"My lord, why do you look so troubled?" Ashina leaned in closer, cradling her bow and arrows, a playful smile dancing in her eyes. "The hardest part was clearly before we arrived here—yet now, of all times, you're showing this distressed expression."
Phield had no intention of spreading anxiety or undermining the already fragile confidence of his group. He forced a teasing look, reaching out to gently pinch Ashina's wolf ears. "It's not trouble. I was just debating whether I should personally give a massage to my greatly accomplished hero who has worked so hard."
"E-eh?!" Ashina's pretty face instantly flushed crimson, her red eyes trembling like an earthquake. She stammered, trying to respond, but upon seeing Phield's expression—like he was teasing a child—she immediately realized she'd been played. Puffing up her cheeks in annoyance, she huffed, "Lord Phield is too much! And here I was genuinely concerned for you. Fine, I'm not playing with you anymore."
Phield rubbed his sore neck with a wry smile. "Thanks for your concern. But it's time we found a proper place to settle. I don't want to spend another second sleeping in that carriage—the noise has given me a splitting headache."
They needed to claim a building, somewhere sheltered from the wind and rain. It would be far better, even if the houses here were corrupted into grotesque ruins.
After carefully studying the map, Phield said, "We'll take over the grand winery. Ashina, the main structure there is brick and stone—it won't have rotted into a pile of rubble."
The grand winery lay southeast of the main manor, surrounded by vast stretches of fertile fields once used to grow the black pearl grapes for winemaking. Of course, those orderly vineyards were a thing of the past. Now, the fields were overrun with writhing black tentacles and rotting corpses.
Faint traces of grapevines and trellises could still be seen amid the farmland. In its heyday, this soil had produced the empire's most renowned black pearl wine.
"The women will clear the fields completely. Leave no trace of filth. These wriggling tentacles and chunks of flesh look terrifying, but they pose no real threat." Phield kicked aside a corrupted mass of flesh sprouting seven or eight eyes. "These disgusting things were once cute little animals before the gray mist arrived."
"Yes, my lord."
The slaves shuffled about reluctantly.
"Finish it in two days, and I'll pay each of you ten copper coins as wages. This land will be our food source in the future." Phield played his trump card, allowing the slaves to earn money.
The slaves' eyes lit up, and they swiftly set to work with their farming tools, dispatching the corrupted creatures. Their efficiency soared tenfold.
The steward Perry watched them and rolled his eyes. "Only someone as kind and generous as the master would do this. With these mud slaves, if they don't work, hanging them would be far simpler."
At that moment, the freemen Phield had recruited approached.
"My lord, you're being far too fanciful. The land has been poisoned. Even if we clear out all the monsters, it can't be farmed." The villagers voiced their doubts. One of them stomped hard on the ground; the soft, rotten soil immediately sank, forming a footprint filled with a puddle of purple liquid. "Look—it's like a toxic swamp. Oh! And this damned stench is worse than a widow's unwashed undergarments after three years."
Hearing this, the slaves turned doubtful glances their way.
My kindness seems to have made certain people grow bolder.
Phield lowered his eyelids, his tone betraying no emotion. "This is my order. I'm not discussing it with you."
The villagers' minds still clung to their old loyalty to Baron Bull. "But, my lord, doing this is utterly pointless."
"Hm?" Phield's brow furrowed, his gaze turning unfriendly.
Ben and the guards immediately drew their swords with a sharp "shing," the sound echoing as blades flashed. Though Connor and the others had been the main force on the journey, the slave guards had been tempered along the way and now carried a hint of true military menace.
Blinded by the glint of steel, the group quickly realized they had dared to question their new lord. In an instant, they broke into cold sweats and threw themselves to the ground.
The scene fell silent for half a minute.
Only then did Phield raise his hand, signaling the guards to stand down. It wasn't that he was deliberately putting on a display of authority, nor was it some feudal posturing. In this lawless, barbaric land far from any order, he had no foundation whatsoever.
If he couldn't even control the people under him, his position as lord would become a joke. He might as well hang himself and be done with it.
"You lot go clean it up as well," Phield ordered, his voice steady. "The land to the east—it's yours to handle."
His gaze shifted, his tone low and restrained: "As for the one who spoke insolently, five lashes."
This was a warning, not a purge. Pioneering required manpower, whether for reclamation or cultivation.
The villagers were already drenched in sweat. Hearing Phield's words, they felt as if they'd been granted amnesty. "Y-yes, yes, my lord!"
Everyone began shoveling away the corruption, startling the corrupted creatures into a burst of shrill, piercing screeches.
"This is absurd." Phield drew in several sharp breaths of cold air, a wave of nausea hitting him. Spending too long in this cursed place could drive anyone mad. "We have to ignite the spark of civilization quickly. Let's start with the winery."
Two farmers holding torches pulled open the winery's grand doors. A wave of dark, putrid stench assaulted them. Phield nearly vomited last night's dinner, clamping a hand over his mouth and nose as he turned his face away.
"Be careful—there are plenty of footsteps on the second floor," Ashina warned. She showed no unusual reaction to the odor; her days as a slave had exposed her to far worse environments.
"We need to secure this big building, and there might be flammables inside, so no fire."
Ashina nodded obediently. "Leave it to me!"
Holding an iron-rimmed shield to protect her chest, Phield drew his longsword. "Form up with the long halberds! Brace for impact!"
They hadn't undergone systematic training, but the battles over the past days had taught the guards a thing or two. A small phalanx quickly took shape. Phield took a deep breath, then slammed his sword hilt against his shield.
"Hey, hey! The party's started!"
"Roar!" From the darkness came a chorus of ghostly howls and wails.
A dense patter of footsteps erupted like drumbeats. Hideously deformed monsters with twisted bodies charged out of the inky blackness. The clash of flesh against iron immediately filled the air.
Ashina and Drakewolf bore the brunt of the corpse horde. Her long spear easily reaped the corrupted bodies, while the giant wolf was like a tank—covered in corpses until it resembled a ball of rotting flesh, yet its defenses remained unbroken. If Phield hadn't forbidden the draconic wolf from breathing fire, the fight would already be over.
"Ah! Goddess above!"
A guard in the front rank pierced a corpse with his spear, but the ensuing impact staggered him.
In the next instant, more corpses swarmed forward, tackling him to the ground.
His plate-armored body hit the floor with a heavy thud, leaving him dazed for a moment.
With a low shout, Phield stepped forward half a pace. His longsword cleaved down viciously onto a corpse's head. This wasn't some anime—corruption didn't make them stronger. These corpses were just monsters wearing human skin. Without plate armor to protect them, the sharp blade sliced through muscle and bone, severing the entire head.
"Th-thank you, my lord!"
The guard stared with terrified eyes, a warm wetness spreading in his trousers. He'd nearly shared a kiss with a monster.
From the look on his face—like he wanted to kneel and call Phield "father"—it was clear he'd never felt such respect and gratitude toward a noble before.