The Lord Just Wants to Have Fun

On the deck of the regular ship bound for the royal capital, a healer with medical expertise stepped forward to examine the girl Philip had rescued.

“She’s breathing, thankfully. Her pulse is normal as well.”

“Then why hasn’t she woken up?”

“She likely lost consciousness from the shock of nearly drowning. For now, we should move her to a cabin and change her clothes to prevent further loss of body heat.”

Philip nodded at the healer’s words and entrusted the girl to Siria and Helen. Then, he turned to interrogate Mau.

‘Who is that woman, and why did she trigger an unexpected mission?’

In truth, the gods in exile were required to ensure that such individuals didn’t die due to murder or accidents, as it could cause complications in the celestial realm. But Mau couldn’t reveal that.

‘Oh? So I can just leave her behind, then?’

Mau remained tight-lipped about the woman’s identity. However, Philip had his suspicions.

‘If an angel recognized her, she must be either an apostle of another god or a saintess.’

Judging by her attire, she seemed to be connected to the Water Temple. But why would someone of such status be floating unconscious in the water?

Philip was curious, but since he couldn’t get any answers until she woke up, he decided to wait and question her later.

However, a day passed, then another, and still, the girl did not regain consciousness.

That said, she wasn’t in a complete coma or a vegetative state.

“She occasionally thrashes in her sleep or mutters things,” Helen reported.

“Yes, she keeps saying things like, ‘How disappointing…’ and ‘The weight of life is the same…’” Siria added.

Since they were still at sea, abandoning her or leaving her in someone else’s care wasn’t an option.

‘Well, I suppose I’ll just drop her off at the Water Temple in the capital.’

With that decision made, Philip resolved to take her with him to Aras, the royal capital.

*****

Aras, the capital of the Arteria Kingdom, was one of the great powers of southern Laterran. A massive city with a population of 300,000, it had been bustling for days with the arrival of numerous provincial nobles.

“Wow! You can’t even find a place to step with all these people!”

“It looks even bigger than Campania!”

“Whoa! Lord, look at that building—it’s got to be over ten stories tall!”

Philip’s subordinates marveled at the crowded streets and towering buildings, their eyes wide with amazement.

But Philip remained unimpressed.

‘Hah. They call this a metropolis?’

With a population of 300,000, Aras was only slightly larger than Gyeongju in South Korea but smaller than Yangsan. Compared to Seoul’s over 10 million residents, it was barely a speck.

Not to mention, in modern Earth, skyscrapers over 100 stories tall were commonplace, making Aras’s tallest structures seem insignificant.

‘Well, at least the diversity of races is interesting.’

Elven merchants haggled with customers in shops, Dwarven craftsmen hammered away in forges, and Nephilim, with their immense strength, carried heavy loads with ease. There were also Cashi, humanoids with feline traits.

The city felt like a living exhibition of different races.

“You don’t seem all that impressed, my lord. Is it because you studied at the Royal Academy?”

“Well, something like that. Anyway, Midas—head to the palace and find out the schedule and procedures for the funeral.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Philip gave his instructions to Midas, a scribe from Socra College who had been appointed alongside Jude Blanc.

Though a lesser noble’s illegitimate son, Midas knew the royal capital like the back of his hand, even if he wasn’t as skilled as Jude.

Philip intended to groom Midas into a royal and noble affairs secretary in the future.

However, not long after Midas had left, a young knight bearing the Royal Army’s insignia approached Philip’s group.

“Are you a provincial noble here to offer condolences?”

“That’s correct. I am Philip de Brandel of the Baron Brandel family.”

Philip showed the knight his signet ring, engraved with his family crest. The knight nodded and asked,

“Have you arranged accommodations?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then please follow me. I will guide you to your lodgings.”

To accommodate the provincial nobles attending the funeral, the Arteria royal family had arranged for guest quarters in government buildings or high-end inns.

Philip and his group were taken to an inn located a short distance from the central district of the capital. It was modest but well-maintained, and they were satisfied as they settled in.

“Lord, what should we do with the novice priestess? Shall we send her to the Water Temple now?”

Andy asked while glancing at the unconscious girl, who had been transported in their carriage. Philip shook his head.

“No, I don’t want to cause unnecessary misunderstandings. Let’s wait until she wakes up before sending her. Let Helen and Siria keep her in their room for now.”

“Understood.”

Even if they were going to send her away, Philip at least wanted to learn her name and understand her circumstances first. She seemed to be an important figure.

‘Oh? But weren’t you just telling me to act charitably?’

Philip scoffed at Mau’s warning.

The way Mau spoke only made him more curious about who this novice priestess really was.

*****

A short while later, Midas returned from the royal palace.

“The funeral will be held in five days at the Water Temple.”

“Got it. What about the coronation?”

At this question, Midas looked troubled.

“Well… they’re saying the coronation will take place a week after the funeral, but there seems to be a problem.”

“A problem?”

“Well… here’s the situation…”

According to Midas, Prince Karl, the crown prince, was supposed to inherit the throne by default. However, the great nobles of the East and North opposed this.

While they acknowledged that the late king’s will should be respected, they argued that Karl was too young and inexperienced to govern the kingdom properly. They wanted an older, more seasoned royal to take the throne instead.

“They’re openly defying the succession? Who are they supporting as alternatives?”

“They’re divided into two factions: the Duke of Volzard, supported by the Eastern nobility, and Princess Amelia, backed by the Northern nobility.”

This meant the great nobles had split into two opposing factions—the East rallying behind Volzard, and the North championing Princess Amelia.

To make matters worse, both factions had brought large retinues of knights and soldiers, using “protection” as an excuse.

The combined forces of these two factions now rivaled the central army stationed in the capital, as well as the private forces of the Central nobles who supported Prince Karl.

“A three-way standoff between Prince Karl, the Duke of Volzard, and Princess Amelia…”

“Yes. Because of this, the bureaucrats and nobles of the capital are deeply unsettled. They fear that if this escalates, it could lead to civil war.”

‘If that happens, Arteria will fall into chaos.’

Philip’s mind immediately flashed to The Three Kingdoms—the Eunuch Rebellion, Dong Zhuo’s coup, and the warlords like Liu Bei, Cao Cao, and Yuan Shao rising in response.

Those conflicts had burned Luoyang to ashes, rendered the Han Dynasty’s imperial authority meaningless, and led to a prolonged era of turmoil and strife.

‘If the capital Aras burns like Luoyang did, Arteria will be crippled. Civil war will intensify, and neighboring kingdoms will take advantage of the situation to invade.’

The question of what would happen after an aging king’s death was a frequent topic among idle noblemen in hot spring towns.

But contrary to their expectations, a civil war hadn’t just become possible—it had become imminent. The situation was far more severe than anyone had predicted.

‘Mau, you damn furball of an angel! You said reincarnating as a noble meant I could live the good life. What the hell is this mess?!’

At Mau’s words, Philip calmed himself. Once he did, he realized that the angel wasn’t entirely wrong.

“If the three factions have balanced forces, they won’t easily clash. Besides, since they’re all after the throne, none of them would dare start a war in the royal capital outright.”

“That’s why all three factions are currently working behind the scenes to expand their support by contacting various noble families,” Midas explained.

Their main targets were the bureaucratic nobility who controlled the capital’s administration, and the Western and Southern nobles, who were known for their neutrality.

“There’s a high chance that all three factions will try to recruit you as well, my lord. Your reputation has already reached the capital.”

“Oh, that’s going to be annoying.”

There was nothing to gain from getting involved in this power struggle.

Siding with one faction meant getting targeted by the others, and if civil war broke out, he would either have to fight or provide financial and military support.

‘It doesn’t really matter to me who becomes king.’

He owed nothing to the late king or Prince Karl, nor did he have any significant connections to Duke Volzard or Princess Amelia.

The best move was to remain a loyal border lord, wait for a victor, and pledge allegiance to the winner.

“I have no intention of getting involved in this dispute.”

“But, my lord, they will inevitably try to draw you to their side.”

And just as Midas had predicted, that very evening, Princess Amelia’s faction sent a representative to meet him.

*****

Inside the inner district of the royal capital stood the grand estate of Duke Volzard, a sprawling complex made up of dozens of buildings where he and his Eastern noble supporters resided.

Late at night, Duke Volzard convened a secret meeting with his closest advisors.

“We should raise our troops immediately and seize the royal palace. A swift, decisive strike will end this in an instant!”

“No! If we draw our swords first, the other two factions will unite against us!”

The two leading the discussion were Count Hessen and Viscount Musette, Duke Volzard’s most trusted aides.

Count Hessen was a towering, muscular nobleman and the second most powerful landowner in the East after the duke himself. A skilled general, he was known for his strategic mind.

Meanwhile, Viscount Musette was a slender, sharp-featured man, a former noble from a city-state alliance who had graduated from the prestigious Federico College on the Ordia Peninsula. He served as the duke’s chief strategist.

“The unfortunate reality, Your Grace, is that you lack sufficient legitimacy. If you wish to claim the throne without civil war, you need the backing of more than half of the high nobility.”

“I know that already, Musette. What are my chances of becoming king?”

Musette sighed. “As it stands, based on current noble support, Your Grace’s odds do not exceed 40%.”

Although they had been reaching out to the Southern and Western nobles, the results had been disappointing.

Both regions had strong neutral stances, and Karl and Amelia’s factions were also trying to recruit them.

“Damn it! I was just about to pull the Southern nobles to our side… If only my damn brother hadn’t died at such an inconvenient time!”

Duke Volzard slammed his fist against the table in frustration.

Count Hessen tried to console him.

“Still, Your Grace, the late king’s unexpected passing has given you an opportunity.”

“True. If he had lasted a few more years, Karl would have secured the throne.”

“But what about Amelia? I hear she’s trying to sway the Western nobles.”

Musette nodded.

“Yes, Your Grace. Our intelligence suggests she has already won over Count Auguste and Viscount Mirabeau.”

“What about Marquis Marteze? Hessen, weren’t you supposed to reach out to him?”

Marquis Marteze was not as powerful as Volzard, but he was the most influential noble in the West. If they could secure his support, they might sway the rest of the Western nobility as well.

“My apologies, Your Grace. We sent an envoy, but he refused.”

Marteze was deeply loyal to Lothar III, the late king. He was expected to support Prince Karl.

“Tch! Stubborn old fool! Even if we can’t get him, we need to secure some of the Western nobles… There was a name I heard recently… A baron who’s been making waves in the West…”

Duke Volzard turned to his aides.

Count Hessen immediately answered.

“Philip de Brandel, Your Grace.”