This world was steeped in blood and treachery at every turn; a man too kind tended to drop dead early — and as a noble most of all, Field had run clean out of the patience and goodwill to deal with this world's bastards.
Let iron and blood do the talking. Vileness — that was a noble's real passport.
As it turned out, humans attacking their own kind was far easier than fighting rotting corpses; at least their own kind didn't look like nightmares.
A human slave howled and flung himself onto the one-armed soldier, pinning him down, then drove the sickle in his hand hard into the man's neck and wrenched. The head tore clean off, the soldier's terror still frozen on its face.
"Well done. It's yours." The corner of Field's mouth curved up. He fished a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it over. "I let slaves own property — and the more you work, the more you earn!"
The eyes of the surrounding slaves went red. A silver coin was no small thing; it could buy a hundred black bread loaves — a hundred more days of life! In an instant, money lit a fire in their blood.
And with Ashina's giant wolf leading the charge, the slaves cast off their fear, gripped their weapons, and rushed in together.
"What an easy slaughter."
Before a Chosen, a too-small band of fully armored infantry was nothing but a joke. Heavy-armored soldiers were flattened by a swat of the wolf's paw, blood pouring from bodies squashed two-dimensional, pooling into rivers.
Ignoring the pleas and begging, Field finished off the mutinous garrison, then tiptoed in to avoid the strewn limbs and gingerly entered the bunker.
"This is... the armory!"
When Field laid eyes on the fortress armory, he could no longer hide his delight.
Before him rose armor stacked like a small mountain, giving off the tung-oil scent of careful maintenance, bound up in neat bundles. On the racks beside it sat standard-issue halberds, steel sabers, and iron-banded shields; bows and crossbows hung on the walls, and barrels of fletched arrows covered every function.
Enough to arm five hundred men to the teeth — and at a full hundred-percent armor rate.
No baron could afford this much weaponry; it had all been shipped in from across the Empire. Every year each great lord had to set aside a portion of supplies and gold to support the border's upkeep and guard against the corrupted monsters and beastmen.
"If Kashan Fortress holds this much just as a forward outpost, I can't even imagine how rich the huge fortresses behind it must be."
"Are we... rich now?" Ashina lifted a horse-bow, unable to put it down.
"We've struck a small fortune. This is nothing yet." Field was, in fact, thrilled out of his mind. He gave a grand wave of his arm. "What are you all standing around for? Arm yourselves first."
"Yes!" Hearing they could equip costly protective gear, the slaves rushed to untie the bundles and pull on suit after suit of scale armor. For the first time these slaves felt the power of armor — heavy, but brimming with security.
The only flaw was that the slaves were too thin and small; in the armor they wobbled about.
"Heh heh — that's for trying to disgust me, Richard." Field rubbed his hands together and called over the slave who'd struck first. "What's your name?"
"My lord, I'm called Wildcat." Wildcat looked very nervous.
In an age when knowledge was monopolized, the lowborn's names were generally thrown together at random. Not that they had a choice — bump up against a noble lord and the guillotine and the horse's hooves wouldn't be joking with you.
"I've a task for you. Let's rehearse it twice first." Field drew Wildcat close and explained, all whispers and gestures, with a conspiratorial air.
Having already pocketed Baron Bull's weapons and gear, he hardly cared about going a step further.
After sending Wildcat off with twenty men, Field turned his attention to the weapons and armor before him.
"Take it all — we have to take all of it, or I'll feel itchy all over." Field paced back and forth a few times. "Ashina, have Kao bring everyone over to haul the gear down off the wall. We'll come back and collect it once we've crossed the pass. It's Nightfall Territory equipment now."
Not enough! Weapons and armor alone couldn't satisfy Field. Going to the Nightfall Territory was a gamble; he had to bet everything on one throw.
Kashan Fortress was supplied by nobles nationwide, but the villages under it didn't pay a copper less in tax. Six great villages in all provided the fortress's supplies; their soil being fertile, they sent a ceaseless stream of cattle, sheep, wheat, and tax money up to the baron's castle.
Through rolling hills and gullies, a band of well-armed soldiers, shouldering Baron Bull's family banner, passed withered vines and weeds and crumbling ruins.
Oxhorn Village was known across the countryside for its two towering watchtowers — which were, in fact, only four meters high, and that counting the roofs, yet still the village's pride. Simple as the two towers looked, set a hunter atop them and, backed by the outer timber wall and the militia, they could fend off a bandit raid.
Just last night, they'd even shot down three rotting corpses, said to have leaked in from beyond the wall.
Heavens — monsters appearing even inside the fortress line. The situation made the elders think of the dread beastmen.
Three or four villagers in hemp clothes sat at the village entrance with dung-forks, cradling bowls of vegetable soup and chatting idly, debating how many rounds the widow in the east village could last against the greenskin beastmen, now and then breaking into nasty cackles.
"It's the lord's soldiers!" The villagers recognized the banner, but unclear on the soldiers' purpose, everyone looked lost.
Soon Wildcat and his slave-guards came into view.
"Open up, fast." Wildcat cursed and grumbled; the soldier beside him obligingly thumped a halberd against the ground, the infantry scale armor ringing crisply. Mimicking the manner of a noble, Wildcat bellowed haughtily, "You want to leave us standing out here sucking the northwest wind? Damned idiots."
The villagers snapped to and hastily bowed their backsides high to usher everyone in.
"My lord, is this about the rotting corpses? Our village fended off their attack — thank the gods, and of course Baron Bull as well. We'll offer up young girls; we guarantee the baron's satisfaction." The village head's face bloomed in a smile bright as a chrysanthemum as he came forward — but on seeing Wildcat he visibly froze. "Sir officer, I don't believe I've seen you before."
Wildcat's heart jumped, but recalling Field's instructions — when faced with an awkward question, just curse — he steadied himself.
"Fork your old mother, you running-dog of a viper, where do you get off with all this drivel!" Wildcat drew his blade outright. "I'm here to collect taxes, not to trace family trees, understand?! What do I care whether you've seen me!"
The village head took a faceful of spittle and was so startled by the drawn blade he nearly tumbled over. "Of course, my lord — my mistake."
"Farm tax, head tax, household tax, faith tax, land tax, corvée-exemption tax, breathing tax, and whatever the hell else — you know the ones, the taxes we Bull territory folk pay all the time."
Medieval taxes came in a marvelous variety; there was always one to suit the peasant babies.