Chapter 68: Jane Who Made Mistakes

The pigeon was unbelievably stupid. It had no idea it was about to be hit and refused to move, doing nothing but cooing in place.

Phield couldn’t control pigeons. All he could do was pray in silence that the throw would miss.

"Sister, don’t—" Seeing her sister about to hurl the stone, Clara panicked and flailed her arms wildly. "Stop! This belongs to the lord!"

"Idiot. Birds don’t," Jane replied flatly. Without listening to her sister’s explanation, she let the stone fly with a sharp whoosh, striking the pigeon with uncanny accuracy just as it frantically spread its wings.

Phield felt the world spin violently. When the pigeon’s vision finally cleared, a pair of clear, wide eyes was staring straight at him.

They were beautiful eyes—pure, gemlike sapphire blue.

And within them, Phield could see nothing but raw hunger.

According to imperial law, everything on the land belonged to the local lord. This was one of the Sacred Griffin Empire’s core doctrines: land was the property of the nobility. However, the law had loopholes—it did not define ownership over the sea or the sky.

So technically, shooting birds wasn’t illegal. By contrast, private hunting—whether squirrels, rabbits, picking up fallen branches, or chopping wood—was illegal as long as it involved the land. Taking anything without permission counted as a crime.

That said, lords could issue regional decrees to modify imperial law.

For example, designating specific areas for collecting firewood, or issuing hunting permits.

Phield sighed inwardly, just about to order a servant to retrieve the pigeon.

"Sister, we should send the pigeon back to the lord’s castle," Clara said, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. "There are no normal birds in the Nightfall Domain—only flying monsters. So the pigeon must belong to the lord."

"What... oh, right!" Jane finally realized the gravity of the situation, stammering nervously. "What if—what if it really was wild? Or heaven-sent? And I’ve already been seen..."

Other slaves had already noticed them hitting the pigeon. Greedy eyes turned toward them from every direction, each person hoping to get a share of the spoils.

Jane knew that making excuses like "we found an injured pigeon" wouldn’t work anymore.

"They hurt the lord’s pigeon! Go report them! Lord Tate said there’s a reward for informants!"

"Wasn’t it wild?"

"I’ve seen caravans carrying birdcages. It has to be the baron’s pet."

Pets and wild animals were two completely different matters. If a noble learned that his pet had been harmed, torture was guaranteed.

"Wuwuwu..." Clara collapsed into a squat and burst into tears. The tears washed away the dirt on her face, leaving streaks where they ran down her cheeks. "I don’t want my sister to die."

Their father had been hanged for taking the lord’s fallen branches.

Jane slumped to the ground as well, utterly defeated. The injured pigeon in her hands was impossible to discard and just as impossible to keep—like holding a red-hot branding iron.

If she died, what would those bastards do to her little sister? She didn’t dare imagine it and could only grit her teeth stubbornly.

"We’ll heal the pigeon."

"Poor children."

Rubbing his brow, Phield attempted to cut off the divine power supply to Winged Beast Empathy. After several tries, he actually succeeded.

He sat up—only to see Ashina curled up beside him, asleep. Her delicate brows were faintly furrowed. Her toes were long yet rounded, her smooth nails tinged with a soft pink, as if brushed with a light, elegant polish. Paired with her sleek, pale skin and perfectly arched foot, she looked fragile enough to inspire pity.

Without hesitation, Phield reached out and began massaging Ashina’s calf.

Tragic. Truly tragic. Being a lord and still having to massage subordinates.

"Mm~" The girl let out a sleepy, muffled hum through her nose.

"Perverted lord."

She shot Phield a glare that mixed reproach with a trace of seductive charm.

"Still... don’t use torture on the girls who hit the pigeon."

The pigeon wasn’t cheap, but Phield—whose soul came from the modern world—wasn’t about to hang a child for a mistake. As for whipping, a single lash could send her straight to meet God.

Simply pardoning them—or issuing too light a punishment—wasn’t viable either.

It would leave the populace with the impression that the lord was overly merciful, even weak or saintly, encouraging imitation among the other slaves.

Phield needed to maintain absolute authority.

"My lord, a slave has come to report that some blind fools injured your pigeon." The manservant Mick hurried up and knocked on Phield’s bedroom door.

Phield stretched lazily. "I know. Take three loaves of black bread and reward the informant."

Fair was fair. Those loyal to him deserved compensation.

"Your generosity inspires loyalty," Mick praised, immediately heading off to fetch the bread.

"This guy’s been flattering me a bit too often lately—and he reported Kaor for spreading rumors," Phield stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Mick really is loyal. I should let him learn some management."

The castle would eventually recruit more servants. Someone reliable would be needed to coordinate them.

Phield rose and opened the door, heading downstairs with Ashina beside him.

The two sisters had already curled into a trembling heap downstairs.

Jane had imagined many times what it would be like to meet the lord—how she should bow, how she should kneel. But this was different. Having committed a crime, her mind was filled with nothing but terror.

Perhaps Baron Phield was a child-eating demon with a brutish face, finally seizing the chance to devour them.

The sisters remembered their father kneeling before the castle just like this, awaiting the lord’s judgment.

They had prayed for a miracle.

In the end, their father had still been hanged publicly in despair.

Creak—

The grand winery doors opened.

Jane saw a young man walking toward her. He wore a fitted black robe, a beautiful silver brooch pinned to his chest, and a finely crafted steel longsword at his waist—nothing like the cringing servants.

He was probably the baron’s knight.

Jane guessed as much. She had heard songs praising the handsomeness and valor of knights. Seeing him now, it all rang true.

The only thing that didn’t match her imagination... was herself.

If only I were a princess, or a noble lady—

not a slave waiting to die.

"Kneel! Don’t look the lord in the eyes!" Mick snapped when he saw the girls frozen in place, fury rising in his chest. "You dared damage the lord’s property! There are only three pigeons in the entire domain!"

The two girls dropped to their knees in fear. Phield rubbed his temple.

As someone who had received a modern education, he truly couldn’t bear to see common folk suffer like this.

In truth, this wasn’t that serious. In modern times, it would have been an apology at most—maybe compensation.

"How did you knock the pigeon down?" Phield asked knowingly.

Seeing the girl tremble violently, he softened his tone.

"Don’t be afraid. Speak properly."

"I... I threw a stone," Jane whispered, shrinking like a frightened kitten. "I swear, I really didn’t know the pigeon was the lord’s private property."