Since the original owner had laid the social groundwork, Filder might be able to leverage this for future benefits.
"Haha, Baron Bull and his son are famously... uh, forgive me, I've said too much." Kao quickly shut his mouth. Badmouthing one noble in front of another was practically tempting fate, even if the man before him was famously cowardly and timid.
He had once lost his prospects and been exiled to the Northern Frontier precisely because he meddled and accidentally uncovered a noble's affair.
Filder wanted to press further, but he noticed a cluster of red skull markers suddenly appear on the mental mini-map in his mind, rapidly moving towards his location.
"Hiss... Could someone be coming to greet us?" Even as he said it, Filder was no fool. Skull markers were definitely not a good sign. He immediately ordered the manservant to fetch Knight Connor.
"Haha, with all due respect, the Baron is just being paranoid!" Connor laughed upon hearing the manservant's slightly urgent message, his face etched with scorn. "We're behind the walls of Fort Karshan, the strongest link in the Empire's defenses! If there's danger here, I'll eat every last piece of horse dung my warhorse drops!"
In Connor's mind, Filder was already stamped with the label: "The last desperate struggles of a doomed man."
"Tell your Baron that proceeding to Nightfall Territory is mandated by both law and family oversight. He can't back out now; it's unbecoming of a noble."
The manservant, intimidated by Connor's aggressive tone, lost his confidence and returned to relay the message.
Filder merely gave an "Oh," and ordered the slaves to slow down.
Connor, on horseback, was forced to take the lead position in the procession.
"Coward! How the Count ever sired such a spineless creature," Connor sneered under his breath.
But soon, his face turned grim.
Because Filder had indeed encountered the "locals" coming to greet them... with enthusiasm.
"ROAR!" A monstrous cry echoed.
"Here they come?" Filder chuckled softly. "Looks like someone's having horse dung for dinner tonight."
Amidst rising screams, Filder pushed past the slaves blocking the way. He saw pairs of milky-white eyes set in decaying faces. Ghouls clad in peasant garb were charging headlong towards them, chasing a dozen or so panicked humans. Even from a hundred meters away, the chilling malice and stench of rot assaulted his senses.
These walking corpses were the products of the Northern Frontier Province!
"What in blazes? We're not even *in* the North yet! How can there be monsters?!" Cavalry Captain Connor spat in disgust, cursing his luck. Just when he thought the job was done, this happens. "Mount up, Knights! Prepare for battle!"
What was worse, he had just mocked Filder moments before. This made the situation particularly galling.
Connor raised his lance, filled with reluctance. But if he failed in his duty now, any hope of rising in the upper class would vanish.
Twenty cavalrymen swiftly formed a line, urging their horses up the slope to the right. Then, using the downhill momentum for speed, they charged towards the shambling horde.
"Better to rely on yourself than others." Tension coiled within Filder too. He took a deep look at the snarling ghouls and shouted to the slaves behind him, "Link the wagons together! Any man with guts, grab a farming tool and fight with me! Rewards based on performance!"
The slaves remained frozen, huddling behind the wagons, trembling or praying for a miracle.
"Don't count on those useless wretches." The steward's legs were shaking violently, like tiny electric motors were inside them. He was so terrified he nearly wet himself! He grabbed Filder's robe, voice trembling as he pleaded, "Milord, let's run! I mean... a strategic retreat! No need to bother with these mud-footed peasants. We can just buy more if they die!"
Filder peeled the steward's hand away, frowning. "If *this* scares you, maybe you shouldn't go to the Northern Frontier Province at all."
*Like I have a choice! The Count personally named me!* Steward Kao wished he could vanish on the spot, his face turning crimson with frustration.
"Huh? Enemies?" Ashina jumped down from the carriage. Days of rest and good food had restored her. She was no longer gaunt; flesh had filled out where it should, making her look soft and fair. Were it not for the slave brand and maid's uniform, she could pass for a noble lady.
"Milord, I... I'll do my best to protect you!"
Ashina raised her small fists, trembling like a kitten in a cold wind as she positioned herself shakily in front of Filder.
"That won't be necessary." Seeing Ashina's wolf ears flattened against her head with tension, Filder felt both amused and deeply touched. At least the meat and bread hadn't been wasted on her.
Unlike certain ungrateful wretches who ate his food yet still held grudges.
"Help! Save us!" The farmers at the front spotted potential saviors and wailed, throwing themselves towards Filder's group – bringing the ghoul horde surging right behind them.
"For Glory!"
At the optimal distance, Connor's cavalry launched their charge. Bellowing their battle cry, they thrust their three-meter lances forward, aiming straight for the clawing, snapping ghouls.
*Squelch! Squelch!*
A series of sickening wet thuds followed. Seven or eight ghouls were impaled and flung backward like ragged sacks, crashing to the ground. Putrid, purple-black blood sprayed out freely, soaking the earth into a sticky morass.
This was just the appetizer. After the initial lance charge, the cavalry wheeled around. Switching to flails or sabers, they began a rapid, mounted slaughter. Blood bloomed in the air like grotesque flowers as ghouls fell like wheat before the scythe. Some were knocked down by the horses, only to have their chests crushed by iron-shod hooves. It was a massacre.
The ghouls that slipped through charged headlong into the wagon barricade Filder had organized. Their decayed brains were mere ornaments; they understood no tactics. They simply battered and clawed at the wooden wheels.
"Mother save us!" The slaves pushed and shoved each other, trapped within the circle of wagons, too packed to escape.
The steward wasn't faring any better. His bladder control failed completely, soaking his trousers.
"Damn it, a bunch of cowards!"
Though frightened himself, Filder wasn't nearly as bad. Maybe it was due to reading so many apocalyptic novels and watching zombie movies before his transmigration.
"Seems I'll have to handle this myself."
Filder didn't have a single soldier at his command. Seeing that the ghouls, while fast and fearless, moved with a stupid clumsiness that could be exploited, he decided to act. This body, after all, had learned some basic combat skills.
With a low shout, Filder seized the moment when a ghoul was pushing against a cart. He thrust his longsword into its neck, then wrenched the blade sideways. The ghoul's head lolled limply against its chest, like a branch struck by lightning.
*Urgh~*
The stench of rot and fermented filth assaulted his nostrils without mercy, making Filder gag. Yet, beneath the revulsion, a flicker of excitement stirred. Deep within his soul, Filder felt a warrior's blood flow in his veins.