"This used to be the hop plantation."

North of the iron mine lay what had once been Nightfall Domain’s massive hop farm. Only beer brewed with hops could produce truly exceptional ale, and Nightfall Domain’s beer had once been just as famous as its wine.

Looking at the tentacles covering the ground and the corpses bound by corrupted plants, Phield shook his head in disappointment.

"Nightfall Domain’s climate and environment are perfect for brewing. Once we can sustain ourselves with food production, we’ll find a way to revive the brewing industry."

Alcohol was profit beyond profit. If he were not worried about starving people to death, Phield would have already started pouring money into it.

"There are only mutated rats left in the warehouse. Nothing useful remains."

Tisiana smashed open the rotten warehouse door with her wings and wandered inside for a look before pinching her nose in disgust.

"That was expected."

"My lord, should we build a wooden fortress here?"

Sam asked from the side.

"No. I only care about resource points with actual value. Even the checkpoints aren’t worth occupying for now."

Nightfall Domain’s three checkpoints blocked the roads connecting the three territories. Phield had coveted them for a long time, but the manpower and resources needed to hold them were far beyond what the territory could currently afford.

"Ahhh! Help!"

A shrill, miserable scream suddenly echoed from deep within the gray mist, followed by frantic shouting and cries of alarm.

"There are living people. Or maybe it’s a trap?"

Tisiana looked toward Phield, waiting for orders.

Phield scanned the minimap for a moment. Amid the dense cluster of red skull markers, he finally spotted a few living markers, and their numbers were rapidly decreasing. No wonder he had not noticed them earlier.

"Let’s go take a look."

The group rushed toward the sound.

They soon found a caravan of three wagons trapped by the tentacles covering the ground.

Large numbers of corpses poured out from the surrounding woods, frantically attacking the people in the convoy. What caught everyone’s attention was that the people all wore bizarre white robes.

They looked somewhat like mages, except their robes were embroidered with turtles, giving them an absurd appearance.

Reality quickly proved they were definitely not mages.

Faced with the charging corpses, most of them panicked and crawled underneath the wagons, allowing disgusting corrupted fluids to smear them until they barely looked human anymore.

One particularly slow looking fellow failed to find space under a wagon and simply lay flat on the ground pretending to be dead. In the chaos, several people stepped on him repeatedly. His face twisted in agony, yet he dared not make a sound.

Only five men dressed like mercenaries were actually fighting the corpses.

"Fuck this! I’m done! This job is suicide!"

One mercenary cursed loudly, shoving away the corpse blocking his blade before turning to flee. He barely managed two steps before another corpse tackled him from the side. The monster opened its cheekless mouth and bit away half his neck. Blood erupted like a fountain.

"Save them. Free labor just delivered itself to us."

Seeing actual living people for once, Phield’s eyes lit up.

The guards immediately advanced in orderly formation. Their thrusting halberds effortlessly slaughtered the disorganized corpses one after another, quickly rescuing the caravan.

"Honorable knight, praise be to your valor. We are scholars of The Tust School, scholars of the School of the Natural Turtle. I am their guide, George."

A miserable old man crawled out from the mud and filth, staring in astonishment at the fierce wolf-like guards before awkwardly greeting Phield.

"The Tust School?"

Phield had never heard of it. His gaze fell to the turtle symbols on their robes.

"Uh... the turtles painted on your clothes are your emblem?"

"My lord, this is the Natural Turtle, the medium through which we pursue the mysteries of nature."

George felt strangely uncomfortable. Yes, it was indeed a turtle, but the way Phield phrased it somehow sounded insulting.

The elderly George wiped the mud from his face and flicked it onto the ground before respectfully producing a small bronze turtle from his robe and presenting it with both hands.

"My lord, this is our medium. Through it, you can hear the call of all living beings."

"Take that away. Do not disrespect the lord!"

"Put your turtle back."

The guards immediately stepped forward to stop him.

Phield motioned for the guards to stand down and casually accepted the bronze turtle for a look. The moment he realized it was not a magical artifact, he instantly lost interest.

Thinking about it, if these people truly possessed some profound power, they would not have nearly been slaughtered by ordinary corpses.

In recent years, all kinds of strange little sects had begun appearing throughout the Empire. Many were extremists obsessed with twisted ideas of freedom or art.

For example, in Fungal Water Province there was a Divine Chosen nicknamed the "Decapitation Painter," a complete lunatic who loved chopping off people’s heads to use as artistic material. Even now, the authorities had failed to capture him.

"This trend really does feel like the beginning of a Renaissance... though not quite."

"Why did you come here?"

Returning the bronze turtle, Phield asked curiously.

"Surely it wasn’t because the turtle told you to?"

"It was Her Majesty’s command..."

Phield immediately looked awkward.

"Uh... my apologies."

"To seek the mysteries of nature and discover a solution to corruption."

The old scholar spoke in a mystical tone before raising a hand solemnly.

"Her Majesty’s mission for us is to locate the source of corruption and eradicate it."

"Incredible."

Phield sighed in admiration.

"Her Majesty truly is... imaginative."

Was the Empress actually sending them on a mission, or just disguising exile as one?

"My lord, my lord, you are truly my savior!"

The young man who had been trampled earlier finally crawled back up, his face full of despair.

"These people are villains and cultists! I was tricked into joining their school. They completely wasted my talents."

"One moment, sir."

Phield stopped him from continuing and gestured for the guards to escort the young man away separately for the time being.

Then he turned back to the scholars of the Turtle School.

"Gentlemen, before this, have you ever published or proposed any theories?"

"Of course. These are our research findings."

Old George proudly pulled out a scroll of parchment and handed it to Phield.

"Our thesis proves that Her Majesty the Empress and turtles possess certain similarities. Of course, the closest resemblance is actually with apes. Perhaps one of Her Majesty’s ancestors fell in love with an ape."

"Hiss... the fact she didn’t execute you means your luck is truly extraordinary."

Phield inhaled sharply in genuine awe.

There might have been traces of scientific thinking hidden within such ideas, but this was still the first time he had met people brave enough to say something like that aloud.

"You people are scholars, so you can read and write, correct?"

"Certainly. Though our true expertise lies in communicating with the Natural Turtle."

"Excellent."

Phield turned his head and ordered, "Sam, escort these gentlemen to Kai’s Dark Prison. Interrogate them thoroughly and give them some ideological reeducation. Once Kai decides they’re fit to be released, bring them back to me. Nightfall Domain is about to start producing soap anyway, so send some to them and let them play with it."