Duke Langton
I take it back.
Any lingering desire to hand over a relic-grade dagger to a mere count vanished completely.
Junior Baron Romid had arrived at the lord's castle with hundreds of wagons, but the status of the man accompanying him defied all imagination.
Unless Jeron's eyes were playing tricks on him, the man riding alongside Romid was none other than Duke Langton—the kingdom's strongest knight and the leader of the Crown Prince's faction.
There was no need to double-check his face.
Anyone born a noble was expected to recognize the lineage and crests of the kingdom's high nobility.
Up on the southern wall, the knights watching the procession stared down in sheer disbelief at the duke's majestic figure.
"W-What... What is a man who belongs in the royal palace doing all the way out here?"
"How should I know? The man's wanderlust is legendary."
"Even so, what could there possibly be for him to scavenge in a remote mountain valley like this?"
"Watch your mouth. Say something like that in front of him, and your head will roll."
Sir Garcia, who should have been offering useful counsel as an adjutant, was instead gaping in shock right alongside Jeron.
Jeron had no way of knowing what was going through Duke Langton's mind.
But one thing was certain: if he played his cards right with the dagger he had brought from Earth, he could forge a powerful connection with the duke.
"Open the gates! What is everyone standing around for?"
"Yes, sir!"
At Sir Jenald's sharp command, the soldiers scrambled to open the gates. The heavy wooden doors groaned loudly as they swung inward.
Jeron, the young lord, was not the only one on edge; the soldiers were equally tense.
The Farrow Baronry, a house that had never held even a shred of political power, was receiving a visit from Duke Langton, the most powerful noble in the kingdom. It was an unprecedented event.
It was only natural for everyone's hearts to race.
A single breath from a man like Langton could reduce a backwater baronry to ashes.
Duke Langton and his accompanying knights, matching the slow pace of the hundreds of ox carts, were all mounted on magnificent white horses.
In this world, a single horse was worth as much as ten serfs, and white horses commanded a premium that made them twice as expensive as ordinary warhorses.
The ducal knights, hailing from a house that owned prime real estate at the crossroads of trade and transport, were fully clad in polished plate armor.
The duke himself wore armor crafted from solid platinum. By the standards of this era, it was the absolute pinnacle of luxury.
His thick, silver hair showed no signs of thinning, and his firmly set jaw exuded absolute resolve.
His entire frame was packed with dense muscle, easily dwarfing the average knight, and his naturally tall stature was perfectly upright without the slightest slouch.
In a society teeming with pot-bellied nobles, he was the kingdom's finest knight, forged through genuine martial prowess.
Though his glory had faded slightly with age, twenty years ago, he had dominated an entire generation.
Jeron bowed deeply to this legendary swordsman and statesman of the past era.
"I greet Your Grace, Duke Langton, the greatest knight of the realm and Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Forces."
"So, you are the new Baron Farrow."
"Yes, Your Grace. The former lord lost his right arm during the last campaign and is still recovering from the aftereffects. Thus, I have humbly succeeded him."
"His right arm, of all things... How tragic."
For a swordsman, losing an arm meant the death of their career.
If it had been the left arm, they might have managed to hold a sword again despite some balance issues. But the right arm?
It meant relearning the sword from scratch, and considering Ark Farrow's age, retirement was the only logical choice. The duke refrained from speaking further on the matter.
"Well then, carry on with your business."
"Pardon?"
"You must have heard the rumors, but we will soon be at total war with the Lapis Kingdom. His Majesty has issued a solemn decree for me to inspect the northernmost borders before that happens. I also happened to bring along your official appointment papers as the new lord."
"I am deeply honored, Your Grace."
Jeron lowered his posture, maintaining the utmost courtesy.
The Farrow Territory was indeed a place where skirmishes with barbarians were common.
While inspecting the border's readiness ahead of a war sounded perfectly reasonable, Jeron highly suspected that the duke's wanderlust had simply flared up, prompting him to flee the royal court.
"Then, carry on."
Duke Langton brushed past Jeron and rode straight into the castle grounds.
Wait, shouldn't the local lord be escorting the duke?
Jeron had heard rumors of the duke's eccentric personality, but he hadn't expected it to be this extreme.
Looking back, Langton was riding his horse at a leisurely pace, taking his time to inspect the territory as if he had all the time in the world.
The commoners, utterly bewildered by the sudden spectacle, stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads low.
Dumbfounded, Jeron decided to quickly wrap up his business with Junior Baron Romid first.
"My Lord, here are the thirty thousand sacks of wheat as promised. Please sign the documents."
"R-Right, of course."
Jeron snapped out of his daze.
He needed to get to Duke Langton's side as quickly as possible.
For now, the duke didn't seem to harbor any ill intent, but if anyone in the territory made a mistake, the entire family could be ruined.
He dipped his quill in ink and scribbled hastily, but his rushing caused the ink to blotch.
Sensing his urgency, Junior Baron Romid understandingly dipped his own pen and handed it over.
"Thank you."
"Think nothing of it, My Lord. Please, sign here."
Jeron quickly dashed off his signature and pressed the family seal onto the parchment.
With that, the transaction was complete, and his business with Junior Baron Romid was officially concluded.
Before turning away, Jeron quietly asked the junior baron, "What on earth brought Duke Langton all the way out here?"
"I don't know the details either, My Lord. I only know that he is touring several territories on his way to the front lines."
"Did he act like this in the Count's territory as well?"
"He poked his nose into absolutely everything. Our lord was sweating bullets the entire time."
"I ought to host a proper reception for you today, but I'm afraid I won't have the luxury."
"Please, don't worry about me. Go on. I see the duke all the time, but an opportunity to speak with His Grace privately is a rare privilege."
"Indeed. I will make it up to you next time."
Jeron immediately turned and led his knights across the estate.
Of all places, the duke was currently passing through the slums.
While the entire territory was a mess, the slums were in a truly abysmal state.
The main roads had been cleared of waste, but the slums remained choked with garbage and filth. To make matters worse, a recent rainfall had caused the concentrated stench to run in putrid streams through the alleys.
It was a sight that made one's nose wrinkle in disgust, made even worse by the corpses of those who had starved to death lying scattered about.
Soldiers were currently busy dragging the bodies away.
"This is hardly a sight fit for Your Grace."
"Ah, you've arrived."
"Allow me to escort you elsewhere."
"No need. Assessing the true state of the realm is one of my duties as the royal inspector."
Jeron could sense the stubbornness typical of a veteran knight.
Squelch, squelch.
The slums were so choked with debris that riding a horse was impossible.
The duke dismounted, and his white-horse knights faithfully followed their lord's lead.
Splat! Splat!
Putrid, unidentifiable water splashed in all directions.
Yet, the duke's expression remained unbothered. He had likely seen such sights countless times throughout his life.
As they ventured deeper into the slums, the conditions grew even more dire.
Ramshackle shacks leaned precariously against one another, and vagrants scattered throughout the area were rummaging through piles of refuse.
As the lord of this land, Jeron felt his face burn with embarrassment, but in the midst of such a severe famine, there was little else he could have done.
Regardless, the duke's face remained impassive.
"It is a pity to let all that labor go to waste. New lords often overlook this. Rather than letting the poor starve to death, it is far better to put them to work by any means necessary."
"Thank you for the advice, Your Grace."
As if I didn't know that.
The only reason they had been left to rot was a lack of funds.
Now that thirty thousand sacks of wheat had arrived, Jeron planned to launch several public works.
Since so many were starving during the spring shortage, he intended to use the wheat as wages, simultaneously providing relief and developing the territory.
In terms of economic planning, Jeron's modern mind was undoubtedly far ahead of the duke's.
Regardless of what Jeron was thinking, the duke forged ahead on his own path.
"The problem of the poor can never truly be solved anyway. Give them high-interest loans, and in a few months, they will beg to become your slaves. An increase in serfs will bolster your wealth, and you can put them to clearing the wasteland to increase your harvest. Keep that in mind."
"...I-I shall do so."
Is this guy just insane?
Jeron shook his head inwardly.
To Langton, whose worldview was rigidly shaped by this medieval era, this was undoubtedly a brilliant stroke of genius.
It solved the poverty problem while lining the lord's pockets.
If a pillar of society and the kingdom's highest authority thought this way, there was no need to even wonder about the rest of the nobility.
Jeron busied himself letting Langton's continuous rambling go in one ear and out the other.
A veritable old geezer had descended upon his territory, but if he humored him, it could lead to a highly beneficial relationship.
As he kept listening, he had to admit that while the duke's thinking was rigid, his advice was brutally efficient.
It was simply something Jeron, a modern man merely playing the part of a medieval noble, could never bring himself to do.
"That is truly magnificent, Your Grace. How did you ever come up with such a brilliant idea?"
"Hahaha! It is all advice born of long experience. Consider it a small kindness to a promising young lord of our own faction."
"I shall engrave your words upon my heart and put them into practice daily."
"Indeed. The young must listen to the old to succeed. At least you have proper manners. The youth of today have a bad habit of ignoring their elders, which is a grave problem."
"Please do not be too disheartened, Your Grace. Any wise ruler would engrave your teachings as a family motto to guide their descendants for generations to come."
Flattery doesn't cost a copper. If I can extract even a single favor from Duke Langton, it will be an immense victory.
Jeron spent the entire day being badgered by Duke Langton.
The man was the absolute epitome of an old-fashioned bore.
It was hard to tell whether he had come to inspect the territory or simply to show off.
Yet, Jeron could tell that Langton wasn't entirely a bad person.
Superiors breathing down their subordinates' necks was nothing new, and in his own way, Langton was genuinely offering advice on how to run the territory effectively.
A few of his suggestions were actually quite practical.
For instance, he shared tax-saving methods to minimize payments to the royal court, and strategies for a landlocked lord without trade rights to avoid being extorted by higher-ranking nobles.
While many of his tips were utterly absurd, they made perfect sense when viewed through the lens of a medieval noble.
Some were even surprisingly clever.
Amidst his lectures, the duke occasionally let slip his deep-seated hostility toward his political rivals.
"We cannot, and must not, wage territorial wars against our fellow Crown Prince faction members. But against those other factions? Absolutely. If they ever pick a fight with you, just let me know. I will personally see to it that the court approves a territorial war for you! You live in this remote valley, so you might not know, but the royal palace is a viper's nest of conspiracies. Living there is enough to drive a sane man mad. Do you have any idea how badly I want to slaughter those rival bastards who oppose me at every turn? Being hounded by them day in and day out makes you want to run away. That is the real reason behind my wanderlust."
Having had his ego stroked all day, Langton began to speak more casually.
Though he had kept his guard up initially, he was now gradually revealing his true thoughts.
It turned out that Langton was simply sick to death of the political infighting in the capital and eagerly seized any excuse to wander.
This trip was no different.
With a major war looming, rumors of instability on the borders had reached his ears.
Barbarians had raided, and the local lord had been forced into retirement due to injuries. What better pretext could there be than embarking on a personal inspection of the border's defenses?
In the end, the Farrow Territory was merely a political excuse for the duke's escape.
But from Jeron's perspective, a golden opportunity like this would never come again.
As they spent the day touring the territory, the sun began to dip below the horizon.
Typically, the people of this world began their day at sunrise and ended it at sunset.
A lord's schedule was no different.
"Your Grace, I have prepared a special feast for you tonight. It is a great legacy left behind by my ancestors... but I have prepared it especially for you."
"Oh? I shall look forward to it, then."
The moment was fast approaching.
Jeron intended to make his move tonight.
This was the culmination of all his groundwork.
I wonder if he's ever heard of three-minute instant meals.