The Magic Scroll

*Whoosh!*

A large gout of flame surged from the scroll, igniting the two corpses.

The fire crackled as it consumed the corrupted does.

But... that was it. The used scroll lost its magical luster, becoming utterly useless scrap paper.

No flashy special effects. None of the direwolf's world-ending spectral fire. Field felt like he'd just watched a fire-breathing circus act, less exciting even than a gas canister explosion.

"I think I just wasted ten gold coins," Field realized belatedly, a cold sweat breaking out.

Though the magic scroll's damage was low, a first-tier scroll typically cost around fifteen gold coins on the market. This antique one was probably worth about ten – not cheap at all.

Ashina stuck out the tip of her tongue playfully, a smile gracing her lips. "How is it a waste? We learned the power of a magic scroll. As you say, practice yields true knowledge. Besides, it was my first time seeing one too. It was fascinating."

*She's quite perceptive, giving me an out like that,* Field thought.

"I only mentioned it once. Impressed you remembered." Field was infected by her positive attitude. He smiled and patted Ashina's head.

The chest contained twenty-four magic scrolls. Minus the one Field used, they could likely fetch around 230 gold coins. An extremely rich haul.

*Picking through trash can be quite rewarding,* Field mused internally. *Just taking a walk nets a fortune.*

Thanks to the Northern Province's harsh environment, few adventurers dared venture deep. Consequently, plenty of valuable items remained untouched.

Back at the territory, everyone breathed a sigh of relief seeing Field return unharmed.

After all, if the lord perished, they'd all be killed by the death mist that very day. Moreover, Lord Field was an exceptionally good man, the slaves thought. They hoped he would remain their lord forever. Being half-full was practically paradise.

"Ack! Goblin heads!" exclaimed Dogpaw, a freeman with broader experience. "I've seen these filthy little things in big cities. They can even breed with sows, producing whole litters of young goblins!"

"Correct. These were the monsters that attacked us." Field casually tossed the goblin heads onto the ground and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his hands. "We've avenged the dead. May they return to the Goddess's embrace."

"Long live the Lord!"

"Thank you, Lord!"

The slaves were profoundly grateful. The feeling of having their right to life respected was incredible. They wouldn't have to fear being killed by vile monsters at night.

Though Field's motivation wasn't human rights – he simply wanted to eliminate threats and ensure the slaves worked efficiently – it didn't lessen their gratitude. Most lords wouldn't care a whit about slave lives, preoccupied only with whether to have apple or cherry compote for supper.

"Dismissed. Get some rest." Field was tired too.

With the goblin problem solved, Field clapped his hands as another crucial matter surfaced.

The utterly dismal performance of the guards during the attack. The patrol guards had been sleeping somewhere. The resting guards were apathetic. If Wagon, the manservant, hadn't roused a few, the entire territory might have been slaughtered before the guards even showed up.

"Without strengthening the territory's military, I can't even sleep soundly."

Relying solely on Ashina meant the entire territory couldn't be protected.

After finalizing his plans, Field recorded them using script only he understood. Then he collapsed onto his bed. The Great Winery's dilapidated floorboards and windows immediately protested with loud "creak-creak" groans. Unpleasant drafts constantly seeped through the brickwork.

"Need to fix this place up soon too," Field muttered despairingly, covering his ears and burying his head under the blanket. Only the lingering scent of civilized society on the bedding offered any solace.

The next morning, the thoroughly exhausted Field finished his bread slathered with blueberry jam and assembled all the soldiers, including the beastkin cavalry who still couldn't ride.

"Stand straight!" Field barked sternly. The guards knew their performance last night had been abysmal. They shrank their necks in fear; some looked ready to wet themselves, anticipating the gallows. Yet none dared speak, stealing furtive glances at Field's face, hoping for a clue.

Field had initially planned to drag out the negligent fools and publicly flog them thirty times. But seeing so many of them sallow and emaciated, ribs clearly visible, some even swaying dangerously just wearing their armor, he abandoned that unrealistic idea.

Not thirty lashes – even ten would flay them back to their mothers' wombs. If they didn't die, they'd be paralyzed for months. Saving them would require precious potions, costing him even more.

Crucially, if he killed them, there were even fewer suitable candidates left among the remaining slaves.

Field rubbed his temples, consoling himself. *The guards get two fist-sized lumps of rye bran bread a day. No pay, no freedom, no women. Honestly, in their shoes, I wouldn't be motivated either.*

"Those on patrol last night will run six laps around the territory. Those who didn't assemble will run three. This is your punishment. Don't think about slacking."

*Phew~* The guards collectively exhaled. Some even grinned.

Though they didn't understand their lord's obsession with running, it was infinitely preferable to the lash, which could carve bloody furrows.

"I love running!" one soldier chirped, dropping his weapon and starting to unbuckle his armor.

"Hold it. Wear your leather armor while running. And everyone carries their weapon," Field emphasized. Before despair could fully register on their faces, he added in a tone both demonic and enticing, "If you finish before noon, everyone gets a slice of smoked meat."

They needed the nutrition.

"Smoked meat?"

"Mother above! Did I hear right?"

"Is it a holiday? Our beloved lord!"

Previous bellyaching vanished instantly, becoming mere flatulence. The guards scrambled into their leather armor, grabbed their weapons, and charged off like mad bulls. The chaotic scene was highly entertaining, drawing frequent glances from slaves working the corrupted fields nearby.

The remaining ten or so exchanged glances. The thought of smoked meat made their mouths water. Finally, Lynx summoned his courage and asked cautiously, "And us, Milord? Can we run too?"

Field scanned the group. These were the elite among the guards; many had slain over ten corrupted corpses. He raised an eyebrow. "No running for you. You were among the few who assembled last night. The smoked meat is your due. I have a new training exercise for you: the Attention Stance. Do it well, and I'll reward you each with an extra egg."

*Gulp~*

The mention of eggs triggered another wave of loud swallowing.