The boundary of the Astora territory was a dry riverbed that had been parched for years.
I stood on the high balcony of the castle, overlooking the scene below through the system mirror. A group of riders was slowly crossing the pile of loose stones. Leading them was a fat man in a dark red silk robe—Parker, the chief tax collector for Baron Klevis.
Behind him, five guards on scrawny warhorses looked imposing. I scanned them through the system interface: they were all **T1 (Soldier)** tier, armed with half-body leather armor and rusted longswords. Their eyes were filled with a habitual arrogance—an arrogance born from years of bullying defenseless peasants.
"This is that cursed ruin?" Parker—who, despite his fancy silks, was a mere **T0 (Mortal)**—covered his nose with a handkerchief, looking at the desolate land with disgust. "If it weren't for those few silver coins, I would never step into this death-filled place."
"Sir, look over there." A guard suddenly pulled his reins, pointing forward.
In the dry riverbed, a row of strange "scarecrows" stood blocking the road.
No, they weren't scarecrows.
They were seven or eight skeletons with pale white soul-fire flickering in their eye sockets. They stood in bizarre postures: some were pulling at each other's ribs, while others were squatting on the ground scratching at stones with their claws.
"Skeletons?" Parker froze, then let out a contemptuous sneer. "Is this the last trump card of the Astora family? A few bone-racks that can't even walk straight?"
Meanwhile, the player channel was exploding.
**BlackWhale**: "Brothers, steady! Don't just rush in! The dev said this is a game of leverage. We need to look like a 'regular army.' Hamlet, is your trap ready?"
**Hamlet**: "Don't rush me! The rocks in this riverbed are too hard. I just fixed this rusty iron nail. If their horses step on it, they're in for a treat."
**LittleTransparent**: "Holy crap, that fat guy's clothes look expensive. Can we strip them and sell them to Seraphina?"
I watched these lawless players, but in my mind, I was calculating a different account.
To gain a foothold in this land, brute force alone was not enough. I needed "legitimacy."
The first step of legitimacy was to make the surrounding lords realize that Astora was no longer a soft persimmon that could be squeezed at will. If I killed the tax collector outright, Baron Klevis would immediately launch an all-out war. But if I could make him "retreat" within the rules, and in the process establish myself as a protector in front of the outcasts, the meaning would be entirely different.
[System Notification: Hostile force intervention detected. Lord Skill 'Majesty' is ready.]
I took a deep breath and projected my consciousness into BlackWhale's body.
BlackWhale, who had been arguing with IronButt about "whose skull was rounder," suddenly froze. The soul-fire in his eyes instantly turned from white to purple, and an oppressive, ancient aura burst from that fragile skeleton.
He took a slow step forward, his voice low and majestic—the voice of Mordekai.
"This is Astora territory. Do not enter without invitation."
Parker, the tax collector, almost fell off his horse in fright. He forced himself to stay calm and shouted, "Mordekai! I know you're hiding in that tower! Don't think a few magic puppets can scare me! The Baron's tithe must be paid in full! Also, we are taking those thirty miners!"
"Laborers?"
I sneered. In the eyes of these nobles, the outcasts weren't even human; they were just "labor" and a "tax base."
"They are my subjects now," I said calmly through BlackWhale's mouth. "Astora does not recognize any imposed taxes. Mr. Parker, take your dogs and get out."
"You dare insult the Baron's dignity!" Parker turned red with rage, his fat body trembling slightly in the saddle. He ripped off his silk cravat and waved frantically at the guards behind him. "Give these bone-racks a lesson! Rip that talking skull off and use it as my chamber pot! Crush the rest and feed them to the dogs!"
The five guards shouted in unison. Though there were only five of them, they had absolute psychological superiority against a group of weak-looking, unarmed skeletons. To them, this was nothing more than a slightly bloody game of "weeding."
"Charge! For the Baron's glory!"
The sound of hooves thundered across the dry riverbed, kicking up a cloud of dust that momentarily eclipsed the sun.
"Here they come!" **BlackWhale** let out a howl in the player channel. "Everyone, eyes up! This is not a drill! This is not a drill! Team 1 with IronButt, Team 2 with OldSaltyFish, get ready to pull! Hamlet, aim your 'biochemical weapon' at the fat guy!"
Just as the horses reached the center of the riverbed, their speed peaking, two skeletons who had been lying behind the rocks—**OldSaltyFish** and **LittleTransparent**, covered in grey rags—suddenly rolled out from their hiding spots. With a surge of strength, they yanked a hemp rope buried under the sand.
The rope had been fixed between two massive boulders by [IronButt] using a complex lever principle. It was positioned exactly at the level of the horses' legs and coated in black river mud, making it nearly invisible in the shadows.
*Neigh—!*
The leading two horses had no time to react. Their front hooves were snagged violently by the rope, and the massive animals tumbled forward like chariots losing their wheels. The momentum threw the riders off like sacks of grain, slamming them heavily into the sharp-edged rocks.
"Holy crap! The tripwire worked! Is anyone recording? Record this!"
"Stop recording! Charge! Grab the EXP!"
Players hidden in the depressions along both banks rushed out like a pack of wolves that hadn't eaten in half a century.
Since they had no formal weapons yet, their equipment could only be described as "post-modern art." Some skeletons held a thick femur bone removed from a teammate in each hand; some clutched shale fragments sharpened like spikes; and one guy named [**Hamlet**] was brandishing a ceramic jar filled with a suspicious green sludge that smelled of pungent sulfur. He smashed it right in front of Parker's horse.
*Smash!*
The jar shattered, and a thick, tear-inducing smoke instantly filled the air. It was a "primitive tear gas" mixed by Hamlet using saltpeter, sulfur, and the roots of an unknown magical plant found in the castle ruins.
"My eyes! *Gag*... what the hell is this!" Parker, blinded and coughing, rolled off his horse and scrambled through the mud like a panicked pig.
The scene turned into absolute chaos.
One guard swung his longsword in terror, hacking into a player's shoulder blade. A crisp cracking sound echoed, and the player's left arm flew off. But instead of screaming, the player used his remaining right arm to grip the guard's leg in a death-lock, the soul-fire in his eyes burning brighter than before.
"Hehehe... Brother, your strength is lacking," the player shouted in the voice channel to his teammates. "Quick! His guard is down! Stab him in the kidneys!"
Another guard was tackled by three skeletons simultaneously. He realized with horror that these undead creatures didn't care if their bones were shattered. Even when he smashed their jaws with his shield, the bone fragments seemed to bounce back like shrapnel into his face.
"Monsters! These aren't low-level undead! They're lunatics!" the guard screamed in despair, his throat quickly slit by a sharp stone shard.
I stood on the balcony, watching this scene, a surge of absurd satisfaction rising within me.
In the eyes of these guards, this was a battle of life and death; but in the eyes of the players, this was just an "easy-mode, high-reward" starter quest. This dimensional gap in perception was my greatest leverage against the world.
"My Lord, do you not intend to stop them?" Seraphina appeared behind me, her eyes twitching as she watched a player below trying to strip the leather armor off a fallen guard. "They... they are currently discussing if the tax collector's underwear can add a defense bonus."
I remained silent for a moment, then shook my head slightly.
"Let them play. Parker needs to stay alive, but the guards he brought... they must become the 'nutrients' for Astora."
I walked back to my study and pulled out a yellowed parchment scroll bearing the seal of the Astora family.
"Seraphina, get ready. When these 'heroes' have had enough, bring Lia and Old Man Harl. We're going to the boundary to give Mr. Parker a live lesson on 'Law and Justice.'"
Below, the battle in the riverbed was nearing its end.
Of the five elite guards, four were dead and one was wounded. Parker the tax collector was tied up like a festive ham, his mouth stuffed with a dirty straw shoe that had fallen off a player, shivering behind a rock like a pig waiting for slaughter.
And the players were gleefully looting everything from the dead guards.
**BlackWhale** was holding a blood-stained longsword, shouting excitedly in the channel, "Brothers! Loot drop! Steel Longsword (White Grade), Stats: Physical Attack +8! This is a massive win!"
I looked at those cheering bone-racks in the mirror and took a deep breath.
The first echo has been struck. Next, it's time to make this echo heard across the entire Klevis territory.