He'd redesigned the maid uniform with modern touches—skirts hemmed above the knees, sleeves shortened. Though lacking the crucial sheer stockings, the glimpse of pearly toes and smooth thighs proved pleasing enough.
"It fits well." Ashina couldn't bear the suspense, her tone teasing as if seeing through him. "What would you have me do, my lord?"
The other maids whispered her job was to warm his bed. Yet Ashina doubted it. Humans despised beastkin—viewing animal ears and tails as tainted bloodlines, like monstrous bastards born of unspeakable acts with goats.
"To aid me in taming the territory, as I said." Field's reply was matter-of-fact. Seeing her disbelief, he rubbed his temples. "Eat first. We'll talk over dinner."
At the word "eat," Ashina stilled, her stomach burning with hunger.
Field's plight ran deeper than his siblings' scorn.
The old earl was fading. His vast holdings would soon be divided. By imperial law, even an outcast heir held claim—a fragmentation decree designed to shatter powerful lordships.
Naturally, Field's brothers prayed for his swift demise. They loathed each other just as fiercely.
The dinner bell chimed. Two poised maids entered bearing glazed steaks and honeyed bread.
"Ashina, you possess—" Field turned, finding empty air. "Where'd she go?"
"Here."
Ashina sat folded on the floor in a corner, perched in a seiza-like pose.
"What are you doing?" Field stared.
"Sitting... waiting to eat." She tensed. "Have I erred, my lord?"
He strode over, grasped her wrist, and pulled her to the table. "Sit. Now."
She dared only occupy a third of the chair, eyes fixed on Field—waiting for a whip or other... implements.
"You're serious? I may eat this?" She pointed at the fragrant steak.
"Obviously."
The beastkin maiden watched him a breath longer, then cautiously nibbled the meat. Instantly, spices and rich sauce exploded across her tongue. Taste buds starved for meat danced wildly.
*The finest thing in this world!*
Forgetting all else, Ashina devoured the steak, licked the plate clean, then demolished three more servings and five bread rolls. Only when her belly swelled like a pregnancy did she stop.
Field smiled like a doting patriarch.
*Chuckle all you want. Eat your fill. Soon you'll work your paws off for me.*
"Ah. I could die happy now." Ashina licked her lips, wolf ears perked.
"Unnecessary. I intend to forge you into a Chosen One." Field steepled his fingers, leaning back.
He'd never reveal she was an *unawakened* Chosen—"forge" sounded far more manageable.
"Ah? Then you may be disappointed, my lord. The chances of becoming a Chosen are vanishingly small," Ashina replied timidly, her ears flattening. "And as a beastkin... I've never heard of any human contracting with my kind."
Histories claimed Chosen Ones emerged most often in glittering cities. Yet even Goldengale—the capital—had produced only three in a century: two noble scions and one cleric.
For beastkin? Rarer still. Their scattered tribes fought daily for survival, let alone glory.
Field's lips curved. "How would we know without trying? I believe I can forge you into one."
*Failure means rotting in that cursed land.*
"Very well... if it comes with more meat." Ashina licked her lips, savoring the memory.
The next ten days blurred into travel. At every city, Field stocked their wagon with mountains of meat and expensive alchemical tonics—all funneled into Ashina.
She soon realized his commitment was deadly serious.
Beyond nourishment, Field invested 150 gold in Fogward Lanterns, Purification Elixirs, and Aethershatter Crystals. His research was clear: these were non-negotiables for surviving Nightfall.
Finally, they reached the last fortress before the Northern Wastes.
Bullion Keep—Baron Oxhorn's mountain-carved stronghold—stood as the final bulwark against corrupted beasts, monsters, and the dread orc hordes.
"Frostmaiden's grace... let me be Chosen." Ashina huddled in the creaking carriage, praying to her wolfkin gods. These past days felt like a fever-dream: riding in a noble's wagon, devouring spiced steaks, even being tended by human maids (however resentfully).
*Heaven couldn't taste sweeter.* She pressed a palm to her forehead, half-expecting delirium.
Only one thing gnawed at her: Field's relentless dosing with precious alchemicals. No legend spoke of Chosen Ones brewed in cauldrons.
"Some dark ritual, perhaps?" she muttered. "But even if he sells my soul to devils... worth it. *Ack*—what am I saying?"
She sighed. "Please let this be real. Lord Field might strangle me otherwise."
Steward Caul's groan cut through her thoughts. "Never imagined my last visit to Bullion Keep would be... like this."
Ignoring the man's theatrics, Field nudged him with his riding crop. "You came here often before?"
Caul rolled his eyes. "Constantly. You'd donate your entire allowance to local peasants—or straight into Baron Oxhorn's coffers so he and his men could feast and whore."
"Well, okay." Field's mouth twitched, suddenly remembering his predecessor's saintly reputation. He forced an awkward chuckle and gave an awkward shrug. "At least the mighty Baron Bull will welcome us, won't he? The locals will sing our praises too. It'll make coming and going through Kashan Fortress much easier from now on."