Last time when Phield gave them eggs, many of the guards swallowed them whole with barely a chew or two, so greedily that they choked and rolled their eyes in distress. The scarcity of food had made them crave protein desperately; many even dreamed about the taste of those eggs.
They had assumed that such a treat would not come again, but they never expected their longed-for eggs to arrive so soon.
"It's simple. Just follow me."
Phield demonstrated the military stance he used during training, then patiently went around correcting each one individually.
These were the standout performers among the guards, and Phield held considerable expectations for them. Barring any surprises, the future framework of the army would need to be built around them.
After finishing the corrections, Phield had a male servant bring over a chair and set out an hourglass to keep time.
"Hold it for half an hour, and the eggs are yours." Phield flashed a devilish smile.
Sam tried his best to stand ramrod straight, his hands fidgeting as they pressed against the sides of his trousers, his feet splayed at the required angle.
"This is probably some ridiculous performance the nobles like to watch," Sam thought to himself. He had heard that nobles loved clown acts; he had never seen a clown, but he figured this must be what it looked like. "But for eggs, it's worth it. Is there any job more exhausting than hauling bricks or mining?"
Soon enough, Sam discovered the true terror of standing at attention.
The farmland of the Nightfall Domain, even after being purified with potions and Phield's lord ability, had not fully recovered; the ground was soft and mushy, as if it had just rained.
Sam felt like he could barely keep his footing.
To the onlookers, it wasn't the ground that was the problem—the ones standing were the ones trembling, their legs shaking like limp noodles. Feeling the heavy weight throughout their bodies, the guards realized that simply standing was no easy feat. The tingling, aching soreness was as painful as if they had carried heavy loads all day.
Cold sweat poured down Sam's face as he gritted his teeth and silently cheered himself on.
"For the eggs."
Several guards were silently repeating the same mantra. Even as their bodies swayed, they clenched their teeth and held on.
The corners of Phield's mouth curled upward unconsciously. He glanced at the hourglass.
"As expected, material incentives are incredibly effective."
Only after leisurely finishing a cup of black tea did Phield announce a break. The guards collapsed in relief, sprawling across the ground like piles of mud.
"My lord, a truly brilliant measure. This is exactly how they should be handled." The steward Kaor, having just finished inventorying the wine cellar, approached with a sheet of paper still wet with ink. Seeing Phield "torturing" the guards, he assumed Phield had finally grasped the key to being a noble: never treat people like people.
Kaor felt greatly reassured.
"You understand the power of discipline too?" Phield was surprised; he even straightened his posture. The deeper meaning behind standing at attention was not something a medieval person could easily comprehend. He hadn't expected his steward to have such forward-thinking insight.
Kaor scratched his nose in confusion.
"Discipline? I meant that when dealing with slaves, you have to use different methods to torment them—that's the only way they'll become obedient."
"Oh, never mind then." Phield sighed in disappointment, slumping lazily back against the chair once more with a mischievous grin. "This isn't torment; it's training. They're performing well. I've decided to give them extra eggs at lunch."
"Eggs? Again for the slaves?" Kaor was thunderstruck, standing frozen in place, his mouth opening and closing as if he might faint. "My lord, this is the second time you've done something so outrageous. Slaves should be fed whips, not eggs!"
Kaor could somewhat praise the creativity of stuffing shiny gold coins into the "treasure hole" of an old, ugly witch, but giving slaves the luxury of eggs made his heart ache.
Kaor swore that Phield's actions would be considered utterly bizarre and explosive across the entire empire.
Even the most spoiled and reckless young nobles in the imperial capital would never come up with such an extravagantly wasteful idea.
Seeing the steward so upset that he kept tugging at his collar to breathe, Phield found it somewhat amusing and reassured him, "This is the cursed land. Naturally, we can't follow the conventional rules of ordinary regions. All the rules here will be brand new. I believe you'll get used to it. By the way, how's the wine inventory going?"
"That's exactly why I came." Switching to business, Kaor handed over the results and reported excitedly, "According to standard classification: 3 barrels of barley ale, 7 barrels of mead, 7 barrels of olive wine, 24 barrels of Black Pearl red wine, and we also discovered one precious barrel of sparkling wine—champagne."
The first three were commoner drinks; the real value lay in the wines.
"Much better than I expected. Excellent."
Phield stood up and began pacing back and forth, too excited to sit still. He laughed heartily. "Now the priority is to turn them all into cash. Only when they become gleaming gold coins will I feel at ease."
If monsters somehow slipped in and caused damage, those wines would be ruined.
"Kaor, assign some slaves to load provisions for forty people for ten days onto the wagons—oh, and the horse feed too. You're in charge of checking for anything missing. I'm going to personally visit Maple Leaf City to meet the local nobles and find buyers for the wine."
"This… isn't this too risky? The death mist is no joke. We may not get as lucky as last time. If we encounter a large horde of corpses, something could go terribly wrong. My lord, why not let the Divine Chosen lead the party instead?" Kaor voiced his concerns. He glanced around furtively to make sure Ashina wasn't nearby before relaxing—he really didn't like that terrifying Demihuman at all. "Besides, we've only been here a few days. Everyone still needs your leadership."
Phield sighed helplessly. Him staying behind would be the real danger.
If Ashina fell, Phield would have no way to hold the grand winery.
Without the minimap, Ashina would undoubtedly run straight into massive corpse tides—not just one or two. Phield knew full well how dangerous the northern province was. They were like children playing in an ocean of rotting corpses; the slightest mistake could mean death.
"This is an order. Just carry it out seriously."
Phield waved his hand dismissively; he couldn't be bothered to explain. Kaor was one of only two literate people in the territory, but that didn't make him an administrative talent.
Sending the Divine Chosen to handle the trade would be tantamount to announcing to the entire empire that Phield—a minor, unfavored baron with no backing or support—possessed a precious Divine Chosen.
No matter what, Phield could not lose Ashina, nor could he expose her existence to outsiders.
"Huh? What are they up to?"
Phield noticed two female slaves whispering to each other as they walked toward the edge of the territory.
"Maybe it's some woman's little secret, or gossip… or perhaps a conspiracy."
A conspiracy was unlikely. Without a mist-dispelling lamp, no one could escape unless they awakened as a Divine Chosen.
Most likely they were just slacking off. Phield was very familiar with that kind of behavior.