Field considered buying more slaves, but his pockets were embarrassingly light.
Surviving the deathly fog of that cursed land was no joke—forget the monsters; just breathing required fog-clearing lamps, a pricey magical tool exclusive to the church. Add to that the food, water, and waste needs of over two hundred people, and the costs piled up fast.
"Any luck with the loan?" Field asked as Butler Cao emerged from the merchants' guild, hurrying over. One look at Cao's face—smelling worse than a three-day-dead rat—and Field knew the answer.
"Sorry, sir. Even the greediest merchants won't touch us once they hear your name," Cao said with a shrug. "The Northern Province is a synonym for hell. Even the royal expeditionary force got wiped out. No one's dumb enough to throw money down that drain."
"That's odd. I only got my appointment today—how are the merchants so well-informed?" Field had planned to take a loan. If he died in the north, he wouldn't have to repay it; if he survived, paying it back would be a breeze.
Cao rolled his eyes, too fed up to cater to a noble headed for doom. If he hadn't caught the count's sister fooling around with the stablehand, he might've been a promising steward in Golden Eagle City, the count's right hand, or even the count's grandson's tutor—instead of marching to his death in a cursed land!
"Your second sister got wind of your fief early and warned the city's merchants. Anything you buy costs ten times the price," Cao replied weakly. "And they've caught her drift—no one's offering us a shred of help."
Field wiped cold sweat from his brow, grateful he hadn't used his full name while buying slaves. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been just 50 gold coins.
"Wow, thanks a bunch, dear sister," Field muttered, veins popping with frustration.
Were they all out to treat him like trash?
Worst of all, the original Field had lived this long without saving a single copper. One-third of his earnings went to the family vault, two-thirds to the border fortress for weapons against corrupted beasts. Hands-down the poorest noble around.
"No loan, no big deal. That's their shortsighted loss," Field said dismissively. "Now, let's get some production goods."
He spent 180 gold coins on packhorses, tools, food, and books—17 aging horses included. Horses were vital production assets in the Middle Ages, tightly controlled by lords. The food, by volume, would last modern folks half a month, but slaves? One black bread loaf a day kept them alive; two loaves mixed with bark and sawdust had them calling you "dad." That stretched the supply to about 35 days, more than enough.
"For magical tools, we'll hit the border cities. Those shady officers sell them at a discount."
Like feudal armies of old, they'd hawk soldiers' gear, pocketing the profit while drawing empty wages.
Field originally planned to recruit talent or mercenaries at a tavern, but they flat-out refused upon hearing about Nightfall Hold.
"That hellhole's a death sentence."
"I'd tell you to flee to another country—even cockroaches struggle to survive there with their butts intact."
Echoing the mercenaries' warnings, Field rubbed his temples and glanced at the beastgirl curled up in a hay-filled cart. What made her so special?
Finding an inn, he let everyone rest for the night.
The next morning, he summoned the beastgirl.
"What's your name? Did you rest okay yesterday?" Field sized up his 50-silver investment, amused by her blank stare.
"A… Ashna."
After a long struggle to form the words—her first in a month—Ashna finally spoke, trembling with fear of her fate, never expecting a normal conversation again.
Cleaned up by the maids, she was unrecognizable from before. Her matted fur now gleamed, her snow-white hair flowed like purity itself, framing delicate features. She was the mature beauty type Field liked, but her twitching wolf ears and tail betrayed her unease.
As she gave her name, the green dot above her head vanished, replaced by a simple panel:
Name: Ashna
Level: Unawakened
Upgrade Path: Wolf Rider Chosen One
Status: Malnourished, Near Collapse
(Please provide nutrition!)
"Holy crap!" Field blurted, unable to hold back his shock.
The green dot marked an unawakened Chosen One! Stunned, he stood speechless.
If his map highlighted a dot, it wouldn't stop at one! Every September 1st was Awakening Day, when eligible women were tested—though the odds of becoming a Chosen One were slim, their value justified the massive investment.
Pacing excitedly, Field pumped his fists. His ability had huge potential. Maybe he could actually hold his ground in Nightfall Hold.
Misreading his odd behavior, Ashna thought he'd devised some cruel torment, her legs shaking as she clutched her skirt, unsure of what awaited her.
In truth, after being bought, she'd considered fighting back. Even if the slave contract backlash killed her, she'd rather die biting her enemy's throat than in humiliation.
But the maids held her, stripped her, scrubbed every inch until she was spotless—something she'd never imagined, having never had help bathing. Even dressing was surreal: soft, light fabric, free of biting fleas or scratches.
"Maybe I'm a sacrifice for some demon," Ashna speculated wildly. "I'll strike back at the right moment and make these evil humans pay!"
"No need to be scared. I'm not some psycho who kills for kicks. I bought you all to develop my land," Field said softly, leaning casually on a chair to seem non-threatening. "By the way, does this outfit fit?"
It was a modified maid uniform from standard servant attire—conservative, showing only calves and hands, akin to a nun's habit, though not the risqué kind for fun.