Lord of Rot

Being able to communicate with beasts was, in Leech’s opinion, a magical ability, somewhat like the Druids found in some video games.

Such people were typically darlings of nature, beloved by all animals. They might even fight against the powerful to protect nature and its creatures.

But now, Pitz was a henchman for the castle’s evil Baron.

Protecting nature? Could that be better than working for the Lord? She just wanted a job.

Leech led Pitz to the chicken coop. The summer stench of chicken droppings mixed with the filth on their feathers was so overpowering it made his head throb.

A hen clucked at Leech. BOCK BOCK.

”Can you understand what it’s saying?” Leech asked.

Pitz nodded, her cheeks blushing slightly. ”She says she hates that lame hen because that one is always picking on her.”

”Hss... Interesting.”

Leech couldn’t tell if Pitz was telling the truth.

”Which one is the lame hen?” Leech asked.

”BAWK BAWK,” Pitz squawked, apparently less skilled at communicating with chickens than with rats.

”That one.” Pitz pointed to a hen in the coop. It was holding its head high and puffing out its chest, but it was missing a large patch of feathers.

Leech waved the steward over. ”Get that hen. The one with the missing feathers on its back.”

”Yes, my Lord!”

The coop door opened, and a few men rushed in.

”CLUCK CLUCK!”

”BOCK BOCK!”

Wings flapped frantically. Chickens beat their wings, scattering feathers everywhere.

Eventually, the hen with the missing feathers was caught and carried out, held upside down by its two feet.

The steward snatched the hen from his subordinate and approached Leech and Pitz with a fawning expression. ’What a perfect chance to curry favor with the Lord! How could I let one of my men take it?’

”Have a chat with it,” Leech said to Pitz. ”Ask it why it bullies the other hens.”

The steward looked at Pitz. She was an unremarkable girl, with no distinguishing features apart from the light freckles on her face.

’Talking to a hen?’

’What is going on?!’

Pitz let out a couple of ”Bawks” at the hen. The scene was a bit bizarre.

The hen, which had been quiet while being held, suddenly went berserk. It flapped its wings and stretched out its neck, trying to peck Pitz. Fortunately, the steward had quick reflexes and yanked the hand holding the hen backward.

”Ah!” Pitz yelped in fright.

Seeing the chicken being pulled away, she patted her unremarkable chest, her heart still pounding with fear.

Leech asked, ”What happened? What did you say to it?”

From what he had just seen, the hen, which had seemed resigned to its fate, had suddenly flown into a rage after ”chatting” with Pitz.

Pitz glanced fearfully at the hen being held upside down and said, ”I asked it why it bullies the other chickens. It said it doesn’t like other chickens being prettier than it. Then I told it that was wrong, and it got angry and tried to get me. It also called me a meddling bitch.”

”...”

’Is the language of chickens really that rich?’

Looking at the balding hen still struggling to lunge at them, Leech said to Pitz, ”Tell it if it doesn’t quiet down immediately, I’ll have it plucked clean and then stewed.”

”BAWK... BAWK... BAWK,” Pitz relayed the message, stumbling over the sounds.

The hen immediately fell silent and stopped moving.

”By the Four Gods!” the steward exclaimed, staring in amazement at the now-docile balding hen in his hand. Then he looked back at Pitz.

’Amazing things always happen around the Lord.’

”Let’s go,” Leech said to Pitz. ”We’ll go check on the foxes and dogs.”

Pitz nodded obediently, said, ”Yes, my Lord,” and followed Leech as he left.

The foxes had bred litter after litter. Combined with the good food and lack of survival pressure, their numbers had far surpassed the dogs and were about to break one hundred.

But the dogs were having some problems. They were biting people!

A boy in charge of feeding the dogs had been bitten. He had been lying in bed with a high fever that wouldn’t break. Fortunately, he survived and his full recovery was just a matter of time. He even received some compensation money, but it’s unlikely anyone would want to experience that kind of near-death feeling again.

The dog that bit him had already been beaten to death, and the other dogs had been locked in cages.

Normally, this wasn’t something Leech would have to handle himself. Finding a dog trainer to properly manage the pack would have been enough. But since Pitz could speak Beast Language, it was a good opportunity to bring her over to take a look.

It would also, to some extent, verify Leech’s suspicions.

The autumn planting had already begun, so the cages of foxes and dogs were facing ”unemployment.” They had been moved from the fields to a temporary shed.

This place had once been a pigsty. As the pigs produced more and more piglets, a new area had been designated for raising them. This old sty was temporarily abandoned and had become the temporary home for the ”retired” gang of foxes and dogs.

Thanks to the ’Grass of Life’, the pigs’ breeding attempts were almost always successful. A normal sow could produce a litter of ten piglets, but the sows in Porcupine Territory could produce twenty to twenty-five. The sows had only produced one litter of piglets so far this year, but there would be another before year’s end.

And that year-end litter would be the most terrifying. A dozen or so young sows had also been impregnated and would produce several hundred piglets by the end of the year.

It was all thanks to the Grass of Life. This Magic Potion made offspring healthier, increased their survival rate, and improved their genes. The piglets it produced also grew faster. It was simply the greatest treasure for a pig-farming Baron.

But relying on pork to feed the entire Porcupine Territory was still a long road ahead. To let every household eat meat every few days, the two-thousand-strong Porcupine Territory would need a conservative estimate of three to five pigs per day.

Leech also wanted to increase his population, which meant he would always need more pigs. There would never be too many to raise or too many to eat.

Hearing footsteps, the foxes in the cages raised their heads. The dogs, which had been barking nonstop, ”WOOF WOOF WOOF,” grew even more excited.

”They think it’s feeding time,” Pitz told Leech.

With over a hundred foxes and dogs kept together, the smell was even worse than the chicken coop.

Leech frowned slightly. ”Tell them to be quiet.”

”WOOF WOOF!” Pitz barked twice at the tail-wagging dogs.

The pack of dogs didn’t quiet down. Instead, a few barks answered her, ”WOOF WOOF!” Then, sporadically, more and more dogs started barking, until it devolved into a frenzy of howls.

”My Lord, they won’t listen to me,” Pitz said with a pained and slightly aggrieved expression. ”Their dog king told me to shut up. He also said to send in the one who feeds them and for me to get out.”

’I, the great Lord of Porcupine Territory, personally came to talk to these dogs, and they dare to curse my translator?’

”They listen to the dog king?”

”Yes,” Pitz nodded. ”The other dogs do whatever the dog king tells them to.”

Leech asked again, ”Did the dog king order them to bite that person too?”

”WOOF WOOF,” Pitz barked at the pack, asking the question.

”WOOF!” came a single, crisp bark in reply.

”Yes,” Pitz nodded to Leech. ”He says it was a small punishment.”

A smile appeared on Leech’s face. ”A small punishment? Which one is the dog king?”

”That one.” Pitz pointed to a black-backed dog in a cage. It looked a bit like a wolf, with a glossy coat and a vicious glint in its eyes.

”Men!”

Leech waved his hand. ”Kill that dog.”

”Yes, my Lord!”

Forget killing one dog. If the Lord ordered it, no one would bat an eye at killing all of them.

Two farmhands went in with Iron Forks and stabbed at the black-backed dog king in its cage. The dog king howled in pain and was stabbed to death in just a few thrusts.

The dog pack erupted into a cacophony of roars.

Leech asked, ”Are they cursing me?”

”No,” Pitz shook her head. ”They’re choosing a new dog king. That yellow dog is the new one.”

”Pretty efficient,” Leech said to Pitz. ”Tell that yellow dog that from now on, it will obey your commands and keep the pack in line. Otherwise, it will die too.”

”WOOF WOOF!”

Pitz acted as the perfect translator. However, when she relayed the message, she didn’t put herself first. She made it clear that she was only a messenger for Leech.

”He refuses.”

Leech waved his hand. ”Kill the yellow dog, too.”

The Iron Forks, still dripping with the previous dog king’s blood, thrust toward the yellow dog in its cage.

With two dog kings killed in a row, the pack of dogs—which normally didn’t have to hunt and were left unsupervised—finally quieted down.

”Are there any more dog kings?” Leech asked.

”That black dog. He says he’s willing to submit to you.”

”Tell him to keep the pack in line,” Leech said. ”If there’s even the slightest problem in the future, I’ll kill him first.”

”WOOF WOOF,” Pitz translated.

”WHINE~” A low, whimpering sound came from the cage. The black dog lowered its head to Leech through the bars, then rolled over and exposed its belly to him.