Magic Scroll

"Whoosh!"

A great mass of flame surged out of the scroll, setting the two corpses alight.

The flames made the Corrupted Deer carcasses sizzle.

But... that was all. The used scroll lost its magical sheen and became nothing more than toilet paper.

There were no flashy effects, much less the Dragon-Breed Wolf's world-destroying Netherworld Flame. Field felt as though he had watched a fire-breathing circus act, one that was not even as exciting as an exploding gas cylinder.

"I think I just wasted ten gold coins." The realization hit Field belatedly, and he broke out in a sweat.

Though Magic Scrolls dealt little damage, a tier-one Magic Scroll sold for around fifteen gold coins. An antique Magic Scroll was worth roughly ten, which was hardly cheap.

Ashina poked out the delicate tip of her tongue and said with a bright smile, "How was that a waste? We learned how powerful Magic Scrolls are. Like you said, true knowledge comes from practice. Besides, this was my first time seeing a Magic Scroll too. It was interesting."

The girl was thoughtful enough to give him a way to save face.

"I only mentioned it in passing. I'm impressed you remembered." Her positive attitude rubbed off on Field, and he smiled as he patted her head.

There had been twenty-four Magic Scrolls in the chest. Minus the one Field had used, the rest would fetch an estimated 230 gold coins-a tremendous haul.

Scavenging is pretty fun, Field thought. Just a little stroll, and I've made a fortune.

Given the Northern Frontier's unusual conditions, adventurers who dared venture deep into it were few and far between, leaving plenty of valuable finds untouched.

When they returned to the estate, everyone breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Field safe and sound.

After all, if anything happened to their lord, the Death Miasma would kill them that very day. Besides, Lord Field was a wonderful man. The slaves hoped he would remain their lord forever. Having enough food to half-fill their stomachs was already paradise.

"Ah! A Goblin's head!" Dog Claw, one of the more worldly Freemen, cried out. "I've seen these filthy little things in big cities before. They can even mate with sows and produce a whole litter of little Goblins."

"That's right. These were the monsters that attacked the estate." Field casually tossed the Goblin's head onto the ground and took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands. "We've avenged the dead. May they return to the Goddess's embrace."

"Long live our lord!"

"Thank you, my lord!"

The slaves were moved to tears. It felt wonderful to have someone respect their right to live, and they no longer had to worry about being killed by those hateful monsters at night.

Field had not done it for the sake of human rights, of course. He merely wanted to eliminate threats so the slaves could work properly. But that did not diminish their gratitude. Most lords cared nothing for whether their slaves lived or died. Their only concern was whether to have apple compote or cherry compote for dinner.

"Dismissed. Go get some rest." Field was tired too.

With the Goblin problem resolved, Field clapped his hands as another important matter occurred to him.

That was the guards' abysmal performance during the attack. The guards on patrol had hidden somewhere to sleep, while the others, who were off duty, had simply ignored the whole affair. If the manservant Clay Pot had not woken several guards, they probably would not have shown up even if everyone on the estate had been slaughtered.

"Unless I strengthen the estate's military, I won't even be able to sleep in peace."

Ashina alone could never protect the entire estate.

After making his plans, Field wrote them down in a script only he understood, then lay down on the bed. The grand Winery's dilapidated floorboards and windows immediately began creaking shrilly, while foul-smelling gusts occasionally blew through the gaps between the bricks.

"I need to get this place repaired as soon as possible too." Field covered his ears in despair and buried his head beneath the covers. Only the bedding still carried the scent of civilized society.

The next day, after a miserable night, Field ate some bread spread with blueberry jam, then assembled all his soldiers, including the Demihuman cavalrymen who still could not ride.

"Stand up straight," Field barked sternly.

The guards knew how poorly they had performed the night before. They shrank back in fear, and some nearly wet themselves, convinced they were about to be hanged. Yet none dared make a sound. They kept sneaking glances at Field's face, hoping to find some clue.

Field had intended to drag out the fools who had neglected their duties and give them thirty hard lashes in front of everyone. But when he saw how many were sallow and emaciated, with every rib showing, and how some swayed on their feet under the weight of their armor alone, he abandoned that rather impractical idea.

Forget thirty lashes-ten would whip them straight back into their mothers' wombs. Even if they survived, they would be bedridden for months. Saving them would cost precious potions, so he would be the one taking the loss.

Most importantly, if he beat them to death, there would be even fewer suitable recruits among the remaining slaves.

Field rubbed his brow and consoled himself. The guards received just two small, fist-sized pieces of rye-bran bread a day, with no wages, freedom, or women. In all honesty, if he were in their shoes, he would not want to work hard either.

"Those who were on patrol last night will run six laps around the estate. Those who failed to muster will run three. This is your punishment. Don't even think about cutting corners."

"Phew..." The guards breathed a sigh of relief. Quite a few even smiled.

They did not understand why their lord was so fond of running, but compared to lashes that gouged bloody furrows in their flesh, running was positively pleasant.

"I love running." One guard grinned as he dropped his weapon and began undoing his armor.

"Wait. Put on leather armor before you run, and everyone must carry a weapon," Field emphasized. Before despair could show on their faces, he added in a devilishly enticing voice, "If you finish before noon, each of you will get a slice of smoked meat."

They needed the extra nutrition anyway.

"Smoked meat?"

"Mother! What did I just hear?"

"Is today a holiday, our beloved lord?"

The complaints that had been sitting in their bellies instantly slipped into their bowels and turned to farts. The guards hurriedly changed into leather armor, shouldered their weapons, and began running like madmen. The lively spectacle drew repeated glances from the slaves working on the corrupted farmland nearby.

The dozen or so men left behind exchanged looks. The thought of smoked meat had them drooling too. Finally, Wildcat mustered his courage and asked cautiously, "What about us, my lord? We can run too."

Field looked them over. Those remaining were the elite among the guards, and quite a few had killed more than ten Corpse Ghouls. He raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to run. You were among the few who mustered last night, so you've earned your smoked meat. I have a new training exercise for you called standing at attention. If you do well, you'll each get an egg as an extra reward."

"Gulp..."

At the mention of eggs, another chorus of swallowing broke out.