The Grand Winery, First Stronghold

"My lord, why the troubled look?" Ashina approached, bow in hand, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "The hardest part was getting here. Why look troubled only now?"

Waving dismissively, Field didn't want to spread anxiety or crush their already fragile morale. He adopted a teasing grin, reaching out to pinch Ashina's wolf ear. "Not troubled. Just debating whether I should personally massage the shoulders of my most deserving champion."

"Huh? Wha—" Ashina's face instantly flushed crimson. Her ruby eyes widened in shock. She stammered, trying to respond, but seeing Field's expression—clearly teasing a child—she realized she was being toyed with. Huffing indignantly, she declared, "My lord is too mean! And here I was worried about you. I'm not speaking to you!"

Field rubbed his aching neck. "Appreciate the concern. But it's time to find shelter. I refuse to sleep in that creaking wagon another second. The noise is splitting my head."

They needed a roof, however decayed by the corruption. Any shelter from the elements would be better.

After scrutinizing the map, Field announced, "We're taking the Grand Winery. Ashina, its main structure is stone and brick. Less likely to collapse into rubble."

The Grand Winery lay southeast of the manor house, surrounded by once-fertile fields that had nurtured the prized Black Pearl grapes for winemaking. Of course, the vineyards were long gone. Now, the fields writhed with black tendrils and corrupted corpses.

Faint traces of grapevines and trellises were visible beneath the decay. This land had once produced the Empire's most famous Black Pearl wine.

"Women, clear these fields. Leave no trace of filth. These writhing tendrils and flesh blobs look terrifying, but they're harmless." Field kicked aside a lump of corrupted flesh sprouting seven or eight eyes. "Before the Gray Haze, these disgusting things were just cute little animals."

"Yes, Milord."

The slaves shuffled their feet, hesitant.

"Get it done in two days, and I'll pay each of you ten copper coins." Field played his trump card: allowing slaves to earn money.

Their eyes lit up. Tools flew into action as they efficiently dispatched the corrupted growths. Work efficiency soared tenfold.

Steward Perry watched them, rolling his eyes. "Only our lord is merciful and generous enough. Stringing up these mud-footed louts would be simpler if they slacked."

Just then, the free folk Field had "persuaded" to join approached.

"Milord, pardon me, but that's wishful thinking," a villager voiced doubt. He stomped hard; the soft earth sank, leaving a footprint filled with purple, stagnant water. "See? It's like toxic swamp. Oh, that stench! Worse than a widow's unwashed drawers after three years."

The slaves paused, casting questioning glances.

*My mercy seems to be breeding presumption.*

Field lowered his gaze, his voice devoid of inflection. "This is my command. Not a discussion."

Still mentally loyal to Baron Bull, the villager hadn't fully grasped the shift. "But... it's pointless, Milord."

"Hmm?" Field's brow furrowed, his gaze turning dangerous.

Mountain Cat and the guards instantly drew their blades. A chorus of metallic *shings* cut the air. Though Connor's men had borne the brunt earlier, the slave guards had been hardened, gaining a soldier's grim aura.

The flash of steel snapped everyone to attention. They were questioning their new lord! Cold sweat drenched them as they threw themselves to the ground.

Silence hung heavy for half a minute.

Field finally waved a hand. This wasn't about playing the feudal lord for kicks. He had no foundation here, far from Imperial order. If he couldn't control these people, he might as well hang himself and spare the monsters the trouble.

"You will clear too. The eastern fields are yours. And the fool who called me wishful? Five lashes." Field delivered measured punishment. He needed them for both clearing land and future farming.

The villagers, drenched in sweat, felt immense relief. "Yes, yes, Milord!"

Work resumed. The scraping and digging provoked sharp, alien shrieks from the corrupted growths.

"Pure Cthulhu nightmare fuel," Field muttered, taking deep breaths to quell his rising nausea. Prolonged exposure to this cursed land could drive one mad. "We must spark civilization's flame, fast. Starting with the winery."

Two farmers holding torches hauled open the winery doors. A wave of dank, putrid air slammed into them. Field gagged, nearly vomiting yesterday's dinner. He covered his nose and mouth, turning his face away.

"Careful. Footsteps upstairs. Lots of them." Ashina seemed unaffected by the stench. Her time in slavery had exposed her to far worse.

"We're claiming this building. Likely has flammables inside. No fire."

Ashina nodded obediently. "Leave it to me!"

Field drew his sword, bracing a metal-rimmed shield against his chest. "Pikes ready! Brace for impact!"

Lacking formal training, the guards had learned through recent battles. A small phalanx formed swiftly. Field took a deep breath and banged his sword hilt against his shield. "Hey! Neighbors! Welfare delivery!"

"ROAR!" Howls and shrieks answered from the darkness.

A drumbeat of heavy footsteps erupted. Twisted, unrecognizable monstrosities surged from the ink-black shadows. The sickening clash of rotting flesh against steel filled the air instantly.

Ashina and her wolf anchored the center against the main tide. Her spear swept through corrupted corpses with lethal grace. The giant wolf, covered like a grotesque furball of undead, was a living tank—its defenses unbroken despite the onslaught. Only Field's earlier order prevented it from incinerating the horde instantly.

"Ah! Goddess above!"

A guard in the front rank impaled a corpse, but the momentum knocked him off balance. Before he could recover, more piled onto him. Clad in armor, he crashed to the ground, dazed.

Field lunged half a step forward with a low grunt. His sword cleaved down onto the head of a corpse clawing at the fallen guard. This wasn't some anime where darkness meant power. These were monsters in human skin, unprotected. The sharp blade severed bone and tendon, shearing the head clean off.

"Th... thank you, Milord!"

The guard stared up, eyes wide with terror, his trousers soaked. He'd nearly locked lips with a nightmare.

The desperate gratitude on his face—the urge to kneel and call Field father—made it clear he'd never held such reverence for a noble before.