The Exiled Lord: My Maid is a Battle Goddess-Chapter 47: Crisis! The territory has been ambushed!

Phield still remembered that moment when he had first arrived at the great winery—when he’d felt something watching him. That chilling sensation was unforgettable once experienced.

That gaze had come from the basement of the main building. On the minimap, a red dot marked the spot beneath the winery. At first, Phield had constantly feared an attack, but as time passed and the red dot never moved, he decided to focus on developing first—then kill it later.

But now, that red dot had suddenly appeared on the outskirts of his territory, without any warning at all. At the same time, an entire cluster of skull icons had materialized out of nowhere.

Literally out of nowhere.

Just a minute ago, the land around the territory had still been peaceful. The surrounding corrupted corpses had already been cleared as thoroughly as possible.

"That thing got out!" Cold sweat poured down Phield’s back as he realized the danger was imminent. He immediately called for Ashina.

"What is it, my lord?"

Phield had only called her name, yet Ashina leapt up from the basement at once, flashing to his side as her eyes instinctively swept the surroundings.

"That thing you mentioned has returned to the edge of the territory to observe us again. Go back and protect the domain first. I’ll gather manpower and follow shortly." Phield didn’t panic or shout blindly. After a brief moment of thought, he lowered his voice. "If you can defeat it, do so. If not, fall back to the great winery. If that still won’t work, retreat. Remember—don’t push yourself."

Nightfall Domain could function without anyone else, but without a Divine Chosen, its destruction would only be a matter of minutes.

Ashina nodded solemnly and mounted her Drakewolf. A surge of deep violet and幽蓝 light erupted from the Drakewolf’s body. The massive beast shot forward like a black missile, slamming into the death-gray fog. Any corrupted creatures along the way were instantly smashed apart—dust billowed, stones shattered, sand flew.

"Damn, having no transcendent power is really a pain," Phield sighed. Especially when facing enemies with transcendent strength, it was easy to feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness. But only for a moment—he clenched his teeth and forced those useless emotions down.

If the territory wasn’t invaded, that would be the strange thing. Otherwise, the nobles would have reclaimed the Northern Frontier Province long ago.

"Ben!" Phield shouted. "Leave the carts here. Bring the troops and rush to the great winery at full speed! Prepare for battle!"

"Yes, my lord!"

The slaves were still dazed, but Ben tossed aside the stool in his hands and answered loudly.

...

Meanwhile, at Starnight Great Winery.

"Wooo—wooo—"

The low horn sounded for the first time at the winery. Perhaps it had been blown ten years ago during the Orc invasion—but just like then, the moment the slaves heard it, they froze in confusion and looked around. When they saw the fully armed guards assembling into formation, they immediately realized how serious the situation was.

The entire territory descended into chaos. Slaves and freemen dropped their farm tools and fled toward the great winery.

Screams, crying, curses—an overwhelming black mass of people surged in utter disorder.

"Stay calm! The monsters are still far away!" Tate shouted, whip in hand, desperately trying to maintain what little order he could in the crowd.

That only confirmed one thing in the slaves’ minds: monsters really were coming.

The panic worsened. People stumbled and fell constantly.

Fortunately, Ashina’s advice had come in time. Phield hadn’t sent the slaves out to develop new land but kept them near the great winery, allowing them to reach it immediately.

This heavy stone structure carried the Starnight family’s hopes for winemaking. The entire building was constructed from marble blocks carved into square stones—fortress-like and spacious. That was exactly why Phield had chosen it as his base.

On the second floor, Kaor watched the slaves pour in to seek refuge and grew furious. "My lord should never have allowed them to take shelter here. Those damned lowborns will dirty the floors. Mick—tell the guards to keep them off the upper levels. And don’t let them into the basement either."

Opposite the fleeing crowd, a squad of twenty guards adjusted their equipment while assembling toward the sound of the horn.

"Damn idiots—what are they running for? If anyone’s dying, it’ll be us first."

Sam spat into his palm and rubbed it over his beloved flanged mace again and again, polishing it until it gleamed. "Heh. I’m just nine silver coins away from buying my freedom. When that happens, I’ll drink myself drunk every day and head to Maple Leaf City—show those filthy sluts what Nightfall Domain men are made of."

"Haha, you’d better live that long, Sam," said the guard beside him as he pulled on his helmet. Fully armored, he clanked loudly as he ran.

"I will. I will." Sam knocked on his helmet hard.

After running for a while, massive numbers of corrupted corpses came into view, revealing the situation at the territory’s edge. Corrupted corpses—countless corrupted corpses—were charging into the land, shrieking wildly as they ran. Some smashed at carts left in the fields, while others charged straight toward the great winery with clear intent.

Arrows occasionally streaked through the sky, plunging into the horde and pinning unlucky corrupted corpses to the ground, steadily thinning their numbers.

Following the arrows’ trajectory, Sam spotted a wooden fort surrounded by corrupted corpses.

Nightfall Domain lacked materials and had to constantly expand its living space, so it had no proper walls—only small wooden forts.

Logs were driven into the soil in a circle to form these crude fortifications. Calling them forts was generous; the wooden walls were only chest-high, more like livestock pens. Wooden supports braced the walls into triangular structures, allowing sharp stakes or vines to be placed on top. Behind the wall, soldiers could barely stand in two ranks to attack—but likewise, the corrupted corpses’ engagement front was severely limited.

These wooden forts were far more suitable than walls for the current territory. Reality wasn’t a game—building a full wall wasn’t simple. But a small wooden fort was easy. Phield had made their construction part of the soldiers’ training and built several casually. He hadn’t expected them to prove so useful.

"It’s John and the others. I thought they were dead."

The guard named John was desperately thrusting his halberd through gaps in the wooden wall.

Other guards grabbed bolts from crates, cranked their crossbows, and shot at corrupted corpses climbing the wall.

"Everyone, with me! We’re supporting John!" Sam shouted, hoisting his mace and charging toward the fort.

"ROAR!"

The corrupted corpses noticed the guards. Their previously shambling, chaotic steps suddenly accelerated.

One corrupted corpse with an abnormally massive right arm charged at the front, leaving the others behind. Everyone knew—if it wasn’t a transcendent corrupted corpse, it was at least an exceptionally vicious one.

Even at full sprint, its movements remained unnervingly steady. The muscles in its right arm writhed visibly.

There was no doubt—it was about to launch a thunderous strike.

Sam kept loosening his shoulders, gripping his mace as he prepared to clash head-on—but a comrade grabbed him.

"Stop trying to brute-force everything with that donkey strength of yours. Let me handle it. Don’t forget you owe me barley ale later."

The speaking guard straightened up, drew a longbow from his back, and pulled it to full draw. With a humming twang, the arrow screamed through the air, crossing thirty paces in an instant.

"ROAR—"

Ferocity flashed in the corrupted corpse’s eyes. It leapt forward with its momentum, narrowly dodging the arrow. A corrupted corpse behind it suffered instead—the arrow punched straight into its abdomen, pinning it to the ground.

"Oh, damn it! That thing can dodge arrows! Give me one more shot—I’ll kill it for sure!"

"Oh, shut it! Save that weak little stick of yours for putting babies in women. They’re charging—form up!" Sam bellowed. "For Lord Phield!"

"For Nightfall Domain!"