Since the original owner had laid the groundwork for some social connections, Feld might be able to cash in on those favors down the line. You never know.
"Haha, Baron Bull and his son are pretty infamous—uh, sorry, I said too much." Kao clammed up quick. Talking smack about one noble in front of another was a fast track to an early grave, even if the guy in front of him was known for being a spineless coward.
Back in the day, Kao had stuck his nose where it didn't belong, catching a noble in a scandalous affair. Cost him his career and got him exiled to the Northern Territory.
Feld wanted to press for more details, but a blip on his mental minimap caught his eye—a swarm of red skull icons, barreling toward him fast.
"Hiss, what, are we getting a welcome party?" Feld quipped, but he wasn't dumb. Those skull markers were bad news. He quickly sent his manservant to fetch Knight Connor.
"Haha, with all due respect, the baron's just jumping at shadows!" Connor laughed off the servant's anxious report, his face dripping with scorn. "We're behind the walls of Ka Mountain Fortress, the empire's toughest defensive line. If there's danger *here*, I'll eat every last pile of my warhorse's dung!"
In Connor's mind, Feld was already labeled as "a desperate man's last gasp."
"Tell your baron this trip to Nightfall Territory is under the law *and* family oversight. No backing out now—that's not how a noble behaves."
The servant, cowed by Connor's aggressive tone, lost his nerve and slunk back to report.
Feld just muttered, "Oh," and told the slaves to slow the pace.
Connor, riding upfront, was forced to lead the convoy.
"Coward! How did the count sire such a spineless wimp?" Connor sneered under his breath.
But his smug grin didn't last long.
Because Feld was about to meet the "locals" giving them a warm welcome.
"ROAR!" A guttural howl echoed.
"Here we go," Feld chuckled. "Looks like someone's dining on horse crap tonight."
Amid a chorus of startled gasps, Feld pushed past the slaves blocking his view. He spotted pairs of ashen, lifeless eyes—corpses in tattered peasant clothes, charging toward him at full speed. Ahead of them, about a dozen normal humans were running for their lives. Even from a hundred meters away, the chilling malice and rancid stench hit like a truck.
These rotting corpses were a product of the Northern Territory!
"What the hell? We're not even *in* the Northern Territory yet—where'd these monsters come from?" Connor spat, cursing his luck. He was *this* close to finishing the job, and now this? "Mount up, knights! Prepare to fight!"
What pissed him off even more was that he'd just mocked Feld. Talk about eating his words.
Connor raised his lance, grudgingly. If he didn't do his duty, he could kiss any chance at climbing the social ladder goodbye.
Twenty cavalrymen lined up in a single row, galloped to a nearby hill, and used the downhill momentum to charge the horde of corpses.
"Better to rely on yourself than others," Feld muttered, his nerves kicking in. He locked eyes with the snarling, clawing corpses and shouted to the slaves behind him, "Link the wagons together! Any man with guts, grab a pitchfork and fight with me! I'll reward you based on your performance!"
The slaves didn't budge, cowering behind the wagons, trembling or praying for a miracle.
"Don't count on those losers," the steward stammered, his legs shaking like they were powered by tiny motors. He was scared shitless—literally. Clutching Feld's robe, he pleaded, "My lord, let's run—er, I mean, *strategic retreat*! No need to bother with these dirt-poor slaves. If they die, just buy more."
Feld pried the steward's hand off, frowning. "If *this* freaks you out, you're not cut out for the Northern Territory."
*You think I asked for this? The count personally picked me!* Kao thought, wishing he could vanish. His face turned beet red.
"Huh? Enemies?" Ashina hopped down from the carriage. Days of rest had done wonders—she was no longer gaunt and sickly. She'd filled out in all the right places, her skin now fair and soft. If not for the slave mark and maid outfit, she could've passed for a noblewoman.
"My lord, I… I'll do my best to protect you!"
Ashina raised her tiny fists, trembling like a kitten in a snowstorm as she stepped in front of Feld.
"No need for that," Feld said, half-laughing, half-touched. Her wolf ears had flattened into airplane mode from nerves, but he appreciated the gesture. At least the meat and bread he'd given her weren't wasted.
Unlike *certain* ungrateful jerks who ate his food and still held a grudge.
"Help!" The fleeing peasants spotted their saviors and ran toward them, sobbing and screaming, drawing the corpse horde closer.
"For glory!"
At the right distance, Connor's cavalry launched their charge. Yelling battle cries, they extended their three-meter lances, aiming straight for the snarling corpses.
*Thud! Thud!*
A sickening series of fleshy impacts rang out. Seven or eight zombies were impaled and flung like ragdolls, crashing to the ground. Purple, putrid blood sprayed everywhere, turning the dirt into a sticky mess.
That was just the appetizer. After the lance charge, the cavalry wheeled back, swapping lances for flails or sabers. They swung wildly from horseback, blood splattering like blossoms as corpses fell like harvested wheat. Some were knocked down by horses, their chests caved in by iron hooves. It was a slaughter.
The straggling corpses slammed into the wagon barricade Feld had set up. Their brains were basically decorative at this point—they didn't know tactics, just mindlessly clawed and bit at the wooden carts.
"God, no!" The slaves shoved each other, trapped inside the wagon circle with nowhere to run.
The steward wasn't faring much better—his bladder had given up, soaking his pants.
"Goddamn cowards," Feld muttered.
Sure, he was scared too, but not *that* bad. Probably because he'd binged post-apocalyptic novels and zombie flicks before crossing over.
"Guess the lord's gotta handle this himself."
Feld didn't have a single soldier under his command. The corpses were fast and fearless, but their dumb, clumsy movements weren't unbeatable. He'd have to step up. This body had at least some basic combat training, after all.
With a low shout, Feld seized the moment as a corpse shoved at a cart. He thrust his longsword into its neck, then yanked sideways. The zombie's head flopped forward like a lightning-struck branch, dangling limply against its chest.
"Ugh!"
The stench of rot and fermented shit hit Feld like a punch, nearly making him puke. But deep down, a flicker of excitement stirred. In his soul, Feld's blood burned for battle.