The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

Taang—!
“Guhk!”

Just as Musette was about to give the attack order—

With a thunderous crack, a mage who had been preparing an attack on the rooftop of a five-story shop spewed blood as he plummeted to the ground.

Musette hurriedly rushed over to examine the fallen mage’s corpse and found a small, deformed lump of lead lodged in the hole in his heart.

Is this it? That noise and smoke just now—was it caused by launching this piece of lead?

Now that he thought about it, it looked similar to the weapons used by the dwarves.

Those short creatures were said to wield sturdy iron tubes that spewed fire and metal shards to sweep away their enemies.

Dragon Breath… That bastard, Baron Brandel. So he got his hands on dwarven weapons as an Apostle of Eldir!

The combatants who had charged into the inn had likely fallen to the same attacks.

Just as Musette pieced everything together, another mage was sniped down.

“Be careful! They’re attacking with some strange weapon!”

“Magic Shield—Graaahk!”

Another mage had lead embedded right between his brows.

At this point, not only the surviving mages but even Musette himself began to panic.

The enemy’s attacks were certainly overwhelming, but the greater issue was that they had already lost three mages.

Maintaining the barrier would be nearly impossible now.

If the barrier collapsed, word of this battle would spread across the royal capital in an instant.

And then, the security forces—or rather, the central army—would undoubtedly be upon them.

There’s not much time left.

Should they retreat now? Or settle this before time ran out?

Musette had never thought he’d have to wrestle with such a decision. Unconsciously, he bit his lip.

I can’t return empty-handed.

At the very least, he needed results—something to show his master.

Musette gave the order to his remaining subordinates.

“Attack! Kill every last one of Baron Brandel’s men!”

******

“Lord, enemies are approaching from all directions!”

Philip had been using a scope to snipe the distant mages.

Hearing Andy’s urgent report, he quickly surveyed his surroundings.

Under the moonlight, masked figures could be seen charging—not just from the front where the initial attack had come from, but also from the left, right, and even the rear.

Perhaps unwilling to repeat their previous mistakes, they zigzagged as they ran.

“Reform the lines! Musketeers, reload and prepare to throw grenades!”

At Philip’s command, the musketeers hurriedly loaded their bullets and retrieved round grenades from their leather pouches.

Unlike the Bigyeokjincheoro bombs used in the previous territorial battle, these grenades had a simpler structure: gunpowder packed inside a sturdy ceramic shell with a fuse embedded in it.

They were essentially makeshift hand grenades, modeled after those used by early modern European grenadiers. Philip had tested making them before coming to the capital.

“Throw!”

Chi-ji-jik!

Sparks from a Zippo lighter ignited the fuses, and the grenades soared toward the charging assassins.

“Hmph, mere stones—”

Boom!

The gunpowder inside detonated, scattering ceramic shrapnel in all directions.

The assassins, who had been solely focused on dodging musket fire, were caught completely off guard.

“Kraaaagh!”

“W-watch out! More incoming!”

Tatang! Tang!

Whizz—!

As the assassins faltered to avoid the grenades, Philip and the musketeers fired again, while the archers rained arrows upon them.

A significant number of assassins fell in the ensuing barrage.

Yet, the survivors, supported by the remaining two mages, pushed forward with relentless determination.

Musette was urging them on from behind.

Damn, I should’ve made more of those.

“Fix bayonets!”

With no more grenades left to throw and no time to reload, Philip prepared for melee combat.

He rushed to assist Terry and Siria, who were already clashing swords with the enemy at the inn’s entrance.

“Uwaaaaah!”

Philip charged forward, plunging his bayonet into the neck of an assassin who had his back turned while fighting Terry.

The assassin’s body convulsed violently.

Philip clenched his teeth at the unfamiliar sensation.

It was different from killing monsters or pulling the trigger from a distance.

It was a raw, visceral feeling—one he had not experienced for a long time.

A feeling he had first known back in his days as Kang Hyunsoo, during his deployment in Africa.

The fire of that long-buried intensity was beginning to awaken once more.

Kill or be killed!

There was no time to hesitate.

Philip kicked away the enemy impaled by his bayonet and immediately drew the musket pistol from his waist, firing at the approaching assassin.

Unlike the soldiers, he carried three muskets as secondary weapons—one of which he had given to Helen.

Taang!
“Guhk!”

The enemy, hit at point-blank range, was sent flying backward.

“Die!”

Another assassin charged from the opposite side, sword raised.

The faint but distinct aura surrounding the blade revealed that the opponent was an Expert.

I can’t block this!

If he tried, the gun barrel would be cut clean off.

Philip’s face turned pale.

Then—

Shraaak—!

A chilling sound filled the air as red blood splattered across the space between them.

But it wasn’t Philip’s.

It belonged to the assassin who had been aiming for him.

“Be careful, my lord.”

Terry’s voice was calm.

Philip only nodded in response and quickly refocused on the battle.

A glance around showed that everyone was still engaged in fierce combat inside the inn.

Andy, having run out of arrows, had switched to a sword. Siria was struggling against two Expert-level assassins at once.

The other soldiers had grouped up in threes and fours, covering each other’s backs, or were using pillars and walls as cover while they fought.

How much longer can we hold out?

The thought crossed Philip’s mind, but he quickly shook it off.

This wasn’t the time for calculations.

It was a fight to survive.

With that, he fired his last pistol at an incoming enemy, then lifted his bayonet, ready for close combat.

*****

Boom! Boom! Crack!
Waaaah! Waaaah!

Heavy footsteps, shattering noises, battle cries, and agonized screams filled the air.

In the underground storeroom, Helen and Midas anxiously looked up at the ceiling.

Liberta, who had been tending to the wounded, reassured them.

“They’re holding out. Don’t worry too much.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Midas frowned.

Liberta replied with certainty.

“If they weren’t, the enemy would already be here.”

“O-oh, that’s true…”

Midas was somewhat convinced, but Helen’s heart continued to race.

Is Sir Terry safe? He must be… He’s strong…

She had never seen a knight stronger than Terry.

Even Carpenter, the knight commander, had once said—

Terry might reach the realm of a Master within a few years. A genius in swordsmanship.

But the world was unpredictable.

Even warriors blessed by the gods had fallen to stray arrows.

There was no guarantee that Terry wouldn’t suffer the same fate.

Bang—!

With a loud crash, the underground storeroom door was broken down.

A large-built, short-haired assassin descended the stairs, wielding a battle axe shimmering with aura.

“Heh… hiding like rats, were you?”

“Y-you’re Viscount Beron…!”

Midas gasped in shock.

At his reaction, the man—no, Viscount Beron—brushed his face with his hand.

His mask had been lost in the chaos of battle.

“Well, not that it matters. I’ll just kill you all anyway.”

“Truly, a seed of darkness.”

Beron’s eyes shifted to Liberta.

“So you’re that fledgling saintess.”

She was young but bore an air of dignity and solemnity befitting a saint.

And the sacred energy radiating from her was in direct opposition to the darkness within him.

Having confirmed his target, Beron stepped toward Liberta.

Or rather, he tried to.

“M-move back!”

“What? Are you in a hurry to die?”

Viscount Beron glared at Helen with an irritated expression.

A frail-looking red-haired woman was pointing a wooden handle with a short metal rod attached at him.

Under normal circumstances, he would have laughed it off and ignored her.

But for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

That smell…?

It was the same acrid scent he had caught outside.

The thick smoke that spread alongside the flames—it was coming from the object she held.

The moment he realized it, a chill ran down his spine.

“You little—!”

Taang—!

Helen’s trigger finger moved faster than Beron’s axe.

The lead bullet, propelled at supersonic speed by the explosion from the gun barrel, pierced through Beron’s forehead and lodged deep in his skull.

Damn it…

He had never imagined he would die at the hands of a frail woman.

If it had been an upper-rank Expert knight or a Tattooed Warrior, he might have felt less resentment.

He had infiltrated this place under Viscount Musette’s orders to eliminate the target—only to meet his end.

As his consciousness faded, his past flashed before his eyes.

Betraying Duke Volzard to secretly join the organization for the sake of advancement.

Being recognized by his master and having aura infused into his body.

Yet, his final moment was nothing but a meaningless death.

Thud!

Beron’s massive body collapsed to the ground.

Despite the tremors running through her, Helen’s grip on the pistol remained steady.

She slowly lifted her gaze.

The battle seemed to be nearing its end, as the shouts and screams were gradually dying down.

*****

“Lord Musette, we must retreat now.”

“The barrier won’t last much longer!”

Despite gaining the upper hand after overwhelming them with numbers, the critical issue was the barrier.

It was on the verge of collapsing due to a lack of mana.

The two mages, who had taken cover behind the building to avoid the snipers, pleaded desperately.

Musette clenched his fists, his hands trembling with frustration.

Who the hell are these people?!

The assassins he had painstakingly recruited and rigorously trained had been stopped by Baron Brandel’s forces.

It was true that the unexpected presence of upper-rank Experts, a Tattooed Warrior, and weapons similar to those used by the dwarves had played a role.

But what shocked him most was their sheer tenacity—it rivaled the elite armies of the kingdom’s eastern territories, famed for their discipline and strength.

They had claimed to have spent years fighting monsters—and now Musette believed it. They were like wild beasts.

That fledgling saintess is with such people? No… maybe she sought them out because she knew what they were.

In any case, this was a disaster.

He had assumed the so-called “Apostle of Fire” was a fraud, but the combat prowess displayed by Baron Brandel’s subordinates was comparable to Duke Volzard’s knights.

Perhaps Baron Brandel is an ambitious man.

He had secretly gathered an upper-rank Expert knight and a Tattooed Warrior under his command, not to mention possessing weapons resembling Dragon Breath.

Taang—! Tiiing!

A gunshot rang out as Musette was lost in thought.

Philip had spotted him in the rear and attempted a sniper shot.

Fortunately, the bullet was stopped by a pre-deployed Magic Shield.

But the sheer force of it—shattering the barrier in one hit—sent chills down Musette’s spine.

“Damn it. We’re retreating. Gather as many surviving forces as possible.”

At his order, the remaining assassins swiftly dispersed into the night.

As he withdrew, frustration contorted Musette’s face, but his mind was already racing to figure out how to recover from this failure.

Had I succeeded, it wouldn’t have mattered. But failure? That won’t be overlooked.

Duke Volzard would never ignore the loss of so many elite troops deployed without his command.

Even if the duke forgave him, Musette himself couldn’t afford to let this go.

He had to eliminate the saintess—only then could he avoid his master’s wrath.

Philip de Brandel. Don’t celebrate just yet.

This isn’t over.

Grinding his teeth, Musette seethed at the young, ambitious noble who had humiliated him tonight.