Chapter 10 Meanness is the style of the nobility

This world is drenched in blood and deceit. Being too kind is a quick way to die, especially as a noble. Field had run out of patience and goodwill to deal with the scoundrels of this world.

Let iron and blood do the talking! Deceit is the true currency of nobility.

As it turned out, humans attacking their own kind was far easier than dealing with corrupted corpses—at least humans didn't look terrifying.

One of the human slaves let out a roar, pouncing on the soldier with the severed arm. He pressed the man down and drove his sickle into the soldier's neck, yanking hard and tearing the head clean off. The soldier's horrified expression was frozen on his face.

"Well done. That's yours now," Field said with a smirk, pulling a silver coin from his pocket and tossing it to the slave. "I allow my slaves to own property. The more you work, the more you earn!"

The eyes of the surrounding slaves turned red with greed. A silver coin was no small sum—it could buy a hundred loaves of black bread, enough to keep them alive for a hundred days! Instantly, their bloodlust was ignited by the promise of wealth.

With Aishna's giant wolf leading the charge, the slaves felt no fear. They gripped their weapons and surged forward.

"What an easy slaughter."

In the face of a Chosen One, a small group of fully armored infantry was nothing but a joke. The heavily armored soldiers were flattened by a single swipe of the wolf's paw, their blood gushing out from their crushed bodies, pooling into a river.

Ignoring the pleas and cries for mercy, Field quickly dealt with the traitorous soldiers. He tiptoed around the severed limbs and broken bodies, carefully making his way into the bunker.

"This is... the armory!"

When Field saw the fortress's armory, he could no longer contain his excitement.

Before him were stacks of armor, piled high like small mountains, emitting the faint scent of maintenance oil. They were neatly bundled, and beside them were racks of standard-issue halberds, steel swords, and iron-clad shields. Crossbows hung on the walls, and barrels of arrows of various types were lined up.

Enough to fully arm five hundred men, with a 100% armor rate.

No baron could afford such a stockpile of military equipment. These were supplies sent from across the empire. Every year, the major lords were required to contribute a portion of their resources and gold to support the border defenses, protecting against the incursions of corrupted monsters and orcs.

"If even a forward outpost like Kashan Fortress has this much, I can't even imagine how rich the larger fortresses further back must be."

"Are we... rich now?" Aishna asked, picking up a cavalry bow and admiring it.

"We've made a small fortune, but this is just the beginning," Field said, though internally he was ecstatic. He waved his hand. "What are you waiting for? Arm yourselves."

"Yes!" Hearing that they could now wear expensive armor, the slaves eagerly rushed to untie the bundles and began strapping on the suits of lamellar armor. For the first time, they felt the weight and security of proper armor, though their malnourished frames made them wobble unsteadily.

The only downside was that the slaves were too scrawny, making the armor fit poorly.

"Heh, take that, Richard," Field muttered, rubbing his hands together. He called over the first slave who had acted. "What's your name?"

"Sir, I'm called Wildcat," the slave replied nervously.

In an age where knowledge was monopolized, the names of the lower classes were often simple. Of course, they couldn't afford to be fancy—if they accidentally offended a noble, the guillotine or the horseshoes wouldn't spare them.

"I have a task for you. Let's rehearse it a couple of times," Field said, pulling Wildcat aside and gesturing animatedly as he explained his plan.

Since they had already stolen Baron Bull's weapons and equipment, they might as well go all the way.

After sending Wildcat off with twenty men, Field turned his attention to the armory.

"Take it all. We have to take it all. I won't be satisfied otherwise," Field muttered, pacing back and forth. "Aishna, have Cao bring everyone here. We'll move the equipment over the walls and retrieve it after we pass the fortress. These are now the possessions of Nightfall Territory."

But it wasn't enough. Just having weapons and armor wasn't enough for Field. Going to Nightfall Territory was a gamble, and he needed to go all in.

Kashan Fortress was supplied by nobles across the empire, but the villages under its jurisdiction paid their taxes in full. There were six large villages responsible for supplying the fortress. Thanks to the fertile land, they provided a steady stream of cattle, sheep, wheat, and taxes to the baron's castle every year.

Amidst the rolling hills, a well-armed squad carrying the banner of Baron Bull marched through the overgrown weeds and crumbling ruins.

Oxhorn Village was famous for its two towering watchtowers, though they were only four meters tall, including the roof. Still, they were the pride of the village. These seemingly crude towers, manned by hunters, could fend off bandit attacks with the help of the outer wooden walls and the militia.

Just last night, they had shot down three corrupted corpses that had slipped through the walls.

Heavens, even the fortress had been breached by monsters. This reminded the elders of the terrifying orc invasions.

Three or four villagers in hemp clothes sat at the village entrance, holding pitchforks and sipping vegetable soup. They chatted about how many rounds the widow from the east village could survive against the green-skinned orcs, occasionally bursting into crude laughter.

"It's the baron's soldiers!" The villagers recognized the banner but were unsure of the soldiers' intentions. They looked at each other in confusion.

Soon, Wildcat and the slave soldiers came into view.

"Open the gate!" Wildcat barked, his men slamming their halberds into the ground for emphasis. The sound of their lamellar armor clinking added to the intimidation. Wildcat imitated the haughty demeanor of a noble, shouting, "Do you want us to freeze out here, you idiots?"

The villagers scrambled to let them in.

"Sir, is this about the corrupted corpses? Our village defended against their attack. Thank the gods, and of course, thank the baron. We'll offer a young girl to ensure the baron's satisfaction," the village chief said with a grin as wide as a chrysanthemum. But when he saw Wildcat, he paused. "Sir, I don't believe we've met."

Wildcat's heart raced, but he remembered Field's instructions: if faced with a difficult question, just curse.

"Screw your mother, you snake's lackey! Stop wasting my time!" Wildcat drew his blade. "I'm here to collect taxes, not to make friends! I don't care if you've seen me before!"

The chief was drenched in spit and nearly fell over in fear. "Of course, sir. My mistake."

"Agricultural tax, population tax, household tax, faith tax, land tax, exemption tax, breathing tax... and whatever else. You know the usual taxes we pay in Bull Territory."

The medieval tax system was rich and varied—there was always a tax for every occasion.