This world was filled with blood and treachery.
Being too kind here was practically a death sentence—especially for a noble.
Field had no patience left for dealing with scum using kindness and reason.
If words didn't work…
Then iron and blood would speak.
In this world, ruthlessness was the true passport of the nobility.
And the results quickly proved something interesting.
Killing other humans was far easier than fighting rotten corpses.
At the very least, humans didn't look nearly as disgusting.
One of the slaves suddenly let out a wild scream and lunged forward. He tackled a soldier whose arm had already been severed, pinning him to the ground.
The slave raised the sickle in his hand and drove it straight into the soldier's neck.
Then he pulled.
Hard.
With a wet tearing sound, the head ripped free from the body.
The soldier's terrified expression was still frozen on his face.
Field watched calmly.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Well done."
He flicked a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it over.
"It's yours."
The slave stared at the coin in disbelief.
Field raised his voice so everyone could hear.
"In my territory, slaves are allowed to own property."
"The harder you work, the more you earn."
For a moment, the surrounding slaves froze.
Then their eyes turned red.
A single silver coin was no small amount.
It could buy a hundred black breads—enough food to keep someone alive for nearly a hundred days.
Money ignited something deep inside them.
Their fear quickly turned into raw, desperate ferocity.
With Ashina's giant wolf charging at the front, the slaves suddenly felt unstoppable.
They gripped their crude weapons and rushed forward together.
The battlefield instantly turned into chaos.
Field watched the fight with calm indifference.
"What a relaxing slaughter."
Against a Chosen One, a small group of armored infantry was nothing more than a joke.
A single swipe of the wolf's claws crushed a soldier flat against the ground.
Armor bent inward like paper.
Blood burst out from the mangled corpse, flowing across the ground like a small red river.
Ignoring the soldiers' desperate pleas for mercy, Field quickly finished off the mutinous guards.
Then he stepped forward carefully, avoiding the scattered limbs on the ground, and entered the dark bunker.
Inside—
Field stopped.
"This is…"
"A weapons depot!"
This time he couldn't hide the excitement on his face.
Armor was stacked in piles like small hills, each piece carefully maintained and coated with tung oil. The faint scent of oil filled the air.
Bundles of equipment were tied neatly together.
Nearby racks held standardized halberds, steel sabers, and iron-rimmed shields.
Bows and crossbows hung along the walls.
Barrels of arrows sat beside them, including several specialized types.
This stockpile could easily arm five hundred soldiers.
A single baron could never afford such a massive arsenal.
These supplies were sent from all across the Empire.
Every year, nobles were required to contribute resources and gold to support the frontier defenses against corrupted monsters and orc invasions.
Field couldn't help muttering to himself.
"If a mere forward outpost like Kasha Fortress has this much equipment…"
"I can't even imagine how rich the main fortresses behind it must be."
Ashina grabbed a cavalry bow from the rack and examined it with sparkling eyes.
"So…"
"Did we just get rich?"
Field waved his hand casually.
"Just a small fortune."
"This is nothing."
In truth, he was already thrilled beyond words.
"Why are you all standing there?" he continued.
"Arm yourselves."
The slaves stared at him for a moment.
Then their faces lit up with excitement.
"YES!"
They rushed forward immediately, tearing open the bundles.
Piece after piece of lamellar armor was strapped onto their bodies.
For the first time in their lives, the slaves felt the weight of real armor.
It was heavy.
But the sense of security it gave was overwhelming.
The only problem was that most of them were severely underfed.
Once they put the armor on, they wobbled around awkwardly like children wearing oversized clothes.
Field rubbed his hands together with a grin.
"Heh… take that, Richard."
He beckoned to the slave who had attacked first.
"You."
"What's your name?"
The man looked nervous.
"My lord… my name is Wildcat."
In an age where knowledge was monopolized by the elite, commoners rarely had elegant names.
Most names were crude and simple.
And they had to be careful.
If someone accidentally used a name that resembled a noble's…
The punishment could easily be a blade or a horse's hooves.
Field nodded.
"I have a task for you."
"Come here."
He pulled Wildcat aside and began explaining something quietly, gesturing with his hands as he spoke.
Since he had already swallowed Baron Bull's entire arsenal…
Going a little further wouldn't hurt.
After sending Wildcat away with twenty men, Field turned back to the mountains of equipment.
He paced back and forth.
"We're taking everything."
"If we leave even one piece behind, I'll feel uncomfortable."
He turned toward Ashina.
"Bring Kao and everyone else here."
"Lower the equipment down from the walls."
"We'll pick it up again after we pass the checkpoint."
"From now on…"
"These belong to Nightfall Territory."
But even that wasn't enough.
Weapons alone could not satisfy Field.
Going to Nightfall Territory was a massive gamble.
And if he was going to gamble—
He would bet everything.
Kasha Fortress received supplies from nobles all across the kingdom.
Yet the villages under its jurisdiction never paid a single coin less in taxes.
There were six large villages responsible for supplying the fortress.
The land here was fertile.
Every year they delivered cattle, sheep, wheat, and taxes to the Baron's castle.
Low hills rolled across the countryside.
Soon, a group of well-equipped soldiers marched through the wilderness.
They carried the Bull Baron's family banner.
Their armor gleamed under the sun.
Ahead of them lay Horn Village.
The village was famous locally for its two towering watchtowers.
In reality, they were barely four meters tall—even counting the roof.
But to the villagers, they were a source of pride.
With hunters stationed on the towers and a wooden wall surrounding the settlement, the village could usually fend off bandits.
Just last night they had even shot down three wandering corpses.
Apparently the monsters had slipped through the walls somehow.
Even the fortress had started seeing monsters recently.
The older villagers whispered about it nervously.
It reminded them of something far worse.
Orcs.
At the village entrance, several farmers wearing rough linen clothes were sitting around eating vegetable soup.
They held manure forks while chatting lazily.
Their conversation revolved around how many rounds the widow from East Village could survive against a green-skinned orc.
Occasional bursts of vulgar laughter echoed through the air.
Suddenly one of them noticed the approaching soldiers.
"That's the Baron's banner!"
The villagers immediately stood up.
But confusion spread across their faces.
Why were soldiers here?
Soon, Wildcat and his group came into view.
"Open the gate!"
Wildcat shouted impatiently.
The soldiers beside him slammed their halberds into the ground.
Clang!
Their lamellar armor clattered loudly.
Wildcat puffed up his chest, imitating the arrogant tone of a noble officer.
"You planning to let us freeze outside?"
"Open the damn gate, you idiots!"
The villagers quickly scrambled to open the gate.
The village chief rushed over with a wide smile.
"My lord, are you here because of the corpse monsters?"
"Our village successfully resisted their attack!"
"Thanks to the gods… and of course thanks to the Baron!"
"We're even prepared to offer young girls to ensure the Baron's satisfaction."
But when his eyes landed on Wildcat—
He froze.
"This officer… I don't believe I've seen you before?"
Wildcat felt his heart skip a beat.
Then he remembered Field's instructions.
If someone asked a question that was hard to answer—
Just curse at them.
Immediately.
"You snake-licking bootlicker!"
Wildcat exploded.
"Why are you asking so many questions?!"
He drew his sword with a sharp sound.
"I'm here to collect taxes!"
"Not to introduce myself!"
"Got it?!"
The village chief was sprayed with spit and nearly collapsed in fright.
"My mistake, my mistake, my lord!"
Wildcat waved impatiently.
"Let's see…"
"Agricultural tax."
"Population tax."
"Household tax."
"Faith tax."
"Land tax."
"Military exemption tax."
"Breathing tax…"
He scratched his head.
"What else was there again?"
Then he sneered.
"You know the usual taxes in Bull Territory."
Medieval taxes came in endless varieties.
There was always one perfectly suited to squeeze a poor farmer dry.