Chapter 13: In the Gray Mist (2)

No wonder this place was called cursed land. If the original owner had come—or if Phield had come without Ashina’s help—he might not have lasted long either.

A chill of belated fear crawled up his spine, but he shook it off quickly. New markers were approaching on his map—a cluster of red exclamation points.

"These markers... more monsters? No, the formation is too orderly, and exactly nineteen of them." Phield frowned in thought, then beckoned Ashina. Pointing ahead, he said, "Go hide in the mist up front. Be ready to improvise."

Captain Connor and his riders were also pressing through the gray fog.

"This mist-dispelling lamp is about to die.

Damn it—why was that idiot baron’s lamp so large while ours is this pathetic little thing? The second lady was too stingy. Wants the dog to work but won’t feed it."

"Shut your stupid mouth!" a nearby rider hissed nervously. "Your voice will draw the corpses."

"I feel something moving behind us," a sharper-eyed trooper muttered, gripping his lance uneasily. "We should have killed Baron Phield before entering the frontier, not now."

Connor sighed helplessly. "You think I didn’t want to? Killing a noble openly would put us all on the gallows."

That was why they had parted ways with Phield only to circle back—to establish an alibi.

Soon Connor’s troop picked up Phield’s trail. Fresh gore and corpses on the ground made the perfect guide. Over two hundred people left tracks impossible to hide.

"Brothers, hold. Prioritize killing Phield, then smash the slaves and seize their mist-dispelling lamp. The fog will finish the rest."

Connor’s plan seemed flawless.

They formed a lance charge and urged their mounts into a canter.

"I can already picture Phield begging for mercy!" Connor licked his lips, laughing without restraint.

But when he caught sight of Phield, the laughter froze on his face.

A thirty-man fully armored guard stood in tight formation, shields raised, halberds leveled. Gleaming points and blood-crusted plate announced they were no easy prey.

Phield waited safely behind the wagon circle, two ranks of crossbowmen and archers strung and ready. One command, and they would unleash. Even without professional training, a crossbow was simple enough—a three-year-old could fire one and punch through a grown man’s body.

"Damn it! They spotted us." Connor gaped, feeling like a fool.

"How is this possible? Phield was supposed to be a rootless coward—where did he get a guard?"

Panic rippled through the riders. Surprise lost, the ambush became a joke.

Charge heavy halberdiers in formation with horses? Or crash into that wagon barricade?

"Withdraw!"

Connor yanked his reins hard. His mount whinnied and stumbled in a sharp turn.

A black giant wolf over two meters tall—built like a bear—appeared behind the horses, startling Connor’s mount into a lurch.

Connor tumbled from the saddle, terror blanking his mind.

"Damn it!"

Before he could grab a weapon, a lance point pressed against his throat. A stunningly beautiful woman stared down at him with a half-smile that promised death at the slightest twitch.

Worse—she had taken his lamp.

"That’s the slave Phield insisted on buying!"

Connor remembered the demi-human girl all too clearly.

Moving freely in the mist without a lamp.

The riders stared in stunned horror. A Divine Chosen! What rotten luck—to stumble onto a Divine Chosen.

Who could have imagined Phield possessing one? A thousand gold wouldn’t have dragged them here if they’d known.

"Huh? Captain Connor—what a surprise."

Phield didn’t order their immediate execution. His eyes glinted slyly as he adopted the casual tone of greeting an old friend. "Worried I wouldn’t arrive on time? Rest easy—expanding territory for the family is a noble’s duty."

Connor’s throat bobbed against the lance point. Between life and death, his mind went blank. "Uh..."

Phield’s face bloomed with a warm, amicable smile, as gentle as a spring breeze. "Then you must be here to escort us, right?"

Connor’s heart leaped with mad joy—he thought Phield remained oblivious to their intent. "Ah, yes—exactly!"

"Wonderful. Dismount and join us for a cup of barley ale. We’re just setting out, and there’ll be plenty of chances for you to display your knightly valor along the way." Phield raised a hand, signaling Ashina to step back, then casually invited the riders to drink.

The troopers hesitated, guilt warring with desperate hope.

Facing a Divine Chosen head-on would likely mean annihilation. Fleeing was impossible—Ashina had seized Connor’s mist-dispelling lamp the instant she unhorsed him. Charging into the death-fog without one was suicide.

"He hasn’t realized our plan."

"Figures—Phield’s always been a fool."

Seeing Phield’s earnest expression and recalling tales of his former kindness and weakness, the riders began to nurture fragile fantasies.

Persuaded to dismount, they drank a few nervous gulps of ale, tension easing as their hearts settled.

"My lord, I believe we should return to report," Connor tried, searching for an escape.

Phield nearly laughed aloud. Did this man truly take him for an idiot?

"Your horses are requisitioned. I’ll return them once we reach the Nightfall Domain." Phield brushed the request aside with vague promise, then pointed ahead. "Didn’t you offer to clear the path? Let’s go—you lead."

Connor’s stomach dropped. "I... regret that. Forgive me, but I must hurry back to report. The count is surely waiting anxiously."

Phield’s smile turned icy. "Heh. Seems you still don’t grasp my meaning." He gave Ashina a subtle nod.

The Drakewolf lunged with terrifying speed. Its jaws clamped around a rider’s head in a sickening crunch that drowned every breath in the column. The decapitated body toppled, blood fountaining as it twitched spasmodically on the ground before going still.

Even Phield’s own people held their breath in instinctive horror.

The scene was too brutal.

"I was wrong! Baron Phield!" Connor dropped to his knees without hesitation. "It was your second sister—Liz—who ordered it."

"Must I repeat myself, Captain Connor?" Phield answered, still smiling pleasantly. "Clear the road ahead—or die right now."

Cold. Connor felt it seep into his very bones.

All that talk of innate gentleness—pure nonsense! He’d heard other nobles gossip that Phield was soft as a lamb.

Bullshit. Every last one of them liars. Connor silently cursed them with venom.

Under the threat of leveled halberds, the eighteen dismounted riders soon formed a small square and took position at the very front of the column.

Phield’s minimap showed a massive wave of corpses approaching rapidly from ahead.

He drew a long breath, teeth clenched. "Forward!"

The Nightfall Domain lay southwest in the northern frontier.

With the minimap’s guidance, Phield skirted most monster clusters. Three more grueling days passed before the grand estate finally came into view.

The corrupted in the Nightfall Domain seemed endless—Connor’s trembling hands proved it. His blade was nicked and curled, his expression numb, a marionette with cut strings.

Constant slaughter had broken him.

Of the vanguard riders, only he remained. One had to admit—the man had real skill to rise to captain.

But now his body bore multiple gashes from corrupted claws, flesh torn open, unnatural tendrils writhing in the wounds. Corruption had taken hold.

Death was merely a matter of time.

"Grant him a clean end."

At Phield’s words, Ashina loosed an arrow. Connor fell silently. Slaves moved forward with practiced efficiency to strip his gear.

"We’ve reached the Starnight Grand Estate!

We actually made it." Relief washed over Phield as the entrance gates appeared.

The entire column erupted in cheers.

Thanks to Ashina—and the minimap.

Without the map marking enemy positions, Phield knew they’d never have slipped through. The endless tides of corpses along the direct route would have drowned them utterly.

"Here... it’s clear no living soul has set foot in ages." Ashina stepped forward and tugged away the thorns choking the manor gates. A piercing screech echoed as the rusted iron doors gave way and crashed inward. She leaped aside like a startled cat, squinting in embarrassment. "Uh... looks like the gates need some repairs."

The once-grand wrought-iron entrance, ornate stonework, statues, and sprawling ornamental gardens—now twisted into something sinister by the gray mist—still whispered of former elegance and opulence.

Two slave-guards hauled the fallen gates aside. Amid the corrupted vegetation, Phield spotted scattered remains: human bones, corrupted corpses, and unrecognizable monstrosities.

The Starnight Grand Estate spanned thirty hectares—roughly the size of forty football fields.

It encompassed a swimming pool, gardens, farm cottages, woodlands, granaries, wine cellars, stables, separate villas, and the towering central manor house.

Pure luxury. After all, Baroness Sophia Starnight had ruled a thriving city in her prime—this was no mere honorary title.

And this was only a baron’s holding. Rumor claimed the empress of the Sacred Griffin Empire possessed an estate covering five hundred hectares.

A place this vast naturally teemed with monsters.

"Ten years of corruption—the granaries, stables, all that—worthless now." Phield unfolded the estate map. "Same for ornamental gardens. No value left."

"Then straight to clearing the main house?" Ashina asked. "Or claim one of the villas first?"

Besides the central manor, the estate boasted three smaller villas for the baroness’s relatives or guests.

Ashina’s eyes sparkled with excitement—she had never set foot in anything as grand as a villa.

The slaves were even more overt, whispering eagerly, faces alight with unrestrained awe.

To common folk, even sweeping floors in a noble’s villa was a lifelong boast—something to recount proudly to their sons on their deathbeds.

Phield stared at the distant manor house for a long moment. Through shattered windows, shadowy shapes flickered. Suddenly, a prickling sensation crawled over him—as though something ancient and malevolent was watching. His chest tightened; breath came shorter.

"Something truly terrifying lurks in the main house. Best not provoke it yet." He tore his gaze away, rubbing his brow. Glancing at the minimap, he noted dense clusters of skull markers—and one standout: a massive red dot deep beneath the manor, in the cellar. "Skulls mean corrupted monsters. That red dot... likely some greater horror."

Phield exhaled slowly, steadying himself. They had come too far to rush into death now.

...

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