"Killing rotting corpses isn't so hard after all." Field's confidence swelled, and he casually flicked the foul blood off his blade.
"Look out, my lord!"
Another corpse — half a body, the rest gone — crawled in during the opening to bite at Field's ankle. At the critical moment, Ashina snatched a dung-fork off a wagon and drove it hard into the corpse's spine, pinning it to the ground.
"Whew! Nicely done!"
Field broke into a cold sweat and stumbled back several steps, his heart pounding wildly. That had been close!
True, corpse-rot could be cured by the Church's clergy — but the cost was staggering. Without a hundred gold to spare, forget it.
Barely steadying himself through the violent palpitations, Field let out a long breath, rubbed Ashina's head, and thanked her. "For saving my life, I'll reward you with a gold coin, Ashina!"
Ashina was overjoyed, her eyes gone bright as gold. In all her life she'd never seen so much money. "Huh? Really? I mean — it was only what I should've done."
The rotting corpses weren't like the zombies in horror films; the moment you drove a weapon into their bodies, it actually hurt them.
More corpses surged forward, snapping and clawing at the wagon-wall.
But the slaves at the rear, seeing the corpses weren't so fearsome and couldn't reach them through the wheels, took heart. More to the point, their lord — and even that frail-looking girl — dared to fight back, so quite a few of the men picked up tools and struck at the corpses outside the ring.
Field didn't slack either, raising his sword to keep cutting them down.
As blossoms of blood sprayed up one after another, a great many corpses fell beneath the farm tools and Field's longsword.
Then — a shriek. One of Connor's cavalrymen, during a trampling pass, had his cloak seized by a corpse dressed as a village woman. A hard yank sent the knight toppling backward off his horse, legs kicking wildly.
"Crack~"
The sudden fall slammed the back of his skull against the ground, and the poor wretch went still in an instant.
Connor cursed in fury. "Fuck! Useless trash!"
What angered him more was that Field hadn't fled in a panic, pissing himself — he was calmly directing the slaves instead.
"Sever every corpse's head, pile them together, and burn them on the spot." Field had crammed on corruption lore the whole journey. The bodies of these corrupted humans were severely harmful to the environment after death; left alone, they'd soon become a fresh source of contamination. He frowned and gazed, hesitant, at the gray mist that smeared the distant horizon. "We're not even at the Nightfall Territory yet and we've already run into this many corpses. Not a good omen."
The family might find him an eyesore and want him exiled, but herding him straight into a corpse-pit was a touch too heartless.
"Thank you for your help, my lord."
The fleeing refugees came shuffling forward on their knees as if they'd found their own fathers, then prostrated themselves before Field and kissed his boots.
"May the God of War light the road ahead of you!"
Field accepted it without fuss, swept his gaze over these refugees, ragged as beggars, and asked, "Where do you come from? How are there so many rotting corpses? Aren't the corrupted creatures supposed to be held back by Kashan Fortress's high walls?"
"It's the death miasma! That gray mist out of the North seeped through the fortress walls and blanketed our Ock Village. It was night, so most of the village was corrupted in their sleep and turned into rotting corpses. Only we escaped." The villager was terrified, as if recalling some unspeakable horror, his whole body shaking like a sieve.
The gray mist — the death miasma — was said to be the very root of corruption. Mixed into the air, it was breathed in by plants and animals, which it killed swiftly and remade into corrupted monsters.
Only those with the Lord's power, or a Chosen, were immune.
The other option was to buy the Church's atonement lamps, which dispelled the gray mist. Pricey, naturally — Field had spent fifty gold for just two, and that only because of his noble standing.
Field listened to their account in silence, then frowned. "And your lord? As far as I know, every border fortress has a Chosen stationed in it. There's no way the gray mist should be able to seep through."
"The baron and the Chosen went to investigate a heretic cult's trail. Only the baron's son is left in the castle."
"Let's go. We'll pay the master of this place a visit." Once everyone had regrouped, Field swung up onto his horse.
To reach the Nightfall Territory, he needed the local baron to clear his passage.
When they arrived at Kashan Fortress, Field was awed by the towering stronghold. Unbroken stone walls and round towers, joined with the mountains, formed one solid, soaring defensive system. Atop walls wide enough to ride a horse along, ballistae, catapults, and cauldrons of oil over braziers had been set everywhere. With armaments like these, even an army of a hundred thousand laying siege could do nothing but batter itself bloody. Griffin banners snapped and rippled in the wind on all sides, declaring the majesty of an old, established empire.
But the biggest problem was —
"Where is everybody?"
Field stood dumbfounded. The entire outer wall was empty — not a soul in sight, bare from end to end.
Connor was badly shaken too, his face gone pale. "Don't tell me the beastmen launched a surprise attack! If the beastmen breach Kashan Fortress, the whole province falls in an instant."
"Unlikely — or it wouldn't be this quiet."
Luckily, after advancing a stretch farther, Field spotted torches burning atop the fortress's inner wall.
"Don't come any closer — who are you?" Someone shouted down from the wall. By the torchlight, heads bobbed in a thick mass; clearly the castle had no shortage of troops.
Why would they suddenly abandon the outer wall, a key military position? The question rose in Field's mind.
"I am Baron Field of House Rose, bound for the Nightfall Territory to take up my post. Open the gates of Kashan Fortress and let us through."
The officer hailing them looked deeply uneasy. After a moment's hesitation, he called over a young man — none other than Baron Bull's son.
"No! My father hasn't returned. No one's tricking the castle gates open! Get out of here, or we loose arrows."
Listening to the flat refusal from the wall, the corner of Field's mouth twitched. He guessed the young man had been scared witless by the rotting corpses, and called up at once, "It's me, Field — I've even donated money to this place, remember? I'm hardly your enemy."
"What, a few stinking coins? The whole Empire has to ship money to the border. Who the hell are you, that I should remember? You stinking out-of-towner, come to embarrass yourself in Bull territory."
"Ugh. Of course — barely a decent one in the whole noble lot." Field nearly ground his teeth to stumps. The original's last act of charity had ended as a wasted stone in the water. If he'd had any soldiers, he'd have stormed the place on the spot. Still, he held his temper. "These villagers — I saved them on the road. You—"
Before Field could finish, a torrent of abuse cut him off.
"Damn you — you think my castle's got food to spare? Who told you to save those stupid things? Meddling busybody — take one step closer with them and I'll have the archers fire."