Field forced a brilliant smile, awaiting the verdict from his father, Count Cort.
His original name was Qin Hao, hailing from Huaguo on the planet Blue Star. He had only transmigrated into this world a mere three days ago.
Good news: He was the descendant of a Count.
Bad news: He was thoroughly despised.
"Field, you've come of age now," the lavishly dressed middle-aged man spoke, his words sprinkled with ostensibly inspiring vocabulary. Yet the old Count's voice was weak, his spirit listless, rendering his speech almost farcical.
Every person present watched with eyes full of mockery.
The Count paused, his attention wavering. When he refocused, he seemed to have forgotten where he was in his speech.
The original host had been an exceedingly kind soul. He had surrendered the potion to awaken combat aura to his younger brother, yielded his chance to study at the Mage Academy to his sister, and treated every servant with kindness. Logically, such a good person should have earned respect. Unfortunately, he was a noble. From the aristocratic perspective, the original host was nothing but a weak, incompetent waste.
The voluptuous beauty beside the old Count was Field's stepmother.
The plump, stunning young woman sat gracefully in the secondary lord's seat. She elegantly lifted her teacup, took a delicate sip, and set it down. Her almond-shaped eyes, which seemed capable of ensnaring with a glance, swept over Field. Sunlight carved russet shadows, accentuating her high nose bridge as she loftily raised her refined head, practically addressing Field with her chin: "The vast Duskwind March in the Northern Reaches shall be your barony. Plenty of room for you to spread your wings."
"So it comes to this," Field thought bitterly. "Even after exhausting himself trying to please everyone, exile remains unavoidable."
A slight dizziness washed over him. The original host, bullied to death by illness after their torment, had left this mess for him to inherit. Field clenched his jaw hard, barely steadying his mind.
Then, Field let out a cold chuckle. The original host had been truly foolish, thinking kindness alone could ensure survival among nobles.
His stepmother's gaze drifted down dismissively. "Objections?" she sneered.
"Haa~"
Forcing the stifling resentment from his chest, Field reined in his smile and replied in an even tone, "As you wish, Father."
His cheap father had already been drained dry by the stepmother, obeying his wife's every command in all matters.
"Pfft— Idiot!"
An unidentified relative burst out laughing, accompanied by a caustic insult.
The Northern Reaches, home to both humans and orcs, was a land steeped in bloodshed, violence, and savagery. Ten years ago, the Holy Gryphon Empire had used the Corrupting Miasma to slaughter three hundred thousand orc warriors. The place was likely now overrun with filthy goblins and trolls.
Of course, the Northern Reaches were far worse now.
The three hundred thousand orc warriors, along with every human and animal in the north, had been transformed into Corrupted beings. They lurked perpetually within the Death Miasma, making the region synonymous with a living hell. The Imperial family had organized three campaigns to reclaim the lost territories, each ending in the complete annihilation of the forces sent.
The various domains in the Northern Reaches existed only in name; they were lands even dogs wouldn't go to.
Most of the time, no one even mentioned them.
It was a cursed land, worse even than that. Fugitive serfs or criminals wouldn't choose to flee to Duskwind March.
*No matter. I still have my cheat.*
Field silently comforted himself. With a thought, a translucent map materialized before him, a slowly pulsing green dot marking a location.
"Go prepare," the Count said wearily, his face deathly pale.
The stepmother beside him helped him rise. Her near-transparent silk nightgown seemed to inject a sliver of motivation into the Count's withered frame.
Field pressed his lips together. His elder brother and sisters had all received fertile fiefs. This old bastard uttered a few meaningless platitudes and thought he could just brush him off? Field couldn't accept that. He immediately stated his demand: "Father, I require your support. Establishing Duskwind March will be no easy task."
The stepmother pressed her soft flesh against the Count's arm, then narrowed her eyes with a sly charm.
"Greed is not a noble virtue, Field. You have received more than enough," the Count declared without hesitation.
Family members nearby also shot him undisguised looks of contempt.
"Going out there with black hair and black eyes... it's an embarrassment to House Roth."
"Just a bastard!"
Black hair and dark eyes were no longer symbols of ancient nobility, not after the massive eastern nomadic invasions and the fall of the old kingdoms around the Inner Sea.
Field felt a surge of anger, his eyes flashing with fury.
The original host's very existence was a sin committed by the Count himself! Why should *he* suffer for it?
His mother had been a castle maid. She came from lands even farther east, sold to the castle as a rare slave by nomadic merchants. After a night of heavy drinking, the Count had fathered the original host.
Low status, no maternal family influence, and bearing some of his mother's physical traits...
These were major reasons why Field faced such scorn and exclusion.
"Five hundred gold coins. Additionally, you may take your personal servants. I treat all my children equally," the Count stated flatly before being hastily led back to his chambers by the stepmother.
Field was utterly frustrated. Five hundred gold sounded substantial, but poured into a territory, it was like stirring an ocean with a toothpick—barely a ripple.
Still, better than nothing.
"Hey! Field," his half-brother chirped, sidling up with a grin. His tone was exaggeratedly cheerful. "Duskwind March is a wonderful place! Sunlight barely touches that dark, putrid land. It matches your demonic eyes perfectly." He sighed dramatically. "My fief isn't nearly so grand. Poor Fulandale City, known only for its beer and goats."
Field felt rage blaze within him, searing his heart like meat on a grill. A terrible fief was one thing; as a transmigrator, he could find a way. But mocking his appearance directly? Field wanted nothing more than to dig up and desecrate eighteen generations of this brat's ancestors!
Besides, the reason this little bastard even possessed combat aura was due to Field's kindness! Back when his brother, with his pitifully low talent, had hidden weeping in a corner while others mocked him, it was Field who had offered a helping hand.
"Get lost!" Field snapped, refusing to give him any courtesy.
"Remember that flaxen-haired girl?" His brother seemed unfazed by Field's hostility. He leaned close, a perverse smile twisting his lips as he whispered into Field's ear.
Field narrowed his eyes. An image surfaced in his mind: a smiling face. The girl the original host had loved. Later, her naked corpse had been found in a tavern alley. Heartbroken and enraged, the original host had fallen fatally ill, paving the way for Field's transmigration.
His brother licked his lips. "It was me. The way she struggled... oh, the thrill was indescribable."
Field's pupils contracted violently. A shockwave of pure revulsion seized his heart.
His brother, also barely an adult, was capable of such bestial cruelty? Though, as a transmigrator, the girl was a stranger to him, the casual disregard for human life filled Field with unprecedented disgust.