The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

“What the—?! Who are these orcs?!”

“They’re Brandel’s men! Form a defensive line!”

For decades, there had been reports of beasts and goblins in this area, but never of an orc tribe.

That was why Armand and his Mirabeau troops were convinced that these “orcs” were merely disguised soldiers from Brandel’s territory.

However, the enemies they faced were real orcs.

“Chwiik! Kill the humans pretending to be orcs!”

“Deceitful humans!”

“Kuoooo! Protect our hunting grounds!”

The sudden clash between humans and orcs quickly escalated into a bloodbath.

Spears and axes were swung, swords clashed, and soon, desperate battle cries turned into agonized screams.

The dry earth was soon stained with red and blue blood.

“Stand your ground! The great deity Valian protects us!”

“Chwiik! Lying human! Orcs do not believe in Valian!”

Armand clashed directly with the chieftain of the Gray Fang Tribe.

His aura-infused sword clashed violently against the orc leader’s massive stone axe.

Orc morale often crumbled if their chieftain was defeated.

Fortunately for Armand, the chieftain wasn’t a High Orc—he was still an ordinary orc.

Victory seemed within reach.

‘I just need to wear him down and then finish him off…’

But just as Armand was about to land a decisive blow—

A young orc, who had been creeping closer unnoticed, suddenly stabbed his leg with a rusty dagger.

“Ugh! You little—!”

Enraged, Armand beheaded the young orc in a single strike.

But there was a problem.

The dagger had been coated with poison.

His face paled instantly, and his legs gave out beneath him.

“Protect the lord!”

“Retreat! Fall back immediately!”

The Mirabeau troops hurriedly picked up their fallen lord and fled in panic.

“Chwiik! Chase them down!”

Emboldened by their advantage, the orcs relentlessly pursued them, even through the night.

They only stopped once the humans had completely descended from the mountains.

*****

“So, you’re saying this tiny bean-like fruit keeps you awake?”

“Yes. But it’s extremely bitter, so no one eats it unless necessary.”

Philip examined the fruit that Helen had brought him.

A few nights ago, during a late-night work session, he had craved coffee.

Helen had mentioned a certain fruit that had stimulating properties, so he had asked her to find it.

“How do you even know about this?”

“My family used to deal with medicinal herbs in the past.”

‘It looks kind of like coffee beans… let’s see…’

Philip stood up from his seat.

“My lord, where are you going?”

“To make coffee.”

“Huh?”

“I’m heading to the kitchen for a bit. Keep working.”

For people who worked late nights or pulled all-nighters, coffee was the ultimate performance-enhancing drug.

There was even a saying among office workers:

 (“I’d rather freeze to death than drink anything but iced Americano.”)

‘Helen will love this, too.’

When Philip walked into the kitchen, the head chef and his assistants, who had just finished washing the morning dishes, were startled.

“My lord! What brings you here all of a sudden…? Wait, is that a Maka fruit?”

“Yep. Step aside for a bit.”

Philip approached the fireplace, placed a frying pan over the heat, and began roasting the fruit.

Then, he ground it with a millstone.

The kitchen assistants, watching from behind, were amazed by the aroma wafting through the air.

“Wow, that actually smells really good!”

“Hah, don’t get your hopes up. It tastes horrible.”

Despite the chef’s skepticism, Philip continued.

He brewed the ground Maka fruit powder into boiling water and took a sip.

“Kugh—!”

His face twisted in disgust.

The head chef clicked his tongue knowingly.

“See? I told you it’s not fit for humans.”

But Philip looked rather satisfied.

If he adjusted the concentration properly, he could definitely make something that tasted like Americano.

‘Heh… Coffee, secured!’

“Next, I need rice—no, grain!”

Philip had grown tired of eating bread.

And wasn’t it common knowledge that Koreans lived on rice?

After some inquiries, he discovered that while this continent did have rice, it wasn’t cultivated in Arteria or the surrounding kingdoms.

However, there was a grain market in Campania that imported rice.

“If I buy just a few sacks, that should last me at least a year…”

As Philip salivated at the thought of rice, a retainer entered.

“My lord, it’s time for the meeting.”

“Oh, already?”

“Yes, everyone is waiting.”

Caught up in coffee-making, Philip had lost track of time.

It was the weekly retainers’ meeting, held once a week.

Before heading to the meeting, he instructed the head chef to prepare enough Maka fruit tea (aka ‘coffee’) for everyone.

“Gahk!”

“Puh!”

The retainers, deceived by the fragrant aroma, took a sip—only to immediately grimace and spit it out.

“My lord… what is this?”

“It’s tea made from Maka fruit. I call it coffee.”

“You don’t find it bitter, my lord?”

“I’m fine. Here, try it with honey and milk.”

At Philip’s suggestion, the retainers added honey and milk to their cups and took another sip.

“Hmm… This is actually drinkable now.”

“But why the sudden interest in Maka fruit?”

“When ground and brewed, Maka fruit clears your mind and keeps you awake. It’s helpful for handling paperwork.”

The retainers looked skeptical, but some took another hesitant sip.

However, most of them just left their cups untouched.

Philip sighed.

“If I want to spread coffee culture here, I’ll need to make sugar.”

Adding sugar was the best way to balance coffee’s bitterness.

Laterran had sugar, but since sugarcane was cultivated in the southern continent across the sea, it was extremely expensive.

Even nobles couldn’t afford to consume it freely.

“For now, let’s focus on the meeting.”

Philip listened to progress reports on canal construction, fortification repairs, and other projects.

But when the discussion turned to military affairs, he interjected with his own thoughts.

“We need to increase our forces.”

His recent conflict with the Mirabeau Viscounty had made it clear—the estate’s military strength had to be reinforced.

He was planning to develop firearms anyway, but without enough soldiers to wield them, it would be pointless.

“Oh-ho! A splendid idea, my lord!”

Carpenter, the Knight Commander and supreme commander of the estate’s forces, enthusiastically supported the decision.

He had long been advocating for an expansion of military strength.

However, the Treasurer Buchini and other administrators immediately objected.

“My lord, that would require a massive budget.”

“Yes, hiring mercenaries requires wages, and even conscripted soldiers need weapons and armor.”

“Our estate’s finances are already stretched to their limit with ongoing projects.”

“And with the famine, we also need to support the peasants.”

The administrators’ strong opposition made Carpenter scowl.

“You think I don’t understand that? But our current 500-man force is barely enough to fend off bandits and the monsters from Prill Mountain!”

“But my lord, the estate isn’t in immediate danger, is it?”

“That’s exactly how disasters happen, Treasurer Buchini! Do you not realize that?”

“But even if we wanted to do something about it, where’s the money supposed to come from?!”

“Then go find some!”

“There’s nothing to find! We’re broke!”

“You bastard—!”

Just as Carpenter and Buchini were about to come to blows, Philip stepped in.

“Enough! Stop fighting. I’ll fund it myself.”

“Huh? You’ll fund it, my lord?”

“Yes. We have silver, don’t we?”

“Ah!”

At Philip’s words, both Carpenter and Buchini finally understood.

After selling the silver extraction technique to Delpharos of the Callisto Trading Company, Philip had continued extracting silver from leftover ore through Chief Blacksmith Hans.

By now, the accumulated funds must have reached tens of thousands of dalants!

“If that’s the case, then…”

“We need at least 100 more mercenaries.”

Furthermore, Philip had another idea regarding famine relief.

“Instead of handing out grain and salt for free, we should have the people undergo basic military training on weekends.”

“Understood, my lord. We’ll have retired knights oversee the training.”

Since they were going to expand military power, Philip decided to train a reserve force as well.

The concept of a militia already existed in Laterran—in regions frequently invaded by monsters or external enemies, a peasant-soldier system was quite common.

With that, the military expansion proposal passed, and the meeting continued.

The discussions mostly revolved around famine-related issues, including the growing number of refugees.

“If I propose accepting refugees now, they’ll all object.”

To strengthen the estate, it needed a larger population.

A higher population meant greater production, a larger workforce for various industries, and most importantly—a stable supply of soldiers.

With the ongoing famine, the number of displaced people had skyrocketed—Philip was tempted to take them in.

But integrating thousands of refugees would require massive amounts of funds.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to put that on hold for now.”

Just as Philip was internally lamenting, the doors of the meeting room suddenly burst open.

A messenger rushed in with shocking news.

“What? The Mirabeau Viscounty’s army entered the Prill Mountains and got wiped out?”

“Yes, my lord! They walked into an orc ambush, and many knights and soldiers were either killed or gravely injured.”

The most notable detail was that Viscount Armand himself had been wounded.

Rumors said that he had been poisoned by an orc’s dagger and would need at least two months of recovery.

“Officially, they’re claiming they failed a preemptive strike against monsters to prevent future raids… but…”

“That’s not the truth, is it?”

“No, my lord. Word on the street is that they were actually disguised as orcs to raid our estate.”

“Pfft—Serves them right!”

Philip chuckled, but Carpenter and the senior knights reacted differently.

They looked at their lord in awe.

“My lord! You planned all this in advance, didn’t you?!”

“Huh? Uh… yeah, of course.”

“You managed to eliminate the orcs using another’s hands while crippling Mirabeau’s military strength!”

“To think that when you suggested disguising ourselves as orcs, it was all part of such a brilliant strategy!”

“Two steps… no, three steps ahead! How incredible!”

“The younger knights didn’t understand, but now they’ll have no choice but to respect your wisdom!”

“We should put them through extra training!”

Philip felt his face heat up under their praise.

The truth was—he hadn’t thought that far ahead at all.

“I just wanted to stay hidden… Who knew Viscount Armand would copy me and end up getting wrecked?”

Still, there was no need to correct them.

Raising their respect for their lord was only beneficial.

Besides, his past self had been timid and mocked as a mere blacksmith baron—so improving his image was essential.

“Alright, if there’s nothing else to discuss, let’s adjourn the meeting.”

As the retainers filed out, Philip motioned for Carpenter and two senior knights to stay behind.

“What does he want to talk about?”

“Is it about Mirabeau’s forces?”

As Carpenter and the knights speculated, a servant brought in a wooden chest.

Philip took several swords from the chest and handed them over.

“My lord, these are…?”

“A modest reward for your efforts.”

Curious, Carpenter partially unsheathed his sword—and his eyes widened in shock.

“Th-this is… Damascus Steel?!”