This world was steeped in blood and treachery. Good men died young, especially nobles. Field had run out of patience and kindness for dealing with the scum of this world.
Let iron and blood do the talking! Baseness is the true passport of nobility.
It turned out attacking one's own kind was far simpler than fighting rotting corpses; at least humans didn't look terrifying. A human slave roared, lunged forward, pinned down a soldier with a severed arm, and plunged the sickle in his hand deep into the man's neck. With a savage wrench, he tore the head clean off. The soldier's expression of terror remained frozen on his face.
"Well done. It's yours," Field said, a smirk playing on his lips as he fished a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it to the slave. "I permit slaves to own property! And the harder you work, the more you earn!"
The eyes of the surrounding slaves turned red with greed. A silver coin was no small sum – it could buy a hundred loaves of black bread, sustaining their lives for a hundred days! Instantly, avarice ignited their bloodlust.
Spurred on by Ashina's giant wolf leading the charge, the slaves gripped their weapons tightly and surged forward without fear.
"What an effortless slaughter."
Before a Chosen One, a small force of fully armored infantry was nothing but a laughingstock. Soldiers in heavy plate were flattened by a single swipe of a wolf's paw, blood gushing from bodies crushed into a two-dimensional mess, pooling into a river.
Ignoring desperate pleas and cries for mercy, Field swiftly dealt with the rebelling garrison. He then tiptoed carefully into the dark fort, avoiding the scattered limbs and gore littering the ground.
"It's... the armory!"
Field could no longer contain his astonishment when he saw the fortress armory.
Stacked like mountains before him were suits of armor, exuding the scent of freshly applied tung oil, neatly bundled. Adjacent racks held standardized polearms, steel swords, and iron-bound shields. Crossbows hung on the walls, while barrels of arrows – encompassing every conceivable type – stood nearby.
Enough to fully arm five hundred men to the teeth, with one hundred percent armor coverage.
No mere baron could afford such military reserves. These were supplies shipped from across the Empire. Every year, the great lords were required to contribute a portion of their resources and gold coins to support the border defenses, guarding against the incursions of corrupted monsters and orcs.
"And this is just the forward outpost, Fort Karshan? I dare not imagine the wealth stored in the giant fortresses further back."
"Have we... struck it rich?" Ashina asked, lovingly examining a cavalry bow she'd taken down.
"A modest windfall. This is just the beginning," Field replied, though internally he was ecstatic. He waved a hand dismissively. "Stop gawking. Arm yourselves immediately."
"Yes!" Elated at the prospect of wearing expensive armor, the former slaves rushed to untie the bundles, pulling sets of lamellar armor over their bodies. For the first time, they felt the weight and power of proper armor – heavy, yet offering unparalleled security.
The only flaw was their emaciated frames; the armor hung loosely, swaying as they moved.
"Heh. Serves you right, Richard," Field muttered darkly, rubbing his hands with glee. He summoned the first slave who had acted. "What's your name?"
"Lord... I'm called Wildcat," the slave replied nervously.
In an age where knowledge was monopolized, names among the lower classes were often crude. Of course, they had little choice – using a noble's name risked meeting the executioner's axe or a nobleman's warhorse.
"I have a task for you. Let's rehearse it twice." Field beckoned Wildcat closer and began explaining with gestures, speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
Having already embezzled Baron Bull's weapons and armor, Field saw no reason to hold back now.
After sending Wildcat off with twenty men, Field turned his attention back to the equipment.
"Take it all. Must take it all. Leaving anything would be unbearable," Field muttered, pacing back and forth. "Ashina! Send Ka'o to bring everyone here. Haul the equipment over the walls and drop it down. We'll collect it after we pass through the gorge. It all belongs to Dusk County now."
*It's not enough!* Weapons and armor alone couldn't satisfy Field. Going to Dusk County was a high-stakes gamble; he needed to go all in.
While Fort Karshan was supplied by nobles nationwide, its subordinate villages paid their taxes in full. Six large villages, blessed with fertile land, provided the fortress – and the Baron's castle – with a steady stream of cattle, sheep, wheat, and coin every year.
A squad of well-equipped soldiers, bearing the family banner of Baron Bull, marched through a landscape of withered vines, overgrown weeds, and crumbling ruins, traversing rolling hills and gullies.
Oxhorn Village was locally famous for its two towering watchtowers – a whole four meters high, counting the roof. They were the village's pride. Though seemingly crude, manned by hunters and backed by the outer wooden palisade and militia, they could repel bandit raids.
Just last night, they'd shot down three rotting corpses, rumored to have slipped inside from beyond the Wall. *Gods! Even monsters inside the Wall?* The elders shuddered, reminded of the terrifying orc invasions.
Three or four villagers in rough-spun tunics sat by the village gate, clutching manure forks and sipping vegetable soup. They crudely debated how many rounds the widow from East Village could survive against a "green-skinned orc," punctuating their talk with coarse laughter.
"Soldiers from the Lord!" A villager recognized the banner but looked confused about their purpose.
Soon, Wildcat and his squad of former slave-turned-guards came into view.
"Open up!" Wildcat barked. A soldier beside him slammed the butt of his halberd onto the ground for emphasis, the lamellar armor clinking sharply. Wildcat puffed out his chest, mimicking a noble's arrogance. "You planning to leave us sucking wind out here? Move it, you damn fools!"
The villagers scrambled into action, practically tripping over themselves to usher the soldiers inside.
"Milord, is it about the corpses? Our village fought them off, thanks be to the gods! And, of course, to the Baron!" The village chief hurried forward, his face grinning like a blooming chrysanthemum. "We'll offer a young maiden, ensure his lordship's satisfaction..." His smile faltered slightly as he took in Wildcat. "Erm... Commander? I don't believe we've met..."
Wildcat's heart raced, but he remembered Field's instructions: *If a question is tricky, just curse.*
"Fuck your mother, you snake's lackey! Who cares if you've seen me or not?!" Wildcat roared, drawing his sword. The chief recoiled, nearly stumbling. "I'm here for taxes, not family reunions! Understand?!"
"O-of course, Milord! My mistake!" the chief stammered, wiping spittle from his face.
"Agricultural tax. Census tax. Household tax. Faith tax. Land tax. Military exemption tax. Air tax..." Wildcat rattled off, waving his sword vaguely. "...and whatever the fuck else you know we always pay in Bull County!"
Medieval taxes had a flavor for every peasant.