The woman lazily waved her slender, delicate arm.
"That would be perfect. Didn't he deposit some of his gold coins with us? The dead aren't protected by the Royal Family's laws. Once he's dead, there'll be no one to dispute it, and we can simply pocket the money. Still, I'd hate to see such a clever, well-behaved boy die. At least let me have a taste of him first."
With that, the woman shackled her own ankles, a strange flush spreading across her face. "Inject the Orcs in the basement with the frenzy potion, then bring them here. I've already bound myself, so I guarantee my rampaging divine power won't crush them."
Simon wiped away his cold sweat and said worriedly, "Take it easy. Don't drain all the Orcs to death again. Strapping specimens like these are hard to find these days. Ever since the Northern Frontier Province was destroyed by the Gray Fog, the price of Orc slaves has skyrocketed. Do you know how much I spent buying them?"
"This is the price you pay for leaving me waiting, Simon. Just a tiny little price."
Field walked out of Mapleleaf Manor, and the sunlight soothed his nerves.
"Phew, the money problem is solved. Time to buy supplies. I'll get more food and livestock this time."
Because of Nightfall Territory's unusual environment, even after the contamination was removed, the soil would lack fertility and agricultural yields would remain low.
Field planned to build a ranch, primarily raising chickens, ducks, pigs, and cattle. Their manure would also help improve the soil's fertility.
It was worth noting that prices differed from city to city in the Empire. One copper coin could buy a loaf of bread in Golden Eagle City, but in the Poverty-Stricken Western Mountains, it would only buy the bread's aroma-the shopkeeper would let you have a sniff.
With its thriving service industry, Mapleleaf City had little interest in war and very few slaves. Only human slaves were available, mostly women and children, while the price of an able-bodied laborer had already risen to more than three times that of a woman.
Grain and fodder were also major expenses. Nightfall Territory produced nothing, so Field had to support the entire territory himself. As things stood, Field wasn't exploiting his subjects; his subjects were exploiting him.
Only Field, with his modern perspective, would do this. Any other noble would refuse to engage in such a money-losing venture.
"Before I buy anything, I need to recruit some people who can handle management and internal affairs." Field rubbed his brow. "Only two people in the entire territory can read and write, and Kao's management skills are fairly average. We're short on craftsmen too. The Grand Winery needs repairs."
After organizing his thoughts, Field told his guard, Iron Hammer, "Take the gold coins back to the waystation first, then come to the tavern with me."
Taverns were the job markets of the Middle Ages, as well as some of the best places to gather news.
Once everything was taken care of, Field arrived at a tavern in Mapleleaf City and pushed open the door.
A thunderous din filled the room. People of every shape and size huddled together, boasting about their glorious exploits, while others played cards or finger-guessing drinking games. Everyone seemed to be laughing freely, but those smiles were merely masks worn on their faces.
Who knew how despondent they would be once they sobered up?
Dressed in a black nobleman's robe with a Fine Steel Longsword at his waist and three guards behind him, Field startled everyone as he entered. They fell silent and gave him odd looks, assuming he had come to arrest some fugitive.
"Three cups of Barley Wine." As though performing a magic trick, Field tossed out silver coins one after another. "Keep the change."
Once they heard that Field hadn't come to arrest anyone, the tavern instantly returned to its noisy bustle.
"My lord, thank you for your generosity." The bartender respectfully set down the wooden cups, his smile blooming like a chrysanthemum, and scooped up the silver coins. Three cups of Barley Wine cost only fifteen copper coins. Field had given him far too much.
"Not so fast. I want to ask you for some information. Start with the Empire's recent major events."
Field gave the wine to Iron Hammer and the others. He had no interest in the coarse, sour Barley Wine himself.
"Have you heard about the theft of military equipment in Bull Territory? Count Nibelung has already begun investigating. Naturally, the unfortunate Baron Bull is going to be punished severely. But I'm curious-who could have moved more than two thousand sets of armor without anyone noticing? Only a devil could manage that."
"Two thousand sets?"
Field frowned. Hadn't he only found about five hundred sets?
That old bastard Nibelung had probably inflated the numbers to take the opportunity to balance his books.
Still, that was a good thing. If the Count reported the actual number, it would mean he was determined to find the culprit. But inflating the figure meant he wanted to profit from it himself. He would probably end up grabbing a few random bandits and executing them to close the case.
The tricks nobles played always revolved around their own interests.
Field smiled faintly. "Good. Anything else?"
"There's another major event. A Fifth-Tier Divine Artifact was stolen from the Empire's Royal Family. It was a trophy taken from the vile Heretics: the Eye of Vows. They say it can bewitch people's minds and turn ordinary people into their puppets. The Heretics' brazen activity has to do with their large-scale Western Expedition. The imperial capital of the Purple Gold Empire, the gateway and bulwark of the prosperous Inland Sea, has been under siege for a month. All the Purple Gold Empire's other cities have already fallen."
"Anything else?"
Field had no interest in that news because it was of no value to him. He lived in Nightfall Territory; whether the artifact had been stolen or not had nothing to do with him.
I didn't steal it, anyway. A Fifth-Tier Divine Artifact is beyond my reach.
The bartender wiped the cup in his hands. "That's all. If you're not satisfied, I can offer you a cup of Barley Wine."
"I'm looking for people to work for me. Do you have any connections?" Field didn't want a drink.
The bartender looked as though he understood at once and lowered his voice. "Pockface, a genuine desperado. For just twenty silver coins, he'd even assassinate his own parents. Or the Mad Dog Mercenaries, a pack of complete lunatics who take pride in eating their enemies' hearts and livers. They're extremely expensive and won't act for less than thirty gold coins. But there are rumors that they've murdered their employers, so you'd better watch out."
"I don't want assassins or mercenaries." Realizing the bartender had misunderstood, Field waved his hand. "I'm not looking to assassinate anyone. I need capable people," he said. "To be specific, I need people with practical skills, such as management, architecture, herbal medicine, or a craft."
"Huh? Now that's unusual. Why not seek out the children of other nobles?"
Nobles generally appointed knights or squires to management roles. Despite what one might assume, being a "squire" was not a lowly occupation. In fact, it was an exclusive way for nobles to give their children a head start. Squires were generally a family's younger sons, sent to other lords to learn martial skills and acquire knowledge while helping those nobles with minor tasks and making themselves known.
"Let me think. There is one man who knows how to manage things: Warden Tate. He can read and write. But he's a rigid fool who refused bribes and insisted on upholding justice. Ha! Hopelessly stupid. In the end, his subordinates teamed up to frame him. Now he's lost his job and sits over there drinking alone."
That one sounded promising. Field nodded.
Before you continue