The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

Trying to make some money here is even more thrilling than diving into the Maze as an Adventurer.

He was even starting to regret being the first one to try eating this crab.

...

Newcastle's carriage soon "charged" up to Baron Vickton's mansion; in the quaint, antique-style study, the rich aroma of fine tobacco drifted in the air.

Baron Wickton was sitting on a wide leather sofa, unhurriedly trimming a fine cigar. Cigars were one of his few hobbies; the fragrance of tobacco could ease the pressure in his heart.

"Baron Wickton! Something terrible has happened!"

Newcastle burst in in a whirlwind, not even bothering with the servants trying to stop him.

The face that practically exuded booze, sex, and money was full of unease; the invitation clutched in his hand was like a piping hot potato.

"Did the people at court make some kind of mistake? They sent me this… invitation to the Third Level Conference? I don't think I've offended Our King, have I? What I want to ask is… did they make some kind of mistake?"

He said the same sentence twice.

Looking at the utterly incoherent Mr. Newcastle, Baron Wickton, however, seemed unusually calm as he set the cigar cutter down on the table.

"Calm down, my friend. The court's clerks did not make a mistake. The name on this invitation—I personally filled it in."

A string of wails got stuck in his throat; Newcastle's eyes bulged like a goose with its neck squeezed.

"You… filled it in?"

"That's right. To tell you the truth, I'm actually the chief organizer of this Third Level Conference." Wickton picked up a match, struck it calmly, and lit the freshly trimmed cigar. "The King needs the support of the citizens—especially the support of good men. And I happen to think our gentleman Newcastle is precisely such a good man."

Who could be more worthy of the title of "good man" than the man who guards the nights of the Roland City citizens?

Not that any of that really mattered; as long as it sounded reasonable, it was fine.

Yet although Wickton had managed to rationalize his arrangements to himself, he had left the Newcastle standing opposite him completely dumbfounded.

He spread his hands, then let them fall again, speaking with an expression of utter disbelief.

"But… what does this have to do with me? My Lord, you know this: although I do business in Roland City, I am a genuine, no-mistake-about-it Campbell! What virtue or ability do I have to represent the citizens of Roland City? To serve as their delegate?"

"So what if you're a Campbell? A thousand years ago, Campbell people were also Ryan people. And speaking broadly, we're all subjects of the Aus Empire; we all have an obligation to ease the Emperor's burdens."

Baron Wickton let out a hearty laugh, exhaled a puff of bluish smoke, and waved his hand carelessly.

"Bloodline and birth don't matter in the slightest at this critical juncture. What matters is that you're the general manager of Roland City's fire company, and the citizens of Roland City all know you, this respectable gentleman. That's enough… It's not like we actually need you to speak on their behalf."

At this point, Wickton set the cigar on the edge of the table, rose, and walked over to stand in front of Newcastle.

He extended his right hand and pressed it down on Newcastle's shoulder; looking at this utterly bewildered businessman, his gaze took on a deeper meaning.

"And most importantly, Newcastle, you're one of mine."

Newcastle felt the weight on his shoulder, and the unease in his heart did not completely dissipate; if anything, it grew even stronger than before.

"But my Lord, I'm just a man who does business…"

In any Kingdom, for a commoner to get involved in court affairs was extremely dangerous. He was not so naive as to think that just because he had a bit of money in his pocket, he was a member of the Nobles.

Wickton cut him off, his previously leisurely tone turning stern.

"Listen, Newcastle, we can't let just anyone sit at the conference table. If you let those citizens decide for themselves who gets to go into the castle to see their King, they'd definitely hoist the tavern owner into the Royal Palace to see Your Majesty. What the hell do a bunch of drunkards know about governing a country? How can we possibly let them decide our Future!"

Newcastle said with a wry, half-crying smile, "But I don't know anything either!"

"You don't need to know anything. It's enough that I know."

Wickton locked eyes with him, the corner of his mouth curling up, as if he'd been waiting for this line.

"This conference actually doesn't have much to do with our citizens. What's being touched isn't the bread in their hands. It's a trap the Royal Family has set to put pressure on those greedy Nobles and Priests! Our King needs them to cough up the money in their pockets. And you—the delegates of the Third Estate—you're there to sit in those chairs and serve as the Royal Family's 'echo chamber.'"

Wickton patted Newcastle's shoulder, this time with a bit more force, as though sharing a portion of the burden on his own shoulders.

"This conference is crucial both to me and to the King. I need an ally who can advance and retreat with me. And among these 'citizens' of Roland City, the person I trust the most is you."

Newcastle swallowed and asked cautiously,

"Then… what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"It's very simple: go on holiday at our King's Summer Palace, and enjoy some royal black tea and pastries. I remember the roast squab there is quite good; it's not something just anyone gets a chance to taste from an Imperial Chef."

Wickton withdrew the hand resting on Newcastle's shoulder and picked the cigar back up from the table, taking a long drag.

"Remember, when the conference starts, whenever I look at you, you raise your hand. When I'm not looking at you, you can do whatever you like, just don't fall asleep… Just treat it as doing me a favor, and I'll remember that favor."

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