Wasteland Lord: Starting from Thirty Days to Live

Vittorio presented his plans at the meeting.

How to cultivate the land meticulously, how to collect and process manure, how to provide people with boiled water to drink, how to scald clothes with boiling water, how to bathe regularly to reduce lice...

These requests were so trivial, so... mundane, that they left the audience somewhat bewildered.

"The initial weeding and watering of the farmland makes some sense, but the later stuff... excuse me, handling manure and regular bathing?"

An old man with white hair stepped forward; he was Old Mor, who assisted Edmund in managing the camp.

Old Moore was once a bookkeeper for the River Mother Merchants' Association in the trading port town. He came from a merchant family and was very proficient with numbers.

He kept track of all the supplies collected and used in the camp.

As a rare talent and the oldest among them, old Morse's status was second only to Edmund, and his words carried considerable weight.

Old Moore spoke for everyone.

"The conditions here are indeed not as good as in the capital... but sir, you're saying we have to dig pits to bury our excrement and urine? And use the firewood we painstakingly cut to boil water for bathing? We don't even have enough people to patrol right now, and we have to divide up the work to do this and that, this sounds..."

Because of the persistent low-grade fever, Vittorio felt dizzy in waves and really didn't feel like explaining to them.

"You might as well just say what sounds like something an idle nobleman like me would do."

Old Moore readily admitted it.

"Who can argue with that?"

Vittorio was too lazy to explain to them how intensive farming increases yields, how fertilizer restores soil fertility, and how fleas and rats cause parasites and plagues.

Vittorio came up with a more direct approach.

"How about we conduct an experiment?"

"Divide the camp in two, one half will follow my method, and the other half will follow your old method. We'll see how it goes after a while."

"Let's see in a while which side's crops grow better, which side's people get sick less often, and which side's people feel more comfortable."

"If my method doesn't work, I'll leave and chop down my flag for you to use as firewood."

"Or are you saying you don't even have the courage and ability to try and fail?"

A typical example of using reverse psychology.

Fast and effective.

Vittorio noticed that many people had shown indignation after hearing his words.

Vittorio, however, did not care. He looked around and his gaze fell on Edmund.

He knew that Edmund was the one who made the final decision.

Edmund didn't hesitate for long.

On the one hand, as a leader, he is not lacking in decisiveness. On the other hand, Vittorio has already surprised him once, and he hopes to do the same this time.

"Just do as he says!"

Having achieved the desired result, Vittorio breathed a sigh of relief and left the South Hall almost without pausing for a moment.

He needed air, he needed solitude, and he needed to fight the monster that was awakening within him.

Back in his temporary room, before Vittorio could even catch his breath, even worse news followed.

The fifteen mercenaries who had been employed in Stonemill Town, led by a minor leader, came knocking on the door.

"Sir Vittorio."

The junior leader bowed.

"We have escorted you to River Bend Fort as agreed. Now that the contract is complete, we cannot linger any longer and must take our leave to settle the remaining payment."

When the group of fifteen arrived at this desolate place, Vittorio didn't pay much attention to this power.

As he had planned, he would have more armed forces once he reached the Reach. He could simply let the mercenaries from the mere fifteen small towns leave.

But now, witnessing the devastation of the Reach, the fifteen battle-hardened and disciplined mercenaries have become a valuable and scarce resource.

But just as they said, the contract was complete, and there was no reason to keep them here any longer.

Vittorio had no choice but to force a smile.

"Ah, yes, the contract is complete. Thank you all for your hard work."

He softened his tone.

"However, we set off in too much of a hurry today. How about we rest for another night and let me prepare some food and drinks to reward you all for escorting us along the way? Tomorrow morning, I will settle the remaining balance for everyone."

The mercenaries exchanged glances, seemingly deciding that staying another night wouldn't be a problem, and then nodded and left.

No sooner had they left than an even more disheartening notification appeared in the system's character module.

Of the original six guards, most of them are losing their loyalty.

The reasons for the decline in loyalty are similar.

[Recent events: The river bend we see is vastly different from the earldom we envisioned; the living conditions are harsh, the future is hopeless, and morale is low!]

Except for Eileen and Isolde, all of them have a long-term debuff on their portraits called "Low Morale," which reduces each person's loyalty by 1 point per day.

House seemingly endless rain!

Beset by internal and external troubles, Vittorio felt an immense pressure weighing on his heart, causing him to unconsciously slump down in the chair by his desk.

To be honest, he didn't care about territory or subordinates anymore.

If he could only have one wish granted right now, that wish would definitely be—to live!

In his despair, a crazy idea seized him.

He struggled to his feet and pulled out the small dagger he always carried.

The sunlight was still fairly clear, and he stared intently at the most severe and densely textured area on his left arm.

Cut it off!

Dig out this rotten and contaminated piece of meat!

The thought became clearer and clearer. He trembled as he pressed the blade against the surface. The icy touch sent a shiver down his spine, and the sharp enough blade had already cut a gash in his skin.

Just as he was about to forcefully cut in.

"If I were you, I wouldn't have done that."

Suddenly, voices came from the doorway. Vittorio looked up sharply and found that Edmond was standing in the doorway at some point.

Edmund was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him.

When did he arrive?

How long did you listen?

"Cutting off a piece of flesh won't help. Unless you're ruthless enough to cut off your entire arm. But that's something you should have done ten days ago."

Edmund stepped inside and closed the wooden door behind him, making sure their conversation wouldn't be overheard by a third person.

Vittorio watched him approach step by step, his heart pounding!

He got it!

He saw it!

After the initial fear came quick planning.

Deny? Play dumb? Attack? Strike first!

What will Edmund do?

Should we make his infection, the son of an earl, public knowledge?

Did it destroy the little bit of prestige he had painstakingly built up?

Or... just get rid of him to prevent future trouble...

Thinking of this, Vittorio's face darkened, and he subconsciously tightened his grip on the dagger in his hand.

Although he knew he was no match for Edmund.

But even a cornered beast will fight; that's Vittorio.

Edmund was not surprised by his wary and hostile gaze.

Edmund did not continue to approach; instead, he extended both hands to indicate that he had no hostile intentions.

Then, he began to remove his heavy plate armor from his body while still in place.

This was an unexpected turn of events for Vittorio.

Vittorio was stunned.

The armor was removed, followed by a faded old shirt.

When Edmund revealed his bare upper body, Vittorio also gasped.

Wound.

His body was covered with hundreds of wounds, large and small.

It was hardly a human body, covered with large and small, centipede-like tears or pitted bite marks.

In some places, it even appears as an ominous dark purple, with some distorted gray lines that can be vaguely discerned.

Unlike Vittorio's arm, the lines on Edmund's body no longer flowed; they were grayish-white, like lifeless tree roots, deeply embedded in his muscles.

"More than a hundred places... I can't remember the exact number."

"Wounds left by all sorts of monsters, by rotting dogs, bone-eating worms... and other indescribable things."

"According to what people say, I should have turned into a monster a hundred times over by now."

He turned around and stared at Vittorio with his good eye, seemingly... sharing a similar plight.

"Many people are getting infected here."

"Cutting flesh? We've tried it, it doesn't work unless you amputate, but I said it only works if you do it from the beginning."

"And how many people can truly abandon their healthy bodies?"

"I am one of them, but the difference is that I have figured out a way to curb the infection and even use that strange power for my own purposes."

"But this method is stupid and painful."

"No one has succeeded in this place except me. Would you like to give it a try, Acting Earl?"

The room fell into a deathly silence.

Vittorio and Edmund faced off; at this moment, they were neither adversaries nor allies.

They were just two ordinary people suffering from the same infection.

Vittorio knew that the next choice would not be easy.

It's even quite dangerous.

And it's a matter of life and death.

…………

……

Three days later, Vittorio was trying to save himself using the method Edmund had described.

Edmund's method was actually quite simple—cultivating the imprinted body.

How exactly are infection and cultivating the imprinted body related?

Edmund recounted that he had experienced a life-or-death battle ten years ago, during which he lost his left eye.

It was during that battle that he was critically wounded and near death, and also became infected.

But for some reason, his body began to move spontaneously, transforming the power of the infection into nourishment for his imprinted body's cultivation.

From then on, although Edmund suffered more than a hundred wounds, the infection could no longer harm him.

However, Edmund didn't fully understand the underlying principles, so he only suggested that Vittorio give it a try.

After all, Edmund had tried to replicate his miracles on other survivors, but he failed.

At this moment, Edmund held a sterilized fine needle and kept poking at Vittorio's wound, creating intricate patterns around it.

"What is the meaning of this pattern?" Vittorio asked.

"Each warrior's pattern is different. The pattern itself has no meaning; it's more like a beautiful blessing."

"To me, my father told me it symbolized 'rock solid.' He was an adventurer who loved to rescue the weak and disliked any spices."

The sashimi itself doesn't hurt; it's the following steps that hurt.

Edmund asked Vittorio to imagine guiding the gray spreading from his wound into the grooves of the steel spikes.

"That's too abstract," Vittorio frowned.

"But you'd better try to understand." Edmund crossed his arms.

"Is there any trick to it?"

"The secret... is probably a strong will to live."

Vittorio tried to imagine it as Edmund had said, and gradually, he felt something climbing up the wound on his arm and into the grooves.

It hurt a lot, and large beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.

But he persisted because he didn't want to die.

"That's it. When the rate of infection can't keep up with the rate of your cultivation, you'll succeed."

Vittorio tried to increase the force, but the excruciating pain was unbearable.

Because of the intense pain, I finally couldn't help but breathe out in the third minute.

Edmund was not surprised, but remained expressionless, like an emotionless stone.

"Again."

"Until success."

…………

……

The cool night wind howled outside the castle, and the firewood crackled as it burned. In one of the large empty rooms on the first floor of the castle, a group of people huddled together, whispering among themselves.

Young Louis looked down, fiddling with his spear and sighing.

The oldest man, Hans, stared blankly at the fire, turning it occasionally without saying a word.

A heavy atmosphere permeated the crowd, making everyone feel depressed.

In the end, it was John, the most clever but also the most impatient, who spoke first.

"What's the use of just sighing? Why don't you just explain things clearly to the adults!"

Louis glanced at him.

"You go and tell them?"

Upon hearing this, John lost his nerve and sat back down in his original spot.

Because he was in a bad mood but didn't dare to confront Vittorio, John became irritable.

He pulled out a large, still intact log and tossed it aside.

"Alright, let's save some firewood. This godforsaken place doesn't even have enough firewood to burn. Who knows what tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that will be like?"

Hans was the oldest and quite steady.

"Shut up. You should still remember how we swore allegiance to the adults one by one more than ten days ago, or is your talk just empty words that burst out with a little force at the end?"

John mumbled.

"The past is the past, and the present is the present. What the lord promised us was to be a count's bodyguard, a knight in a prosperous territory, not in this godforsaken place."

Everyone fell silent. Although John was shameless, he had spoken the minds of everyone.

Seeing this, John seized the opportunity and said, "Since we've already delivered the person safely, we haven't let you down, sir. Why don't we take advantage of the fact that no one is looking..."

"What do you want to do!" Hans stared at him with eyes as sharp as knives.

"I mean, let's run away when nobody's looking! I've thought it all out about what the adults meant by fugitives. I'll shave my head and grow a beard; I don't believe anyone will recognize me!"

I have to say, John is really ruthless—really ruthless to his own thick head of hair.

Hans neither agreed nor disagreed, his expression showing great distress.

Just then, the door to the room was suddenly pushed open, and more than a dozen people walked in from outside, carrying the chill of the night.

Everyone in the room was startled. They looked up and saw that the person in the lead was none other than Vittorio.

Vittorio was followed by fifteen guards, who were mercenaries from Stonemill Town.

"Sir...sir!"

John greeted him somewhat awkwardly.

Vittorio stared at the people in the room with an inscrutable expression.

"I heard you guys talking outside. What were you talking about?"