Chapter 11: Tax Collection – Without a Shred of Guilt

“But it’s not tax time yet, my lord,” one farmer wailed miserably.

Ben remained expressionless. “Because of the corpse invasion, protecting you is taking extra effort. We need more supplies. If you have objections, we can send you to hell—that way we don’t have to protect you anymore.”

Phield’s task for him was to collect taxes. If they were exposed, it didn’t matter—just plunder outright.

Of course, taxing was still the safest bet. The slaves’ combat ability was weak; clashing with the militia could easily lead to accidents.

“Pay! Full payment!” The village headman gritted his teeth, immediately ordering the livestock driven out and grain handed over. At the same time, he put on a fawning expression. “And the maiden the baron requires—I’ll offer her up as well.”

A maiden?

Ben frowned. Phield hadn’t mentioned this; it was clearly what Baron Bull wanted.

A nearby slave-guard started to refuse, but Ben cut him off instantly. Rejecting it would blow their cover.

“Fine. Bring her along.”

Soon, Bullhorn Village descended into chaos, like an anthill stirred to frenzy.

Two cows, four sheep, countless chickens and ducks, five wagons piled high with grain, seven gold coins, twenty-three silver, fifty copper—the village’s hoarded wealth for a full year, stripped bare in a single night. Cries and pleas echoed endlessly; the entire settlement looked as if scythed by a blade—brutal and merciless.

“Nobles are truly terrifying,” Ben mused inwardly. He himself had become a slave for failing to pay taxes.

Whether any villagers had evaded taxes didn’t matter—it was all free gains anyway.

…

“Holy shit—so much livestock?”

Phield was still directing the slaves in hauling weapons and magical gear. In another bunker, he had discovered the mist-dispelling lamps the officer had craved—three in total—along with vast stores of potions, mostly for healing wounds. The total value was inestimable, but certainly no less than two hundred gold.

With such bountiful gains, Phield still let out a gasp when he saw the taxes Ben brought back.

He hadn’t expected a small village to yield so much revenue—the tax rates must be exorbitant.

There were even cows and sheep; he wouldn’t worry about meat for a while.

The only thing that nagged at Phield was that he had plundered a village.

But it carried no real burden. He was barely surviving himself—why worry about others? Only by living could he achieve anything.

Besides, the Nightfall Domain lay ahead of the Bull lands as a buffer zone; these “contributions” were rightfully his.

Feeding his own people was the top priority!

“Well done. Everyone gets a silver coin.” Phield smiled encouragingly at Ben and the other slaves. “Once you’ve saved up a full gold coin and given it to me, I’ll grant you freedom—making you free citizens of the Nightfall Domain.”

The slaves erupted in a tsunami of cheers; they felt genuine hope for the first time.

“My lord, let’s go tax the other villages!” With Phield’s “incentive coin” in hand, Ben’s enthusiasm skyrocketed. His eyes gleamed as he firmly aligned himself with Phield, tossing any prior sympathy into the trash.

The villagers of the Bull lands were getting fleeced—why should Nightfall Domain’s people feel sorry?

Phield pumped his fist. “Of course—squeeze every last coin from them! Aim to finish by dawn; we’re short on time. Go—keep posing as Bull land guards to collect taxes. I’ll reward you well.”

But they had to move fast. The empire’s other cities weren’t run by cowards like Richard; they’d soon notice the crisis in the Bull lands and dispatch armies to purge the corruption. He couldn’t afford to get caught.

“Uh, my lord… and this little girl.” Ben led forward a small girl in a plain robe, about twelve years old.

Do I look like a pervert? He actually kidnapped a loli for me!

Phield’s brain short-circuited for a second. He wanted to curse, but seeing Ben’s cringing expression, he swallowed his anger and asked, “What’s the situation? Why bring back a child?”

“She was offered up to Baron Bull. I figured it wasn’t for anything good and didn’t want trouble. But to avoid raising suspicion with the villagers, I brought her back privately. Please punish me, my lord.”

“No punishment—you were clever about it. Ben, from now on you lead the guard.” Phield was glad he’d kept his temper.

The girl had nothing special about her—just an ordinary child. Phield asked her a couple casual questions, then took her in. She already knew too much about him to release; besides, if sent back, her life would likely be miserable.

The next morning, gentle sunlight filtered through the canvas, and Ashina stirred to the chorus of clucking chickens, quacking ducks, and lowing cattle. Her long lashes fluttered; she let out a lazy yawn.

The exhaustion from yesterday’s battle had vanished. She had slept more deeply and sweetly than ever before, cradled on soft bedding that carried the faint, clean scent of osmanthus—worlds away from the damp, frigid iron cage of her captivity.

“Thank goodness my lord chose me to become a Divine Chosen. Lord Phield truly is a good man.”

Her long, smooth legs rubbed together with a soft, enticing rustle. She wanted nothing more than to drift back into sleep for another hour, but Ashina rose quickly all the same. Phield had said they would enter the gray mist this morning.

“How did you sleep last night?” Phield asked as the elegant, mature beauty hurried toward him. “No need to rush—I’m still planning our route.”

“Very well, my lord. Please continue your work.”

Ashina nodded with obedient deference, though only half-comprehending, and stood quietly to one side.

The northern frontier was vast. Including the Nightfall Domain, it had once boasted prosperous cities and villages—now all lost to corruption, overrun with monsters. At the domain’s heart lay a once-grand manor estate that had belonged to a female baroness: Sophia Starnight. Her city, Starnight, stood within sight of the manor grounds.

“With my current strength, building a fortress from nothing is impossible. The best approach is to seize the great manor first, then use it as a base to gradually reclaim Starnight City.”

The map in Phield’s hands was seven years old.

In the past, many pioneering knights had dreamed of reclaiming the northern frontier. They marched in with servants and retainers, full of ambition—yet few ever returned. Those who remained behind had undoubtedly become monsters themselves.

“Maybe even some kind of boss,” Phield grumbled silently. “Always more trouble for me.”

“The strategy sounds promising on paper,” he admitted to himself, “but the risks involved are enough to make anyone anxious—and terrified.”

…

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