The next morn, Darien lay abed until the sun's first rays warmed his face.
"Ha… I've overslept," he whispered, shaking his head with a quiet sigh.
The night past had been restless. He had worried over Pansy and the affairs of Brindlemark, turning over plans in his mind until exhaustion claimed him.
Coming to the kitchen, he found a fairly clean iron pan, washed it, and boiled a large pot of hot water.
Darien poured some of the hot water into another smaller pan to cool as his drinking water for the day.
He couldn't stomach that sour beer, so drinking a warm water seemed like the best idea.
He then poured the rest into a wooden bucket, added cold water until it felt right.
"Comfortable~"
The stress and fatigue of the last three days seemed to wash away.
With the blue sky outside, birds chirping in the trees, and his house—larger than anything he'd ever lived in—Darien was beginning to accept this new world.
After his bath, he prepared a simple breakfast: a few slices of crusty bread with a bit of cheese and a drizzle of oil.
Satisfied, he then headed to the market to buy supplies.
His supplies were scarce, and if he wasn't careful, they would run out quickly.
Just thinking of the brick-like black bread he had seen yesterday made his gums ache.
With gold coins in hand, Darien stepped cautiously, avoiding the countless "mines" of dung littering the road.
No wonder nobles of old wore heels.
When he reached the Brindlemark Market, he noticed fewer people than yesterday.
Many stalls stood empty.
Thinking practically, Darien realized he should hire some servants.
Living alone in such a large place felt lonely.
Besides, he had money now.
While thinking, he noticed a crowd in front of a bulletin board.
Human instinct pulled him over.
"A noble title was for sale—for the sum of a hundred gold coins?" Darien subconsciously spoke aloud.
Though 100 gold coins was a lot, he still didn't fully grasp the currency's purchasing power.
After all, he traded three items yesterday.
Most commoners couldn't read, but hearing Darien's words, they reacted in shock.
"How could Baron Charles sell his title?"
"Is he leaving Brindlemark?"
"I heard Brindlemark hasn't been profitable. Is he giving up on us?"
"Could this be fake?"
"No, it's stamped by the Town Hall and Baron Charles himself."
"It's a chance to become a noble—but who has 100 gold coins?"
"Even Baron Charles probably didn't have that much…"
Darien frowned. The group of caravan folk he had seen fleeing last night—surely it could not be mere coincidence.
A shadow passed. Darien looked up to see a large man.
"Sir Pansy?"
"Ah… Lord Darien?"
Pansy looked surprised and a bit uneasy.
"Good morning."
"Morning… yes, good morning."
Darien could tell Pansy was hiding something. He probed casually:
"Sir Pansy, you look troubled?"
"No, no."
Pansy waved his hands quickly. All the more suspicious.
"You're selling Charles' title?"
"Uh, no, no. I don't have that authority. It's the Town Hall and Lord's Mansion. I'm just a messenger!"
Darien rolled his eyes.
"I'm interested in the territory. If you agree to one condition, I'll buy it."
He purposely avoided mentioning the title—posing as someone who already had one, to avoid suspicion.
He figured Pansy would earn a commission from the sale anyway.
Pansy hesitated, tempted by gold.
Darien was right—he'd earn a hefty bonus if he closed the sale.
"Please, speak your condition."
"Tell me the truth—what's happening in Brindlemark? What are you hiding? Don't worry, I won't pursue it, even if you profit off me. I have gold to spare."
Pansy hesitated, then pulled Darien aside and whispered:
"Baron Charles is dead."
"What?! Then is the title sale even legal?"
"Of course! It's all legitimate, stamped by Town Hall. I wouldn't dare scam a noble!"
"Then why not keep the title yourselves? Don't you want to be nobles?"
Pansy explained: "There's only one noble title, but more than a dozen officials. No fair way to divide it. If we sell it cheap to someone here, nobody profits. If we price it high, no one can afford it. So we decided to sell it to an outsider—a noble or wealthy merchant—and split the profit equally."
There was something Pansy didn't say: Brindlemark might collapse any day.
Becoming its lord meant inheriting all its problems.
"I see…" Darien wasn't shocked. He'd already guessed something was off.
The signs were clear—mass departures, silent panic.
But he didn't care.
He just wanted to experience being a noble.
"Alright. I'll buy it."
Pansy lit up. He'd just earned a ten-gold commission!
Though Darien didn't have 100 gold coins, he had something better.
Back home, Darien took out a few bottles of beer and a pack of compressed biscuits.
Pansy's eyes sparkled as he signed the deal.
Technically, only Darien needed to sign.
The contract already had Charles's signature and most sections were filled in.
One clause stood out: After Darien became Brindlemark's new baron, Pansy was permitted to leave.
Darien didn't mind. He signed happily.
"To our cooperation, Lord Darien!"
Pansy gave a sloppy noble's bow and handed over a baron's ring.
"I'm really a noble now? Doesn't feel like I'm bursting with power…" Darien chuckled.
...
Meanwhile, in Brindlemark's castle hall:
"M'lady, we may be in trouble…"
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🔍 Did you know?
- Town officials, like mayors or stewards, existed in medieval towns to manage land, collect taxes, and enforce contracts—much like modern government representatives.
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