Field had considered buying more slaves, but his finances were painfully limited.
Surviving in the Death Miasma wasn't just about fending off monsters. Simply breathing required the use of Miasma Lanterns—magical tools sold exclusively by the church at exorbitant prices.
On top of that, providing food, water, and basic necessities for over two hundred people was no trivial expense.
"How'd it go? Did you secure the loan?" Field asked, stepping forward quickly as he saw Butler Kao emerge from the Merchants' Guild. But when he caught sight of Kao's expression—like a rat dead for three days—he immediately had his answer.
"Apologies, my lord," Kao said with a helpless shrug. "Even the greediest merchants won't loan us a single coin once they hear your name." He sighed. "The Northern Frontier Province is synonymous with hell itself. Not even the royal army's expeditions have survived there. No merchant would willingly throw their money into a bottomless pit."
"That doesn't add up. I only received my commission order today. How do these merchants get their intel so quickly?" Field muttered, annoyed. His original plan had been simple: secure a loan, head to the Northern Frontier, and if he died, the debt would die with him. If he survived, repaying the loan would be a minor inconvenience.
Kao rolled his eyes. He had no patience left to coddle a noble marching to his doom.
If it weren't for the fact that he'd caught the Count's sister having an affair with the stablemaster, Kao could have had a promising future—perhaps as Golden Eagle City's steward, the Count's right-hand man, or even the tutor to the Count's eldest grandson.
Instead, here he was, heading to the cursed land to die alongside an unlucky noble.
"Because your second sister got wind of your fief assignment and warned the city's merchants ahead of time," Kao replied wearily. "She made it clear that anything you buy will cost ten times the normal price. On top of that, the merchants understood her implicit message—don't offer you any conveniences whatsoever."
Field wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Thank goodness he hadn't revealed his identity while buying the slaves—otherwise, it wouldn't have been just 50 gold coins.
"Great. Thanks a lot, dear sister," Field muttered, his temples throbbing as veins bulged in frustration.
What is this? No one around here treats me like a person anymore?
The most infuriating part was that the original owner of this body had lived for so long without saving a single copper coin. One-third of his income had gone to the family treasury, and the other two-thirds had been donated to border fortresses to purchase weapons for fighting corrupted creatures.
He was, without question, the poorest noble around.
"No loan? Whatever," Field said nonchalantly, masking his irritation. "That's the merchants' loss for being so shortsighted. Let's go buy some production supplies instead."
Field spent 180 gold coins on necessities for developing the territory: horses, farming tools, food, and books. Among the purchases were 17 packhorses, all of them old and frail. Horses, highly valuable in a medieval society, were tightly controlled by lords.
As for food, Field bought as much as he could carry. By modern standards, it was barely enough to last two weeks, but slaves didn't require such luxuries. A single piece of black bread per day could sustain them, and for two pieces mixed with bark and wood shavings, they'd kneel and call you their saviour.
With this calculation, the food supply would stretch for about 35 days—more than enough.
"As for magical tools," Field added, "we'll buy those in the border cities. Those crafty officers there will gladly sell them at a discount."
Much like ancient feudal armies, the officers here would sell off soldiers' weapons and gear at the first opportunity—then pocket the salaries of the nonexistent troops.
Originally, Field had planned to recruit some talent or mercenaries from the taverns, but as soon as they heard the destination was Nightfall Territory, they flatly refused.
"That hellhole? You might as well ask us to march to our deaths."
"I'd suggest fleeing to another country instead. Even the toughest cockroach wouldn't survive without guarding its arse in that place."
The mercenaries' warnings echoed in Field's mind as he rubbed his temples. His gaze shifted to the wolf-eared girl curled up in a hay-laden cart. Curiosity gnawed at him—what was so special about this girl?
Finding an inn, Field ordered everyone to rest for the night.
The next morning, he summoned the wolf-eared girl.
"What's your name? Did you rest well last night?" Field asked, giving the 50-silver slave a once-over. Her blank expression made him chuckle inwardly.
"A... A-ashina," she stammered.
It took her a moment to finally form the words, her voice raspy from disuse. She hadn't spoken a single word in over a month.
For weeks, she had lived in constant fear, waiting for her inevitable fate to descend. The simple act of having a normal conversation felt surreal.
After being thoroughly cleaned by the maids, Ashina looked like a completely different person. Her matted, dried fur had been groomed into a smooth, glossy coat, pure white as freshly fallen snow. Her long hair now cascaded down her back, complementing her delicate features with a quiet elegance.
To Field, she embodied the charm of a mature yet gentle beauty—a type he found particularly appealing. However, her twitching wolf ears and tail betrayed her unease, a subtle but constant reminder of her inner turmoil.
As soon as Ashina reported her name, the green dot above her head vanished, replaced by a simple status panel.
Name: Ashina
Level: Unawakened
Advancement Path: Wolf Cavalry Chosen One
Condition: Malnourished, Near Collapse
(Please replenish nutrition!)
"Holy—!" Field couldn't hold it in, exclaiming in shock.
The green dot was actually an unawakened Chosen One! Field stood frozen, utterly stunned.
The significance hit him like a thunderbolt. If the map could mark green dots, there was no way it would only happen once.
Every year on September 1st, the nation held Awakening Day, during which all eligible women were required to undergo testing. Though the chances of becoming a Chosen One were infinitesimally small, their immense value justified the considerable expense of the process.
Field began pacing back and forth, his excitement bubbling over. He clenched his fists and punched the air twice, unable to contain his elation. His ability clearly had enormous potential.
This journey to Nightfall Territory might actually work out—he might just establish a foothold after all.
Ashina, however, misinterpreted Field's strange behaviour. To her, it looked like he was coming up with some twisted new way to torment her. Her legs trembled with fear, and she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, squeezing and releasing it repeatedly. She had no idea what fate awaited her.
In truth, Ashina had considered launching a desperate attack after being bought by Field. Even if the slave contract's backlash killed her, she'd rather die fighting than endure humiliation. Her plan was to sink her teeth deep into her enemy's neck, tearing it apart before her end.
But then the maids had led her away, undressed her, and bathed her. They scrubbed every inch of her body until she was completely clean. Ashina, who had never imagined anyone would help her bathe, was utterly bewildered. Even more astonishing, they helped her dress afterward, putting her in clothes made from soft, comfortable fabric. The material felt light as air against her skin—no biting fleas, no rough edges to cut her.
"Maybe they're preparing me to be a sacrifice to some demon," Ashina thought, her mind racing with possibilities. "When the moment comes, I'll strike back! I'll make sure these wicked humans pay dearly!"
"You don't need to be afraid. I'm not some sadistic maniac who kills for fun," Field said, lowering his voice to sound as gentle as possible. He leaned casually against his chair, his relaxed posture deliberately non-threatening. "By the way, does that outfit fit you well?"
The dress she wore was a modified maid's uniform, adapted from the common servant attire of this world. Conservative and modest, it revealed only a sliver of her lower legs and her hands. It was almost as reserved as a nun's habit—though, certainly not the kind designed for risqué entertainment with suggestive slits.