monsters ahead," Phield announced, drawing his sword with a ringing scrape. "It is every imperial noble's duty to aid the local lord in purging such blight."
He ignited one of the lamps of atonement purchased from the Church. Holy golden light blossomed outward, driving back thick swathes of gray mist. The slaves would no longer risk death by inhaling the fatal fog.
"I can feel the power of a Divine Chosen within it," Ashina said, nodding toward the glowing lamp in his hand.
Phield blinked. "No doubt. Shame the Church keeps their methods secret—pure profiteering. Twenty-five gold for a lamp that lasts only thirty days."
Inside the abandoned gatehouse, Phield kept the slaves in tight formation rather than letting them scatter. They were conscripted laborers, not trained soldiers—sticking together was their best defense.
Ashina eased open the barracks door a crack, peering inside. Two plate-armored corpses shambled within, weapons absent—they must have been infected before they could arm themselves.
"Kill them," Phield ordered at once, eyes fixed on the valuable armor. "And try not to ruin the plate."
"Understood!"
Ashina kicked the door wide and surged forward.
Awakening as a Divine Chosen didn't merely enhance the body—it instilled instinctive mastery of combat arts. She moved like a storm of ice and fury, the Drakewolf's summoning rune already flickering at her fingertips.
…
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