Bloodshed! The Nighttime Assailants

Field spat out a half-chewed piece of apple and burst into laughter.

Someone actually dared to make a move on that ugly female monster. How absurd.

Just like modern tastes—as long as it's female, someone will fancy it.

Wiping tears squeezed out by his raucous laughter, Field grew curious.

Does corruption create reproductive isolation between humans?

"Poor Steel Fork died of a festering groin in the end. His little bird turned into a disgusting mass of tumors. He suffered terribly at the end. Corruption is the devil's curse. Steel Fork probably won't make it to heaven. Aside from those chosen by the gods, I don't think any creature can resist the curse."

Field closed the book. The pervasive emotional language made him temporarily lose interest in reading.

"Lucas is merely an adventurer or explorer. As a scholar, he lacks rigor. Not all creatures are helpless against corruption—at least plants aren't."

Field recalled the green plants collected in Rum Village. They weren't lumps of flesh or tentacles.

"Ah!"

A scream pierced the night outside the window. Field's hand jerked, nearly knocking over the teacup he'd just raised to his lips. Scalding tea splashed out, burning him. Worse, in Nightfall Territory, damp clothes were notoriously hard to dry.

Field glanced at his mini-map. No skull icon appeared.

"Seems like some fool who needs disciplining can't control his lower half again," Field muttered, massaging his temples. Slaves packed together inevitably led to violence and coercion, no matter how many lashes were dealt. Nature was hard to change.

Slaves had no right to mate, though most were too preoccupied with hunger to even think about procreation.

"Milord!"

The sound of rapid footsteps echoed in the corridor. Wagon, the manservant, urgently knocked on the door.

"Enter. What is it?" Field moved to the window and peered out. Darkness still reigned, though torches had been lit below. He could only make out panicked faces flickering in the torchlight.

This seemed more serious.

Wagon prostrated himself on the floor, trembling. "Milord! A grave misfortune has befallen our territory!"

Anxiety surged through Field, but he remained composed. "Calm yourself. What misfortune?"

"Bandits! Armed bandits attacked our territory!" Young Wagon was beside himself with terror, his hands shaking like Parkinson's as they pressed against the floor. "A few slaves went to the fields to relieve themselves. Bandits charged from the gray mist! They killed two with spears and snatched a female slave!"

Field stepped forward urgently, shocked. "They didn't press the attack? They retreated?"

"Yes, they left immediately."

"Damn it!" Field cursed.

A tactical retreat meant intelligence. Bandits? Here? In this godforsaken, toxin-filled wasteland? Could anything be more absurd?

Perhaps it was his "darling" stepmother and siblings.

Possible. And dangerous, if they learned about the Divine Champion.

Field checked his mini-map again. Still nothing unusual.

It reminded him of Connor's cavalry—they only triggered an exclamation mark icon at close range.

The mini-map's warning range seemed limited. Only Divine Champions and corrupted creatures got long-range alerts.

"Alert the others. Tell them to take shelter in the Great Winery's first floor. I'm giving chase." Field grabbed his longsword from the rack and strode downstairs.

Ashina was already examining the bodies below. Seeing Field descend, she immediately offered a contrite apology. "I disturbed your rest. Allowing enemies into the territory was my failure."

"Not your failure. We haven't even built walls yet. Enemy infiltration was always possible."

Ashina had fought fiercely all day. Exhaustion leading to oversight was understandable.

Field crouched beside a corpse and pulled aside the tattered, sour-smelling burlap clothing. He tilted his head, puzzled. "The abdominal wound… the angle of penetration is upward. Were the bandits dwarves?"

"Truly strange," Ashina murmured, stroking her smooth chin. Her leg jiggled rhythmically, the milky thigh flesh trembling slightly—a small habit that helped her focus. "Perhaps not human. Maybe those wretched halflings."

Field's sense of foreboding lessened slightly. This might not be catastrophic. At least not immediately fatal.

"Ashina, can your wolf track them?"

Using a dragon-blooded direwolf as a bloodhound sounded utterly ridiculous.

Ashina smacked her forehead. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Take me with you. I want to see what scum dares attack my territory." Field gritted his teeth. He wasn't gentle like the original owner. "I'll chop off their damned heads."

Ashina, familiar with Field's temperament, smiled. "Of course! I shall be your blade!"

The direwolf sniffed the bodies a few times, then its ghostly blue vertical pupils fixed on the northeast of Nightfall Territory.

"They fled that way."

Good. Not south. They probably weren't human.

"Clankety-clank!"

A dozen or so slave soldiers stumbled out, half-dressed. Many were still pulling on armor, bleary-eyed. Field's lip twitched. He wanted to shout at them but stopped. Expecting soldiers of this era to match the discipline of Huaxia's army—instant obedience, strict order—was futile. Undoubtedly, the guards had slept soundly, so soundly that most were still dreaming even as Field prepared to depart.

"Guard the territory. Don't let them circle back."

Field had no intention of taking them anyway. Speed was key in pursuit. By the time this lot assembled, the enemy would be long gone.

"Still… discipline training needs to be scheduled."

A sloppy army had no combat power. It couldn't even protect its own base.

Ashina pulled Field onto the direwolf. With his mini-map, the risk of ambush dropped significantly.

More stable than a horse's back—that was Field's first impression upon mounting the giant wolf.

Riding wasn't hard. A horse's back was broad. Once you found your balance and got used to it, you'd marvel that it was easier than riding a bicycle. After all, bicycles lacked intelligence. Many skilled riders could even sleep atop a horse. Ashina's dragon-blooded wolf was steadier still. The jagged scales on its back didn't prick the rider; they contracted and overlapped seamlessly, smooth as a modern sculpture.

"Move out!"

Driving the direwolf, the two charged into the gray mist.

The surroundings blurred instantly. Wind roared past their ears. The wolf's speed was astonishing—like a subway train!

In under four minutes, Ashina spotted the enemy within the dense corrupted woods.