Phield forced a bright smile, awaiting his father—the Earl of Kote—to deliver his verdict.
Originally named Luca, he hailed from Earth, having crossed over into this world a mere three days prior.
The good news: he was the Earl's heir.
The bad news: he was profoundly unwelcome.
"Phield, you have come of age. Like a lion in his prime, it is time to forge your own path." The lavishly dressed middle-aged man's words were laced with stirring rhetoric, yet the old Earl spoke with a weary, listless tone, rendering the speech as hollow as a joke.
Every pair of eyes present brimmed with mockery.
Earl Kote paused, his attention wandering. When he regained his focus, he'd forgotten where he'd left off.
Before Luca's transmigration, the original Phield had been an exceptionally kind soul. He'd relinquished the potion that awakened magical power to his younger brother, ceded his chance to study at the Mage Academy to his sister, and treated every servant with genuine kindness.
By all accounts, such a virtuous soul ought to command respect. Alas, as a noble, the original Phield was viewed through aristocratic eyes as nothing but a weakling and a failure.
The mature woman seated beside the old Earl was Phield's stepmother.
A voluptuous, beautiful young woman, seated with dignified composure in the lord's secondary seat, she gracefully lifted her teacup, took a sip, then set it down. Raising her eyes to glance at Phield, her gaze held a trace of careless disdain. The sun-cast ochre shadows accentuated her high, straight nose. The stepmother lifted her exquisite chin haughtily, her chin almost pointing at Phield as she declared: The Nightfall Domain in the vast North shall be your Barony. It will provide ample scope for your endeavours."
"Indeed. Even when one strives to please everyone, exile remains inevitable."
A faint dizziness washed over him. The original owner had died of illness after enduring everyone's bullying, leaving him to inherit this mess. Phield bit his lip hard, forcing himself to regain his composure.
Then, Phield let out a cold laugh. The original owner had been utterly foolish, thinking kindness could secure survival among nobility.
The stepmother's eyes drifted downward in a careless glance, looking down on him as she asked, "Any objections?"
"Hmph~"
Forcing out the pent-up frustration, Phield suppressed his smile and replied in a flat tone, "As you wish, my father."
His father had already been manipulated by his stepmother. Everything would now proceed according to her rhythm, following her arrangements.
"Ha! Fool!"
An unknown relative burst out laughing, their words laced with a sharp, cutting insult.
The Northland, home to both humans and Orcs, was steeped in bloodshed, violence, and savagery. Ten years prior, the Sacred Griffin Empire had used the Corrupting Mist to slaughter three hundred thousand Orcs. That land was likely now overrun by filthy goblins and trolls.
Of course, the Northland's environment had deteriorated further since then.
The entire Orc army of three hundred thousand, along with every human and beast in the North, had transformed into corrupted creatures. They lurked perpetually within the deathly haze, becoming synonymous with a living hell. The royal court had organised three campaigns to reclaim the lost lands, each ending in total annihilation.
The Northern Lands' territories, large and small, existed only in name—places not even dogs would venture to.
Most of the time, no one even spoke of them.
It was a cursed land, worse than that—even fugitive serfs or criminals wouldn't choose to flee towards the Nightfall Domain.
No worries, I've got my cheat code.
Phield silently reassured himself. With a flick of his thoughts, a transparent map materialised, marked with a slowly moving green dot.
"Go prepare," Count Kote said, looking utterly weary and deathly pale.
His stepmother supported him as he rose, the sheer silk nightgown clinging to his withered frame, as if it offered some faint glimmer of strength.
Phield pressed his lips together. His elder brother and sister had both received lavish fiefdoms. This old codger uttered a couple of insipid platitudes and expected to dismiss him? Phield could not acquiesce. He immediately voiced his demand: "Father, I require your backing. Developing the Nightfall Domain is no simple matter."
The stepmother's bosom pressed against Count Kote's arm before she narrowed her eyes seductively.
"Greed is no virtue for a noble, Phield. You have already received more than your fair share," Count Kote declared without hesitation.
Family members nearby shot him contemptuous glances without restraint.
"To venture forth bearing black hair and dark eyes is a disgrace to the Ross name."
"A bastard, nothing more!"
Black hair and dark eyes had ceased to symbolise ancient nobility following the mass incursions of Eastern nomads and the fall of Taloria's ancient kingdoms.
Phield's eyes blazed with anger.
The birth of the original host was clearly the sin of Count Kote himself. Why must he torment me?
His mother had been a maid in the castle, hailing from the distant East. She had been sold as a rare slave by nomadic merchants to the castle. After Count Kote's drunken revelry one night, the original host was conceived.
Of lowly birth, inheriting some of his mother's physical traits, and lacking the backing of family influence.
This was another major reason Phield faced exclusion and contempt.
Five hundred gold coins. Moreover, you may take your personal attendant. I treat every child equally." Count Kote left these words behind before being hurriedly escorted back to his bedchamber by his stepmother.
Phield was thoroughly disheartened. Five hundred gold coins sounded like a fortune, but investing it in the domain was merely a ripple on the surface—utterly incapable of stirring the deep waters.
Still, it was better than nothing.
"Hey! Phield, Nightfall Domain's a splendid place. Sunlight never graces that pitch-black, putrid land—perfectly suited to your demonic eyes," his half-brother grinned, drawing near with exaggerated enthusiasm. "My fiefment's rather less splendid—merely Wind Orchid City, renowned for its beer and goats."
Phield felt a surge of rage ignite within him, scorching his heart until it nearly smoked. A lousy fiefdom was one thing—as a transmigrator, he'd find a way.
But mocking his appearance? That made Phield want to dig up his ancestor's grave.
Besides, if this bloke possessed any magic at all, it was only because of Phield's kindness! Back when his brother's talent was abysmal, cowering in a corner weeping while others mocked him, it was Phield who helped the boy awaken his magic.
"Get lost!" Phield shot him a withering glare.
"Remember the girl with flaxen hair?" His brother ignored Phield's scowl, flashing a sinister grin as he leaned close to his ear.
Phield narrowed his eyes, a smiling face surfacing in his mind—the girl the original host had adored. Later, her nearly naked corpse was discovered in the tavern's back alley. Consumed by grief and rage, the original host fell gravely ill and died, allowing Phield to cross over.
His brother licked his lips. "I did it. Her struggle... it was incredibly thrilling."
Phield's pupils contracted sharply as a sensation called shock clutched at his heart.
His brother, barely of age himself, had committed such a depraved act. Though as a transmigrator, the girl was merely a stranger to him, the thought of casually trampling another's life filled Phield with an unprecedented wave of revulsion.
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