Since the original owner of this body had already cultivated goodwill here, Field figured he might as well leverage it for potential benefits in the future.
"Ha! Baron Bull and his son are rather infamous for their—uh, my apologies, I've said too much," Kao stammered, cutting himself off abruptly. Gossiping about one noble in front of another was a dangerous game, even if the noble in question had a reputation for being cowardly and timid.
After all, Kao's current predicament stemmed from his knack for poking his nose where it didn't belong. Catching a noblewoman in the act of adultery had cost him his career and exiled him to the Northern Frontier.
Field was about to press further when his attention was drawn to the small map in his mind. A cluster of red skull icons had suddenly appeared, moving rapidly in his direction.
"Could it be someone coming to greet us?" Field muttered sarcastically. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that the skull icons heralded anything good. Without hesitation, he sent a servant to summon Knight Captain Connor.
"Ha! Pardon me, but Baron Field is just being paranoid!" Connor laughed dismissively when the servant delivered the message. His face twisted in disdain as he sneered. "We're behind the walls of Kassan Fortress, the strongest bastion of the Empire's defensive line. If there's danger here, I'll personally eat every pile of horse manure my warhorse has ever dropped!"
In Connor's mind, Field was already branded as a desperate man making a pitiful last stand.
"Tell your baron," Connor continued mockingly, "that his journey to Nightfall Territory is both a legal obligation and a family mandate. There's no turning back now—it would be unbecoming of a noble."
The servant, rattled by Connor's aggressive remarks, returned to Field feeling thoroughly unconfident.
Field merely responded with a casual "Oh," before ordering the slaves to slow their pace.
This had the effect of forcing Connor, who was mounted, to ride ahead of the group.
"Coward! I can't believe the Count fathered such a spineless wretch," Connor muttered under his breath, smirking.
But his smirk quickly vanished, replaced by an expression of pure dread.
Field's "enthusiastic welcoming party" had arrived.
A guttural howl echoed through the air.
"They're here, are they?" Field chuckled lightly. "Looks like someone's dinner tonight will be horse manure."
As shouts and cries of alarm erupted around him, Field moved past the obstructing slaves and got a clear view of the chaos.
A horde of figures, dressed in tattered peasant clothing, charged toward them with unnerving speed. Their greyish-white eyes gleamed with malice, and their rotten stench wafted through the air even from a hundred meters away. In front of the horde, a dozen terrified humans were running for their lives.
These were the infamous undead of the Northern Frontier Province!
"What the hell is going on? We haven't even reached the Northern Frontier yet—why are there monsters here?" Connor spat on the ground, cursing his rotten luck. Just when he thought he was about to complete his escort duty without incident, disaster struck.
"To arms! Knights, prepare for battle!" Connor bellowed, his voice ringing out with urgency.
What made it even worse for Connor was that he'd just mocked Field moments ago, which only added fuel to his simmering frustration.
Gripping his lance, Connor reluctantly readied himself for the charge. As much as he hated this situation, shirking his duty would spell the end of any hope for a future among the upper class.
The twenty cavalrymen quickly formed a single line, spurring their horses onto a nearby hill. Using the downhill slope to gather momentum, they launched a rapid charge into the horde of undead.
"Better to rely on myself than count on others," Field thought, his heart pounding with tension. He cast a sharp glance at the snarling undead and shouted to the slaves behind him:
"Link the wooden carts together! Any man with courage, grab a tool and fight alongside me! I'll reward those who perform well."
But the slaves didn't move. They cowered behind the convoy, trembling and muttering prayers for a miracle.
"Don't count on those useless cowards," Kao stammered, his legs shaking so violently it looked as though he'd swallowed a wind-up toy. He clung to Field's robes and pleaded in a trembling voice, "My lord, let's run—uh, I mean, retreat strategically. No need to risk it for these mud-crawlers. We can always buy more if they die."
Field brushed off the butler's grip with a frown. "If this is enough to scare you, you might as well not go to the Northern Frontier."
As if I have a choice! Kao thought, inwardly cursing. The Count personally named me for this mission! His face flushed red, nearly collapsing in defeat.
"Enemy? Where?"
Ashina leapt off the cart, her days of rest and recovery now showing in her appearance. Gone was the gaunt, malnourished girl; she now looked soft and radiant, her figure filling out in all the right places. If not for the slave brand and maid's uniform, she could have easily passed for a noble lady.
"My lord, I... I'll protect you!"
Ashina clenched her tiny fists and shakily positioned herself in front of Field, trembling like a kitten caught in a cold wind.
"That won't be necessary," Field said, chuckling despite himself. Seeing her wolf ears fold back into nervous "airplane ears," he felt both amused and touched. At least all that meat and bread hadn't gone to waste.
Unlike certain ungrateful wretches who eat my food and still resent me.
"Help us!" The farmer at the front of the fleeing group spotted their saviors and cried out in desperation, practically throwing himself forward. Behind him, the horde of undead surged closer, drawn by the commotion.
"For glory!"
At just the right distance, Connor and his cavalry launched their charge. Letting out war cries, they lowered their three-metre-long lances, aiming directly at the snarling corpses.
"Squish! Thunk!"
A sickening series of impacts followed as seven or eight zombies were impaled and flung aside like sacks of rotting grain. Their decayed, purple blood splattered everywhere, soaking the ground into a sticky mess.
But that was merely the appetizer. After the initial lance charge, the cavalry wheeled around, drawing flails and sabres to continue their assault. From atop their horses, they swung with deadly precision, each strike accompanied by a spray of foul-smelling blood. The undead fell like wheat before a scythe. Some were knocked to the ground by the horses, their chests crushed to pulp beneath iron-shod hooves. It was a massacre.
Meanwhile, the remaining undead slammed headlong into the barricade of carts Field had organized. With brains reduced to mere decorations, they lacked any semblance of tactics. Instead, they mindlessly clawed and bit at the wooden wheels, achieving nothing but splinters.
"Help!" The slaves, trapped within the cart formation, pushed and shoved each other in panic. With no escape route, they devolved into a writhing mass of terrified bodies.
The butler fared no better. His nerves utterly failed him, and he wet himself, his trousers darkening visibly.
"Damn it. A bunch of cowards."
Though Field wasn't immune to fear, his reaction was far less dramatic than the others'. Perhaps it had something to do with his past life and his fondness for apocalyptic novels and zombie movies.
"Looks like I'll have to handle this myself."
With no soldiers under his command, and the undead showing both agility and a lack of self-preservation, Field knew he couldn't rely on anyone else. Despite their relentless aggression, their clumsy movements presented exploitable openings. Fortunately, this body had undergone basic combat training.
Letting out a sharp breath, Field seized the moment as an undead clawed at one of the carts. He thrust his longsword into its neck, then yanked the blade sideways with force.
The zombie's head lolled forward like a broken branch struck by lightning, flopping limply onto its chest.
"Ugh!"
The stench of rot and fermented filth assaulted his nose, making him gag. Field nearly lost his lunch but pushed through, a strange thrill bubbling beneath his nausea. Somewhere deep within his soul, a warrior's blood seemed to stir, igniting a primal excitement.