Lord of Rot

The coffin lid was thrown open.

A corpse abruptly sat up.

Leech froze, then looked at the thing inside the coffin with delighted surprise.

He wasn’t controlling the corpse. If it could move on its own, that meant this creation was... a Corpse Ghost!

The corpse’s once-shriveled skin was now stretched taut over muscle. All the hair on its body had turned a fiery red, just like the bear’s.

Its gaunt face was still ugly, but the skin was much tighter, no longer sagging in certain places.

Of course, what concerned Leech more was just how many of his commands she could understand.

Leech quickly flipped open the Necromancer’s journal, searching for a way to tame a Corpse Ghost. It was a Spell simpler than the one for controlling corpses. If combined with his corpse-manipulation techniques, its loyalty would be eternal.

’The loyalty of the dead is far more reliable than that of the living.’

His consciousness entered the creature’s body. Standing up from the coffin, he had to tilt his head back to look up at the torch-wielding Baron. The change in height felt strange and new.

Then came the physical changes. He leaped lightly, agile as a monkey, his oversized hands and feet digging into the earth. It allowed him to cling effortlessly to the ceiling above, just like a spider.

Its running speed came from the innate instincts of those crypt monsters, while its strength was likely a mutation caused by the red herbs.

Leech discovered this monster possessed extremely powerful night vision. During the Night, it could see great distances, even beyond the area illuminated by torchlight.

He also tried using the Corpse Ghost’s body to execute the Swordsmanship of a Warg Slayer. Its superior speed and strength made his movements more fluid, versatile, and far more dangerous.

When he returned to his own body, its clumsiness felt foreign and hard to get used to.

"Come here," he beckoned to the Red-haired Corpse Ghost.

It slowly ambled over.

"Spin."

It took the creature a full three minutes to clumsily complete the command.

’Alright, it seems this isn’t a true Corpse Ghost. A semi-Corpse Ghost, at best.’

It was dull-witted and couldn’t act on its own, only able to react to specific, direct commands.

But the physical mutations she’d undergone were obvious, placing her far beyond the level of those crypt monsters.

After instructing the semi-Corpse Ghost to stay put, Leech returned to his bedroom.

The crypt entrance was sealed, leaving only the conspicuous stone monument standing in its place.

Next, he needed to brew a preservative and figure out how to conquer a second crypt. With the help of the red-haired semi-Corpse Ghost, the process would undoubtedly be much faster.

Even if he couldn’t create any more semi-Corpse Ghosts, the crypt monsters themselves were excellent raw materials for corpses, perfect for expanding Porcupine Territory’s defensive forces.

In the afternoon, led by his steward, Leech went to see his slaves. They were in shackles, huddled together like frightened birds, terrified of their surroundings.

Or rather, showing fear was their way of protecting themselves.

A new master would not appreciate a bold, curious slave who lacked the proper sense of awe.

"So this is the group you said was mostly women and children?" Leech asked Simon, looking over the slaves.

The steward nodded. "Yes, my lord."

The women looked malnourished. Some of the men were crippled, while others were elderly and frail. The children, who made up the majority of the slaves, stood to one side, timidly watching the handsome, lavishly dressed lord who held all their lives in his hands.

"I am the lord of Porcupine Territory," Leech announced to the slaves, his gaze sweeping across them. "Here, you will be able to cultivate the land and have a chance to fill your bellies."

He had considered giving a speech, but the group’s condition was worse than he had expected. Seeing their poor health, Leech worried if even a third of them would survive the winter.

The slaves fell to their knees, their jumbled words of gratitude a cacophony of different accents, some of which he couldn’t understand at all.

They were likely people enslaved during the wars, or outsiders brought to the Eastern Gorge through the slave trade.

"What are they saying?" Leech asked the steward.

The steward looked bewildered. "My apologies, my lord. I’d guess it’s either the Heckson or Panbo tongue."

"That’s a dialect from the Giant’s Foot Mountains. They’re begging for mercy, Master," a crippled man said, mustering his courage.

The men from the town watch standing nearby raised their clubs, ready to step forward. Slaves were the lowest rung of society. Speaking to a noble out of turn wouldn’t earn them any favor; it would earn them a sound beating to teach them a lesson.

Leech raised a hand to stop them. He studied the crippled man, who had a mole between his eyebrows. The three children cowering behind him had the exact same mole. ’A family trait, I suppose?’ It looked like a small insect resting on their skin.

"You can understand them?"

The man nodded. "Before I became a slave, I traveled to parts of the Giant’s Foot Mountains."

Leech had no interest in the crippled man’s past. He studied the man’s face; it was quite handsome, and even beneath the grime, his three children’s faces couldn’t hide their genetic advantages.

In this world, beauty came from one’s bloodline, and such inheritances were found only among the nobility. Commoners, at best, only knew who their grandfathers were. They lived in a muddle, ignorant of history, knowing neither their origins nor their future.

Leech asked, "What is your name?"

"I am Ark, Master," the crippled man replied instantly. He knew that the lord asking for his name was an opportunity.

"Tell them that here, they can work the wasteland and fill their bellies, but they are not to even think about escaping."

"Yes, Master."

Ark had his eldest son help him stand on his one good leg. He called out to the other slaves in their own tongue, and soon they began to cheer and chant loudly.

"What are they chanting?" Leech asked.

Ark replied, "They are singing praises of your benevolence, Master."

"But my benevolence has its limits," Leech said. "I’m putting you in charge of them, Ark. I’ll give you a few people to help you. The people of Porcupine Territory aren’t hostile to outsiders, but you’re not to steal or loiter where you’re not welcome. Stay where you belong, and I can just about guarantee you’ll have food to eat and the strength to work."

"Yes, Master!" Ark said, his voice filled with excitement.

Slaves couldn’t expect to be treated like common folk, but the promise of a full belly without forfeiting their lives was more than enough to earn their gratitude.

Leech knew he had to maintain that difference in status.

’They farm for me, I take all the profits, and all I have to do is provide a meal.’ Leech mused. ’When it comes to slavery, the nobility are the biggest beneficiaries. It’s a good thing I’m a noble.’

Next, Leech went to meet the only blacksmith in Porcupine Territory.

He was a man in his twenties, not particularly tall, with what looked like a diseased mole on his ear that had turned half of it pitch-black.

"I am Black Ears," the young blacksmith said, bowing to the lord on his tall horse. He had already gotten the gist of this territory: it was poor, poor, and then some more poor.

The lord’s poverty was no concern of his. A blacksmith could make a good living anywhere.

What he cared about was being the *only* blacksmith in this territory!

Black Ears understood exactly what that meant.

Leech wasn’t surprised by the blacksmith’s name.

"So, Black Ears, what can you forge?"

"Farm tools," Black Ears said. "I’ve been an apprentice for several years, but my master never let me forge swords or armor. I was sick of hammering out hoes every day, so when Lord Simon invited me, I chose to come here without a moment’s hesitation. I pledge my loyalty to you. Please, rest assured, my lord. I’ve watched my master forge weapons for a long time, and I have all the steps memorized. I can definitely help you forge the weapons for an unrivaled army!"

’An... armchair blacksmith?’

If he really needed armor and longswords, he should buy them in Iron Stone City. The most famous blacksmiths in the Eastern Gorge were there. He shouldn’t waste resources and energy on an apprentice.

"No," Leech said, shaking his head. "What I need are farm tools. You will be forging farm tools here as well."

The color drained from Black Ears’ face. He had come here hoping to finally prove his real skills.

Leech said to the apprentice, whose ambition clearly outstripped his skill, "You’ll have your own smithy in Porcupine Territory."

"Yes, my lord!" Black Ears lowered his head.

’I definitely can’t go back to Iron Stone City,’ he thought. ’They don’t need any more blacksmiths, and as an apprentice, I wouldn’t make much money. But in Porcupine Territory, I’m the only one. Any money I make from forging hoes will be all mine.’

He could only console himself with that thought.