The tall man trotted ahead of Páng kè, imitating a grotesquely distorted noble servant's etiquette.
In an attempt to bow even lower, his coarse linen clothes, devoid of elasticity, let out a strained creak.
Clearly, he had only ever heard of such gestures and had never witnessed a true noble servant's salute with his own eyes.
Páng kè paid no heed to his clumsy display.
That this man recognized him as a mage was no surprise—after all, the brilliance of his robes was visible even to the blind.
But his excessive flattery toward a villain made Páng kè displeased.
The way he suddenly approached was even more irritating.
Now in a cautious state, anything that neared him abruptly would trigger his instinct to attack.
"Res... respected mage, this is the benefice of Baron Besadas.
You... what do you... what orders do you have?"
The tall man, sensing Páng kè's displeasure, took two steps back, appearing even more cowardly.
"Take me to your baron."
At this moment, half of Páng kè's face was hidden beneath the hood of his robe, giving him the air of a mysterious and noble mage.
The tall man seemed to want to ask something, but in the end, he only squirmed his throat twice before awkwardly forcing out a broken reply,
"Please... please follow me, Master Master."
Páng kè was mildly surprised by this response.
Logically, even a baron should reside in a town, and his benefice should consist of at least dozens of villages surrounding it.
Páng kè had expected the man to name a town, but judging by his reaction… the baron actually lived in this village?
Along the way, Páng kè extracted information from the tall man, pressing him sentence by sentence as if squeezing toothpaste.
Eventually, he learned that the baron's full name was Aklan Besadas, and he was already over fifty years old.
A declining man… no, a destitute minor noble.
It was said that he had offended some "great figures" and was subsequently suppressed.
Now, only three villages remained under his jurisdiction, and his so-called baronial mansion stood on a hillside south of Mok Village.
The tall man was a servant responsible for managing the poor in the Baron's household.
So it was nothing more than a dilapidated estate.
Páng kè realized he had been overly cautious.
On the Faerûn Plane, any professional, in theory, could speak as equals with any noble—even a king.
Of course, in practice, this "theory" was often tempered by various factors, but Páng kè was at least a third-level apprentice mage.
Having meditated and practiced spells along the way to strengthen himself, he had no reason to fear a powerless, impoverished baron.
Still, he needed to come up with a surname for himself to maintain his dignity.
After all, in this world, only nobles and professionals were permitted to bear a surname—the common rabble were not.
Walking along the uneven dirt roads of the countryside, Páng kè finally arrived at the visibly neglected "villa."
Yet as he approached, his expression grew solemn—within that rusting iron fence, he could sense another professional at the same apprentice level as himself.
Declaring that he no longer needed a guide, Páng kè dismissed the tall man, who, overwhelmed by fear of the mysterious mage, practically fled.
This made Páng kè stroke his smooth chin in amusement.
"Am I truly that terrifying?"
Just as Páng kè was about to rap the iron fence with his staff, the door of the house burst open with a bang.
A figure in full steel armor, bearing a knight's shield and a long spear, leaped from the doorway, covering a distance of over ten meters before landing precisely outside the fence.
With the crisp clang of colliding armor, a cloud of dust billowed from the knight's landing spot.
"Whoa—what a rare sight! A magic~master!
To think there'd be another professional besides Lao~Zi in this godforsaken place. Truly unbelievable."
As he spoke, he casually kicked at a clump of dirt, raising yet another puff of dust.
The "springing knight" was a young man with messy blond hair, roughly the same age as Páng kè.
Yet, despite the weight of his heavy knight armor, he moved as if entirely unburdened.
Páng kè instinctively began constructing the spell model for Lesser Swift Spell within his soul, only stopping when he realized the knight did not display hostility.
Observing the terrain, Páng kè noted that the knight had landed precisely in an open space suitable for both offense and retreat.
If this positioning was intentional rather than coincidental, then his carefree demeanor was but an illusion—this person was not as careless as he seemed.
"Kane, is this how you welcome guests from afar?
What happened to the noble etiquette I taught you?"
A voice rang out from the doorway.
A middle-aged man emerged, walking with a cane.
His golden hair was meticulously combed, every strand in perfect submission—a stark contrast to the disheveled, windswept locks of the blond youth.
He wore a simple gray robe, its tassels neatly aligned with the ground.
Striding forward with practiced grace, the middle-aged man performed an aristocratic salute with mechanical precision, as if carved from a mold.
"I am Baron Aklan Besadas.
My unruly eldest son, Kane, has made a fool of himself before our guest."
"Hah, I'm lively and dashing! Am I not—"
Kane began to protest, but at a sharp glare from the Baron, he muttered a few words under his breath and fell silent.
"I am Punk Sai'an, a traveling mage.
I was considering visiting the nearby city."
(needing to give a more appealing name to this era)
Punk returned a standard mage's salute with equal precision, all the while keeping an eye on the so-called untamed knight.
The Baron had made no attempt to correct his son's previous evaluation of him.
On the contrary, there was an unmistakable sense of pride in his eyes.
"So they're playing the classic good cop, bad cop routine, trying to throw me off balance.
Do they really think such tricks aren't completely overused?"
Punk thought to himself with a cold sneer before speaking in a measured tone,
"It's fine. I think your son is quite... energetic."
Punk had been displeased by Kane's earlier provocations, and now he returned the sentiment with equal courtesy.
"You little—! You're only a few years older than me, yet you act all high and mighty! So infuriating!"
Kane's exaggerated gestures, the way his hands and feet moved with heavy yet crisp motions beneath his armor, all made it seem as if he were about to strike.
Yet, Punk sensed that his inner battle aura remained unnaturally calm.
"Haha, youth is truly full of vigor."
The Baron took this opportunity to smooth things over with a hearty laugh.
"If you don't mind, stay and have some simple tea and light fare.
You know, the wheat in Mok Village is particularly rich in flavor."
"Then I shall not refuse."
Since the other party had shown courtesy, Punk saw no harm in reciprocating with a display of goodwill.
He needed information about the city anyway, and a "friendly exchange" within this precariously balanced power dynamic would be mutually beneficial.
Besides, Punk's systematic analysis had confirmed that Kane was also a Level 3 professional.
As long as there was no conflict of interest, there was no need to let disputes escalate.
More importantly, Punk was intrigued—how had such a remote place managed to produce a professional?
Especially a knight, a class second only to mages?