Chapter 16: A Discontinued Vintage

The moment Phield laid eyes on the chaotic mess of the wine cellar, despair washed over him.

Fortunately, after searching just a few spots, he discovered several unopened barrels.

Thump, thump~

He lightly tapped one of the wooden barrels. A deep, muffled sound came from within, causing Phield’s heart to beat faster by two beats. Joy instantly surfaced on his face, though he worried he might be getting excited over nothing, so he feigned calm. “Open this barrel. Let’s hope it’s filled with fine wine and not tentacles.”

The gray mist only corrupted living things—plants and animals. Inanimate objects generally wouldn’t turn into monsters, provided the wine had been properly sealed.

The guard strained to pry open the barrel. With a pop, a rich, intoxicating aroma of wine spread freely through the air.

In a winery filled with rot and monsters, the scent of top-tier wine was a bizarre experience—comparable to finding a steak in a latrine.

“This is it! The Black Pearl vintage, long out of production in the Empire.”

Phield was thrilled. He excitedly waved his fist and gave orders to the wine-craving guard beside him. “Summon my steward, Kaor. Have him take inventory of how many drinkable barrels we have here.”

Seeing Phield immersed in joy, Ashina cautiously advised, “My lord, even if it is fine wine, it should be enjoyed in moderation.”

Many lords had been ruined by excessive drinking, spending their days lost in taverns.

“No need to worry. I don’t intend to drink any of it.”

Phield preferred tea over wine.

“These vintages, discontinued for ten years, are liquid gold. As long as we transport them to the imperial capital—no, even to any nearby city—we’ll bring in a massive influx of gold coins.”

As for their exact value, that would depend on how many barrels there were.

But Phield was certain that the wealthy would pay top price for such rare wine.

“Oh~” Ashina tapped a slender finger against her lips, her expression thoughtful. “If Black Pearl wine is so valuable, we could brew it ourselves. After all, the Starnight Grand Winery is now in our hands.”

“You’re right, but that’s something we’ll only consider once safety is assured.”

Leaving the cellar in Kaor’s hands, Phield finally had time to survey his territory.

Centered on the winery, the area he controlled was roughly the size of a school playing field. This circle of land was his domain.

As long as it wasn’t shrouded in gray mist, people could move and work on it—it was true territory. What was on the land didn’t matter for now; everything was corrupted plants and creatures that needed to be cleared before anything else could be planned.

“Now the real challenge begins.”

Phield walked the outermost perimeter of the path. Thanks to the serfs’ efforts, the corrupted creatures in the field ridges had dwindled, and the place finally looked a little more like human habitation.

The serfs piled the deformed corrupted creatures together. These monsters had no fighting ability, but their very presence was pollution. The broken timber cleared from the winery was perfect for putting to use—tossed onto the piles and set alight.

Shrieks rose incessantly, accompanied by the crackle of burning flesh, as thick plumes of gray smoke poured from the creatures’ bodies.

“Good heavens, these devil’s spawn are finally gone.”

A maid patted her chest and exclaimed dramatically.

The female slaves doing the hard labor cast envious glances her way.

To be able to come and go from the castle, eat the lord’s leftovers, and even enjoy the luxury of rest time—that was enough to make any slave jealous.

“Nina, there’s something I need you to do.”

Having finished his tour of the territory, Phield planned to meet with his servants before issuing new decrees.

“Yes, my lord…”

The maid’s smile instantly vanished. Though Phield had previously shown himself to be timid and foolish, he remained a figure of awe to commoners.

These past two days, Phield had been busy with reclamation work and had neglected many things. Now he realized just how vast the class divide was in this world.

He remembered an anecdote about his father.

A rival noble had planned an ambush on the family’s caravan, but a farmer happened to stumble upon the enemy’s hiding spot. The farmer immediately rushed to the castle to inform the count of the plot. The count then turned the tables, crushing the enemy in a decisive victory.

Logically, the farmer should have been rewarded with gold. Yet when the count returned triumphant, he had the farmer hanged and displayed publicly.

The reason: the farmer’s lowly shoes, caked with foul manure and mud, had left filthy prints on the count’s precious carpet.

In the eyes of the nobility, serfs were little more than dung; slaves were less than that.

Phield was no saint. He had no intention of overthrowing his own position, nor would he fully assimilate and become a thorough feudal lord.

But he would not let the old ways stand unchanged, either.

“As long as my subjects live well, that will suffice,” Phield thought to himself.

“Of course, only the obedient ones.”

“Nina, summon everyone who serves me. I have something to say.”

“Yes, my lord.” Nina immediately lifted her apron and trotted off.

The steward Kaor arrived first. After all, among the household servants, his status was the highest, so Nina naturally notified him before anyone else.

“My lord, the inventory of the wine barrels is not yet complete. It will take at least two more days,” Kaor said breathlessly as he hurried in.

He looked frail, with scarcely any flesh on his thighs, as though he had been living a hard life.

Yet his wages were the highest in the entire territory: five silver coins and fifty copper coins per month. Moreover, tasks such as procurement and accounting were all entrusted to him. With just a little scheming, he could easily double—or more—his income.

Under normal circumstances in the Empire, one copper coin could buy a loaf of black bread—rye bread, often mixed with sawdust and bark. It was nothing like the bread modern people imagined. Black bread was as hard as stone; biting into it directly could chip a tooth.

The proper way to eat it was to soak it in hot soup until soft, then eat it with coarse salt grains full of impurities.

It had no fragrance of wheat, no sweetness—only a salty taste laced with bitterness.

Yet even for such wretched food, many people could not earn enough in a full day’s work to buy two loaves, and in the end they would become slaves.

The maids, manservants, and cook were all paid a daily wage of fifteen copper coins—four silver coins and fifty copper coins per month.

Soon, Phield saw all his servants assembled before him: two maids, one manservant, and one cook.

In modern society, having two or three servants would be considered extremely impressive. But in this medieval world, Phield could only be regarded as an impoverished noble. His elder sister—the very woman who had sent cavalry to try to trample him to death—kept twenty manservants alone, tasked with everything from chopping vegetables and butchering meat to holding her horse or trimming her nails.

Phield’s gaze swept over each of them. One by one, they lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact with their lord—an act that would be deemed disrespectful.

“I still don’t know the name of my manservant,” Phield asked the steward Kaor.

“My lord, his name is Mick. He is sixteen years old, and both his parents are farmers. The cook is Ned, and the maids are Nina and Meg.”

In this world, only those who possessed knowledge—nobles or those who wielded extraordinary power—were granted pleasant-sounding names.

“My lord, do you have any instructions?” Mick, suddenly singled out, asked in a trembling voice.

He feared he was about to be dismissed. Yesterday, while mopping the floor, he had slacked off for ten full minutes.

“The temporary bedding you prepared for the carriage was remarkably soft. Had it not been for your work, I might have been jolted to pieces on the journey here.” Phield’s tone was light as he snapped his fingers. “Kaor, reward Mick with one silver coin.”

A collective hiss of envy rose from the others. A single silver coin was worth more than six days’ wages.

Mick froze for a moment, then his face broke into wild joy. He threw himself at Phield’s feet and kissed his lord’s boots. “Thank you for your generosity, master!”

“Lucky little brat,” Nina muttered under her breath, pouting in displeasure. Preparing a bed was nothing special—she could warm one, after all.

In his heart, Mick silently vowed: From now on, he would never slack off again, not even for a single minute.

“Once a month, we will hold an evaluation. Anyone may receive a silver coin as a reward, provided they perform well. Everyone has a chance. If the cook prepares delicious dishes, if the maids clean the rooms thoroughly—things like these—I see them all.”

The servants’ breathing quickened. They glanced at one another, reading fierce competition in each other’s eyes.

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