2: Exiled Lord — Chapter 2 – Beatdown!
The Younger Brother Has a Chosen One 2: Exiled Lord — Chapter 2 – Beatdown!
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His younger brother’s face twisted into something ugly.
“Once you go to that Corrupted Land, you’ll never have a chance to come back,” he said with a cheap sneer.
“If I don’t savor your expression right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” Field’s fingernails dug into his palm.
His fist cracked from the pressure.
“I never provoked you,” he said, voice flat and cold.
“So why are you doing this?” “Because of that damned Battle Aura Potion you so charitably gave me.
I took it, and I still couldn’t break through to First-Rank Knight.
Not even close.
Everyone calls me a waste behind my back — and it’s your fault.
You poisoned it.
You had to have.” Field felt his stomach turn.
“That’s because your talent is garbage.” “Heh.” His brother’s lips curled.
“Well, if you ever had a lover, I’d track her down and hand her over to every vagrant I could find.
Let them have their fun.” He made a smug, taunting face.
“Too bad you don’t have a future anymore, you bastard.” “You piece of shit—” Field’s rage hit the ceiling.
The original host had been a hopelessly good-natured person.
A complete pushover.
And this was the result.
Do good deeds, die nameless.
Burn and pillage, wear a golden belt.
These people, with their zero concept of decency, only understood one language.
“You’re asking for it!” A sharp knee strike sent his brother flying.
Field was on him instantly, a boot to the face, full force, painting that smug mug with blood.
Everyone froze.
Field, who had always been the quiet, honest one, was actually capable of this.
“I hate being threatened.” Before the guards could react, Field grabbed his brother by the golden curls and was about to slam his skull into the ground.
Then his neck went tight.
A hand seized his throat and lifted him clean off the floor.
In an instant, the suffocation hit like a wall.
Field felt death close the gap.
“What are you doing to my Lord?” The one choking him was a woman, beautiful face, long wine-red hair.
But what stopped the eye was the Rune carved into her forehead, glowing faintly with something old and dangerous.
“A Chosen One?” Field’s brain stalled.
The transcendent power of this world lived in the Chosen Ones.
They were extraordinary beings who stood above Battle Aura and magic alike, wielding abilities that defied any rational explanation, combat, support, construction, and things with no name at all.
The infuriating part?
Only women could become Chosen Ones.
The gods of this world were apparently all female, every last one of them.
Just as the edges of his vision went dark, the world spun.
His spine hit the wall with a crack.
She’d thrown him.
“Heh.” He coughed, working the blood back into his brain.
“As expected.
You don’t dare kill me.” “I’ll kill you myself!” His brother was on his feet, hacking and coughing, waist sword already half-drawn.
Field wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
He had no illusions, he was nowhere near a match for a Chosen One.
No point dragging this out.
He turned and walked away, fast, not looking back, eating the pain with every step.
His brother didn’t even have his post yet, and he already had a Chosen One for protection.
That changed the math considerably.
There was no sitting around waiting to die.
He’d already made an enemy of his brother tonight, which meant the clock was ticking.
If he didn’t move, he might not see morning, or he’d see it in a dungeon somewhere, subjected to whatever creative cruelties his brother had been saving up.
“Give me time to get on my feet,” Field said quietly, eyes low, the fury in them completely unmasked.
“And I’ll come back and wreck every single one of you.” Nine years of compulsory education.
No cowards in that program.
“Now — what the hell is this green dot?” He turned his attention to the map that only he could see, hovering at the edge of his vision like a persistent insect.
“It appeared the day I transmigrated.
It has to be connected to a Lord Talent.” Where there’s Yin, there’s Yang.
The counterpart to the Chosen One was the Lord.
Form a Contract with a Chosen One and the two of you feed into each other, growing together.
Lords carried unique talents, usually tied to their contracted Chosen Ones and their territory.
But rare Innate Talents also existed: no land, no Contract, just the talent, sitting there waiting.
The original host had nothing of the sort.
Field, however, apparently did.
He couldn’t rule out eye floaters or early cataracts, of course.
He’d have to see it in person before he knew anything for certain.
Fortunately, it wasn’t far.
The dot was somewhere in Golden Eagle City.
He threw his things together quickly.
The Steward had already collected the travel gold and was standing outside the manor with the servants, all of them wearing the expressions of men being marched to the gallows.
When they’d been told about the Cursed Land, the Steward had reportedly considered a rope.
But suicide closed the gates of Heaven, so he’d swallowed his terror and resolved to die on the road instead.
“Let’s go.” Field had too much on his mind to bother with comfort.
The manor door swung open.
A cavalry troop in mismatched, battered armor waited in the road.
A man in a red cloak stepped forward, a long lance resting across his shoulder.
“Honorable Baron Field.
I am Connor, Cavalry Captain, assigned as your escort.
I trust we’ll have a pleasant journey.” “I’ll be counting on you, Connor.” Field kept his tone polite.
His instincts were screaming.
Escort.
Right.
The bandit energy coming off these riders was thick, not a single face in the group inspired confidence.
He briefly considered the possibility that they’d wait until they were clear of the city and then simply rob him blind and leave him in a ditch.
Unlikely, though.
Registered knights didn’t usually throw their futures away murdering nobles.
The paperwork alone wasn’t worth it.
Field shrugged.
“Probably here to make sure I actually show up to my own exile.” “First stop, Golden Eagle City.
Opening up Nightfall Territory is going to need a serious amount of supplies.” And he wanted a look at that green dot.
Golden Eagle City was the second-largest settlement in Ross Family territory and a commercial powerhouse by any standard.
It had been granted to Field’s second older sister.
Annual tax revenue reportedly ran to 600,000 gold coins.
Field’s own budget was 500.
The comparison wasn’t subtle.
The carriage ride took the full morning.
Then the city materialized on the horizon, 40 square kilometers of walls, towers, and busy misery.
The gate was the first sign of how things worked here.
Guards slouched against the stonework, trading filthy jokes with each other or shouting abuse at the people trying to enter, squeezing them for inflated entry fees before letting them through.
When they spotted the cavalry troop riding ahead of Field’s carriage, an officer scrambled out of his chair like he’d been jabbed.
“Move those lowlifes’ junk out of the road!
We have a lord coming through!
Eyes open, you idiots!” The lazy soldiers snapped upright.
They drove the commoners and merchants aside with curses and shoves, cleared the gate, and then arranged themselves into a fawning line, saluting as Field rolled past.
Out of favor or not, he was still a noble.
That counted for something.
Field eased his horse’s pace and let the green dot guide him, drifting gradually toward its position.
The gate officer exhaled.
No trouble, no problems.
Another beautiful day.
He sent his men back to collecting fees, drained two mouthfuls of olive wine, and settled back into his chair to catch some sun.
The green dot led Field north.
To the slave market.
“God Almighty.” Cavalry Captain Connor’s face clenched as the smell hit.
He waved a hand in front of his nose, pigweed, excrement, and something else underneath it all that didn’t have a clean name.
The fanning did nothing.
The stench went straight through.
➤ Next: Slaves, Locating the Green Dot