The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

At Markel’s question, Karl grinned.

“It feels like a lucky charm.”

“A lucky charm?”

“Yes, ever since I met him, things have been going my way.”

His grandfather’s sudden passing.
Then, Duke Volzard and his aunt, Princess Amelia, began to reveal their ambitions for the throne.
Karl was still young and had yet to prove his worth as a royal candidate. In his position, he could do nothing but stomp his feet in frustration.

“So, out of desperation, I heard you secretly visited the resting place of the late king. Do you have any idea how hard I searched for you?”

“Hehe, I’m sorry. That won’t happen again.”

Anyway, that was when he first met Philip.

That day, a sacred relic disappeared from the Water Temple, and the incident turned out to be a great advantage for him.

Duke Volzard, who had colluded with the High Priest, lost public support. Later, he made the critical mistake of engaging in street battles with Amelia’s faction.

“I really find it strange. If they were going to fight, they could have attacked the royal palace or the Vesvallen embassy where Princess Amelia was. But why did they suddenly engage outside the outer walls…?”

“There must have been an unavoidable reason.”

Judging by how Amelia’s private soldiers had rushed out in a hurry, there was certainly a reason.

And through the royal intelligence network, Karl had managed to grasp part of that reason.

‘Near the battle site was Baron Brandel’s lodging. And before the factions clashed, there was a report of an unidentified disturbance in that area.’

Due to the aftermath of the battle and the fires that had broken out, many pieces of evidence had been erased.

However, Karl had seen Philip at the temple that day. That alone convinced him that Philip was somehow involved in this affair.

‘Could he have orchestrated everything…?’

It was an exaggerated thought, but Karl was determined to recruit Philip.

***

Two days after Lothar III’s funeral.

Philip, accompanied only by Terry, Andy, and Midas, visited the Royal Mage Tower on the outskirts of Aras.

Centered around a nine-story white marble tower, the Royal Mage Tower housed various smaller buildings. It served as both a research facility and a training ground for the mages employed by the Arteria royal family.

“Whoa! My lord, that stone giant is moving!”

“That must be the golem.”

Andy gasped in surprise at the moving stone giant.

The two golems guarding the main entrance of the Mage Tower stood about three meters tall, shaped like armored knights.

‘Is there a person inside controlling it?’

Mau retorted, and Philip shrugged.

‘Well, in a fantasy novel by a Korean author named Kang Chan, there were iron golems piloted by people, controlled using aura. They called them Gigants in the novel.’

‘A fantasy version of a robot, basically.’

Then, suddenly curious, Mau asked.

‘Not with the ones I’ve made so far. Maybe if we had an anti-materiel rifle with a large enough caliber?’

If they had a Barrett anti-materiel rifle—designed to destroy light armored vehicles and tanks—then perhaps it would be possible.

‘Maybe even the daejocheong (a large-caliber musket used by the Japanese during the Imjin War) could work. If we ever have to fight a golem, it might be worth making one.’

With their current technology, producing an anti-materiel rifle would be difficult, but a daejocheong seemed feasible.

While Philip, ever the military enthusiast, entertained thoughts of firearm production, the golems suddenly crossed their spears, blocking the path.

— This is the domain of sages who seek the truth of the world. Only those with royal permission may pass.

A voice emerged from the golem’s mouth. The glowing orbs embedded in its eyes flickered—it appeared to be an artifact functioning like a CCTV.

“I am Baron Philip de Brandel, a noble of the Western Grand Duchy. Here is the royal permit from the Arteria Kingdom.”

Philip presented the document Karl had sent him the day before.

The golems immediately withdrew their spears and opened the gates.

— Enter. A guide will meet you inside.

As they stepped inside the main gate, a young mage clad in a green robe greeted Philip and his entourage.

“Welcome to the Arteria Royal Mage Tower. I am Apprentice Mage Lloyd.”

Lloyd led them toward the central tower, where the Mage Lord resided.

On the way, he kept his tongue busy.

“The Royal Mage Tower was established by His Majesty Lucas, the founding king of Arteria, and the first Mage Lord was appointed from among the founding heroes—Duke Oberon, an Archwizard…”

‘He sounds more like a tour guide than a mage.’

To be fair, it wasn’t unusual.

Most nobles who visited the tower did so to marvel at magic or to purchase artifacts.

“This is Blanc-Tour, the central institution of the Royal Mage Tower. It consists of nine floors, and the Mage Lord resides at the very top.”

“Going up to the ninth floor sounds exhausting.”

Midas, the plump secretary, sighed as he looked up at the white marble tower.

Lloyd smirked slightly, as if mocking their ignorance.

“You don’t need to worry about that. You won’t be sweating even a single drop.”

A short while later, the group was led into a small room.

When the door closed, Lloyd placed his hand on a crystal sphere in one corner of the room. The room began to shake.

“E-earthquake?”

“My lord, be careful! The room might collapse!”

Andy and Midas panicked, but Philip remained calm.

After all, there were similar mechanisms back on Earth.

“An elevator… or rather, a lift?”

“Correct. We can conveniently ascend and descend using magic. This is one of the latest developments in magical engineering at our Royal Mage Tower…”

“By any chance, does it operate by a brainwashed Minotaur pulling a rope?”

Recalling the airship he had ridden to the capital, Philip posed the question.

Lloyd clamped his mouth shut.

Philip had guessed correctly.

“Y-you seem quite knowledgeable about magical engineering, Baron.”

“I enjoy making things myself.”

The magical lift arrived at the ninth floor.

As the doors opened, a white-robed, elderly mage with silver hair welcomed Philip and his companions.

“Welcome, young visitor. I am Marquis Glan Phard, the Mage Lord.”

“Philip de Brandel, Baron of the Western Grand Duchy.”

Glan, who bore a resemblance to a famous wizard from a certain fantasy movie about a ring, greeted Philip politely.

Realistically speaking, as the Mage Lord, Glan had no obligation to concern himself with a mere frontier baron.

However, this young man was someone whom Prince Karl had personally instructed him to entertain.

‘If I recall correctly, he governs a rapidly developing territory in the West.’

Moreover, even if he held the lowest rank among them, he was still an Apostle of Eldir, one of the Twelve Great Deities.

It was reason enough to treat him with respect.

“Are you interested in magic, Baron?”

“Yes, it is a discipline full of possibilities.”

“Possibilities? In what way?”

“In my view…”

As they conversed over tea, Glan soon realized that Philip was different from the typical nobles who visited merely to spectate or purchase artifacts.

“I hear from His Highness that you seek mages talented in artifact craftsmanship and alchemy?”

“Yes, for both my endeavors and the benefit of the royal family, such talent is indispensable.”

Glan nodded at Philip’s words and clapped his hands.

Soon, five mages entered the room.

Their ages varied from their twenties to forties, and they had been selected in advance after Karl’s message had arrived the day before.

“This is Baron Brandel, whom His Highness has taken a keen interest in. He is seeking to recruit mages—does anyone wish to follow him?”

“If you come to my territory, I will ensure that you can conduct your research freely. You will receive ample funding and access to high-quality research equipment. Additionally…”

Despite Philip’s generous offers, the haughty mages remained unimpressed.

They weren’t part of noble social circles; they spent their days buried in research and were largely unaware of the latest news.

As a result, they had no idea that Baron Brandel’s territory was rapidly rising in prominence.

‘Judging by his way of speaking, he’s from some rural western estate.’

‘Even if he’s close to the prince, I don’t want to suffer in the frontier…’

‘How much support could a place like that even provide? They’d probably just work us to the bone making potions and artifacts.’

Convinced of their own assumptions, the mages all rejected the offer.

“I’m not interested.”

“Ahem, I’m more suited for city life…”

“Unfortunately, I’ve already received an offer from Count Dain’s family.”

Philip had been optimistic that at least one would accept, but the outright rejection stunned him.

‘Damn, this is a bust.’

‘How can I trust them? The administrators would object immediately.’

Philip’s predecessor—his father, the original Baron Brandel—had been swindled by a third-rate mage, losing a substantial sum.

Given their already strained finances, the loss had been significant, and the older administrators had since developed a deep aversion to mages.

Even when the original Philip had been obsessed with magic, they had disapproved, and after Philip’s reincarnation, they had opposed every attempt he made to recruit mages.

“My lord, do we really need mages?”

“The estate functions just fine without them.”

“Unless they’re from the Royal Mage Tower or a prestigious academy…”

Philip also didn’t want to waste resources on frauds who would do nothing but drain research funds.

But with responses like this, even finding competent talent seemed impossible.

“I apologize. These mages are so absorbed in their research that they have no clue how renowned you are,” Glan said, offering an apology.

Philip waved it off.

“It just means they’re dedicated to their studies, doesn’t it?”

“Well, that’s true… But even as the Mage Lord, I can’t force them to go.”

“That’s understandable. In that case, could I ask you to write me a letter of recommendation to other magic academies?”

“That much, I can certainly do.”

Nodding, Glan walked to his desk and began drafting the recommendation.

‘He could’ve dismissed the mages first before writing…’

As Philip exchanged awkward glances with the mages who had rejected him, an explosion suddenly rocked the building.

BOOM!

A heavy, echoing blast shook the glass windows violently.

Startled, Philip’s party and the gathered mages instinctively ducked.

“What was that?!”

“That’s from Building Six… Looks like Dr. Phel’s group caused another incident.”

“Seriously, why haven’t they been expelled already?”

“Well, they’re the Mage Lord’s disciples, so…”

As the mages whispered among themselves, Philip looked out the window and saw thick black smoke rising from one of the buildings.

At that moment, Mage Lord Glan—his cheeks twitching in rage—suddenly bolted up from his chair.

“Myron Phel, that damned fool—!”

Overcome with fury, Glan stormed out of his office, completely forgetting about his guest.

‘Who is this person that made such a composed old wizard lose his temper?’

Sensing an interesting development, Philip stood up.

“Let’s follow him.”

“Yes, my lord.”