"Killing ghouls isn't so hard after all," Filder remarked, his confidence surging as he flicked the gore off his blade.
"Milord, watch out!"
Another ghoul, its lower half torn away, seized the opening and crawled toward Filder's ankle, jaws snapping. At the critical moment, Ashina snatched a dung fork from a wagon and speared the creature through its spine, pinning it to the dirt.
"Whew! Good job!"
Cold sweat broke out on Filder's back. He stumbled back several steps, heart hammering wildly against his ribs. That was too close!
While ghoul rot could be cured by the clergy, the cost was astronomical—no less than a hundred gold coins.
Struggling to steady his racing heart, Filder took a deep breath. He ruffled Ashila's hair gratefully. "For saving my life, I'll reward you with one gold coin, Ashina!"
Ashina's eyes practically glittered with gold; she'd never seen so much money in her life. "Eh? R-really? But it's just what I should do…"
Unlike zombies from horror tales, these ghouls *could* be harmed simply by piercing their bodies with weapons.
More ghouls surged forward, clawing and biting at the wagon wall. But seeing the creatures weren't overpowering and couldn't breach the barrier, and witnessing both their lord and the seemingly frail girl fighting back, many male slaves finally picked up farming tools and joined the counterattack.
Filder didn't hesitate either, raising his sword to continue the slaughter. Blood sprayed like macabre blossoms as ghouls fell before farm tools and Filder's blade.
"Aaaagh!"
A scream pierced the din. One of Connor's cavalrymen, trampling through the fray, had his cloak seized by a ghoul dressed as a peasant woman. A savage yank sent the rider tumbling backward, legs flailing.
*Crack!*
His head struck the ground hard. The unfortunate knight went still instantly.
"Shit! Useless!" Connor roared, furious. What infuriated him more was that Filder hadn't been reduced to a blubbering mess. Instead, the Baron was calmly directing the slaves.
"Cut the heads off every corpse. Pile them up and burn them here," Filder ordered. He'd studied corruption on the journey—the bodies of the corrupted posed a severe environmental hazard if left unattended, quickly becoming new sources of pollution. Filder frowned, his gaze troubled as it swept the distant horizon where grey mist met the sky. "Running into so many ghouls before even reaching Nightfall Territory… not a good omen."
Even if his family disliked him enough to exile him, sending him into a literal corpse pit seemed excessively cruel.
"Thank you for your aid, Milord!"
The rescued refugees acted as if they'd found their savior. They crawled forward on their knees before prostrating themselves at Filder's feet, kissing his boots.
"May the God of War illuminate your path!"
Filder accepted their reverence calmly. He scanned the refugees, ragged as beggars. "Where are you from? How are there so many ghouls? Shouldn't Karshan Fortress's high walls hold back such corruption?"
"It's the Deathmist! That grey fog from the North… it seeped through the fortress walls and enveloped our village, Oakhaven. It happened at night. Most were asleep… corrupted by the mist… turned into ghouls. Only we escaped." The villager trembled violently, like a leaf in a gale, haunted by horrific memories.
The grey mist, or Deathmist, was said to be the root of corruption. Mixed in the air, inhaled by plants and animals, it swiftly killed its host and reshaped them into corrupted monsters.
Only those with a Lord's power, or the divinely chosen (God-Touched), were immune.
Alternatively, one could buy the Church's expensive Penance Lamps to repel the mist. Filder had paid fifty gold coins for just two, and that was only thanks to his noble status.
After listening quietly, Filder frowned. "What of your Lord? I was told every border fortress has a God-Touched guardian. The mist shouldn't be able to penetrate."
"The Baron and the God-Touched went to investigate a heretic cult. Only the Baron's son remains in the castle."
"Let's go. Time to meet the master of this place." Once everyone was ready, Filder mounted his horse. Passage through Karshan required the local Baron's permission to proceed to Nightfall Territory.
Arriving at Karshan Fortress, Filder was awed by its imposing grandeur. Continuous stone ramparts and round towers merged with the mountains into a towering defensive system. Walls wide enough for cavalry bristled with ballistae, catapults, and cauldrons of burning oil. Such defenses could shatter an army of a hundred thousand. Everywhere, griffin banners snapped in the wind, proclaiming the old Empire's might.
But the biggest problem was…
"Where is everyone?"
Filder stared, dumbfounded. The entire outer wall was deserted. Not a soul in sight.
Connor paled, equally shocked. "Could… could orcs have taken it by surprise? If Karshan falls, the whole province is doomed!"
"Unlikely. It'd be far noisier if that were the case."
Fortunately, after advancing further, Filder spotted torchlight on the inner keep's walls.
"Halt! Who goes there?" a voice shouted from above. Torchlight revealed numerous heads moving behind the battlements. The inner castle clearly held defenders.
*Why abandon the outer defenses?* Filder wondered.
"I am Baron Filder of House Roth, en route to assume lordship of Nightfall Territory. Open the gates of Karshan Fortress so we may pass through."
The officer on duty seemed troubled. After a moment's hesitation, he summoned a young man – the son of Baron Bull.
"No! My father hasn't returned! No one tricks their way into this castle! Leave now, or we shoot!"
Hearing the absolute refusal, Filder's lip twitched. The young lordling was clearly scared out of his wits by the ghouls. "It's me, Filder!" he called up. "I donated funds here, remember? I'm not your enemy."
"A few lousy coins? The whole Empire sends money to the border! Who the hell are *you* to think I'd remember? Damned outsider, come to shame yourself in Bull Territory!"
*Damn it, nobles really are mostly rotten.* Filder gritted his teeth until they ached. The original owner's final act of kindness had sunk without a trace. If only he had soldiers, he'd storm the place right then. Forcing patience, he said, "These villagers, I rescued them on the road. You could—"
Before Filder could finish, a torrent of abuse cut him off.
"Damn you! Think my castle has food to spare? Who told you to save those stupid wretches? Meddler! Bring them one step closer, and I'll rain arrows down on you all!"