"I still don't even know my manservant's name." Field asked the steward.
"My lord, he's called Crock, sixteen, his parents both farmers. The cook is called Platter, and the maids are Scissors and Sparrow."
In this world, only those who held knowledge — nobles, or wielders of transcendent power — got nice names.
For instance, Field's full name was Field Rose. Rose meant the flower, but as a name it suited better to simply call it Rose — like President George W. Bush: his full name is George Walker Bush, and you could translate Bush as "shrubbery," but it would sound far too strange.
"My lord, you have orders for me?" Singled out, Crock was so frightened his voice shook.
He feared being dismissed; yesterday, mopping the floors, he'd slacked off for ten minutes.
"The temporary bed you laid in the wagon was very soft. If not for it, the whole journey might have jolted me to pieces." Field's tone was easy; he snapped his fingers. "Kao, reward Crock with a silver coin."
"Hsss~"
The others shot over jealous looks at once. A silver coin — more than six days' wages.
Crock blanked for a moment, then a wild joy lit his face. He threw himself down at Field's feet and kissed his boots. "Goddess above — thank you for your generosity."
"Lucky little brat." Scissors pouted, thoroughly displeased. What's so great about making a bed? She could warm one, too.
Crock swore silently to himself: from now on, never slack — not even one minute.
"Once a month I'll hold a review, and anyone might earn a silver reward — so long as you perform well, everyone has a chance. A cook who makes a delicious dish, a maid who sweeps a room spotless, and so on — I see it all."
Breaths quickened; the servants exchanged glances, and in one another's eyes they read the heat of competition.
The corner of Field's mouth lifted slightly. From now on their work would be lit by silver. Most important of all, situations like informing and tattling would arise — and Field wanted exactly that. A tight-knit clique among his people wasn't necessarily good; it could lead to them banding together to deceive their lord.
"All right, off you go." Field smiled and waved them away. The servants left at a brisk pace, but the steward shuffled a couple of steps, then turned back, hesitating. Field asked, puzzled, "What is it?"
"My lord, er — it's not my place to say, but as your steward, it's my duty to offer you a little advice." Ever since making it into the Nightfall Territory alive, Kao had dropped his constant grumbling and begun to work in earnest.
Field cocked an eyebrow. "Speak freely."
"It's about the matter of race. You seem to have given the demi-humans a path upward, promising them they might become free folk. But... demi-humans aren't like us. They're stupid — er, apologies — apart from Lady Ashina, there's really no need to give the rest their freedom."
Field mused a moment. "We're in the cursed land now, surrounded by death. As the proverb goes: when you're in Azelia, be an Azelian."
"Our Nightfall Territory ought to have its own rules. Tomorrow I'll announce a unified law, and then you'll understand."
That night, Field took out paper and pen and drafted a plan for cultivating the Nightfall Territory.
In Chinese characters only he could read, he wrote: "Plunder and explore."
"My domain hasn't got a hair to its name. To develop fast and accumulate the means of production, two hundred people simply aren't enough."
Even the land itself was steeped in poison.
"Knock-knock-knock~"
A rap at the door.
"My lord, it's me." Ashina's voice came from outside.
Field's plan needed Ashina's backing. "Come in. I've been waiting for you."
"Good evening, my lord." Ashina wore the shortened maid's dress, her long, slender calves arranged in a bashful pose, a slightly shy look on her face. Freed from the hardships of slavery, her skin — cool and clear as jade — had finally seen daylight again; even her feet were coolly lovely, toes long and fair, beautifully formed. "Is there something I can do for you?"
Whether it was his imagination or not, the air turned at once... ambiguous.
Field smacked his forehead. No wonder Ashina looked so bashful and fidgety.
Calling a girl to his room in the dead of night — anyone would let their mind wander.
"Ahem — it's about developing the territory."
"Oh." Ashina's restless hands dropped at once. She let out a breath — but felt a faint pang of disappointment all the same. "My lord, I've no management experience. I might not be able to help you."
Before becoming a slave, Ashina had only been free folk too, the daughter of a wolf-demi-human hunter's family. She couldn't read, write, or manage anything.
"It's fine, you can learn. I'll teach you hand in hand. Besides, you're a Chosen — you've a natural advantage."
The greatest class leap in this world was becoming a Chosen.
One second you might be facing the death penalty; the next, awakened as a Chosen, the local nobles would declare you innocent outright and seat you as an honored guest — for the gods, after all, did not choose wrongly.
That was also why the lowborn were unwilling to rebel against their lords: everyone had a shot at the class leap. Let a daughter or a wife become a Chosen, and they'd want for nothing.
"I've decided to plunder my younger brother." Field opened with a god-tier bombshell.
Ashina was stunned. Is this something I'm allowed to hear?
"All right — I'll support you unconditionally!" Once sure Field wasn't joking, Ashina thought a moment. "You're not a cruel or wicked man. That much I can feel."
Back when she was a slave, Field had never abused her, nor done anything beastly while she slept. On the contrary, Field was the most singular person she'd ever met.
He could treat even a demi-human as an equal — er, maybe even with a touch of fondness? That part might be her imagination, but without question, Field was a gentleman!
"Thank you." Field poured Ashina a cup of black tea. "It's a long story."
He still remembered the brother's vicious, twisted eyes; they truly robbed him of sleep and appetite.
The brother had crowed about killing the people Field cared for. Field was no soft persimmon to be squeezed like the original.
Strike back, hard! And the preparations had to begin now.
"I'll tell you the reasons bit by bit. I need your help to train a unit of light cavalry — the kind made purely for raiding."
His dear second sister had "gifted" him twenty warhorses; now they'd come in handy.
Having settled the plan, the very next day Field called a full assembly of his people — every slave was to attend.
Everyone who came had their attention seized by the wooden chest beside Field, heaped with silver and copper coins.
Field didn't launch into a long speech at the start; instead he produced a list.
"Members of the guard — come collect your bounty as I call your name. One silver coin per rotting corpse killed. I'm a man of my word."