The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

“Isn’t it reckless, considering all the stored food has already been taken?”

At Armand’s question, the village chief grinned.

“I have some hidden away.”

“Haha, indeed. The resourcefulness of a battle-hardened survivor is different.”

In any case, advancing further was impossible with nightfall approaching.
Even Armand, who had been elated by the initial victories, was starting to crave some alcohol.

‘I should call the commanders together and let them unwind a little.’

With that in mind, Armand summoned the knights’ captain and the key commanders of his territorial army.

However, as he observed the situation, Herox tilted his head slightly.

‘Something feels off….’

Not long ago, the two territories of Brandel and Mirabeau had been at each other’s throats over pastureland disputes, with shepherds and border villagers even engaging in fistfights.

And now, regardless of how much they disliked their own lord, would they really invite the enemy commander over for a banquet?

“What’s on your mind, Chief Administrator Herox?”

“Ah, my lord. I just have a strange feeling about this.”

“What’s so strange? There isn’t a single soldier left in this village. No matter what tricks these ignorant peasants try to pull, what could they possibly do?”

The village had already been thoroughly searched.
Furthermore, with over 2,000 troops stationed outside the village, the only mischief the village chief could attempt was poisoning the food.

But after nearly dying at the hands of an orc from the Prill Mountain Range, Viscount Armand had developed a strong caution against poison.
He always used silver cutlery and carried a food taster with him wherever he went.

“So don’t worry and just come along.”

“…Understood.”

Still suspicious, Herox instructed the duty officer to double the perimeter guards and be vigilant against a possible night ambush before following his lord to the village chief’s house.

The village chief’s house, located in the center of the village, was spacious enough to accommodate thirty people comfortably.

Armand and his men took over the large house and indulged in the feast prepared by the village chief, drinking and reveling late into the night.

“Hahaha! I wonder what that fledgling blacksmith is up to right now?”

“He’s probably trembling in fear, holed up in the lord’s manor.”

“Hahaha! It’s a shame we can’t see it for ourselves!”

As Armand’s men laughed and drank, the village chief, who had been pouring their drinks, rose from his seat.

“Hm? Where are you going?”

“We’ve run out of alcohol. I’ll fetch more.”

As the chief knocked on the empty keg, Herox spoke to the knights nearby.

“The elder might strain his back. You two, go along and help him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Herox still couldn’t shake his suspicions about the chief.
So, under the guise of offering assistance, he assigned two knights to accompany him.

“My apologies for making young men run errands like this.”

“Not at all. It is a knight’s duty to assist those in need.”

Without any sign of hesitation, the chief led the knights to a barn near the house.

After moving aside a pile of hay, a hidden stash of barrels was revealed.

“I hid these before that blacksmith lord could confiscate them. They’re heavier than they look, so be careful.”

“Don’t worry. This is nothing for us.”

Rolling up their sleeves, the two knights effortlessly lifted a barrel.

Watching them, the chief spoke in reminiscence.

“If my late master were here to see this, he would have scolded you endlessly. He used to say a knight’s hands should always be ready to draw a sword, never occupied with other tasks.”

“He must have been quite a strict man.”

“Indeed. But now that I think about it, he was right.”

The moment he finished speaking, the chief grabbed a club propped up beside him and swung it.

Crack! Thud—!

The knights collapsed without a sound, struck down in an instant.
After securing and tying them up, the chief shoved their unconscious bodies into the haystack.

Then, he brushed aside some dirt in a corner of the barn and lifted a wooden panel.

One by one, people began emerging from beneath it.

“My lord, it’s dangerous. Wouldn’t it be best to retreat now?”

“No. If we make even the slightest mistake in handling those items…”

At the sight of the last person emerging from the tunnel, bickering with Terry, the village chief’s expression became apologetic.

“My lord, was it uncomfortable in that cramped tunnel?”

“On the contrary, it was cool and cozy. You’ve done well, chief.”

Philip, who had arrived with an elite force composed of knights and rangers from Brandel’s territory, asked a question.

“And what of the pig viscount?”

“Caught up in the excitement of his surprise invasion’s success, he’s been eating and drinking himself into a frenzy.”

Hearing the news of Mirabeau’s successful ambush, Philip hastened to put his plan into motion.

Philip had predicted the enemy’s marching route before the war was even declared and had tunnels dug in advance in several villages the enemy was likely to occupy.

His plan was to hide ambushers and launch a surprise attack using his newly developed weaponry. When the enemy advanced toward Angel Village, Philip and his men lay in wait. He also instructed the village chief to host a grand welcoming banquet to lull the enemy’s leadership into complacency.

“But even if Armand himself is easily fooled, the knights and officers didn’t drink too much. Their guard is higher than expected. This might make a surprise attack difficult…”

At the village chief’s concern, Philip smirked and pointed at the leather bag Terry was carrying.

“It’s fine. With this, we can capture them easily.”

Inside the leather bag were special items prepared specifically for this operation—custom-made tear gas grenades and gas masks.

‘They’re primitive compared to Earth’s, but more than effective enough.’

In Laterran, where chemistry and basic sciences were underdeveloped, acquiring chemical substances like chloropicrin or chloroacetophenone—the key ingredients for tear gas—was impossible.

Instead, Philip had his retainers gather sulfur, bitumen, mugwort, and poisonous herbs. He had read records of ancient China using similar mixtures as chemical weapons.

After conducting some tests, he found the results were even better than expected.

‘But who would have thought they already had gas masks here?’

Ahem! You should be grateful—it’s all thanks to me!

Mau appeared, puffing out his chest with pride.

The gas masks in Laterran looked different from the ones on Earth. They resembled the crow-shaped leather masks worn by plague doctors in medieval Europe.

When Philip bought one and tried it on, he found its filtration surprisingly effective. The crystal lenses at the eye section provided limited but sufficient visibility, while the wool and herb pouches stuffed into the beak helped filter the air.

Philip enhanced the design further by adding a filter made of Eastern Continent paper.

‘Since you saved me some preparation time, I’ll get you a bowl of popcorn.’

You promised, Apostle! You better keep your word!

Ignoring Mau, who was excited at the thought of eating popcorn, Philip glanced up at the sky and issued an order.

“We’re initiating the operation. Everyone, put on your gas masks. Terry, go outside and signal Captain Carpenter with the lamp.”

“Yes, my lord!”

After ensuring his men had properly donned their masks, Philip followed the village chief toward the banquet house.

While his soldiers silently took down the perimeter guards, Philip climbed onto the roof and pulled a tear gas grenade from his backpack.

Tssssssss!

Lighting the grenade, he dropped it down the chimney before descending.

“What about the windows?”

“We wedged spikes into all the gaps. They won’t be able to open them from inside.”

“Good job.”

About a minute after they had secured the house’s exterior…

Cough, cough!

“Ugh! What is this?!”

“Hurry, open the window!”

Inside, the sound of violent coughing, groans, and screams erupted, causing chaos.

Judging that the timing was perfect, Philip gave the command.

“Move in!”

At his signal, the knights and rangers kicked down the doors and stormed inside.

The interior was filled with thick smoke, and the enemy soldiers were staggering, tears and mucus streaming from their faces.

Philip’s troops showed no mercy, mercilessly cutting down their blinded and incapacitated foes.

Even after the village chief left to fetch more alcohol, Armand and his men continued their revelry.

“When this war is over, I’m heading to the hot springs. I hear there are plenty of noble ladies there.”

“Haha, with your face? You might be aiming a bit too high.”

“I just want one of those Damascus steel swords that blacksmith lord made.”

As they drank, they eagerly discussed their plans after the war.

But Herox wore a worried expression.

“My lord, the chief is taking quite a while.”

“He’s probably fetching more from the brewery.”

Armand dismissed his concern.

Just then, something the size of a fist dropped from the fireplace.

Thunk—thud!

Fsssssssshh!

The moment it hit the floor, white smoke billowed out, rapidly filling the room.

Hack! Cough!

“Ugh! What the hell is this?!”

The instant they inhaled the smoke, a violent coughing fit seized them. Tears and mucus streamed uncontrollably, their eyes burning unbearably.

The pain was far worse than cutting onions, and the knights groaned and stumbled in agony.

Some instinctively rubbed their eyes, only to recoil in shock and pain as the irritation worsened.

“Argh! I—I can’t open my eyes!”

“I—I can barely breathe!”

Experiencing tear gas for the first time, Armand was overwhelmed, his face drenched in tears and snot. But his instincts kicked in.

“O-open the windows!”

Cough! Cough! “M-my lord, the windows… they won’t open!”

“What?”

“My lord… it’s a trap… cough!… you must escape…!”

Chief Administrator Herox, barely managing to crawl forward, urged Armand to get out.

BANG!

Suddenly, the front and back doors burst open, and grotesque figures with crow-like masks stormed in, swinging their weapons wildly.

“Ugh! Wh-who are these—?!”

“P-please, spare me!”

The knights of Mirabeau, blinded by the stinging gas, could do nothing but flail helplessly.

Armand was no exception.

Even as an Aura Expert, without the ability to see or breathe properly, he couldn’t fight at full strength.

“H-hold on! Our reinforcements from the garrison will be here soon!”

He didn’t know what was causing this unbearable smoke or who these masked figures were, but their troops were stationed just outside the village. Surely, they would hear the commotion and rush in to save them.

Just as Armand tried to channel aura around his nose and eyes to lessen the pain, a familiar voice rang out from the smoke behind him.

“Are you sure about that? By now, I imagine they’re just as panicked as you are.”

“Y-you…?!”

Before Armand could even process the voice’s owner, a black-haired figure emerged from the smoke.

SMACK!

Before he could even draw his sword, the masked figure swung a club straight into his skull.

Armand collapsed, knocked unconscious instantly.

*****

Outside the village, at the army’s garrison.

In one of the barracks, mercenary captains were playing cards and drinking, their expressions filled with boredom and frustration.

They hadn’t been invited to the banquet at the village chief’s house. Naturally, they were annoyed.

“Tch, what a dull territorial war.”

“No kidding. Normally, commanders allow some looting to boost morale and set an example for the troops.”

“That greedy pig of a viscount hoards everything for himself…”

One of the mercenary captains, a man dressed like a barbarian, threw his cards down and stood up.

“Where are you going? Turning in for the night?”

“Nah, just need to take a piss.”

Leaving the tent, the barbarian mercenary headed toward the camp’s perimeter.

But as he turned a corner, he bumped shoulders with someone.

Scowling, he turned to snap at the stranger—only for his eyes to widen in shock.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Fancy meeting a fellow tribesman.”

“You—You’re the Lioness of the Urai?! Don’t tell me… you were hired by the Mirabeau forces too?”

If a warrior as notorious as Siria had joined Mirabeau, there would have been rumors.

The mercenary tilted his head in confusion—then suddenly froze as realization struck him.

“W-wait… no way—!”

His hand darted for his weapon, his instincts screaming danger.

He was no mere grunt; as a lower-ranked Tattooed Warrior, he led a small mercenary band in the western regions of the Arteria Kingdom.

He knew how to react swiftly to threats—

—but she was faster.

SCHLK!

Before he could even unsheathe his weapon, Siria had already slipped into his guard, her dagger piercing a vital point.

A breathless gasp escaped him as his strength drained away.

“Hehe, sorry, but if I want to marry my darling, I can’t exactly refuse my lord’s orders.”

Siria had recently dueled Terry again, lasting a full ten minutes before losing.

Her marriage proposal had been rejected outright.

Still, she decided to remain in Brandel territory, waiting for another chance.

‘A persistent axe can cut down even the sturdiest tree.’

She had traveled far and wide, but never had she met a man who fit her taste as perfectly as Terry.

Of course, she couldn’t just freeload in the territory, so she had promised the lord to earn her keep.

Hiding the unconscious mercenary in a secluded spot, Siria swiftly moved toward her next target.