The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

The fire caused by the conflict between the Duke’s faction and the Princess’s faction was extinguished without significant damage.

Of course, this was in comparison to the entire royal capital, as dozens of homes and shops had burned or been destroyed, and hundreds of people were left homeless.

“Oh no, the house we barely managed to buy last year after saving for ten years…”
“This is all because of Duke Volzard and Princess Amelia!”
“Those bastards ran away the moment Prince Karl scolded them!”
“They fought recklessly and fled without taking responsibility? Just because they’re royalty, does that mean they can do whatever they want?”

Public sentiment toward both factions was at an all-time low.

The nobles were no exception.

“How dare they fight in the sacred royal capital?”
“I understand they are blinded by ambition for the throne, but this is outrageous!”
“To think that we even considered these people as candidates for the throne… I am utterly ashamed of myself.”

Those who had remained neutral harshly criticized the actions of both the princess and the duke. Even some nobles who had been aligned with the two factions began to distance themselves or withdraw entirely.

At the same time, many started flocking to the prince’s faction, seeking to pledge their allegiance.

“Hah! And now they want to bow their heads before His Highness? Shameless.”
“Indeed. If they were going to remain bystanders, they should have done so to the very end.”

Prince Karl frowned as he reviewed the letters and petitions sent by nobles swearing their loyalty.

“Your Highness, I understand that this may be unpleasant, but you must show magnanimity.”
“I know. Even people like them must be accepted to avoid further discord.”

He would accept them, but he would never trust them or grant them key positions.

Resolving to remain firm, Karl set out from the palace to visit and comfort the displaced citizens and ensure that relief efforts were proceeding properly.

However, one side of the inner city was unusually bustling.

“What is all this commotion?”
“Oh, a young lord from the West has organized a charity bazaar. I heard he’s selling specialty goods from his territory and donating part of the proceeds to help the victims.”
“That’s quite commendable.”

Karl smiled in approval, then suddenly stiffened and asked again,

“This young lord from the West… Could it be Philip de Brandel?”
“Yes, Your Highness. He is known as the Apostle of Eldir and the Baron-Blacksmith.”
“As I thought…”

Intrigued, Karl briefly considered meeting Philip and checking out the bazaar but quickly shook his head.

‘The welfare of the displaced comes first.’

There would be plenty of opportunities to meet him at the upcoming funeral and coronation.

For now, he simply sent someone ahead in his stead.

******

“Come take a look!”
“Special charity sale to help the displaced!”
“This is your golden opportunity to purchase Baron Brandel’s newly developed Dutch coffee and exquisite glassware!”

In the plaza, where tents and display stands had been set up, Philip’s attendants—led by the elegantly dressed Helen and Siria—were energetically calling out to potential customers.

The first to arrive, responding to Philip’s invitation, was Countess Adrienne, who had come to the capital for the funeral and coronation. She was accompanied by her close friends.

As these beautiful noblewomen created a buzz, the inner-city residents, intrigued, began to gather.

“Baron Brandel’s domain… Isn’t that the place famous for Zippo lighters and handheld fans?”
“That’s right. He’s also the one who popularized the recent coffee trend.”
“Do you think they’ll be selling that fragrant soap too?”

The inner-city residents were mostly bureaucratic nobles or wealthy merchants.

With disposable income and a keen interest in trends, they could hardly ignore the sought-after specialty products from the western territory.

“Oh! That’s a Damascus Steel Sword!”
“My goodness! That glass goblet looks like a jewel!”

The men—especially the knights—were mesmerized by the Damascus Steel Swords, their distinctive wave patterns catching the light.

Meanwhile, the noble ladies and young noblewomen were captivated by the luxurious soaps and intricate glassware.

“The glassware and Damascus Steel Swords seem pricier than the usual market rate…”
“But the proceeds are going to help the victims! Think of it as contributing to a good cause!”

Even the more frugal buyers were persuaded by their wives and children, reluctantly opening their purses.

However, no matter how much wealth one had, there were limits.

“What? You’re only selling one Damascus Steel Sword per person?”
“Yes, we have limited stock, so we kindly ask for your understanding in allowing others a fair chance to purchase one.”
“Well… I had hoped to get another as a birthday gift for my youngest…”

“If that’s the case, let’s draw up a sales contract. The Mercury Trading Company, which has exclusive distribution rights for our territory’s products, will deliver the goods to you.”

“Hmm… In that case…”

Those who wished to purchase in bulk signed contracts and left promissory notes.

Philip smiled in satisfaction as he observed the smooth transactions taking place.

“Hahaha, just as expected! A massive success!”

Originally, he had planned to showcase his products at the banquet following the coronation. However, with public attention now centered on Prince Karl’s faction, launching his sales now proved to be a better strategy for both promotion and profit.

‘With charity as a convincing justification, I can charge even higher prices. Hehehe!’

At Mau’s warning, Philip scoffed.

A stall fee?

Would some two-bit thug dare to extort a nobleman’s business?

If some fool were bold—or foolish—enough to try, Philip would personally make sure they ended up with a few extra holes in their body.

[The God of Commerce and Wealth, Lupole, delivers a message to the Apostle of Eldir: once the bazaar is over, you are to make an offering to him.]
[He warns that if you continue to ignore the God of Commerce and conduct unauthorized business, things will become… unpleasant for you.]
[The God Eldir scoffs, calling Lupole a greedy miser.]

‘What the hell is this?!’

A sudden scroll notification left Philip dumbfounded.

‘I didn’t expect it to be a god!’

Who would have thought a god would stoop to extortion?!

While Philip was still fuming over this divine shakedown, a young bureaucrat approached him.

“Greetings, Baron Brandel. I am Cavaney, a junior baron in service to Prince Karl.”

“A pleasure. What brings you here? Are you here to demand a stall fee too?”

Was it not enough that a god was trying to extort him? Now nobles were at it too? And using the prince’s backing, no less.

Philip, thoroughly unimpressed, responded dryly.

However, Cavaney simply shook his head.

“That’s not it. His Highness Prince Karl requests an audience with you after the late king’s funeral.”

“The prince? And for what reason?”

“That, I do not know. But don’t worry—it’s an honorable summons. Many other nobles are desperate just to secure a meeting with His Highness.”

With that, Cavaney left.

But Philip could not shake his unease.

It was suspicious for a prince—who had no need for favors—to suddenly summon him.

‘Could he have figured out that we took the relic?’

Technically, it had been Liberta’s doing, not his own. But the problem was, aside from himself and Terry, no one else knew that.

‘What if he plans to use this to blackmail me into servitude?’

A bead of cold sweat trickled down Philip’s temple as he contemplated this unexpected crisis(?).

******

A silver bird-shaped magical artifact lay on the workbench.

A silver-haired middle-aged mage carefully examined the intricate magic circuits engraved on its surface.

His gaze stopped at a particular spot.

“Hm, so it was dropped? This section is slightly distorted. That’s where the magical circuit malfunctioned, preventing it from activating.”

“Can it be repaired? This was passed down to me from my late mother…”

“Hmph, do you know who you’re talking to? I am Myron Phelio, the Royal Magic Tower’s greatest artifact master.”

Puffing up with pride, the senior mage pulled out an exceptionally thin magic stylus, no thicker than an awl, and began meticulously restoring the warped section. He then carefully realigned the magical circuit to its original state.

‘Incredible! The rumors were true!’

The noblewoman watching was in awe.

With only a faint release of mana, the master mage expertly straightened and refined the delicate metal, seamlessly repairing the artifact.

When the restoration was complete, the artifact activated flawlessly, emitting a soft, melodious tune.

The noblewoman clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh! I thought I would never hear this tune again!”

“If it’s a treasured item, you should handle it with more care.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Gratitude? Hah, I don’t work for free. The repair fee is 500 Dalant.”

“P-Pardon? Isn’t that too expensive?”

“If someone else had attempted this repair, you’d be lucky if the artifact retained 70% of its original functionality. But I restored it perfectly, 100% intact. Do you not recognize the value of that?”

“I-I suppose that’s true…”

The noblewoman, having apologized for her ignorance, paid the gold coins and departed.

‘Hehehe, I was running low on research funds anyway—this should help replenish them a little.’

Myron Phelio, the renowned artifact master of the Royal Magic Tower, had been reluctantly pulled away from his research by his senior brother’s forceful request to handle artifact repairs.

Since he was already doing it, he figured he might as well make some extra profit.

Just then, the door to his laboratory swung open.

“Master, I’m back from my errand!”

His youngest apprentice, Lily, had returned.

Seeing the bundle in her hands, Phelio’s eyes narrowed.

“You again… wasting money on useless things.”

“No way! Everything here is necessary! Especially this!”

Lily eagerly held out a glass bottle filled with a dark brown liquid.

“What is this? It doesn’t seem like a magical potion.”

“Master, come on! This is coffee—an absolute necessity for all-nighters! Coffee!”

“Ah, that drink that’s become popular among young scholars and mages?”

“Yes! And this is Dutch coffee, made through a special process…”

“Tsk, I knew it. You wasted money on something overpriced!”

“It wasn’t a waste! The event was for charity, helping those in need.”

Phelio grumbled that it was probably just an excuse to double the price, but nonetheless, he inspected the glass bottle.

“The design is plain, but the transparency is excellent. Where was this made?”

“Well… somewhere in the western countryside. A place called Br-something…”

From what Phelio knew, glass production was mainly centered in the Aksium Empire or the city-states of the Ordia Peninsula.

However, the glass from those regions was never this clear and transparent.

‘Has someone developed a new glassmaking technique while I was holed up in my lab?’

“Also, I found this.”

Lily pulled out a small, rectangular metal object.

Click!

She flicked open the lid and spun the small metal wheel—a flame flared to life.

‘What?!’

She had not used any magic.

The metal object was not a magical artifact either—he couldn’t sense any mana from it.

Yet, it had just produced fire effortlessly.

“What is that device?”

“It’s called a Zippo lighter or a fire starter—something like that. Basically, it makes starting fires really easy.”

“Let me see it.”

“Ah! Don’t break it!”

“I’m not breaking it—I’m just going to disassemble it a little.”

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Phelio carefully took apart the Zippo lighter.

‘So… when the fabric inside the metal casing absorbs oil, the wick draws it up, and then a tiny flint strikes against the metal wheel to ignite a flame. It’s a combination of an oil lamp and a flint spark mechanism.’

The principle was simple, but designing something so compact and user-friendly was anything but.

As an artifact master, Phelio understood this well.

“To create something this efficient without magic… Who in the world invented this?”

“I don’t know—I just bought it.”

“You fool! What kind of mage doesn’t even ask?”

“Pffft, Master, you’re the same way!”

Most mages didn’t care about anything outside of spellcraft or magical research.

It was considered a virtue to remain detached from mundane affairs. However, it also earned them criticism for being too oblivious to the changing world.

Phelio inspected the Zippo lighter again.

Engraved on its surface was the Flaming Hammer, the symbol of Eldir.

‘Was this made by dwarves? …No, it’s too crude for that.’

Even after setting the lighter down to resume his postponed experiments, the curiosity lingered.

‘Whoever created this… I’d love to meet them in person.’