Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

TL: Etude

Viscount Angelo tread carefully along the corridors of the castle. Despite his numerous visits, he still hadn’t adapted to its environment.

Gloomy and ominous, it bore the characteristics of a dungeon inhabited by ghosts and monsters from a horror story. Why would its master choose to dwell in such a place?

The enigmatic Count Kent, truly a man difficult to understand in every aspect.

With these cautious thoughts, Angelo turned a corner and stopped in a spacious area.

He straightened his clothes and slowly approached a grand and ornate door.

Two halberd-bearing guards stood at the door, one on each side. As Angelo approached, they crossed their weapons, blocking his path to the room.

Their cold scrutiny made Angelo feel like a lamb under the gaze of hungry wolves.

He reminded himself that he was a noble, and these were merely soldiers, and he their lord’s guest.

Regaining some of his pride, he stood tall, using the tone he had honed as a Viscount, and announced loudly:

“Viscount Angelo of Baylding, here at the invitation of Count Kent.”

Cursed be it, despite his frequent meetings with the Count, these personal guards still treated him as a stranger.

Angelo’s anger was not just about his bruised ego; he sensed an underlying dread within him.

The initial hope he had upon seeking refuge had vanished, leaving only unease and insecurity.

The guards remained motionless, continuing their intimidating stare, blocking the door.

Angelo closed his eyes, waiting in silence.

A minute, or two, it felt like an eternity.

Finally, a voice from behind the thick wooden door said, “Come in.”

Angelo exhaled softly.

The guards withdrew their weapons, and one of them gently opened the door.contemporary romance

He adjusted his demeanor and slowly stepped into the room.

A “clang” from the closing door behind him involuntarily made Angelo shudder.

This was Count Kent’s study, spacious yet even more eerie than the corridor outside.

Despite it being broad daylight, the windows were tightly covered with heavy curtains, not allowing a single ray of sunlight.

The room’s sole illumination was a dim light from a floor-standing candelabra. A man sat next to it, engrossed in a thick book.

“Can he even see the words clearly?”

Just as Angelo thought this, the man in the chair spoke without looking up.

“Viscount, please take a seat.”

Count Marz Kent pointed to another chair beside the candelabra.

This was a man with a pallid complexion and a sinister face, his nose sharp, with faint dark circles under his sunken eyes. Although only middle-aged, his hair was already thinning significantly.

“Thank you, Lord Kent,” Angelo said, swallowing hard, forcing his trembling legs to carry him to the chair next to the wicker one, unsure why his legs felt so weak.

“So, Viscount Angelo, let’s talk about Baylding,” Count Kent said nonchalantly, his eyes still on his book.

Angelo felt a surge of emotion, almost to tears. Each time he met the Count, he was dismissed after a brief exchange, except for one longer encounter during a silent lunch.

This time, he had to seize the opportunity.

“Lord Kent, Lord Paul Grayman of Alda unlawfully detained our lord, Count Malron Ganard.”

“We, in defense of Baylding’s honor, rose up against this tyrannical lord, but ultimately, we were overpowered.”

…

For nearly half an hour, Angelo painstakingly recounted the events that led to his exile.

“To rebel so hastily while your lord is still in their hands, you are truly commendable for your loyalty and bravery,” Count Kent suddenly remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Angelo’s face flushed, then he spoke earnestly, “Indeed, we were blinded by their atrocities and slander. You must have received their proclamation too. What level of shamelessness is required to fabricate such baseless accusations?”

“So, you have come to me for…?” Kent probed.

“Count, I implore you to champion our cause, to help us reclaim Baylding! We… we are now without refuge.”

The room fell silent.

Angelo waited, growing increasingly restless, until Count Kent finally asked, “And what can I gain from this?”

The question was blunt and unapologetic.

Angelo’s anger surged within, remembering how much he had offered this man for support. Now, when he truly needed help, the Count was demanding more.

Yet, he dared not show his fury and replied humbly, “Lord Kent, I have nothing to offer you now.”

Kent shook his head, “I’m not talking about now, but the future. What can you offer me once you secure the leadership of Baylding?”

Angelo’s heart pounded, “My lord, Malron Ganard is still alive, I… I…”

“Hmm, let’s not beat around the bush. Besides your naive young lord, who do you think you’re fooling about old Ganard’s situation? Having taken the first step, is there any turning back now?” Count Kent’s words made Angelo break out in cold sweat within moments.

The Count waited silently for his reply.

“Lord Kent…” Angelo finally said:

“If you help me secure the position of Lord of Baylding, I’ll cede a town’s land to you.”

There was no response.

Biting his lip, Angelo upped his offer: “Two towns!”

After an awkward wait, still no hopeful response came.

“A baron’s domain!”

…

As his successive offers went unanswered, Angelo was on the verge of despair. The Count’s appetite was too great.

But he couldn’t give up. Without this lifeline, he’d be left with nothing. His search for allies had led him to this man, a decision he now regretted bitterly.

Resignedly, he uttered his painful last resort: “Half of Baylding’s territory, that’s my final offer.”

Count Kent’s fingers moved slowly, tapping on the armrest of the chair, seemingly pondering Angelo’s proposition.

Only then did Angelo notice the Count’s long, sharp fingernails, sending a shiver down his spine.

With difficulty, he added, “My lord, if I cede more, Baylding will be left with only the city of Butuya.”

“Alright! We have a deal,” the Count finally agreed. Angelo breathed a sigh of relief, immediately followed by a pang of regret.

“You may go now. I’ll inform you when I’m ready,” the Count dismissed him.

Angelo complied, bowing and leaving the room slowly, knowing he shouldn’t appear too anxious.

From the moment he entered to his departure, the Count’s gaze never left his book, never once glancing at Angelo.

After the door closed, Count Kent finally put the book aside on a small square table.

Then, he picked up a cup from the table.

It was a porcelain cup, exquisitely made, adorned with a realistically painted rose.

The Count didn’t drink from it, but instead kept toying with it, clearly fond of the piece.

Speaking to himself, he mused, “Now, let’s see who offers the higher price.”

done.co