The day after arriving in Hitmore, Victor, awaiting an invitation from the count, decided to explore the city and seek out another alchemist-jeweler to create some gifts.
He determined that, as with Sylvia, he needed to reconsider his attitude toward people in this world and take the first step toward reconciliation with the count's wife and his brother.
This was his way of giving them one last chance to normalize their relationship, since from now on, everyone's destinies in this household would be intertwined, and each individual would bear responsibility for the others.
Immediately after his marriage to Sylvia, Marquis Croyster, Duke Lemoville, and Count Shermain would officially align themselves, along with their vassals, thus forming a united coalition against Royalists led by Duke Volmar.
Victor seriously doubted his chances of succeeding in his plan, whatever he did, but concluded it was worth the effort.
His estate lay on the county border and already had one overt enemy in Viscount Manita, one hidden enemy who attacked the salt mines, and possible demonic beast threats. The baron did not want to have enemies in his rear, represented by his brother and stepmother.
At present, he was unprepared to confront them all simultaneously, so he found a single viable solution: to restore relationships and buy time for territorial development. Once he could mobilize troops to defend his estate and acquire the strength to suppress them, he could openly oppose any enemy.
Strolling through the city, the lord finally appreciated the positive aspects of this world.
People here treated each other much more kindly, especially toward friends and relatives. On the streets, he observed citizens interacting openly, without feigned deference.
Accompanied by knights, the youth walked south along a broad boulevard, attracted by light streaming from cracks in one house. Upon inspection, he discovered it was an alchemist's shop, with illumination from crystals used as lamps.
Entering unceremoniously, he found four individuals gathered in the store's center, surrounded by colorful bottles, flasks, and assorted crystals. Engaged in heated discussion, they fell silent upon noticing the visitor, and a man in his forties, medium height, brown hair, and hazel eyes, stepped forward.
Plain-looking, he blended easily into the crowd.
— Welcome, your excellency, — bowing, the man greeted him.
He quickly recognized Victor as a territorial lord by his badge.
— Are you the proprietor? — the baron asked bluntly.
— Yes, sir. May I inquire how I can assist you? — the alchemist replied.
Victor handed over a scroll, asking how long it would take to complete the items depicted.
Unfurling the parchment, the man stared in wonder, discovering the illustrations resembled 3D models—an innovation he had never seen. Images rendered from multiple angles exceeded the skill of renowned artists, and Liplik thought they could qualify as art pieces.
— We shall deliver in two days, your excellency, — he answered, bowing again.
— Very well, here's payment, — the lord tossed them materials for manufacturing.
Catching the bag, Liplik refrained from opening it, awaiting further instructions.
Victor, however, left without saying more, turning to exit.
Once the door closed behind him, Liplik opened the bag, astonished by its contents, then turned to his associates, gesturing for them to behold.
— Who is this nobleman? — asked a sixty-year-old bearded man in gray robes.
— Unknown, but judging by his treasures and generous donations, he's no minor player in the kingdom, despite his coat of arms indicating a barony, — Liplik responded.
Stunned by this discovery, all fell silent, contemplating the implications.
***
Calmly walking the streets toward an inn he had previously marked for a visit, Victor approached a tavern bearing a wooden signboard depicting a goat-like creature. This image intrigued him, suggesting the landlord possessed a good sense of humor.
Pushing open the door, he entered, accompanied by knights, instantly capturing everyone's attention and silencing the noisy pub.
Surveying the establishment, he assessed its state, smell, and clientele, determining it was frequented primarily by commoners or, at best, merchants.
Linea, who accompanied him, made a face even uglier than when she wanted to kill Choma for attacking a girl over paper.
Victor often noted this contradiction in her behavior. Advocating for humble conduct among nobles and advocating for the rights of commoners, she nonetheless exhibited distaste for their company.
This wasn't hypocrisy; she simply failed to perceive her error. Not because people here were dirty or unkempt—she reacted similarly to tidy merchants. Essentially, Linea subconsciously belittled those of lower rank.
Like someone claiming to be antiracist while unconsciously avoiding people of different skin colors.
Victor wouldn't highlight this flaw, choosing instead to remedy it indirectly—immerse her in this environment. Like a frog boiling in warm water, she wouldn't notice her transformation.
Besides, Victor increasingly liked Linea and reaffirmed his decision to keep her for a year, possibly even marrying her if necessary.
Though this last thought was bold and decisive, he doubted his ability to verbalize it aloud. Alone, however, he felt resolute and courageous.
Leading the girl to a secluded corner, he shouted for a waitress, but instead, a bartender approached, likely the proprietor, standing behind the bar.
A burly woman in her forties, she stood nearly two meters tall, with broad shoulders and rough facial features. Large breasts and thick limbs lent her a masculine air, yet her massive chest betrayed her gender.
— What'll it be, sir? — she asked cheekily, leaning on the table.
Clearly spirited in her younger years, her zest persisted into maturity, delighting Victor.
He felt transported into a fantasy novel or game, encountering a stereotypical tavern character unafraid of his status.
Elated, he played along, assuming a rustic persona.
Clearing his throat, he bellowed his order in coarse language.
— Pour us something potent, rinse my mouth, and don't bring that diluted pig urine you serve to lowlifes in this barnyard.
Linea, who'd wrinkled her nose earlier, now stared dumbfounded at the man before her, who had transformed from an aristocrat into a street ruffian or mercenary.
The baron's words stunned her, her brain refusing to accept that the man she admired could speak so vulgarly. Her ideal crashed from heaven to earth.
— Why pig urine, sir? I sell the finest wine in the kingdom! — the woman boasted proudly, earning laughter from the patrons.
— We'll see, and bring something edible. I've eaten nothing solid all day; let's see what passes for nourishment here. — Victor relished the exchange, abandoning his aristocratic facade entirely.
— Wait a bit, — the bartender grinned, bowing mockingly before disappearing.
Awaiting their order, Victor finally noticed his companion's bewildered stare.
— What's wrong? — he asked innocently.
— Y-you-y-you... — she stammered, incapable of articulating her feelings.
— Want to learn how commoners live? Be more casual, — he taunted, sounding profound.
— You're behaving indecently! — she finally managed to articulate.
— So what punishment awaits me? — Unyielding, he relished the freedom this setting offered.
Since arriving, he dealt only with crises, striving to prevent starvation and hypothermia among his serfs.
Now, he stumbled upon a place where status didn't constrain him, and he could embrace adventure, even without quests. Here, he found a tavern worthy of novels.
Hearing his question, Linea lost her capacity for speech. Strained to respond, she realized the baron's actions would draw, at worst, a patronizing chuckle from aristocratic circles, as nobles committed far graver infractions.
As she pondered, the bartender returned with an assistant, presumably her daughter, placing wooden cups filled with murky liquid resembling chunky beer on the table.
This was bread beer, tasting unmistakably of bread.
Victor refrained from drinking immediately, awaiting the promised meal. Under his knights' protection, he felt safer, and since Linea refused to eat here, he relaxed entirely.
Shortly afterward, food arrived on a wooden plate: beans mixed with meat chunks in a murky sauce evoking school cafeteria gravy from Earth.
Before the girl's repulsed gaze, the lord hungrily devoured the dish.
Surprisingly, he enjoyed it immensely, wolfing down his portion. Requesting seconds, he assured himself one plate wouldn't suffice.
Finishing two plates of what the bartender called "demon intestines," the lord leaned back, belching loudly.
For the first time since landing in this world, he ate something delicious. Thoughts drifted to building a tavern in his own realm.
Promptly summoning the bartender, he introduced himself.
— I'm Victor Baltas, lord of Western Estates. I'd like you and your chef to relocate to my territory.
Tossing her a gold coin, he promised to construct a larger, finer tavern, entirely theirs.
Caressing the coin, the woman hesitated. Despite the tempting proposal, she knew nothing about the man's domain and couldn't decide impulsively.
There was also the issue of promises made by nobles to commoners, worthless and easily broken.
Yet, holding a gold piece and owning her own tavern appealed greatly.
— Give me time to consider, sir, — she finally requested, placing the coin on the table.
— Keep the coin; it's payment for the meal, — rising, Victor announced. — Time is yours. When you're ready to move to my estate, find me at Castle Shermain, Baron Victor Baltas.
Brightening, she envisioned retaining the gold and investigating the estate's merits.
Escorted by knights, the lord departed the tavern, heading toward his residence. Utterly exhausted after such a satisfying meal, he intended to rest, as no urgent matters awaited.
At the entrance, however, servants handed him a summons from the count.
"Typical timing," he muttered sarcastically, heading directly to the count's palace.