The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

As Terry swiftly closed the distance and brought his sword down, Count Markel casually deflected the strike.

But Terry immediately pivoted on his left foot, spinning into Markel’s space, and struck with his elbow.

“Ahh!”

The unexpected blow forced Markel back, eliciting gasps from the royal guards.

Yet, the person most surprised was Markel himself.

More than the unorthodox counterattack, what truly shocked him was that Terry hadn’t pressed his advantage.

“Hah… Unlike the rough swordplay of the frontier, you’re quite composed.”

“Rather than that, could you take me seriously?”

“Seriously?”

“I mean, truly fight me at full strength.”

Terry’s expression was tense.

Had Markel been serious from the start, Terry’s counter wouldn’t have landed at all.

‘And even then, it wasn’t a clean hit.’

His elbow had merely grazed Markel’s chin.

And even after being pushed back, Markel had immediately transitioned into a counterattack stance.

That was why Terry hadn’t recklessly pursued him.

‘He seemed relaxed, but in an instant, his focus sharpened. If he had been serious from the beginning, I would’ve been overwhelmed.’

As he studied Terry, Markel smirked faintly.

“Very well. As you wish, I’ll take this seriously.”

Markel raised his sword.

The moment Terry sensed the intense aura emanating from Markel—like an arctic blizzard—he charged forward, launching a barrage of attacks.

‘I have to stay aggressive! If I wait for an opening, I’ll be the one who gets struck!’

‘Very bold. A classic example of western frontier swordsmanship.’

The Western Combat Style, developed through battles against the monsters of the Prill Mountain Range, lacked elegance but was as relentless and sharp as a serpent striking its prey.

Swish! Clang! Clang!

The two warriors’ blades moved with incredible speed, clashing and rebounding in a blur of white streaks in the air.

Each collision produced a deafening metallic clang and bursts of dazzling sparks.

From a distance, Helen grew increasingly anxious.

She had assumed it was a simple sparring match, but the lethal precision of their strikes made her uneasy.

“Y-Young Master, will Sir Terry be alright?”

“Hmm…”

Even Philip couldn’t answer with certainty.

He wasn’t skilled in swordsmanship himself, but he could at least recognize that Terry was at a disadvantage.

‘Markel seems far more composed than Terry.’

While Terry unleashed a ferocious onslaught, Markel effortlessly deflected each attack.

And when Markel countered, his strikes were exceptionally sharp.

What Philip didn’t realize was that Markel’s swordsmanship was on an entirely different level—both in technique and mastery.

Terry, recognizing this, drew upon all of his energy.

A vivid blue aura surged around his sword—a phenomenon seen only in Expert High-rank warriors.

“He… he’s at Expert High-rank?”

“What the hell? No one ever mentioned a swordsman like this in the west!”

The royal guards murmured in shock.

A knight this young reaching Expert High-rank was unheard of.

Only five knights in the Royal Guard had attained that level.

At this rank, Terry could easily lead the Central Knights or serve as the commander of a great lord’s personal guard.

“No wonder the commander took an interest in him.”

“Still, he won’t stand a chance against the count.”

“He’ll be surrendering soon, crying and covered in bruises.”

Despite their comments, Markel had no intention of humiliating Terry.

He had challenged him out of genuine curiosity about the young swordsman’s abilities.

‘Alright… I suppose it’s time to show him some real skill.’

A thicker, denser aura began to envelop Markel’s sword.

As Philip watched Terry and Count Markel’s duel grow fiercer, a rather absurd thought crossed his mind.

‘If I had to fight Terry or Count Markel, could I hit them with a gun?’

With how fast and agile they were, a musket pistol or rifle wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Even if he did manage to land a shot, there was a good chance they’d perform some insane swordplay and deflect the bullet.

‘Still, it’s not entirely impossible… What if I developed a repeating rifle, or better yet, a machine gun?’

No matter how fast or skilled a swordsman was, dodging or deflecting a storm of bullets would be impossible.

Philip also considered other methods—using smoke bombs or tear gas to obscure their vision, or even relying on magic for suppression.

‘But they wouldn’t go down so easily unless caught off guard.’

So far, muskets and grenades had been highly effective because their opponents didn’t understand their true power.

If an enemy was already aware and prepared, the outcome could be very different.

‘No matter how much I try to keep muskets and gunpowder a secret, rumors will spread. Eventually, people will develop countermeasures, so I need to plan ahead.’

Just as Philip was deep in thought—

“WAAAHH!”

The royal guards erupted in cheers.

The duel had begun to shift in Count Markel’s favor.

As Markel finally started using his full strength, Terry was overwhelmed—not just in swordplay, but in aura control as well.

However, the one who looked the most disappointed was Markel himself.

‘What a waste… If he had learned advanced swordsmanship from a young age, he could have reached an even higher level by now.’

Terry’s father, Carpenter, had started as an ordinary soldier and climbed the ranks to become an Aura Expert through sheer skill and battlefield experience.

Because of this, even though Terry was a genius, his swordsmanship lacked the refinement of noble houses that had spent centuries perfecting their techniques.

‘If we look purely at technique, he’s only slightly better than a mercenary or an average knight. He makes up for it with combat experience and raw talent.’

Markel could have ended the match immediately by increasing his pressure.

Instead, he deliberately demonstrated a variety of attack patterns, as if giving Terry a lesson.

“Don’t lose, darling!”

“Sir Terry! Stay strong!”

Siria and Helen cheered from the sidelines, but Terry’s defeat was inevitable.

It was only a matter of time before he fell.

And then—

Flash!

Terry’s blade traced an incredible, unpredictable arc—something straight out of a martial arts movie.

His sword forced Markel’s blade aside and slashed toward his neck!

The royal guards, shocked, nearly rushed forward—

BOOM!

With a sound like a leather ball bursting, Terry was sent flying backward.

At the last second, Markel had released an explosive burst of aura, blasting Terry away.

“Khahk! Cough! Cough!“

‘That was way too close!’

Markel was genuinely startled.

Terry’s final strike had been so sharp and lethal that it had momentarily thrown him off guard.

If he hadn’t countered in time, it wouldn’t have been just a scratch on his neck—his head might have been on the ground.

For a moment, anger and excitement flashed in Markel’s eyes as he instinctively prepared to charge forward—

But Philip stepped in between them.

“That’s enough. The match is decided.”

Philip cared deeply for Terry and had intervened out of concern—
But he also prayed that he wouldn’t have to pull out his pistol.

“…It seems I got a little too excited. Let’s end the duel here.”

Fortunately, Markel sheathed his sword, bringing the intense match to a close.

“Terry, was it? Are you injured?”

“I’m fine, Count.”

Terry staggered to his feet, clearly uncomfortable but not seriously hurt.

Markel let out a relieved sigh and stepped closer.

“That last technique… Did you come up with it yourself?”

“Yes. I took the sword techniques my father taught me and combined them with the patterns you demonstrated.
But as expected, it didn’t work on the original user.”

“Hah!”

Markel grinned in satisfaction.

He had deliberately shown Terry a variety of sword techniques, giving him a chance to observe and learn.

And this young swordsman had immediately absorbed and applied them.

It truly is a talent that is hard not to envy.  

“So… have you ever considered joining the Royal Guard?”

‘What the hell is he saying?!’

Philip, who had been watching the duel from the sidelines, was completely taken aback by Count Markel’s sudden proposal.

For any knight, becoming a Royal Guard was a dream come true.
After all, Royal Guards were the best of the best—knights at the pinnacle of the kingdom.

‘Terry isn’t immune to that ambition either… is he?’

Feeling uneasy, Philip glanced at Terry.

For a moment, Terry seemed to weigh the offer—but then, he shook his head.

“I appreciate the offer, but I wish to remain a knight of the Baron Brandel family.”

“Hah… You’re throwing away an opportunity for advancement?”

“I have no desire to outshine my lord.”

“Such loyalty…”

Markel looked at Terry with genuine admiration.

He patted the young knight on the shoulder and muttered a few words under his breath.

Terry’s eyes widened slightly, his expression turning momentarily dazed.

Afterward, as Terry returned to Philip’s side, his lord narrowed his eyes in curiosity.

“Terry, what did Count Markel say to you?”

“It wasn’t anything important, my lord. You don’t need to worry.”

“Saying it like that only makes me more curious—and worried.”

Philip sighed, his expression troubled.

Terry smiled faintly at his lord’s concern.

Philip was a man who, despite not being a knight himself, had carved his own path—one so fascinating that even Terry’s childhood dreams of becoming a Royal Guard felt insignificant in comparison.

‘Even in this recent crisis, he prevented a civil war over the royal succession.’

At one time, Philip had been mocked for being the Apostle of the God of Blacksmithing.

But he had transformed his domain, stabilized the kingdom’s fate, and left a mark on history akin to the legendary heroes of chaotic eras.

‘I don’t know what my lord will do next… but I will always stand by his side and witness it firsthand.’

With that thought, Terry reaffirmed his commitment to Philip.

***

After parting ways with Philip’s group, Prince Karl and Count Markel returned to the royal palace.

As they walked, Karl glanced at Markel.

“So, what exactly did you say to Terry?”

“I made him an offer,” Markel replied calmly. “I told him that if he ever changes his mind, I’d personally train him to become the next commander of the Royal Guard.”

Karl blinked in surprise.

“You, of all people, offered to train a successor?”

Markel was well-known for his strict recruitment standards. He never made such offers lightly.

“I know how to be flexible when necessary. Especially in a time like this, when the kingdom needs strong individuals more than ever.”

Most people assumed Markel was rigid and unyielding due to his cold demeanor.

But as the Royal Guard Commander, he couldn’t afford to be completely inflexible.

If the royal family needed protection, sometimes he had to break protocol, recruit outside the usual channels, and build alliances.

“So the duel wasn’t just for show—you wanted to display Terry’s strength in front of everyone.”

“As expected of you, Your Highness. Yes, I wanted to ensure there was no doubt about his abilities.”

“I see.” Karl nodded, then smirked slightly. “Do you think he’ll change his mind?”

“Rather than convincing him, it would be easier to change his lord’s mind.”

“…That’s unfortunate.”

Karl had successfully built an amicable relationship with Philip, but the Brandel family hadn’t fully aligned with him yet.

There was always a chance their relationship could sour, which is why Karl wanted Philip firmly within his faction.

Markel, noting Karl’s focus on Philip, finally asked:

“Your Highness, why are you so fixated on the Brandel family?”

Certainly, Terry was a valuable knight, and the ability to produce Damascus Steel weapons was an incredible asset.

But at the end of the day, Brandel’s domain was still just a barony—a small frontier territory protected by a few hundred soldiers.

Meanwhile, there were far larger and more militarized noble domains within the kingdom, and yet, Karl had chosen to meet Philip first.

Not only that, but Karl had even offered him the prestigious position of Minister of Public Works.

“Is Baron Philip Brandel… truly that special?”