Baron Karaton
Mulat made his way back to Wood Pigeon's Perch with, quite literally, his very best effort.
Aside from a brief stop by a stream to let his horse drink, he rode without pause—word for word, the whole way.
I'd better not say he looks like a dog trotting home to wag its tail at its master… right?
From my vantage point drifting lazily through the air behind him, it was honestly a sight that made me pity the man. Had I known exactly where Wood Pigeon's Perch was, I could have overtaken him ages ago.
After riding for what felt like forever, night had fully settled by the time I finally caught sight of what looked like a manor estate in the distance. I accelerated at once and arrived ahead of him.
Oh… that's actually impressive.
The land stretched out before me, roughly twice the size of my own territory. Yes—this was what a title was supposed to look like, not some affectation for show.
The farmland, fallow fields, and grazing grounds under cultivation were all far more extensive than ours, and to the northwest I could make out a church, with a managed forest right beside it.
Did they source their own timber from there?
On top of that, a low stone wall encircled the entire perimeter of the estate.
It only came up to about waist height—nothing like a true castle wall—but it was more than enough to carry the message: do not cross uninvited.
I should copy that idea, honestly.
In my territory, all we had was a wooden palisade around the keep where I lived, with soldiers taking turns standing watch along the estate's borders to deter intruders. That was the extent of it.
Even if a stone wall was beyond me, I ought to at least put up a proper palisade. I'd come here to spy on an enemy's camp, sure, but learning what was worth learning was only right.
The interior of the estate was quite substantial too. The village was good and large, and scattered between the homes were plenty of cottage industries—a leather goods shop, a clothing mender, that sort of thing.
Naturally, there was a mill and a threshing house, and unlike our smithy where sharpening the odd scythe or knife was basically the entire business, this place had a proper forge with a full hearth.
Taking it all in… I felt a flicker of envy. To be honest about it—jealousy. The greedy little thought of what if this land were mine began to raise its head.
Then I snapped out of it and shook my head hard to chase the thought away. So this is how wars of conquest get started.
Focus! Don't you dare forget why you came here! Having silently scolded myself, I hurried on toward the lord's keep.
The keep, planted squarely in the middle of the village, was empty. The lord's office was vacant as well, which meant the workday was already over. It was barely early evening… must be nice!
It was just about time for Mulat to arrive, so I drifted toward the estate's entrance—and sure enough, there he was riding in.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"It's me, you idiots. Are your eyes broken? You should know me on sight by the horse."
"M-Mulatsama! Forgive us, my lord!"
The man who'd snapped so rudely at the guards handed his horse off to the nearest hand and headed toward the keep—only to pass right by it.
Mulat's destination was a house behind the keep. Nearly three times the size of the surrounding peasants' homes, it was big enough to be called a proper mansion.
Ah, I see… so that's where he actually lives.
Unlike me, who ate, slept, and worked all inside the keep, he'd separated his workplace (the keep) from his residence (the mansion). I… I'll build one too, someday. A grand mansion of my own!
While I was busy making resolutions for the future, Mulat walked right past my invisible form and knocked on the mansion door. Well then—time to meet the illustrious face of our Baron Karaton.
A servant who appeared to be a house man opened the door, and Mulat bowed once at the entrance and once inside—two courtesies in all.
Slipping in through the gap, I finally laid eyes on the Gluttonous Baron seated at his table.
A pig.
Good heavens, I've just committed character defamation without even meaning to. But honestly, the moment you see him, there's simply no other conclusion to draw.
He was sitting there in a loose-fitting indoor gown, and yet the belly jutting out before him was visibly wobbling. And he had a double chin. That about covers the description, I'd say.
I'd heard he wasn't all that much older than me, but the thin mustache he'd cultivated made him look considerably older. His blond hair, coated not with luster but with grease, was far from a clean sight.
"My lord, Mulat has just returned."
"You're rather late."
Karaton slurped away at a stew chock-full of unidentifiable chunks of meat, never once looking in Mulat's direction—let alone offering a single word of thanks for his efforts.
Only after draining the enormous bowl, releasing a mighty belch, did he rise from the table and make straight for his armchair.
"I trust you delivered my proposal for the Friendly Exchange?"
"Of course, my lord."
"And did the whelp agree?"
"Yes. Who would dare refuse a proposal from you, my lord? The green youth is barely twenty, and he positively groveled at the mere mention of your name."
Well done, well done… he's fabricating my character in real time. If that 'whelp' knew I was standing right here listening, he'd drop dead of shock.
"And did you convey the matter of the contests?"
"Yes. The three matches in total—one between you and the whelp, plus one of each side's choosing—were explained clearly, and his consent was obtained."
Mulat relayed to Karaton every single detail we had discussed, not missing a word. Having heard it all, Karaton began to laugh, his belly fat rippling.
"The fool. He truly believes, with every fiber of his being, that this will be a genuinely fair and joyful festival."
Nope, not even a little? I don't believe it—that's exactly why I'm here.
"Little does he know the truth: it will become an arena of humiliation where the false reputation he's built comes crumbling down."
"Wisely said, my lord."
"Reus, Reus, Reus! As if the mouths of the people weren't enough, that damned name of his even appears on fertilizer sacks now! How wicked and cunning that man is—no one in this world knows but me!"
What on earth is he talking about now…? This man—whom I'm seeing for the first time today—well, technically he's the one seeing me one-sidedly—what could he possibly know about me to spout nonsense like that?
"Forgive my presumption, my lord, but how ever did you see through that man's wickedness?"
"I could never forget it. Do you remember the merchant who came to see me some years back?"
"My apologies. My memory is not what it should be…"
"Louis—Louis! That all-talk, good-for-nothing peddler who hounded me for an investment!"
"Ah, you mean the scoundrel who took your gracious investment on the strength of a recommendation letter, then promptly squandered it all and vanished, my lord?"
Wait—Louis? He's in this story too?
"Exactly! And the one who wrote that recommendation letter he carried was none other than that Reus! Because of it, I could afford no more than five loaves at the year-end feast for an entire year! Only the good Lord's provision of a loan from an elder saved me—otherwise I'd have been eating the same through the next year as well."
"I had no idea, my lord. What an ordeal."
"The man sent Louis deliberately to deceive me. Naturally, he meant to drag me into a doomed venture and ruin not only me but my entire estate!"
I'd been listening quietly, wondering what possible grounds he had for hating me this much—and it turned out the roots ran deeper than I'd expected.
Aigoo, my head… and to think, the whole grievance amounted to that?
But then again… setting that aside, you were the one who made the final investment decision, you swine. I distinctly recall you deciding to put in more after seeing Louis succeed at selling fruit!
"And yet a man like that has his name spreading across the whole continent over some bizarre lump of dirt he calls fertilizer or what have you! To stand by and watch is to defy the natural order—an offense against Heaven's will! As a faithful servant who follows the Church's teachings, how could I leave such a demon-spawn untouched?"
Having thus transmuted his personal grudge into the will of Heaven, the man rose from his seat and shuffled toward the symbol of the Church hanging on the wall.
He made to kneel… which his physique unfortunately did not permit, so he simply pressed his palms together and prayed with all the piety he could muster.
"O Lord… grant, I beseech Thee, the strength to defeat the devil's lackey, Reus."
I thought only his crops and his belly enjoyed abundance—turns out his bullshit is in bumper harvest too.
Experts say you simply cannot discuss the Middle Ages without touching on religion, whatever the story. Naturally, the LTM world had religion as well.
At first the game had ported over a real-world faith wholesale, but after the devout faithful threw an absolute fit, it was scrapped for a fictional one. Only the name had changed, though—the core was identical.
I had no intention of passing judgment on anyone's beliefs, but… I'd never much cared for religion as a whole, so I simply turned my head away.
We'd just met, and I honestly couldn't tell how many points of mutual dislike had already piled up between us.
Karaton, who had spent the entire prayer chewing me over, finally circled back to the matter of the Friendly Exchange.
"And what contest will you choose, my lord?"
"Archery, naturally. I've been training since two years back, and it's finally starting to come into my hands."
"Splendid! Then the outcome is certain. That whelp is a civil official if ever I saw one—he couldn't string a bow, let alone loose an arrow!"
"Precisely. And as for the final contest—if I rig the drawing of lots beforehand to force a swordsmanship duel, two victories are all but guaranteed."
"No, my lord. Whatever contest that whelp brings, there is no way we lose—meaning in truth, a full sweep is assured!"
"Is that so? Well, you're right. A backwater estate without a single knight could never best us!"
The deranged collaboration of the flatterer and the flattered. Thanks to which, I now knew exactly what they were scheming.
Archery and swordsmanship… For the archery, fine, I could learn it in a crash course and shoot myself. But for the swordsmanship, I don't have anyone suitable at all.
Knight—the word had just come out of Karaton's mouth. My land had soldiers, but no knights. Before, I couldn't afford to hire any; now, I simply hadn't felt the need.
If a real knight enters the sword contest, my odds are nil. Maybe I should just concede the final round…
"But my lord—if you win this contest, do you truly intend to demand that aide of his? The one called Laura?"
Hm? Hold on—what did he say?
Demand? Demand what? And why on earth is Laura's name suddenly coming up here?
I'd heard all there was to hear and was about to slip away, when Mulat's words yanked my ankle back with all its might.
"Why ask a thing you already know? You're making it dull."
"It's well known, is it not, that you always use these 'Friendly Exchanges' to poach talent from other territories? Speaking candidly, I don't see that this Laura woman is worth the trouble of going to such lengths to acquire…"
You absolutely insane bastards…!! For an instant my throat seized up, and I nearly dropped my invisibility and screamed.
"You know nothing at all, Mulat. A woman's charm is not something the eye alone can see. She and I are bound by a deep and fateful connection."
"A deep connection? You mean… an engagement?"
"No. Back when Reus's predecessor ruled that land, I happened to be passing through the region. And at that moment… we met. Laura, who had picked up the handkerchief I dropped and brought it back to me. If that is not fate, what could it possibly be?"
While I stood there in dumbfounded disbelief, Karaton fished out a handkerchief and raised it to his nose, inhaling its fragrance.
Even Mulat, who never missed a chance to grovel, seemed momentarily nonplussed, stammering his reply. As for me—Laura's superior—a hollow laugh kept leaking out of me despite myself.
Let's get this straight for a moment.
This damned pig not only harbors some absurd grudge against me and schemes to drag my name through the mud—he's now setting his sights on Laura as well… is that the state of things right now?
My fingertips began gathering flame without my noticing, and I startled myself into clenching my fist instead. Thank the heavens for Invisibility. I did not want to see what expression was on my face right now.
I was too flabbergasted to even be angry. What in the world was I supposed to do with these bastards?
The mere thought of them targeting Laura—one of our estate's limited-edition, human-rights-tier talents—made my head burn hot in an instant.
As I racked my brain over the most exquisite way possible to feed them their own rear ends, my left brain supplied the answer.
The Friendly Exchange festival. Blowing it to pieces right there is the way.
Any other form of payback would be meaningless. Every strand of Karaton's scheme was woven into that festival, so shattering it head-on was the surest path to giving him the humiliation he deserved.
Once more—this time putting my right brain through its paces—I thought hard about exactly how to maximize the humiliation for our dear 'Baron.'
And a short while later, the blueprint for Operation: Make That Pig Eat Dirt at the Friendly Exchange sprang into my mind, crisp and clear.
Brace yourselves, you two. I'd originally planned to go easy on you… but I'm going to grind you down to the very last grain.
Leaving the two of them still chuckling over their "You're magnificent, my lord!" — "But of course!" little routine, I slipped quietly out through the open window.
The moment I cleared the borders of Wood Pigeon's Perch, I pushed my flight magic to its absolute maximum speed and flew straight back to Crow's Head Valley without stopping for an instant.
Having dismissed my clone, who was still dutifully reviewing documents, I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began writing down everything I'd just been mulling over.
Scritch, scritchy-scratch, scritchy-scratch. The pen nib, pressed down with far more force than usual, scored the desk beneath the paper—and together with the lamplight, it lit up the night.
"Look forward to it, you two. Truly look forward to it. I'm going to give you a Friendly Exchange you'll remember for the rest of your lives."