I Picked Up the Fallen Earth

Chapter 11 The Duke Langton (1)

It was a decision firmly made. The thought of handing over a relic-class dagger to a mere count had completely vanished.

When Baron Romid and his entourage, accompanied by hundreds of wagons, visited the lord’s castle, the identity of one of his companions was beyond imagination.

Unless Jeron’s eyes deceived him, riding beside Baron Romid was none other than the kingdom’s premier swordsman and the leader of the Crown Prince’s faction, the Duke Langton.

There was no need to even confirm his face. Born into nobility, one ought to recognize the lineage and sigil of the kingdom’s noble families as a matter of course.

Even the knights watching the procession from the south wall were taken aback, marveling at the Duke’s imposing figure.

“No way… What business does someone who should be at the royal palace have here?”

“Who knows? His wandering tendencies are well-known.”

“Even with a penchant for wandering, what could he possibly find in this backwater?”

“Watch your tongue. Words like that could get you beheaded in his presence.”

Lieutenant Garcia, acting as an adjutant when he should be offering sound counsel, was just as stunned as Jeron. There was no way for Jeron to know what the Duke Langton was thinking.

One thing was for certain: using the dagger from Earth might afford him the opportunity to establish a favorable connection with the Duke.

“Open the gates! What is everyone doing?”

“Yes, sir!”

At Knight Jenald’s shout, the soldiers hurriedly opened the castle gates. As the hefty gates opened with a grim creak, not only Jeron but also the soldiers tensed up.

The arrival of the kingdom’s most influential nobleman, the Duke Langton, at the seemingly insignificant Farrow Barony was an event of monumental significance. It was only natural for everyone, without exception, to be anxious.

Just one breath from Langton could easily shatter a small barony like Farrow. Approaching alongside hundreds of ox carts, the Duke and his knights were all mounted on white horses.

In a world where a single horse could equal the price of ten serfs, and a white horse commanded twice the price of an average charger, the sight was impressive.

The knights of the duke’s household, possessing lands in the most lucrative trade and transportation hubs, were all armed in plate armor, while the Duke himself was clad in solid platinum armor, the epitome of splendor in this era.

His white hair was thick, without a spot of baldness, and his tightly shut mouth exuded firmness. His body, possibly made entirely of muscle, overpowered that of any ordinary knight, and his congenital tall stature lacked any sign of stoop.

In a society rife with corpulent nobles, he was the kingdom’s foremost knight, honed through real skill. Though he might have lost some of his lustre now, 20 years ago, he was the talk of his generation.

Jeron bowed to the bygone era’s greatest swordsman and current powerbroker.

“It’s an honor to meet you, the greatest knight of our kingdom and the supreme commander of the royal army, Duke Langton.”

“Are you the new Lord Farrow?”

“Yes, your Grace. My predecessor, the former lord, lost his right arm in the last campaign and is still recuperating, necessitating my inheritance of the title.”

“A pity he lost his right arm. Such a loss for a swordsman means his days are numbered.”

Losing one’s right arm, for a swordsman, signified the end of his life. Losing the left could impact balance but still allow for wielding a sword; losing the right meant starting over with sword training.

Considering the age of Ark Farrow, retirement was the best course of action, on which the Duke spoke no further.

“Then, let’s get to business.”

“Pardon?”

“You must have heard, but soon there will be full-scale war with the Kingdom of Lapis. The king has commanded me to inspect the northern front before the war escalates. It also serves to formally appoint the new lord.”

“This is a grave honor.”

Jeron responded with utmost respect. Baron Farrowy was often the site of skirmishes with barbarians, making the Duke’s inspection before war a logical step.

Yet, Jeron couldn’t help but suspect if the Duke’s famed restlessness had simply driven him from the palace.

“Let’s proceed with the matters at hand.”

With that, the Duke Langton rode past Jeron, disappearing into the castle.

“No, isn’t it usual for a lord to be executing the tasks of a duke?”

The duke’s peculiar character was something he had heard rumors about, but he hadn’t anticipated it to be to this extent. Turning around, he saw that there seemed to be no urgency in Langton, who was leisurely guiding his horse and surveying the domain.

The people of the territory had stopped their work, heads buried in confusion over the unfolding events. Overwhelmed, Jeron hurried to settle his business with Baron Romid.

“Baron, as promised, here are the thirty thousand bags of wheat. Could you please sign the documents?”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Jeron snapped back to reality, realizing he needed to stay close to Duke Langton. While it seemed the duke bore no ill will with his visit, any inadvertent trouble could endanger his family.

As he hastily dipped his quill in ink, it didn’t write properly due to his hurried state. Acknowledging this, Baron Romid dipped the pen in ink and handed it back.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Please, go ahead and sign.” The signature was quickly scrawled, and finally, the family seal was stamped, concluding their business.

Before leaving, Jeron inquired, “What business brings Duke Langton all this way?”

“I’m not entirely sure myself. Only that amidst the war, he’s been inspecting several territories.”

“Was it the same in the Countdom?”

“He roamed about quite disruptively. It caused our lord much anxiety.”

“Today warrants a proper welcoming, but it seems impossible to afford such luxury.”

“That’s alright. Please, go on. It’s common for me to see others, but an opportunity to speak alone with Duke Langton is indeed rare.”

“Very well. I’ll make sure to host you properly next time.”

Jeron then quickly led his knights across the territory. Unfortunately, the duke was passing through the slums. The entire territory was in disarray, but the slums were in an even dire state.

The main streets might have been slightly cleaned up, but the slums were strewn with trash and waste, worsened by recent rains concentrating all sorts of odors.

Viewing the misery, including bodies of the starved, was distressing. Soldiers were already at work hauling away the deceased.

“Not a sight you’d fondly admire, Your Grace.”

“You’ve arrived.”

“Let me guide you elsewhere.”

“No need. Surveying the state of a domain is also part of a commissioner’s duty.”

The duke’s stubbornness was palpable. Duke Langton dismounted his horse, unable to navigate through the garbage-filled slums, followed closely by his loyal White Horse Knights.

Despite splashes from unidentifiable rotten liquid, the duke seemed unfazed, likely accustomed to such sights. Deeper into the slums, the situation grew more severe. Dilapidated shacks teetered, and vagrants rummaged through garbage.

The lord’s face burnt with shame under the current famine conditions, but no immediate solution was at hand. Regardless, Duke Langton remained composed.

“It’s a pity to leave these people as mere labor potential. Often, new lords overlook this fact. Rather than letting the destitute die, it’s better to enlist them to work.”

“Thank you for the advice, Your Grace.”

If only it were that simple.It was all due to a lack of funds that it had been neglected. Today, with the arrival of 30,000 sacks of wheat, there were plans to embark on various ventures.

Given the sheer number of people starving during the lean season, the idea was to use the wheat as wages to simultaneously advance relief efforts and estate projects.

Jeron, in this regard, likely had a sharper wit than the Duke. No matter what Jeron thought, the Duke did things his way.

“Resolving the issue of the poor is impossible anyway. Give them loans, and in a few months, they’ll volunteer themselves into servitude. Increasing the number of serfs will add to the estate’s assets, and cultivating wastelands can yield produce, so consider it.”

“…Yes, of course.”

‘Is he just insane?’

Jeron shook his head, but for Langton, who was born into this world with rigid thoughts, this was believed to be an ingenious strategy.

The issue of the poor would be resolved, and the Lord’s personal wealth would increase. If someone of the social elite and a leading authority in the kingdom held such thoughts, there was no need to verify with other nobles.

Jeron busied himself tuning out Langton’s continued nonsense. Such ‘old fogies’ arriving in the estate could indeed be turned into favorable connections if the atmosphere was handled well.

Listening more, Langton’s advice did seem efficient, though rigid in thought. But for Jeron, mimicking a medieval noble while possessing a modern mindset, such actions were unimaginable.

“How remarkable. How ever did you come to think of this?”

“Ha-ha-ha, all this advice stems from experience. Being from the same faction and a Lord with a bright future, I thought to extend this small kindness.”

“I’ll engrave it in my bones and daily practice what you’ve advised.”

“That’s right. Youngsters must listen to the elderly to succeed. It’s good to see you understand the basics. Nowadays, the youth just ignore the words of the old, which is problematic.”

“Don’t be too upset. A wise ruler would engrave your words as a family motto, teaching it for generations.”

‘Is praising him costing me anything? Gaining something from Duke Langton would be a significant achievement.’

***

Jeron had endured a day tormented by Duke Langton. Langton was a true embodiment of an old fogey of this era. It was hard to tell if he had come to inspect or to boast.

However, Jeron could see that Langton wasn’t entirely a bad person. Superiors berating subordinates wasn’t new, and Langton had genuinely tried to advise on how to best manage the estate. Some of these suggestions seemed practically applicable.

For example, ways to slightly reduce the taxes paid to the royal court, or how a Lord without trading rights could lessen the money extorted by higher lords, among other things.

Although many suggestions were absurd, when considered from the perspective of a soul ‘possessed’ (?) by nobles of this era, they all made sense.

There were also some brilliant ideas. Amidst this, the Duke occasionally expressed hostility towards his opponents.

“We can declare an estate war on families within the same faction of the Crown Prince, not that we should or could, but it’s permissible against those from other factions. Just say the word if any conflict arises. I’ll see to it that an estate war is favorably endorsed at the court! You, being secluded in remote areas, might not understand, but the palace is rife with all kinds of scheming and plotting. Spending time there could drive even the sanest person mad. How I wish I could rid of those troublesome faction rivals; dealing with them daily makes me want to escape. That’s also why I’ve developed a wandering tendency.”

All day long, by gently pandering to the old man’s mood, Langton loosened up a bit. Initially reserved, he gradually began to share his thoughts.

It turned out Langton was utterly disgusted with the political infighting among the central factions, seizing any chance to wander away. This time was no different.

With a major war looming and rumors of unrest at the borders, what better pretext could there be than to inspect the defenses after hearing the Lord had been injured and forced into retirement?

While politically the Farrow estate might seem like a scapegoat, from Jeron’s viewpoint, this was an unparalleled opportunity.

As the day turned to evening after roaming the estate, it was almost time. People here began their activities at sunrise and ended their work at sunset, and the Lord’s day was no different.

“Sir, tonight, for you, a special meal will be prepared. It’s a great legacy left by our ancestors, but… it has been prepared for you.”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”

The moment was drawing near. Jeron planned to settle the score tonight. The culmination of his groundwork.

‘Ever heard of 3-minute cooking, I wonder?’