The Exiled Lord: My Maid is a Battle Goddess

Chapter 197: Celebration

"Damn it." Brinda clenched her silver teeth. "What a vicious, irredeemable scumbag. I’m going to beat him senseless and then snap his neck—wipe out the Empire’s darkness at the root."

"Mm. That’s what we’re fighting for."

Both of them wore expressions as if they were ready to face death without hesitation.

"Oh right, almost forgot about the kid." Brinda jogged over to the little boy, crouched down in front of him, and revealed a gentle smile. She untied a coin pouch from her waist and handed it over. "Here. Take this and survive well."

"Waaah..."

The boy wiped his tears, overwhelmed with gratitude as he took the pouch. It was so heavy it nearly slipped and smashed onto his foot, but Brinda caught it in time.

"Thank you, big sister."

After seeing the child safely out of the manor, the two of them set off toward the Maple Leaf Territory.

Five days later, news of Zoetter’s assassination spread throughout High Castle Province, causing a massive uproar. The name Night Owl instantly became known to everyone, and a bounty for their capture was swiftly issued.

Meanwhile, Phield—labeled by Night Owl as a vicious and depraved scumbag—was busy preparing for the harvest festival.

Today, the great manor felt completely different from usual—lively, filled with chatter and laughter everywhere.

There was no need to worry about attracting the attention of the corrupted corpses. First, the safe zone had already expanded significantly, and second, patrols were constantly maintaining order.

Before coming to Nightfall Domain, their lives had been nothing but hardship. They would spend an entire day doing backbreaking labor, only to return to moldy homes. A single glance inside would reveal broken tables and chairs. Even their grain cellars held less than a rat’s burrow. The children wanted to cry out from hunger—but held it in, out of understanding.

And even then, they still had to fear local nobles sending tax collectors to seize the last scraps of their food.

But after arriving at Nightfall Domain, everything had changed.

Especially today.

At the central square of Windrise Town—the open space in front of the winery—a proper wooden stage had been built for the first time.

"Can we really eat for free today?" one villager asked excitedly.

"Of course. I heard there’ll even be meat."

"You don’t get it. This is a festival hosted by a noble lord. There might even be a ball."

"What’s a ball?" a child asked.

"It’s something rare. Even wealthy merchants don’t qualify to attend. It belongs only to nobles."

"Today, the lord will announce the tax rate."

"I hope it’s only eighty percent."

"Dream on. How could it be that low? Don’t forget how much gold the lord has spent."

Phield rode on horseback, passing by stacks of wheat. The golden piles shimmered brilliantly, filling people’s hearts with a sense of security.

"Except for a few remote plots, most of the wheat fields cultivated by the slaves have already been harvested," Tate reported loudly from behind, then rolled up his parchment. After hesitating for a moment, he asked, "My lord, are you really going to hold a ball for the commoners?"

Kaor protested, "They don’t understand music, nor are they worthy of dancing noble dances. Don’t let them ruin your generosity."

"It’s not a noble ball. Just a large gathering," Phield waved it off casually. "There’s only one goal: go wild and have fun. Nothing else matters."

He wanted to establish a festival for the territory—not only to strengthen cohesion, but also to release the pressure that had built up among the people.

Living long-term under the oppressive gray mist meant everyone carried hidden stress. If it wasn’t released in time, it could erupt with destructive consequences.

"In the long run, large festivals can tie into commerce and boost consumption," Phield added. "It will also make the people deeply realize that this place is different from anywhere else."

"I see..."

The others scratched their heads, clearly not fully understanding.

After passing through the fields, Phield caught sight of the bustling Windrise Town. Slaves were not allowed to participate in the festival, but they received extra food and half a day of rest. For them, that was already a great joy.

Almost all the free citizens had gathered here.

"The lord has arrived!"

The moment they saw Phield, the crowd erupted into cheers, quickly snowballing into a wave of voices.

Phield smiled and waved back. Being acknowledged by his people filled him with genuine satisfaction.

He strode onto the wooden stage and spoke loudly, "I am your lord, Phield."

"Before the celebration begins, I will announce this year’s agricultural tax rate. You are required to pay forty percent of your harvest. Beyond that, there will be no additional taxes—no tool tax, no road tax, nothing at all. The food I previously provided to you will also not require repayment."

As soon as he finished speaking, the crowd fell silent.

Phield blinked, thinking: Why isn’t anyone reacting?

"Long live!"

Someone suddenly shouted, and the next moment, the crowd erupted like a tidal wave.

"My heavens, I can’t believe my ears!"

"Only that little tax? That’s impossible!"

"Nothing’s impossible—because Lord Phield is different!"

"If my previous lord had only taken sixty percent, my sister wouldn’t have starved to death."

Feeling the surge of overwhelming emotion, Phield didn’t waste more words. "From this day onward, every year will mark the Harvest Festival. Now—let the celebration begin!"

Soon, carts loaded with bread were pushed forward, along with three prepared sheep. Bonfires were lit, and the aroma of food quickly spread through the air.

"Get everyone involved—singing or dancing, anything goes."

Phield gave instructions to a few selected villagers—those he had picked in advance for their ability to sing or play instruments.

"Yes, my lord."

With the lord’s command, music immediately filled the air. The celebration came alive.

Two men entered with exaggerated steps, dancing around the bonfire. More and more people joined in, releasing the pressure buried deep within their hearts.

Knowing his presence might hold them back, Phield left the guards in charge of maintaining order and returned to Starnight Castle.

The private banquet at Starnight Castle included only himself and the Divine Chosen. Even the maids had been given the day off.

"My lord, you’re finally here!"

Charlotte waved excitedly at Phield.

In the courtyard, a bonfire burned brightly. A long picnic table was laid out with pudding, steaks, and a variety of fruits and vegetables. As a lord, while treating his people well, there was no reason to neglect himself.

Rosalia, in a rare moment, played the harp.

Phield lay back on a bench, just about to stretch, when Ashina obediently came over to massage his back. Charlotte picked up a plate, speared a piece of apple, and held it out to him like she was feeding a child.

"Much appreciated."

Taking a bite, Phield immediately tasted the pleasures of feudal lordship. "Ah... this damned sense of guilt—it’s addicting."