Field forced a brilliant smile as he awaited judgment from his father, the Earl of Cort.
His true name was Allen, hailing from America on Blue Star. He had crossed into this world a mere three days ago.
Good news: he was an earl's descendant.
Bad news: he was thoroughly despised.
"Field, you've come of age—like a mature lion, it is time to forge your own path." The middle-aged man's splendid attire belied his feeble delivery. Though his words were meant to inspire, the old earl uttered them weakly, his spirit withered, rendering the speech almost laughable.
Every eye in the room glittered with mockery.
The earl paused, his attention drifting. When he refocused, he had lost his train of thought entirely.
The original owner of this body had been a man of profound kindness. He had yielded his awakening elixir to his younger brother, surrendered his place at the Mage Academy to his sister, and shown warmth even to the lowliest servants. Such virtue should have commanded respect. Yet, as nobility, he was deemed weak and worthless—a pathetic fool.
Beside the old earl sat the voluptuous beauty who was Field's stepmother.
The alluring matron perched gracefully on the secondary lord's seat. She lifted her teacup, kissed its rim, then set it down. Her eyes—almond-shaped and sharp enough to slice silk—flickered toward Field. Sunlight carved russet shadows along her high-bridged nose as she tilted her chin imperiously, addressing him down the length of it. "The Nightfall Territory in the vast Northlands shall be your barony. Ample room to prove your worth."
*So, even groveling at everyone's feet couldn't spare me exile.*
A wave of dizziness washed over him. The original host had been bullied to death by these very people, leaving Field to inherit their mess. He bit his lip hard, steadying himself.
*How utterly naive—trying to survive nobility through kindness alone.*
His stepmother's gaze slid downward, dismissive. "Objections?"
"Hah—"
Field exhaled the bitterness coiled in his chest. His smile vanished as he replied tonelessly, "As you wish, Father."
His worthless sire had long been drained dry by this woman. The earl danced to his wife's tune.
"Pfft~ What a fool!"
A relative's snicker pierced the air, laced with venomous scorn.
The Northlands—a realm shared by humans and orcs—was a crucible of bloodshed, savagery, and brutality. A decade prior, the Sacred Griffon Empire had unleashed corrupted haze to slaughter three hundred thousand orc warriors. Now, the land likely teemed with filthy goblins and trolls.
But the truth was far worse.
Those three hundred thousand orcs, along with every human and beast in the Northlands, had mutated into corrupted abominations. Shrouded in perpetual deathly haze, the region had become synonymous with hell on earth. Three royal campaigns to reclaim it had ended in annihilation.
The so-called territories of the Northlands existed only in name—barren promises not even a stray dog would claim. Most never spoke of them.
A cursed land. Worse than cursed. Even fleeing serfs and criminals avoided Nightfall's shadow.
*No matter. I still have my cheat.*
Field steadied his mind. A translucent map flickered before him, a lone green dot crawling across its surface.
"Prepare for departure." The earl's voice was parchment-thin, his face bloodless.
His stepmother helped him rise. Through her near-transparent silk nightgown, the earl's withered frame seemed to stir with a flicker of vitality.
Field pressed his lips together. His siblings had received fertile fiefdoms. Yet this old man thought to dismiss him with hollow words? Unacceptable. "Father," he declared coldly, "I require your support. Taming Nightfall will demand more than wishes."
The stepmother's plump flesh pressed against the earl's arm as she narrowed her eyes with feline allure.
"Greed ill befits nobility, Field. You've received more than your due," the earl declared without hesitation.
Beside them, family members shot unconcealed looks of contempt.
"Parading that black hair and eyes abroad shames House Roths!"
"Just a bastard!"
Black hair and eyes—once emblems of ancient aristocracy—had lost their prestige after eastern nomad invasions and the fall of the inland sea kingdoms.
Field's eyes flickered with fury. *This mess is the earl's own making—why must I suffer?*
His mother, a castle maid, had been trafficked from distant eastern lands as an exotic slave. One drunken night with the earl conceived the original host.
Lowborn. Motherless. Bearing her foreign features.
Perfect targets for their scorn.
"Five hundred gold coins. Take your personal servants—I treat all my children equally." With that, the earl let his wife steer him toward their chambers.
Field seethed. Five hundred gold? For rebuilding a territory? *Like using a toothpick to stir a vat—you'll hear a splash but achieve nothing.* Still, better than empty hands.
"Dear Field!" His half-brother sidled up, oozing false cheer. "Nightfall's perfect for you—a sunless, festering land matching those hellish eyes! Unlike my poor fief, Brewlan City... famous only for its beer and goats."
Rage boiled in Field's chest, his heart sizzling like meat on a grill. A ruined fief he could salvage—but mocking his appearance? *I'll dig up every ancestor in your damned lineage!*
(ノ=Д=)ノ┻━┻
This brat owed his aura powers to Field's past kindness! When mocked for his pitiful talent years ago, Field alone offered help.
"Get lost!" Field snarled.
"Remember that flaxen-haired girl?" The brother's lips curled obscenely as he leaned close. "I killed her. The way she struggled... exquisite."
Field froze. The image flashed—the girl his predecessor loved, later found naked in a tavern alley. Her death broke the original host, paving Field's arrival.
His brother licked his lips, savoring the memory. "My doing."
Shock clutched Field's heart. This freshly minted adult—a monster. The girl meant nothing to him as a transmigrator, but such casual cruelty? Revolting beyond measure.