"Sorry, what?"
The old man, known as Hans, tilted his head in confusion. Not being a noble, he couldn't imdiately grasp the significance. Toby stepped in to explain further.
"Do you know the legend of the Dragonslayer Leonick? He cos from that family."
"Ah! He must be an incredible person! But you said the family na has changed?"
"He's now the Count ruling over all of Drakenfels. I serve as his direct vassal and knight. Do you understand what that ans?"
"My goodness!"
When Toby explained it plainly, the old man's jaw dropped in astonishnt. It was akin to saying he was the king of the south.
Of course, there were political nuances that complicated such a claim, but that was a matter for nobles. For commoners, this explanation sufficed.
"To think young master Toby has achieved such success… we must celebrate imdiately!"
"Celebrate? Don't waste money on unnecessary things."
"No, let them celebrate," Sylas interjected.
"Pardon?"
"I was already planning for so commotion. This works perfectly."
With a clinking sound, a small pouch of gold coins appeared. Hans, seeing the gleaming gold, was so astonished his eyes nearly popped out.
"This... this is...!"
"You ntioned holding a festival, didn't you? Make it as grand as possible. Slaughter pigs, cows, chickens—whatever livestock you have. If it's not enough, I'll provide more."
"Not enough? This is more than plenty!"
The old man bowed hastily. The amount was so generous that even if the village slaughtered all its livestock, they'd still have money left over.
"Good. Use the leftovers for the village's communal funds."
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"It's nothing. This is the hotown of a vassal I hold dear. The least I can do is this. If you're grateful, make the festival as lively as you can."
"Yes, my lord!"
The old man dashed out enthusiastically, seemingly ready to butcher a pig on the spot. Toby looked at Sylas with a mixed expression.
"What are you planning this ti?"
"I told you, just wait two days."
Sylas smirked as he replied.
"The baron will invite us soon enough. Until then, relax."
The festival was modest, at least by noble standards. Even if a small village put together its grandest celebration, it couldn't rival the splendor of the aristocracy.
But the festivities were loud enough to attract attention from nearby areas.
"What's going on all of a sudden? A festival?"
"The knight who built the manor in the village has returned in triumph."
"In triumph? Did he join so prestigious family?"
"Apparently. They say his lord is none other than the legendary Dragonslayer."
Rumors spread quickly, reaching neighboring villages within a day. Even the Marlosi Barony heard the news. The distance was only half a day's walk.
By the ti two days had passed, news had reached the baron's castle, prompting action.
"I extend my greetings to the rightful lord of Drakenfels!"
A delegation arrived in the village. They were accompanied by several knights and dozens of soldiers. Sylas, pretending ignorance, casually sipped from his cup.
"I was simply enjoying the festival quietly. What's this all about?"
"My apologies for the intrusion, but how could Marlosi ignore the news of your presence here under the esteed na of Drakenfels?"
"Hmm, true enough. I should have been more considerate of the baron's feelings."
"We sincerely appreciate your understanding. Our lord, Baron Anton, has expressed a strong desire to et you during this opportunity."
The ssage was a transparent pretext. The invitation was overly polite, but the presence of so many soldiers suggested otherwise. It was a thinly veiled show of force, bordering on coercion.
"If it displeases you..."
"No, I'm in a very agreeable mood."
"Pardon?"
"I said, I'm very much inclined. Is there a problem with that?"
"N-no, not at all."
The envoy, expecting irritation or refusal, was taken aback. Was Sylas truly accepting the invitation so readily and happily?
The envoy had anticipated bruised pride or fear from the overt show of strength, but Sylas exuded neither.
"Let us depart at once. It would be rude to keep the baron waiting."
"..."
Sylas's confident tone left the envoy speechless. What was this man so sure of?
Regardless, they had no choice but to escort him. Still, a sense of unease crept in.
"Is it really safe to bring him along?"
Though the envoy had never felt such intuition before, his heart pounded unusually hard. His body seed to scream at him to turn back.
Yet, as a re envoy, he had no authority to decide.
"Please mount your horse. We'll guide you."
Suppressing his unease, the envoy gestured to Sylas and his companions to mount. He could only hope his apprehension was unfounded.
"Keep the festival going. I'll return soon."
Leaving these words, Sylas departed the village. The villagers, initially frightened by the envoy's sudden arrival, were reassured by his calm deanor.
"If he says so, it must not be serious."
"Co on, let's eat and drink until they return!"
"Of course! We must honor the lord's words!"
The festive atmosphere, which had begun to wane, reignited. anwhile, Sylas and his party rode toward the baron's castle.
Even with a slight increase in pace, it took less than half a day to reach their destination.
Upon their arrival, the castle gates opened.
"Enter, please."
"Is the baron not here to greet us?"
"Apologies, my lord. He is an exceptionally busy man."
"Haha."
A dry chuckle escaped Sylas's lips. This fool was truly sothing else. A re baron inviting a count and failing to greet him personally? And not just any count, but the Count of Drakenfels?
"He's ruining the pretense of his own invitation. What kind of idiot is this?" Sylas wasn't angry—he was dumbfounded. His vassals seed to share his sentint, whispering to him in disbelief.
"I have no idea what this is supposed to be."
"Even a fool would at least try to cover their incompetence…"
"Clearly, this one can't even do that," Sylas muttered, clicking his tongue.
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