Chapter 64
Chapter 64
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: Villains Aren't What Bad Guys Do—They're What Smart Guys Do
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“This market's survival, and your future.
Ring any bells?”
“...Pardon?”
Viscount Konean blinked at Sion’s words, as if to say, *What the hell is he talking about?*
He'd been spectating quietly until now, acting like he was about to buy something any second. But suddenly, it turned out buying wasn't the goal at all—selling was. And what he was selling? This market's survival, and the viscount's future.
“Young Lord Sion.
What exactly do you mean by that?”
“It's a very simple story.
Who's managing this market right now?”
“...We are.”
“Right.
You handle the management.
You provide the space, call in the slave traders, package the goods all pretty, and plop them right in front of the buyers.
But here's the thing?
What if—and I mean just hypothetically—someone with shady intentions attacks this place.
Could you hold them off?”
Viscount Konean wore a look of utter confusion.
The entrance where the slaves came in was through the waterways, making infiltration tough, and a large-scale invasion even harder.
On top of that, enemies getting in there in the first place meant the territory had already fallen.
As for the entrance he and Sion had used? That was weird too.
It was located inside the lord's castle, the safest spot in the territory. Who could possibly infiltrate that?
“Unnecessary worries.
This territory isn't bordering any hostile forces—it's smack in the middle of the kingdom.
An enemy invasion? Ridiculous.”
“They say the real enemies aren't from outside, but from within.”
At those words, Viscount Konean finally caught on to what Sion meant.
He stared at Sion with a *No way* expression, but the young man just flashed a sly grin, as if to say, *Bingo—you got it.*
“...Are you threatening me right now?”
“Threatening?
Come on, that's harsh.
I'm talking collaboration here.”
“You bring up some nonexistent external threat and offer protection.
That just means you want tribute, doesn't it?”
“Oho.
Quick on the uptake, I see.”
“If that's not a threat, then what is?”
“Want me to show you a real threat?”
The way his fingers drummed the table was graceful, like pressing piano keys.
Sion continued in a voice brimming with delight at the conversation.
“Like if I reported everything that happened today to the royal capital.”
“What?!”
The moment “royal capital” left Sion’s mouth, Viscount Konean lost his composure.
Anything but that.
If word got back to the capital, he'd lose his title, his lands—everything. He'd end up in prison with Sefer Kashugar for breaking the kingdom's laws.
And that was just the start.
All the wealth and honor he'd built up would vanish in an instant, plunging him into ruin.
News of this place reaching the capital meant the end of everything.
But Viscount Konean wasn't some brainless fool.
He knew how to mount at least a minimal counterattack.
“That's nonsense.
You think you're safe?”
“Hm?”
“You said it yourself.
You discussed this place with Count Kashugar but conveniently forgot to report it to the royals.
That means you, Young Lord Sion, defied the royal will too!”
“Does it now?”
“It does!
No excuse will save you—not even claiming you baited yourself to catch the big fish. You still disobeyed the crown!
Plenty of people will tear you apart trying to undermine you!”
Sion stroked his chin with a thoughtful “Hmm,” looking deep in contemplation.
Viscount Konean pressed on, thinking, *He's just a green kid who knows one thing and not the next!*
“Whether you're after glory or just itching to touch some money, I don't know.
But your approach is all wrong, Young Lord Sion.
The higher you climb, the harder you fall—remember that.
Your plan's flawed.
You might threaten me, but you won't escape responsibility unscathed.”
“...”
“They'll say a war hero like you had no reason to get involved in something like this.
From that angle, your actions look downright suspicious.
You heard about this place but didn't report it to the capital, and instead came here to poke around the whole market?
To me, it looks like you got way too interested in the exotic slaves, got greedy, and now you want to swallow the whole thing whole.”
Sion still said nothing.
He just massaged his temples, looking frustrated that things weren't going smoothly.
Emboldened, Viscount Konean opened his mouth to turn the tables and corner the Klauzen scion.
“Having fun?”
“...Huh?”
“Feels good, right?
Cornering the heir of a massive house like Klauzen.
Charging in headfirst without thinking, demanding whatever you want with threats.”
“What are you...”
“That's why you're so cocky in this situation.
You came here in secret from the royals, so others might not see your intentions as pure.
Well, yeah, makes sense.
You're not even a margrave—just some family heir acting on your own judgment.
It could easily look like an insult to the crown.
But here's a question?”
Sion chuckled, propping his chin as he eyed the man.
“What if the royals were already informed beforehand?
Or if they backed my story?”
“...W-What?”
“Think about it.
What kind of house is Klauzen Margrave?
They've been Hispania's steadfast shield for ages, guarding the borders.
The most loyal vassals to the crown, always.
So, who loses the most if Klauzen stumbles?”
The answer was obvious.
The house that had held off Nudia's assaults, always faithful to the royal family.
If they faltered, who'd react first?
Even a moron could see it.
“The royals, obviously.
The Hispania royals would take the biggest hit.
Think about this war—they led the victory. At the victory ball, they rallied the nobles' loyalty and unity.
You think the crown would welcome them shaking now?
Like with Kashugar, do you really think they'd rush in yelling, 'Let's take down House Klauzen!'?”
“Th-That's...”
Viscount Konean hesitated to answer.
Kashugar had ironclad evidence and witnesses—no escape.
But Sion Klauzen? With a little effort, he could dodge it entirely.
Hell, he could even pin it on someone else.
Sion smirked mockingly at the man before continuing.
“You've tormented so many female slaves your brain's fossilized, huh? The politics in the capital and central regions aren't that simple.
We cover up some faults completely, amplify others bigger than ever.
Even a twenty-year-old punk knows that—how come a fine viscount like you doesn't?
Guess getting sidelined from the power games hardened your head that way.”
Blatant mockery, but Viscount Konean couldn't snap back.
Even he could see the answer.
House Konean Viscountcy versus Klauzen Margraviate.
Who the royals would dump all the blame on? Crystal clear.
“Take a good look at the kingdom's state too.
Kashugar—one of the great noble houses—already stirred up rebellion chaos. If Klauzen Margraviate wobbles too, the kingdom's internals and externals would cheer.
Right?”
“Urk...”
Truth was, Kashugar never plotted real rebellion.
Only Sion knew; everyone else was clueless.
Just a guy obsessed with exotic slaves who'd fallen for his show.
But that didn't matter anymore.
The rivalry between Prince Erader and Princess Vanessa was underway. The capital would drown in even juicier political infighting from here on.
And in that cesspool, Sion was confident he'd outlast anyone.
The ones who survive mudslinging aren't the logical ones who corner foes with reason.
It's the agitators, the mood-makers, the ones who hammer home gains and losses.
*I'm no hero.*
If a few word tricks could crush the opponent, he'd use them.
Cowardly? Corny? Forced? Didn't matter.
In the end, arguments weren't won by the logical—they were won by the loudest, the most stubborn.
Why else would smart guys dodge pushy bastards?
In logic and sheer bullheadedness alike, Viscount Konean was crushed.
“Judging whose words are right or wrong? That's a loss in this game.
No logic, evidence, or explanations needed.
You just crunch the costs and benefits ruthlessly, spare who you want, crush who you want. That's politics.”
The royals—already tense, realizing a pillar of support had a dagger aimed at their heart—were on edge.
If some random viscount piped up, *Actually, Sion Klauzen had weird ideas!*, would they eagerly drag him in?
Or hush it up?
*And that's not all the fishy bits.
Sefer never breathed a word to me about this slave market. If Viscount Konean claims, 'Young Lord Sion was buddy-buddy with Sefer!' it'd make *him* look suspicious, not me.*
Sion flipping the script—“Viscount Konean invited me to his estate, promised a good show, led me to this shady spot. I realized it was a slave market late and said I'd report to the royals, so he tried framing me!”—painted a far better picture.
“Let's think this through.
I don't want this whole scene collapsing.
Just share some tasty rice, you know?
Admit it—it's perfect cover.
With Klauzen Margraviate watching your back, you'd sleep easier, viscount.”
“...”
Sion eased off the pressure, dangling a carrot. Viscount Konean bit, visibly pondering.
Push hard, and he'd break himself—worse than doing nothing.
Flip side?
He'd pay a hefty sum to Klauzen—who had no ties here and offered no real protection—but he could leverage their name.
For a mere viscount, Klauzen backing was a massive shield.
*I see right through you, old man.*
Sion already knew the viscount's game: milk the Klauzen name somehow.
But he'd planned counters.
To the viscount, he was just some twenty-year-old punk.
But he was a devoted reader who knew exactly how to escalate for maximum impact.
Meanwhile, Viscount Konean figured he'd play along for now—but he wouldn't fully surrender control here.
*Lower the price, get a promise not to touch the goods.
To do that...*
Best to pressure with force.
He knew Sion had a mage and a high knight with him.
Even all his territory's knights and soldiers might not win.
But he'd already handled those two threats.
*By now, the drug's kicking in.*
A colorless, odorless liquid slipped into their water.
Not lethal, but it made movement a chore.
He'd confirmed the report: both women drank it.
The signal with the passing man was proof.
*Can't fully neutralize them, but make him realize—if he pushes, we'll fight to the death too.*
He didn't dream of seizing full control.
Equality? Nah.
He just wanted a seat where his voice mattered.
“...Shall we take a walk for now?”
“Suit yourself.”
Viscount Konean stood first, leading Sion back to the original tent—where his two guards waited.
No blatant threats—that'd be dumb. But instill some healthy fear.
That way, the young punk wouldn't outright dismiss him.
*He opens the tent, finds his guards dazed and out of it.
Surrounded by my men.
I sweet-talk him from there, wrap it up with minimal loss.
Best I can do.*
With that, he pictured Sion's guards struggling against the drug, took a slow breath, and reached for the tent flap.
“What the—?”
...Huh?
Viscount Konean's jaw dropped in shock.
A woman lounged elegantly on the bed, legs crossed, half-reclined.
Noble yet seductive, angelic beauty laced with demonic menace—she stared right at him.
“...Already here?
Perfect timing.
I was dying to ask what this was about.”
Lily shook an empty glass at Viscount Konean.
And before her, his secret soldiers groveled on the ground, trembling uncontrollably.