The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

“They came sooner than I expected.”

“But my lord, I heard there were more than ten people?”

“Indeed, it seems more have come than I anticipated.”

Honestly, when Helen first mentioned it, I had doubted that many graduates of Socra College would bother coming all the way to this remote place.

After all, Viscount Robert, the former Chief Administrator, had flaunted his status as a college graduate so much. It was obvious they would be proud and elitist. So, I had thought it would be good enough if just three or four graduates who were close to Helen showed up.

But for over ten people to come? That was unexpected.

“This must all be thanks to the lord’s growing reputation,” Carpenter, the captain, remarked.

“Captain Carpenter, let’s keep the flattery to a minimum. It’s embarrassing.”

“Ahem, but I only speak the truth. Even the noble visitors who came for the hot springs said so. Your lordship’s achievements have reached the royal capital.”

The rumors had spread—how Philip had entered the Prill Mountain Range, exterminated a horde of lizardmen, and rescued refugees while eliminating a necromancer. More recently, he had effortlessly repelled the Viscounty of Mirabeau’s forces in a territorial battle.

Word of these exploits had reached the capital, and as a result, discussions about Baron Philip had surged in the aristocratic social circles.

“But what about you all? Are you alright with this?” Philip asked, glancing at the administrators.

For him, having more ‘slaves’ to share the workload was a good thing. However, these Socra College graduates were highly skilled professionals who might pose as potential competitors to his current officials.

Philip worried that his administrators might ostracize the newcomers or start factional disputes.

But that concern turned out to be needless.

“With the territory expanding and new enterprises increasing, this was bound to happen,” Daron, the Commercial Administrator, responded.

“My lord, they may have more theoretical knowledge, but we’re the ones with practical expertise,” another official added.

“Not to mention, our loyalty to the barony is far greater.”

“How could we not be pleased with new subordinates—no, talented personnel—joining us?”

From Daron, who was practically living at his desk managing the newly established workshops and shops, to Treasurer Buchini, who obsessively scrutinized the financial ledgers several times a day to prevent corruption or financial leaks—everyone was exhausted from overwork. Yet, rather than feeling threatened, they welcomed the newcomers with confidence.

‘They’re not jealous. That’s a relief.’

Just as Philip felt reassured by this, the Socra College graduates arriving at the baron’s castle also seemed relieved.

The reason?

The residents they passed on the way here—none of them seemed impoverished. Their clothes were decent, and the houses weren’t in disrepair.

“Senior Jude, this Barony of Brandel seems to be in better shape than expected,” one of the graduates remarked.

“They say it’s thanks to Baron Brandel.”

“Is it true that the baron is an Apostle of Eldir?”

“That’s what Helen wrote in her letter. Apparently, he personally invented devices like fire starters and wind fans. Even the discovery of the hot springs was attributed to Eldir’s grace.”

“Senior, I don’t think that’s all. On the way here, I heard from some mercenaries that he also possesses a terrifying weapon called Dragon Breath.”

“No way—could he have ties with dwarves?”

Jude’s group had gathered as much information as possible about Philip and the Brandel Barony on their journey here.

Their primary concern was the capability of both the lord and the territory.

If this was just another rural domain focused solely on farming, they wouldn’t have even considered making the trip.

‘If we can work under an exceptional lord, it could be a great opportunity for us too!’

Jude grinned as he entertained this thought. By the time he snapped out of his musings, they had arrived at the castle gates.

There, a familiar figure was waving and greeting them.

“Helen! It’s been a while!”

“Have you all been well?”

“Well, we wouldn’t be here if we were. You, on the other hand, look like you’re thriving.”

“Hoho, well, I am the lord’s secretary, after all.”

“But you’ve become even prettier. Have you, by any chance, found someone special?”

“Se-Senior! What are you even saying?! The lord is waiting, so let’s hurry inside!”

Helen, flustered, quickly led them toward Philip’s reception room.

Inside the reception room, the group was greeted by a young man dressed in elegant attire, exuding an air of dignity and authority.

‘So that’s Baron Brandel?’

‘I heard he wasn’t a knight, but he’s got quite the build.’

‘Well, he does work in the forge himself, so maybe that explains it…’

Just as the group was about to greet him, Jude held them back. Instead of addressing the well-dressed young man seated with a dignified air, he approached the plain-looking, black-haired young man standing beside the bookshelf.

With a respectful bow, he spoke.

“It is an honor to meet you, Baron Brandel.”

“You recognized me quite easily,” Philip chuckled as he observed the group.

“Well, he’s the lord we are to serve. It’s only proper to recognize him in advance,” Jude replied smoothly.

Jude knew the difference between muscles honed by swordplay and those forged through labor. Since there had been no mention of Baron Brandel being a knight, he had been certain that the modest-looking, black-haired man with an unassuming physique was the true baron.

“But I didn’t expect to be tested as soon as we arrived.”

“Well, we get all sorts of riffraff coming here. And I was curious about the reputed Socra College graduates’ abilities as well,” Philip smirked.

That was why he had dressed his bodyguard, Terry, in a noble-like manner while making himself look like an attendant. Most of the group had focused on Terry, but this curly-haired man—Jude—had not been fooled.

‘He’s got quite the discerning eye.’

“What’s your name?”

“Jude Blanc, my lord.”

“Jude, huh? You should know that I’ve been called a mere Apostle of the Blacksmith God, unworthy of noble status. Do you really want to serve someone like me?”

Jude replied without hesitation, a sly grin forming on his lips.

“That makes it even better. We lack noble status as well. In that regard, you are the perfect lord for us.”

Jude was, in truth, an illegitimate son of a high-ranking noble in the royal capital. Most of his companions were either commoners or those with stained backgrounds—misfits in aristocratic society. They had always been treated as burdens, so serving a blacksmith lord whom others mocked was nothing to be ashamed of.

What mattered was recognition and opportunity—if Philip could see their worth and give them a chance to prove themselves, they would follow him without question.

“If you work under me, you’ll be worked to the bone. Still fine with that?”

“It’s better than being ridiculed as useless trash.”

“Hah. You might regret it later.”

“I’ll only regret it if the salary is pitifully small.”

There was no hesitation in Jude’s response.

And his companions were the same. At first, they had been taken aback, but now, their eyes shone with expectation as they looked upon the lord they would serve.

Seeing this, Philip realized they were genuinely prepared for a fresh start in Brandel Barony.

‘In that case, I’ll make good use of them!’

Internally cheering, Philip started categorizing the new recruits.

‘Jude seems the smartest, so Labor Slave No. 1. That bespectacled guy looks good with numbers—Labor Slave No. 2. The chubby one needs to start from the bottom—Labor Slave No. 3…’

Satisfied with his warm welcome, Philip decided to let them rest and assign them their roles later.

“From today onward, you are my vassals and members of the Barony of Brandel.”

“Thank you, my lord! We will serve with loyalty!”

******

With the recruitment of new slaves—no, vassals—complete, Philip instructed Helen to guide Jude’s group to their accommodations. Then, he made his way to his research lab, located next to the forge.

Upon arriving, he examined a small yacht model he had been tinkering with for some time. With that as reference, he began drafting blueprints for a full-scale ship.

From beside him, Mau, the Apostle of the Blacksmith God, observed the designs with curiosity.

“It’s called a Bermuda rig. It’s simpler and easier to handle than traditional triangular sails, and its propulsion efficiency is much greater. After the 17th century, it was widely used on both small and large ships.”

“Of course not.”

If he was going to build something, it was only logical to incorporate the best features from Earth’s centuries of sailing advancements.

‘I’d love to build a ship-of-the-line armed with dozens of cannons, but… that’s still a distant dream.’

The pinnacle of Age of Sail warships was the ship-of-the-line, a floating fortress that allowed Britain to dominate the seas, creating an empire where the sun never set.

However, producing such a vessel was currently impossible. The technology for cannons was lacking, and the shipbuilding techniques were even worse.

For now, Philip’s goal was to build something larger and faster than the sailing ships of Laterran—a Carrack or a Galleon.

To achieve this, he had already ordered his vassals to seek out skilled shipbuilders.

‘Finding the right people won’t be easy, but every journey begins with a single step.’

If he could combine experienced shipbuilders with the shipbuilding knowledge in his head from Earth, he could create the best ship in this world.

“The Bermuda rig isn’t just for ships, you know. There’s something called a land sail, which can be used for wind-powered vehicles on land.”

Mau asked excitedly.

“Well, not all cars need complex mechanical systems.”

If the wind was strong and the terrain flat, wind-powered vehicles could be quite effective.

However, the Brandel Barony didn’t have ideal conditions for such a concept. Philip had no plans to build one.

‘If I waste time on something useless just to satisfy curiosity, my vassals—especially Treasurer Buchini—will probably foam at the mouth and come running to strangle me.’

Just as Philip was deep in discussion with Mau while drafting his blueprints—

Knock, knock.

“My lord, it’s Hans.”

A deep, steady voice came from behind the door.

Philip put down his pen and stood up.

“Come in.”

The moment he spoke, Hans stepped into the room.

Wrapped in a piece of leather, a dark, obsidian-like fragment was carefully presented to him.

“As you instructed a few days ago, I burned the seaweed collected from Karpas Village, then mixed the ashes with fine sand and limestone before melting them down.”

“Oh, so this is the glass made with that method?”

“Eek! Be careful, my lord. It’s sharp!”

It was dark and rough, much like a broken beer bottle, but it had the distinct shine of glass.

With further refinement in material composition and melting techniques, clear glass could be produced.

‘Though, making glass bottles by hand is backbreaking work… But then again, I have plenty of labor resources to handle that.’

Philip had already finished resettling the refugees rescued from the lizardmen.

Some were assigned to saltpeter fields for gunpowder production.
Others were sent to workshops for glassmaking and soap production.

With upcoming projects like shipbuilding, training a firearm corps, and developing cannons, Philip needed a steady flow of funds—so he had to start making money aggressively now.

‘Oh, that?’

Philip had seen it countless times back on Earth.

Industrial spies stealing trade secrets.
Rival companies poaching skilled workers.
National-level betrayals leading to massive losses.

Every time he read such news, he would fume in anger.

‘Not on my land. Never.’

Since winning the territorial battle, there had been an increase in suspicious individuals lurking near the workshops.

Merchants who had never been seen before.
New waitresses at taverns near the forge.

They were likely spies, but there was no concrete proof—so he couldn’t just round them up yet.

Still, he wouldn’t let them run unchecked.

He was already preparing countermeasures.

A trap. A cruel, humiliating trap for anyone who dared steal from his domain.

‘Go ahead and try. I’ll make sure you regret it in the worst way possible. Heh heh heh…’