The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

Siria’s target was the central campfire within the enemy encampment.

After swiftly eliminating the soldiers chatting around it, she pulled out a pitch-black metal sphere from her backpack.

‘What even is this thing?’

The lord had personally handed her these objects and had given strict instructions: Throw them into the fire and get as far away as possible. If you stay too close, you’ll regret it.

‘Well, whatever it is, I just have to follow orders. And if this mission succeeds, my darling will definitely see me in a new light!’

Without hesitation, she tossed one of the metal spheres into the campfire before quickly moving to the next fire pit, repeating the process.

Moments later—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Starting from the first campfire she had targeted, a chain of explosions erupted, sending flames and shockwaves rippling through the enemy encampment.

The metal spheres detonated, scattering shrapnel and igniting nearby tents.

The soldiers inside, who had been resting or sleeping, were caught completely off guard.

“AAARGH! What the hell?!”

“My leg! Where’s my leg?!”

“NEIGHHH—!”

The sudden explosions rocked the entire encampment.

Panicked screams filled the air as injured soldiers writhed on the ground, while terrified warhorses reared and bolted in every direction.

Siria stood frozen, her jaw hanging open at the chaos she had just unleashed.

“Holy crap…”

She didn’t know it, but the weapons she had just deployed were Bigyeok Jincheonroe*, gunpowder bombs crafted using Philip’s Golden Hammer skill.

As a history and military enthusiast, Philip was well-versed in the design and composition of this Joseon-era explosive.

He had easily recreated it using his skill, utilizing black powder—something he was already manufacturing—and precisely adjusting the fuse length to create timed detonations.

Of course, Siria had no idea about any of this.

All she knew was that the explosions were way more powerful than she had expected.

While the deadly bombs had been deployed in some areas, other groups had thrown different kinds of weapons.

HISSSSSSS! FSSSSSHHH!

“What the hell is this?!”

“AARGH! My eyes—!”

Cough! Cough! “I—I can’t breathe…!”

From several other campfires, thick clouds of acrid smoke billowed out.

It was Philip’s tear gas grenades.

Since it was a windless night, the gas lingered, making the situation even worse.

The Mirabeau forces were now completely blinded and struggling to breathe, intensifying the chaos.

But the real problem lay with those who were supposed to restore order—the officers and veteran mercenaries.

Most high-ranking officers had been lured away to the banquet at the village chief’s house, leaving the remaining mercenaries to figure things out on their own.

“What the hell are those explosions?!”

“It’s Dragon Breath! That’s got to be a dwarven Dragon Breath attack!”

“What?! Are you serious?!”

“I heard about this from a retired mercenary up north! That kind of explosion—it’s definitely Dragon Breath!”

“Damn it, no one said we’d be fighting dwarves!”

“RUN! If we stay, we’re all gonna die!”

Panic spread like wildfire through the enemy ranks.

At that moment, Captain Carpenter and his Brandel forces arrived.

“Stay clear of the burning areas! You don’t want to get caught in the fire.”

“Riflemen, prioritize taking out enemy officers and knights.”

“When the attack begins, shout as loudly as you can! We need to make them believe we outnumber them.”

Before launching the assault, Carpenter gave clear orders to his troops.

The Brandel soldiers followed them to the letter.

With voices raised, they charged into the panicked enemy camp, swinging their spears and swords wildly.

“ATTACK! ATTACK THEM ALL!”

“RAAAHHH! KILL THEM ALL!”

Although they numbered only 400, to the disoriented and terrified enemy, it felt like thousands.

The deafening gunfire further amplified their fear.

BANG! BANG!

The sudden, unfamiliar sound of muskets only added to the confusion.

“Ugh—!”

“C-Captain! The Centurion is down!”

Every time the thunderous gunfire rang out, another commander fell, causing the soldiers’ morale to crumble.

The combination of explosions and gunfire also sent the warhorses into a frenzy, making it nearly impossible for Mirabeau’s cavalry, their main force, to function properly.

“RUN! Stay here, and we’re all dead!”

“We need to escape—NOW!”

Within moments, the 2,000-strong enemy force scattered like ants.

Brandel’s army had decisively shattered Mirabeau’s forces, leaving them to flee in utter disarray—some even abandoning their weapons and armor in their panic.

Captain Carpenter made no effort to chase down the fleeing remnants.

The mission had already succeeded, and they were too busy capturing those who surrendered.

“Commander, we’ve secured the encampment.”

“Good. Well done.”

As Carpenter acknowledged his subordinate’s report, he shifted his gaze toward the village.

“Now, I wonder if the Pig Capture Operation was a success?”

Just then, a few flashes of light flickered from the village chief’s house—the predetermined signal for success.

******

As daylight crept in, the aftermath of the night battle became fully visible.

Scorched earth, shattered weapons, and abandoned armor littered the once-formidable Mirabeau encampment.

Brandel’s soldiers moved through the remains, extinguishing lingering fires, collecting equipment, and gathering the scattered corpses.

Terry handed Philip a battle report he had compiled overnight.

“So far, our confirmed casualties: 7 dead, 29 wounded.”

“That’s lower than expected.”

“The enemy was too busy fleeing to put up much resistance. We’ve also captured over 500 prisoners.”

The combined surprise assault using Bigyeok Jincheonroe and tear gas had been overwhelmingly effective.

Even before engaging in combat, the enemy had lost their will to fight.

The total enemy casualties were just under 200, and over half of those deaths were caused by their own stampeding horses or friendly fire in the confusion.

Philip was satisfied with the outcome.

Not only had they captured large amounts of weapons, supplies, and prisoners, but they had also crippled Mirabeau’s ability to continue the war.

And most importantly, they had captured their leader, Armand, along with his key officers.

Around 1,500 enemies had escaped, but without a leader, they posed no immediate threat.

Normally, Philip would have to prepare for a counterattack, but that wouldn’t be necessary this time.

There were no knights or commanders left to rally the scattered forces, and even if they regrouped, their lord was now a prisoner—meaning the territorial war was effectively over.

Philip made his way to the makeshift holding area, where Armand was stripped of his weapons and armor and locked away in the village’s guard barracks.

The moment Philip entered, Armand’s furious expression twisted into a snarl.

“You…! Don’t you even know how to treat a prisoner properly?! Hah! Of course, a lowly, underhanded blacksmith like you wouldn’t understand battlefield etiquette!”

Philip smirked at his outrage.

“Oh? You’re talking about etiquette now? Weren’t you the one who launched an unprovoked invasion?”

He scoffed.

“If you’re going to stab someone in the back, you should be prepared to get stabbed in return.”

Armand’s face flushed red with rage.

“Sh-shut up! What do you even know about war?!”

Philip chuckled.

“Oh, so you, the expert in war, got completely crushed?”

“Silence! A coward who relies on dirty tricks has no right to lecture a faithful warrior of the God of War! Now, release me at once!”

Philip raised an eyebrow.

“…And why would I do that?”

“Wh-what?! You dare ignore the rules of war?!”

It was customary to treat high-ranking prisoners with some level of dignity.

Lords captured in battle weren’t usually bound or completely stripped of their privileges.

They were disarmed but still allowed a few personal attendants, even among the most ruthless factions.

Even the demonic warlords of the Land of Paradise followed this tradition.

But Philip had no intention of giving Armand such treatment.

And it was entirely Armand’s own fault.

“You never formally surrendered.”

Philip’s voice was calm, but his gaze was sharp.

“You’re still hostile, even as a prisoner. Do you really think you deserve ‘prisoner’s rights’ while still acting like an enemy?”

“T-that’s…! I fell for a cowardly trick! How could I willingly surrender to that?!”

Philip let out an amused snort.

“Typical. You sure love to talk big for a guy who got outplayed at every step.”

Tired of Armand’s ranting, Philip decided to cut to the chase.

“Anyway, here’s the reality: I won. You lost.”

He folded his arms.

“So quit being a pain in the ass and accept your defeat. You’re a prisoner, and you’ll comply with our terms from now on.”

“Terms?”

“That’s right. Since you started this war over baseless accusations, you’ll have to compensate accordingly.”

Philip laid out three demands:

Pay 5 million Dalant as war reparations.
Reduce the Mirabeau army by one-third.
Cede five villages along the Brandel border to Philip’s territory.

Armand’s face twisted in anger at the last demand.

The first and second conditions, while painful, were at least expected. Paying war reparations was standard for the losing side, and since Mirabeau had borrowed heavily to fund the war, downsizing the army was unavoidable.

But the third demand was unacceptable.

As a descendant of a Sword-Bearing Noble—a lineage of warriors who had expanded their territory through battle—losing land was the ultimate disgrace.

The royal court and other nobles would mock him endlessly.

“I refuse! I’d rather die than accept this humiliation!”

At his stubborn response, Philip’s expression turned cold.

“Do you really think I won’t take what I want by force if you refuse?”

“I am a noble of Arteria and a devout follower of the God of War! You think I fear death?!”

“Oh? Is that so? I wonder how well you’ll hold up under torture then.”

“A follower of the God of War does not break under torture!”

Whether it was bravado or genuine conviction, Armand’s fierce glare told Philip that pain wouldn’t break him.

‘As expected…’

Philip hadn’t actually expected Armand to agree so easily.

But killing or torturing him wasn’t an option either.

If Philip executed Armand, his son would simply inherit the title, making this whole victory meaningless.

And if word spread that he tortured a noble prisoner, Philip’s reputation would take a massive hit.

‘What? Of course not. Time for Plan B.’

‘Not telling.’

Philip ignored Mau’s curiosity and turned back to Armand, his expression icy.

“I understand your position. But I’ll do things my way, so be prepared.”

*****

After Philip left, Armand smirked triumphantly.

He had lost the battle, but at least he hadn’t lost his pride.

‘I am a knight. I will never bow to that blacksmith!’

Philip couldn’t kill him, and Armand knew it.

This wasn’t a war between rival kingdoms—it was an internal territorial conflict.

Killing another noble in such disputes was extremely rare, and if Philip tried, the other nobles would intervene or condemn him.

As long as he stalled, his retainers in the rear would rally the scattered troops.

Even if Brandel launched another attack, Mirabeau’s forces could fortify their strongholds and drag the war out.

‘Hah, “do things your way”? Go ahead and try. Let’s see what tricks you think will make me flinch.’

Just as he was mocking Philip in his thoughts, something caught his attention.

The scent of roasting meat filled the air, accompanied by laughter and drunken chatter.

It sounded like Philip’s men were celebrating.

‘What are they saying?’

Armand focused his aura on his ears, sharpening his hearing.

The muffled conversation became clear.

“Wait, the lord is planning to take over all of Mirabeau? Seriously?”

“Yeah, that’s what the Captain said. We’re launching a counteroffensive straight into Mirabeau.”

“But the Viscount’s son is still there, and the remnants of their army could regroup. If they fortify their castles, it’ll take time and resources to capture them, won’t it?”

“True, even if we conquer the territory, how do we manage it?”

“No clue. But I heard the lord is leaving for Melk Monastery tomorrow.”

Melk Monastery?

Armand’s body stiffened at the mention of that name.

That was where his younger brother lived.

After their father’s death, Armand had sent his three-years-younger sibling, Shermand, to the monastery to become a priest.

‘Wait… don’t tell me…!’

Armand’s face contorted in horror.

Philip’s intentions were clear.

Instead of letting Armand’s son inherit Mirabeau, Philip would install Shermand as the new Viscount—turning Mirabeau into a puppet state controlled by Brandel!

*a delayed fuze bomb with a fuse that was developed by firearms maker Lee Jang-son (李長孫) during the Japanese invasions of Korea in 1592 (the 25th year of the reign of King Seonjo of Joseon) .