Field had considered buying more slaves, but sadly his purse was light.
Surviving in the death miasma meant that — never mind the monsters — even breathing required leaning on a mist-dispelling lamp, a magic implement the Church sold exclusively, and an expensive one at that.
Add to that the food, drink, and daily needs of two hundred-plus people, and it was no small sum.
"Well? Did you manage the loan?" Spotting the steward coming out of the Merchants' Guild, Field strode up to ask — but one look at Kao's face, sourer than a rat dead three days, and he already knew the answer.
"My apologies, my lord. Even the greediest merchant, on hearing your name, won't lend us a copper." Kao spread his hands. "The Northern Province is, after all, a byword for hell. Even the royal expeditionary armies were wiped out to the last man. No merchant's keen to pour money down a hole."
"That's odd. I only received the appointment today. How are the merchants so well-informed?" Field had meant to take out a loan: if he died in the North, no need to repay; if he lived, repayment would be a trifle.
Kao rolled his eyes. He truly hadn't the heart to wait on a noble headed for the grave.
If he hadn't stumbled onto the count's sister tumbling with a stablehand, he might have become a promising steward of Golden Eagle City, or even a Hand to the count, or a tutor to the count's eldest grandson — instead of being marched off to die in the cursed land!
"Because your second sister learned ahead of time which fief you'd been given, and put out a warning to the city's merchants: anything you buy, they price at ten times the rate." The steward answered listlessly. "And the merchants took her meaning — they won't offer us the slightest convenience."
Field wiped a bead of cold sweat. Lucky he hadn't given his name when buying slaves, or it wouldn't have stopped at fifty silver.
"Damn. My thanks to her, my dear sister." A vein bulged at Field's temple.
Not one of them treated him like a person, did they?
The most aggravating part: the original had lived this long without so much as half a copper in savings. A third of his allowance he'd donated to the family treasury; the other two-thirds he'd given to the border fortresses, to buy weapons for fighting the corrupted creatures.
A poor noble through and through.
"No loan, then so be it. The loss is the shortsighted merchants'." Field shrugged it off. "Now — let's go buy some means of production."
Field spent a hundred and eighty gold on the pack-horses, farm tools, food, and books needed for opening up a fief. The pack-horses numbered seventeen, all old and weak. In a medieval world, horses were a vital means of production, tightly controlled by the lords. As for food, he packed in as much as he could; by sheer volume, it was enough to feed a modern man for half a month.
But slaves didn't need that kind of treatment. One black bread loaf a day kept them alive, and two loaves cut with bark and sawdust were enough to make a slave drop to its knees and call you Daddy.
So the food would stretch comfortably to around thirty-five days.
"As for magic implements, we'll buy those in the border cities. The crooked officers there will sell them off at a discount."
Just like ancient feudal armies, forever flogging off their soldiers' weapons and gear, then pocketing the pay of the dead besides.
Field had originally wanted to recruit talent or mercenaries from the taverns, but the moment they heard "Nightfall Territory," they refused without a flicker of hesitation.
"That hellhole? May as well just order us to go die."
"My advice — run straight for another country. Even a hardy cockroach has to live with one hand over its ass out there."
The mercenaries' warnings echoing in his head, Field pinched the bridge of his nose and shot a glance at the beast-eared girl, curled up in the straw-loaded wagon. He was curious — what exactly was so unusual about this girl?
Finding a post-house, Field let everyone rest for the night.
Early the next morning, he summoned the beast-eared girl.
"What's your name? Did you rest well last night?" Field looked the fifty-silver slave over from head to toe. Seeing her dazed expression, he found it faintly amusing.
"A... Ashina." Her mouth worked open and shut for a good while before Ashina managed to force out her name. She hadn't spoken in a month.
She'd been waiting in fear for her fate to descend; she'd never imagined a day of ordinary conversation could come again.
After the maids had scrubbed the beast-eared girl thoroughly clean, she was like a different person. Her matted, crusted fur, once washed, turned sleek and lustrous — long hair as pure white as snowflakes, hanging loose, framing delicate features, giving her a quiet elegance. She was exactly Field's type: a softly mature beauty. But her ceaselessly twitching wolf ears and tail made her unease plain to see.
The moment she'd reported her name, the green dot above Ashina's head vanished, replaced by a simple panel.
Name: Ashina
Level: Unawakened
Advancement Path: Wolf Cavalry Chosen
Status: Malnourished, on the verge of collapse
(Please replenish nutrition!)
"Holy shit!" Field couldn't hold it in; the cry burst out of him.
The green dot was an unawakened Chosen! Field stood stunned, lost for words.
Because if the map could mark one green dot, then it surely wouldn't mark only one!
Every year on the first of September was the nation's Awakening Day, when every woman of age underwent screening. Awakening into a Chosen was vanishingly rare — but given their value, even the enormous expense was well worth it.
Field paced back and forth in excitement, then threw a couple of punches into the air. His ability, beyond any doubt, held tremendous potential.
This trip to the Nightfall Territory — maybe he really could plant his feet and hold his ground.
Watching Field's bizarre antics, Ashina mistook them for some cruel scheme he'd dreamed up to torment her. Her legs trembled with fear; she gripped and released her skirt hem, not knowing what awaited her.
In truth, after Field bought her, she'd thought of striking back — even if the slave contract turned its power on her, she refused to die in humiliation. She'd sink her teeth viciously into her enemy's throat.
But the maid had taken her hand, undressed her, bathed her, scrubbed every fold and crevice spotless. In all her life she'd never imagined someone would help her bathe. More absurd still, they'd dressed her too — soft, comfortable fabric that lay weightless against her skin, with no biting fleas, and no edges to scrape her raw.
"Maybe I'm to be a sacrifice offered up to a devil," Ashina thought wildly. "When the crucial moment comes — I'll strike back! I'll give these wicked humans something to remember!"
"No need to be afraid. I'm not the sort of pervert who kills for fun. I bought you all to open up my domain." Field lowered his voice, doing his best to seem gentle, and lounged back against his chair, the lazy posture stripped of any threat. "By the way — does the outfit fit all right?"
It was a maid's dress reworked from the common serving-girl's attire. Maidservant clothes in this world ran conservative, baring only a stretch of calf and the hands — practically a nun's habit. Not, of course, the slit-skirt sort of nun's habit made for play.