I Heard You Were Looking for Me
"I heard you were looking for me."
The lord's request for a private audience. It wasn't something that happened every day. Usually, it was the players who sought out nobles for one reason or another, and even that was no easy feat. But here was a count—a high-ranking noble—wanting to see him in person.
Was it some special reward for his recent exploits? That would be nice, but Vulcan knew better. And he had a pretty good idea of what the conversation would entail, so he faced Raseu Count with a touch of tension.
"I am well aware of the great contributions you've made to our territory of late."
"Thank you."
A normal person might swell with emotion at those words, but Vulcan was used to it by now. He knew full well that a hundred praises meant nothing until the rewards were actually in his hands.
"From erecting that extraordinary structure in my prized rye fields to scare off the flocks of monstrous birds, to voluntarily plunging into the stench-filled sewers and risking your life to extract the source of that perilous plague within... and even venturing alone into those dangerous burrows to eliminate the plague beasts. In such a short time, you've accomplished feats my own vassals couldn't manage."
"I merely followed the will of Lord Radin."
"An interesting reply. I've heard you received Lord Radin's blessing. But they say it's not the only one you've earned. Some of those deeds came before you gained his favor. So whose will were you following then?"
"Well..."
The count's eyes twinkled with mischief, as if he already knew Vulcan had coordinated with the temple. Insisting it was all Radin's will might even come off as denying the other gods who'd blessed him. It didn't really matter to Vulcan, who belonged to no church, but the count clearly thought it would put him in a tough spot.
"Haha, just a joke—only a joke. No need to tense up."
Dismissing any need for a response with a wave, the count suddenly fixed Vulcan with a grave stare. He voiced the real reason he'd summoned him here.
"But let me ask something else instead. Whatever the case so far, have you no interest in following the will of a mere mortal from here on out?"
A sudden recruitment pitch. And one that disregarded the temples entirely. Raseu Count maintained especially good relations with Radin's temple, so this could easily spark misunderstandings if word got back. He was saying it precisely because Vulcan wasn't tied to any church—proof that his earlier jest wasn't a threat, but also a sign of how badly he wanted Vulcan on his side.
"If you accept, I'll make you my personal artisan with full support. You seem to downplay it, but your combat prowess looks impressive too. If you wish, I could knight you and back your growth without reservation."
And to show it wasn't empty talk, he promised comprehensive backing—not just as an artisan, but even as a knight under his command if Vulcan desired.
Fat chance.
Becoming his exclusive artisan or knight would bring huge immediate gains. Just tinkering with soldiers' gear under the pretext of maintenance might rank up his Item Master skill. With the count's vast wealth supplying materials, he could churn out items and skyrocket his crafting skills. And while not as efficient as the recent hunting tournament, support from knights and soldiers would rocket him to level 200 in no time.
But that's exactly why it was a problem. Growth would cap out right there. Sure, quick levels and gold now, but tying himself to one noble and territory meant stagnation. They wouldn't let him take what he wanted and leave, or even wander like some scholar abroad—greedy nobles never allowed that.
"I truly appreciate the offer. But I'm still sorely lacking. As an artisan or adventurer, I can't impose on you, my lord. I hope to return once I've grown more and achieved my personal goals."
Accepting on a whim and backing out later could brand him a deserter—tanking his reputation, fame, or even turning him into a wanted fugitive.
Knowing it was a honeyed poison, Vulcan politely declined.
The lord might flip and rage at the rejection.
"You have much to offer. How could taking you on be an imposition? Think it over. You could realize your ambitions under my wing."
Clearly not expecting refusal, Raseu Count's expression hardened slightly, but he pressed once more. For a noble's pride, that was rare too.
He's the one who should be regretting this, not me.
But Vulcan saw right through him. Just having Radin's blessing made Vulcan worth keeping close. A direct recipient under his banner would make even Radin's temple hesitate to cross him—proof Radin's favor wasn't theirs alone, a huge edge in negotiations. Plus, Vulcan's crafting talent could yield agricultural gadgets.
He was obsessed with military supplies, right?
Raseu Count was particularly fixated on his own security. His territory's nature limited troop numbers, so he poured effort into quality gear for knights and soldiers—trainable even on peasants in emergencies. He feared men, not monsters. Plenty eyed his fertile lands like a golden egg. In a siege, holding out meant inevitable victory—the king would intervene before famine gripped the continent.
Thus, to Raseu Count, Vulcan was a small fry now but a massive asset later. That's why the persistent recruitment.
"I'm sorry. It's my master's will as well..."
- Huh? When did I say that?
'Would you really want me stuck here? You told me to hurry and take over.'
- Well, yeah, true.
Vulcan had no choice but to invoke his master again. A fat salary sounded great, but growth limits made it a long-term loss.
"Ahem. If it's your master's will, no helping it. Then how about this? I've always been keen on sponsoring promising adventurers. I won't take you directly under my wing, but I could be your patron. Let's see—your contributions are substantial. A bit short, but if you're willing, I can grant you a baron's title under my authority. Honorary, since no land, of course. Though if you want territory..."
"Pardon?!"
Another new offer. A title? Honorary baron?
Already getting a noble rank?
Players becoming nobles wasn't unheard of, but at level 150? Unprecedented. Usually, you needed 300+ levels and quests for bare minimum eligibility—and a powerful backer like a count or king. Lines were preset: counts up to baron, marquesses/dukes to viscount, king for higher. Limits per noble prevented inflation.
Raseu Count was offering one of his slots.
Basically, join my line. Can't avoid that. But it leaves wiggle room to bail later.
"You won't refuse this too, will you?"
"No, my lord. It's far too generous, but I'll gratefully accept the title."
"And the land?"
"As I said, I'm not yet worthy to manage a territory. I'll cherish the thought."
Land meant taxes—many players dreamed of lording over fiefs, converting revenue to cash like a pension. Vulcan agreed in principle, but timing sucked. Managing it would tie him down; even delegating to stewards meant headaches. Better pass for now.
It stung, but long-term sense.
Land equaled becoming his exclusive smith or knight.
"Very well. Honorary it is. No formal ceremony then—fine with that?"
"Yes, my lord."
Thankfully, Raseu Count didn't mind. Titles trailed you like a tag: "Baron so-and-so, granted by Lord thus-and-such." Everyone would peg him as the count's man until a big public switch. The perks made it worthwhile.
No duties, all rights? Hell yeah, thank you.
Agreement reached, title granted swiftly. No fanfare meant the count performed a simple rite, reported to the king, and done. Official recognition came post-royal approval, but the system acknowledged Vulcan as Honorary Baron the moment the count declared it.
More talk followed between Raseu Count and Vulcan. Full recruitment failing, the count reframed intended orders as trades—netting Vulcan extra commissions.
Specifically: crafting bird nets and scarecrows like those for the rye fields, plus low- and mid-grade plague cure potions for emergencies. The count supplied materials; Vulcan got handsome fees befitting a rich noble. Worth a few more days here.
Who'd turn down easy cash like that?
"Lord Vulcan?"
Three days into work backed by the count, nearly done with commissions, someone approached Vulcan discreetly.
"Might we have a word?"
This time, it was a player.