The brother's face twisted, and he sneered in a vile little voice. "Once you go off to that corrupted land, you'll never get the chance to come back. If I didn't take a good look at your face right now, I'd regret it forever."
Field's nails dug deep into his palms. He clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. He asked coldly, "I never crossed you. Why come after me?"
"Because of that damned battle qi elixir you handed down to me out of charity. After I drank it, I couldn't break through to first-rank knight no matter what! Everyone calls me a waste behind my back — and it's all your fault! You must have poisoned it!"
Field was disgusted. "That's because your talent's garbage."
"Heh. Anyway, if you ever take a lover, I'll snatch her up too, and let a swarm of beggars have their way with her! Oh — pity you won't have an 'ever' anymore, you wild seed." The brother pulled a smug, gloating face.
"Fuck! You human garbage!" Field's anger hit its peak. The original really had been a sappy do-gooder.
Sure enough, doing good only earned you enemies. Just like the saying went: those who mend roads and build bridges die without a grave, while those who murder and burn wear golden belts. This pack of bastards, with no sense of shame or decency, needed an education delivered by fist! "You're fucking begging to die!"
A vicious knee strike sent the brother flying. Field exploded into motion in an instant, following up with a kick straight to the face, and his ugly mug was suddenly painted in blood.
The whole crowd was stunned. Field, the man everyone knew as a meek pushover, could be this savage?
"What I hate most is people threatening me."
Before the guards could react, Field seized a fistful of the brother's golden curls, about to slam his head into the floor.
Then, all at once, his throat tightened — a hand clamped around his neck and hauled him into the air.
In a single instant, an agonizing, suffocating pressure brought the nearness of death rushing in on Field.
"What are you doing to my lord?" The one strangling Field was a strikingly beautiful woman with long wine-red hair. What drew the eye most, though, was the mysterious rune on her brow.
"A Chosen?" Field was dumbstruck.
This world held transcendent power, and the key to it lay with the Chosen. They were utterly singular beings, standing above both battle qi and magic, wielding all manner of inconceivable abilities — combat, support, construction, and more.
The screwed-up part was that only women could become Chosen. Maybe every god in this world was a woman, too.
Just as Field was on the verge of blacking out, the world spun violently, his back erupted in pain, and he realized he'd been flung against the wall.
"Heh. Just as I thought — you don't have the guts to actually kill."
"Aagh! I'm going to kill you!" The brother coughed hard and drew the blade at his waist.
Field wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. There was no way he could match a Chosen, no matter what. He wasted no more breath on them; gritting through the pain, he turned and strode off at a brisk pace.
He hadn't expected it — his brother, not even installed in his own fief yet, already had a Chosen for protection. That made Field feel his own danger all the more keenly.
He had no cushion to sit back and wait for death on, and now he'd made an enemy of his brother. Field knew he had to start moving — otherwise tonight he might be dragged off and tortured at the brat's every whim.
"Just let me grow a little. I'll come back and wreck the lot of you." Field's eyelids lowered, the fury in his eyes left bare.
Nine years of compulsory education breeds no cowards!
"So — what is this green dot, buzzing around like a fly?" Field studied the map before him, the one only he could see. "It showed up the day I crossed over. Maybe it's tied to the Lord talent."
Where there was yin, there was yang. The counterpart to the "Chosen" was the "Lord." Once a Lord signed a contract with a Chosen, the two could feed power back to each other and grow together.
A Lord possessed a unique talent, usually linked to his contracted Chosen and to his own domain. But there were rare cases of innate talents — no domain, no Chosen contract, yet a gift all the same.
The original had naturally had nothing of the sort. But Field, the transmigrator, had been given just such a rare talent.
Of course, he couldn't rule out floaters in his vision or cataracts. He'd only know once he went and checked — and it wasn't far, in Golden Eagle City.
He packed his luggage in short order. The steward had already collected the gold coins and was waiting for Field along with the servants, every face the picture of despair.
On learning he was bound for the cursed land, the steward had half a mind to hang himself — but suicide barred you from heaven, so he could only grit his teeth and march off to his death.
"Let's move." Field's mind was heavy, and he hadn't the heart to comfort his steward.
The instant he opened the manor gate, a troop of cavalry in mismatched armor came into view. From their midst stepped a man in a red cloak, a long lance shouldered. "Honored Baron Field, I am Connor, the cavalry captain, assigned as your escort. I trust we'll have a pleasant journey."
"Then I'll be in your hands, Connor."
Field answered politely enough, but inside, alarm bells were ringing.
Escort, they called it — but the bandit air on those cavalrymen's faces gave him no sense of safety at all. Field half suspected they'd kill him for his money the moment he left town.
Then again, unlikely. Registered knights generally wouldn't murder a noble — that was the kind of thing that torched a man's whole future.
Field shrugged. "More likely they're here to keep an eye on me. Escort me to the execution ground, that is."
"First, a stop in Golden Eagle City. Opening up the Nightfall Territory will take a great deal of supplies."
Field meant to go see what that green dot was.
Golden Eagle City, the second-largest city in House Rose's domain, held unrivaled commercial power. It had been granted to Field's second elder sister. Rumor said its tax revenue ran to six hundred thousand gold a year — set against Field's pitiful five hundred, the contrast stung the eyes.
By carriage, it took Field a whole morning to reach the great city, sprawled across some forty square kilometers.
Unlike the modern world, the soldiers guarding the city gate lounged against the wall, trading filthy jokes, or hurling abuse at the lowborn coming through and squeezing them for exorbitant entry tolls.
It wasn't until they spotted the cavalry troop clearing the road ahead of Field that one officer shot up from his chair.
"Move those peasants' junk out of the way, fast — a lord's coming through! Open your eyes, you idiots!"
The slack soldiers instantly straightened their spines, cursing and shoving the commoners and merchants aside to keep the gate clear, then bowed to Field with fawning faces.
Unfavored as he was, Field was still a noble — and ordinary folk didn't dare offend him.
Slowing his horse, Field followed the bearing of the green dot, drifting toward it at an easy pace.
The gate officer let out a long breath. As long as no trouble landed on him, it was another fine day. He left his men to keep collecting tolls, took two hard pulls of olive wine, and sprawled back in his chair to soak up the sun.
Guided by the green dot, Field arrived at the slave market in the city's northern quarter.
"Oh, this damned — nose-stinging stench, like pig-feed slop mixed with shit." Cavalry captain Connor knit his brow tight, fanning the air before his face without pause. It did no good; the reek still drove straight up his nostrils.