Field forced a bright smile, waiting patiently for his father—Count Court—to deliver his verdict.

He came from Earth, having arrived in this world just three days ago.

The good news? He was the son of a Count.

The bad news? He wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms.

"Field, you've come of age now, like a proud lion ready to carve out his own destiny." The richly-dressed middle-aged man spoke with words meant to inspire, but Count Court's tone was weak, his face weary, and his words sounded more like a poorly delivered joke.

Everyone present had a mocking glint in their eyes.

The Count paused, his attention wandering. By the time he snapped out of it, he had completely forgotten what he was saying.

The original owner of this body had been a genuinely kind person. He had given up the potion for awakening battle aura to his younger brother, and sacrificed the chance to study at the Mage Academy for his sister. He was even kind to every servant in the household.

By all accounts, someone like that should have been respected.

Unfortunately, he was a noble. And in the eyes of the nobility, kindness like that was just weakness—a sign of a pathetic good-for-nothing.

Standing beside the old Count was a mature woman—Field's stepmother.

A voluptuous and stunning woman sat gracefully in the secondary seat of the lord, her movements exuding elegance. She lifted her teacup, took a delicate sip, and placed it back down with practised poise. Her almond-shaped eyes, lined with a teasing gleam, flicked towards Field. The sunlight carved sharp shadows on her face, accentuating her high nose bridge. With an air of superiority, his stepmother tilted her chin upwards, practically looking down at him from her nose. "The expansive Northern Frontier, the land of Nightfall, will be your barony. A perfect place for you to spread your wings."

"So, no matter how hard I try to please everyone, I still can't escape being exiled."

A wave of dizziness swept over Field. The original owner of this body had been bullied to death, leaving him to clean up the mess. He bit down hard on his lip, grounding himself amidst the chaotic emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Then, with a sharp laugh, Field thought: What a fool. Thinking kindness could secure a place among nobles? Absurd.

His stepmother cast a languid glance downwards, her eyes filled with contempt. "Do you have a problem?" she asked, her voice laced with disdain.

Field exhaled slowly, forcing down the bitterness that clawed at his chest. Suppressing his emotions, he smoothed his expression into calm indifference. "As you wish, Father," he replied flatly.

It was obvious that his cheap father had long been drained dry by this woman, bending to her every whim without question.

"Pfft—what a fool!"

A snicker broke the tension, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sharp, scornful insult coming from some distant relative in the room.

The Northern Frontier was home to two major races: humans and orcs. A land steeped in blood, violence, and savagery. Ten years ago, the Holy Gryphon Empire unleashed the Corrupting Miasma upon it, massacring an army of three hundred thousand orcs. Since then, the land had likely become a festering nest for filthy goblins and trolls.

Of course, the Northern Frontier was even worse now.

The three hundred thousand-strong orc army, along with every human and animal in the region, had all turned into corrupted creatures. They lurked endlessly within the deathly miasma, making the Northern Frontier a living hell. The royal family had launched three campaigns to reclaim the land, but all had ended in complete annihilation.

The so-called "lands" of the Northern Frontier were no more than a myth, existing only in the realm of lip service. Not even stray dogs ventured there.

For most people, the Northern Frontier was a taboo subject. It was a cursed land—no, something even worse. Not even runaway serfs or criminals desperate to escape would consider fleeing to Nightfall Territory.

It's fine. I have my cheat.

Field comforted himself silently. With a thought, a translucent map appeared before his eyes. On it, a small green dot moved slowly across the terrain.

"Go and prepare," the Count said wearily, his face pale as a ghost.

Beside him, Field's stepmother helped the Count to his feet. Her nearly transparent silk nightgown did little to hide his frail, almost withered body. And yet, her presence seemed to imbue him with just enough strength to move.

Field pressed his lips together. His elder brothers and sisters had all been granted fertile, prosperous lands. Yet this old man thought he could fob him off with a few meaningless words? No way. Field wasn't having it. Without hesitation, he voiced his demand. "Father, I'll need your support. Developing Nightfall Territory won't be an easy task."

His stepmother leaned against the Count, her soft curves pressing into his arm. She narrowed her eyes seductively, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Greed is not a noble virtue, Field. You've already been given enough," the Count replied without a moment's hesitation.

The other family members didn't bother hiding their disdain, their sneering expressions practically radiating contempt.

"Walking around with black hair and black eyes? A disgrace to the Ross family!"

"A mutt, that's all he is!"

Black hair and black eyes had long ceased to symbolize noble blood, especially after the eastern nomads' invasions and the fall of the ancient kingdoms around the Inner Seas.

Field's anger flared, his eyes blazing with fury. This was the Count's mess. Why should I suffer for it?

The truth was plain. Field's mother had been a castle maid, hailing from a faraway eastern land. She had been sold as a rare and exotic slave by nomadic merchants. One drunken

His lowly heritage, lack of family connections, and the unmistakable traces of his mother's foreign features had made him a natural target for exclusion and scorn.

"Five hundred gold coins. And you can take your personal servant. I treat all my children equally." The Count left these parting words before being hurriedly escorted back to the bedroom by his stepmother.

Field was utterly frustrated. Five hundred gold coins might sound like a lot, but for developing a territory, it was nothing more than tossing a toothpick into an ocean. A mere drop in the bucket.

Still, it was better than nothing.

"Hey, Field! Nightfall Territory is a splendid place! Always shrouded in darkness, reeking of rot—it suits your devilish eyes perfectly." Field's half-brother sidled up to him, his tone exaggeratedly mocking. "My fief isn't nearly as good. Poor Fulane City, known only for its beer and goats. How tragic."

Field could feel a roaring fire ignite within him, the heat so intense it felt like his heart was sizzling. Sure, his territory was trash—but as a transmigrator, he'd figure something out eventually.

But mocking his appearance? That made him want to dig up this brat's ancestors and curse every last one of them.

(╯°Д°)╯︵┻━┻

And to think, this little bastard only had battle aura thanks to Field's kindness! Back then, his half-brother's talent had been abysmal. He had sulked in the corner, crying his eyes out while others laughed at him—until Field, out of sheer goodwill, extended a helping hand.

"Get lost!" Field snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

"Oh, do you remember the girl with the flaxen hair?" His half-brother, undeterred, leaned in closer with a sinister grin, whispering into Field's ear.

Field's eyes narrowed as a face emerged in his mind—a smiling girl he knew the original owner of his body had cared deeply for. That same girl whose lifeless, naked body had been found in the alley behind a tavern. Overwhelmed with grief and anger, the original Field had fallen gravely ill and died.

And that was when he had transmigrated here.

His half-brother licked his lips. "It was me. Her struggles... you wouldn't believe how exhilarating it was."

Field's pupils constricted sharply, a feeling of utter shock tightening around his chest like a vice.

His brother, freshly stepping into adulthood, had committed such a monstrous act.

Even though Field, as a transmigrator, had no personal connection to the girl, the casual cruelty of taking a life so callously made his stomach churn.

It was a level of depravity that left him sickened to his core.