Phield's lips curved into a slight smile. From now on, their work efficiency would be ignited by silver coins. Most importantly, informants would emerge—Phield needed them to do exactly that. It was never good for his subordinates to band together too tightly; cliques could lead to conspiracies that deceived their lord.
"Alright, you're dismissed," Phield said with a warm smile, waving his hand to signal that they could leave. The group immediately hurried away, but the butler took only two steps before hesitating and turning back. Phield raised an eyebrow in puzzlement.
"What's wrong?"
"My lord, well… though it may be improper to say this, as your butler, I feel it my duty to offer some advice." Ever since Kaor had survived his entry into the Nightfall Domain, he had shed his former grumbling and begun working diligently.
Phield arched a brow. "Speak your mind."
"It's about the issue of race. You've seemingly opened a path for the Demi-humans to rise, promising them the possibility of becoming freemen. But… Demi-humans aren't like us. They're foolish—er, apologies, except for Lady Ashina. The rest don't seem to deserve freedom."
Phield fell silent for a moment. "We're in the cursed lands now, surrounded by death on all sides. The Nightfall Domain must have its own rules. Tomorrow, I'll proclaim a unified code of laws—you'll understand then."
That night, Phield took out paper and quill to draft the development plan for the Nightfall Domain.
z
In a script only he could read, he wrote: "Raiding and Exploration."
"My territory has nothing. To develop rapidly and accumulate the means of production, two hundred people alone won't suffice."
Even the land itself was saturated with toxins.
Knock knock knock.
A knock sounded at the door.
"My lord, it's me," Ashina's voice came from outside.
Phield's plans required her support. "Come in. I've been waiting for you."
"Good evening, my lord." Ashina wore a shortened maid's dress. The young woman's long, slender legs shifted into a shy posture, her face tinged with bashfulness. Freed from the hardships of slavery, her jade-like skin had finally regained its luster. Even her feet were strikingly elegant—her toes long, pale, and exquisitely beautiful. "What can I do for you?"
Whether it was his imagination or not, the atmosphere instantly grew charged with ambiguity.
Phield slapped his forehead. No wonder Ashina looked so embarrassed.
Calling a young woman to his room in the dead of night—anyone would misunderstand.
"Ahem, it's about territory development."
"Oh." Ashina's restless hands dropped to her sides. She let out a quiet breath of relief, though a faint disappointment stirred in her heart. "My lord, I have no experience in management. I'm afraid I won't be much help."
Before becoming a slave, Ashina had merely been a freeman—the daughter of a Wolf Demi-human hunter. She could neither read nor write, nor manage affairs.
"It's fine. You can learn—I'll teach you personally. Besides, as a Divine Chosen, you have a natural advantage."
In this world, the greatest leap in status was becoming a Divine Chosen.
One moment you might face execution; the next, upon being chosen by the gods, local nobles would declare you innocent and treat you as an honored guest. After all, the gods could not choose wrongly.
This was why the lower classes rarely rebelled against their lords: everyone harbored the chance for upward mobility. If a daughter or wife became a Divine Chosen, the family would never want for food or clothing again.
"I've decided to raid my younger brother."
Phield dropped the bombshell without preamble.
Ashina froze. Is this something I'm allowed to hear?
"Fine," she said after a moment. "I support you unconditionally!" Confirming that Phield was serious, she considered briefly before adding, "You're not a cruel or wicked person—I can feel it."
Even when she had been a slave, Phield had never mistreated her, nor taken advantage of her while she slept like some beast. On the contrary, he was the most unique person she had ever met.
He treated Demi-humans with equality—or perhaps even fondness? That might be her imagination, but there was no doubt: Phield was a true gentleman.
"Thank you." Phield poured her a cup of black tea. "It's a long story."
He still remembered the vicious, deranged look in his brother's eyes—it haunted his sleep.
His brother had threatened to kill everyone he cared about. Phield was no longer the original fool who let others walk all over him.
He would strike back—hard—and preparations had to begin now.
"I'll explain the reasons gradually. For now, I need your help training a light cavalry unit—one built specifically for raiding."
Phield's dear second sister had "gifted" him twenty warhorses, and now they would finally serve their purpose.
A pity Connor was dead.
After finalizing the plan, Phield convened a full assembly of all residents the next day—even the slaves were required to attend.
Every attendee's gaze was immediately drawn to the wooden chest beside Phield, piled high with silver and copper coins.
Rather than launching into a long speech, Phield held up a list.
"Members of the guard—come forward as I call your names to receive your bounties. One silver coin per corrupted corpse killed. I keep my word."
The guard members stepped up one by one as their names were read, each receiving gleaming silver coins from Phield's hand. The crowd watched in stunned silence, the metallic clink of coins echoing unmistakably.
Phield personally handed out the bounties to the guardsmen, and the slaves—one after another—were so overcome with emotion that tears streamed down their faces.
How could they not be thrilled? The slave who had racked up the most kills, Sam, received seventeen silver coins—an amount of wealth many would never accumulate in an entire lifetime.
Even Phield's maids watched with envy.
The rest of the crowd stared at the money in their hands with burning jealousy.
"If I'd known back when the guard was forming, I would've joined too."
"Damn it, they didn't pick me—such a waste."
Those who had once been timid now stomped their feet in frustration.
"Listen well, my people," Phield declared. "I am now announcing the development plan for the Nightfall Domain. It concerns the future of every single one of you."
With the lure of money dangling before them, the slaves' ears practically pricked up; they listened more intently than they ever had to a priest's prayers.
"First: to shed your slave status, earn one gold coin for me. Don't despair just yet—I dare say no other lord would ever make this possible. But in the Nightfall Domain, it's simple. Look at our brave Sam! One day—seventeen silver coins!"
At the sound of Phield's praise, Sam puffed out his chest with pride, even rising onto his tiptoes. This was the first time in his life anyone had ever praised him instead of calling him an idiot or a fool.
And unbelievably, the praise came from the lord himself.
"Gods, I must be dreaming. Today has to be my lucky day." Feeling the envious and admiring gazes of everyone around him, Sam was utterly exhilarated.
Phield's lips curved upward. "The old rule stands: one silver coin for every corrupted corpse killed. Beyond that, I will issue a series of non-combat tasks—farming, building walls, repairs, and other work—and I will reward you with bounties for those as well."
Slaves lacked motivation. Phield urgently needed freemen: freemen required no provision of food, clothing, or shelter, could be taxed, and only freemen had the drive to learn skills and crafts.
The crowd erupted into heated discussion, but Phield pressed on and announced the second point.
"Second: the matter of race. I don't intend to police it. Simply do not violate the basic laws. Though I myself am not a Demi-human, my beloved Divine Chosen is. So put away your prejudices. Look up at the death-mist surrounding us—do not, for some senseless reason, get us all killed." He paused briefly. "Personally, I quite like Demi-humans. As long as you are hardworking and honest, and don't cause me trouble, you are good subjects in my eyes."
From his days of contact with them, Phield had realized that Demi-humans were not like certain other races—lazy, gluttonous, and prone to sabotage. He was more than happy to accept them.
Besides, beast-ear girls were truly adorable.
Ashina's eyes reddened; for the first time, she felt respect and equality.
"Third: from now on, when you offer prayers, include Ashina's name."
This point had troubled Phield for a long while. He wanted to build a more rational, scientific domain.
Yet the books claimed that a Divine Chosen's power derived from faith and the prosperity of their city. Ashina was currently a first-tier Divine Chosen; to advance to the second tier, she would need a massive amount of belief from her subjects.
Phield remained skeptical. If power truly grew through faith, the Papal State—with believers spread across the continent—should be the strongest force of all. But it was not.
The Sacred Griffin Empire had already surpassed the Papal State in high-level combat strength, to say nothing of the other great powers on the continent.
"Unfortunately, there's no control group, and I lack the margin for reckless experimentation. For now, I'll follow the predecessors' methods."
Afterward, Phield once again recruited slave-soldiers: no salary, but three meals a day, with income coming solely from enemy kills.
In stark contrast to the previous recruitment—when no one had volunteered—a huge crowd now surged forward to sign up.
Phield did not accept them all. He pointed toward the edge of the territory. "Those who wish to enlist, run five laps around my domain. I will select the best performers. And I am very democratic—you may withdraw at any time."
With that single light remark, six men immediately gave up. These were the idlers, content with a single black bread each day.
"They can't even obey a basic order. Clearly just looking to sponge off meals," Phield shook his head. He had no need for such soldiers.
The rest gritted their teeth and began to run.
The newly arrived slaves were of far poorer quality than the first batch—most were frail and malnourished, their gaunt frames resembling skeleton soldiers. It wasn't until midday that the very last one staggered across the finish line.
Watching that final stumbling figure, Phield felt not anger, but delight. "Physical strength can be built over time, but tenacious willpower is something rare and hard-won."
After weeding out two who tried to cut corners and run fewer laps, Phield secured twenty-three new recruits.
He pulled every Wolf Demi-human from the original thirty-man guard and mixed them with the newcomers to form a twenty-man raiding cavalry unit. The remainder were reorganized into a thirty-three-man defense guard.
If any noble or knight were to visit, they would surely be dumbfounded by Phield's actions. Training commoners into soldiers was already mad enough—training slaves was unthinkable. Ignorant, cowardly, and weak, they weren't even fit to serve as cannon fodder; at best, they might fill an enemy's moat.
Yet Phield solemnly organized them into proper units and even equipped them with plate armor.
Butler Kaor glanced at the recruited "skeleton soldiers," his mouth agape wide enough to swallow an ostrich egg. Utterly stunned by his lord's behavior, he sought out Phield and spoke bluntly.
"My lord, the original thirty-man guard was already outrageous enough. Now you've expanded it further—and you're giving precious warhorses to lowly slaves? They'll turn around and eat those valuable mounts!"
"Calm down, Kaor. Look at how Ben and Sam have performed—they've been outstanding. We managed to get this far and clear a foothold largely thanks to them."
"B-but that was only out of desperate necessity!" Kaor pointed skyward, declaring with absolute conviction. "When faced with a real test, they'll flee without question. A true soldier must be born into a military family, trained from childhood in strategy, weaponry, and noble character!"
Phield rubbed his temples. This man had clearly been thoroughly indoctrinated by aristocratic ideals.
"Then what do you suggest we use? We're surrounded by monsters."
"Naturally, we hire mercenaries and adventurers with coin," Kaor replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Mercenaries? Those unreliable opportunists? Phield feared they would sell him out the moment it suited them. History had proven time and again that only warriors drawn from the people could form an army with true potential.
"Thank you for your advice, but I'm going to give them a chance." Phield rolled his eyes and continued in a tone that brooked no argument. "Kaor, add an extra egg to each soldier's meal. This afternoon, I'll take them out to clear monsters. They'll prove their worth."
With the domain critically short on manpower, Phield dared not take everyone—leaving the base undefended would be disastrous if it were overrun.
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