Chapter 106
Chapter 106
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 106
Chapter Title: The World is Unfair
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The world is unfair.
Sion had realized this back in Korea.
It was unfair on an individual level, and even more so between nations and ethnic groups.
Even neighboring houses or countries, close enough to touch if you tripped, could diverge dramatically based on the slightest trigger.
In the modern era with advanced information and communication, it was bad enough—but in this world, where information spread at a snail's pace, technology and culture could differ by ten or twenty years even within the same country.
After passing the duchy to his eldest son, Theo, Sion had traveled the world with his wife and witnessed this pervasive unfairness firsthand.
Some nations boasted remarkably advanced culture and technology, while just dozens of kilometers away in another, irrigation and flood control were so inadequate that farmers lived like beggars.
In some nations, people of common sense and moral refinement led high society, while in others, nobles believed that openly indulging selfish desires and base instincts was their right, rolling around like beasts at every opportunity, biting and sucking.
And the Guslander Kingdom—particularly the Galen Count's family—was blatantly barbaric and backward.
The only thing even slightly superior about Galen County compared to other nations or territories was its shipbuilding technology.
Originally, Sauden's port had been positioned as a stepping stone for heirs precisely to build comprehensive knowledge of shipbuilding.
But as time passed, the founders' legacy faded, and it settled into an ATM for heirs to cash in during their tenure.
As a result, even the county's sole claim to fame—its shipbuilding tech—was on the verge of being overtaken by upstarts.
Yet neither the previous count, the current one, nor the heir cared. They were just your typical "greedy shitbag" great nobles of this world: hoarding wealth and indulging in luxury.
Their vassals and officials were no different.
They had zero interest in developing the territory or improving their people's lives.
For three or four generations, with no progress whatsoever—not even maintaining the status quo—they had simply passed down the "family name." That was Galen County and Sauden.
That's right.
Galen County and Sauden were shit-for-brains.
But most other territories in this world were similarly pathetic shit-for-brains.
Compared to Sion's duchy—founded by an immortal old monster from another world—it was heartbreakingly unfair how barbaric and inferior everywhere else remained.
The worse problem was that they didn't even realize it.
It wasn't quite the gap between Hernán Cortés's conquistadors on horseback with gunpowder weapons and the Bronze Age Aztec Empire.
But with Sion's elite Falcon Squadron—armed with gear forged using Iron Mountain dwarves' cutting-edge metallurgy—it didn't take long to make Sauden's knights and mercenaries realize just how shit-for-brains they were.
* * *
"Ah... aaah..."
"Guh! Hic!"
Not a single noble who had fled the annex was in decent shape.
They were all slumped on the ground or clinging to pillars, faces smeared with shock and terror, moaning or hiccupping.
Five minutes? Ten at most?
That's how long it took for all 160 knights and mercenaries to hit the dirt.
"Huuuh... huuung!"
"S-save me. Pleeease..."
"Grk, grrrk..."
Amid the dying men's wails and agonized groans leaking from everywhere, the phrase "rivers of blood" became literal reality.
Not a single exception.
Everyone was either already a corpse or critically wounded, awaiting their end.
In stark contrast, not one opponent had fallen.
Setting aside the overwhelming skill gap, their equipment alone made the difference insurmountable.
Sauden's knights and mercenaries couldn't pierce the enemies' shields, let alone their brigandine armor. Hell, they couldn't even scratch the outer leather.
But the enemies' arrows and blades sliced through their gear like butter.
*Advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.*
Sauden's nobles didn't know the saying, but they were convinced the foes were using magic.
Such was the vast technological chasm between Sion's duchy and other territories.
Magic-like gear plus overwhelming prowess? The outcome was obvious.
A massacre.
A slaughter.
In the midst of that slaughter stood the one man not mounted on a Gau, slowly advancing.
No one said a word, yet all Sauden's nobles thought the same thing.
*The Demon King!*
This man was truly the Demon King.
Leader of the evil spirits, he had cleaved the most throats and split the most skulls from the vanguard.
And now the Demon King approached them.
"Eek! Eeeek..."
Sauden's nobles, whose crotches were already soaked, lost control of their sphincters too.
Yellow piss mixed with muddy brown, but with the air thick with the stench of blood, the added stink barely registered.
"Someone once said,"
"......!"
In a chilling voice devoid of emotion—befitting the Demon King—Sauden's nobles froze.
"'No witnesses, no crime.'"
"Gasp!"
The noble who had uttered those words just thirty minutes ago bulged his eyes.
"I agree. Especially in this barbaric world—it's practically gospel."
"S-s-spare..."
Shwaak!
With a whoosh, the noble's head tumbled as he opened his mouth.
Splurt!
Blood sprayed nearly a meter high from the stump—must've had high blood pressure—before the headless body pitched forward.
"Were you planning to spare witnesses if they begged? I doubt it."
Sion flicked his blade to shake off the blood trailing down the groove, scanning the survivors.
One with a shred of reason left—shaking but bold—dropped to his knees and cried out.
"Forgive us! J-just let us go! If you do, we'll publicly proclaim Zaitz Galen and the others' crimes to the world and ensure they pay the proper price!"
"Haa... Admirable courage, but how are you all so goddamn stupid even now?"
"Y-yes?"
"If I were you, I'd have said this: 'Bury this incident. In return, we'll meet any demand you make.'"
"......!"
"'Zaitz Galen, as acting lord, neglected his duties and responsibilities, acting rashly and unilaterally, tarnishing Sauden and the Galen Count's honor. Thus, his punishment is entirely yours to decide.'"
"Ah...!"
"Got it? That's how negotiation works, you clueless savage. You really a noble?"
"......"
Sion's voice continued into the ears of the man, whose face had turned to mud as he bowed his head.
"And if you'd said that from the start? Those guys wouldn't be dead today. Understand? Over a hundred lives snuffed out—all because of you idiots."
"Guuuh!"
"Shit-for-brains in a fight, shit-for-brains thinkers. You pathetic shitheads dare covet this land? What, 'no witnesses, no crime'? Ha!"
Sion sneered coldly and turned away.
Then, to the Falcon Squadron awaiting orders, splattered head to toe in blood, he said,
"Gather and dispose of the bodies. Even shitheads deserve proper funerals. Tell the mayor to summon every embalmer in Fland."
"Yes, sir!"
Today, Fland City's embalmers and undertakers would be swamped.
* * *
Pedro Piel hailed from one of Sauden's oldest noble families.
His own Piel family was among the entrenched old guard effectively running Sauden.
The other nobles who had come to Fland with him were from similar fossilized noble houses.
Why had Pedro and the nobles come to Fland?
To assist—and surveil—the "puppet brat" they called Zaitz.
Zaitz's plan, sparked by the letter from Fland's mayor begging for help, wasn't bad.
Success would elevate their standing within their families.
Failure? Just cut the puppet's strings.
Either way, Pedro and the nobles saw no downside.
Until that damned puppet brat caused a massive fuckup.
"No. That's not it..."
"Y-yes?"
Pedro—now in fresh clothes, trembling nonstop, lost in thought—suddenly spoke, drawing the others' gazes.
"The fuckup wasn't the damned puppet brat. We... we caused the bigger one."
"S-Sir Pedro...?"
"Listen up, all of you."
"Yes?"
Pedro scanned the puzzled nobles.
They were still terrified, but relief at survival had improved their expressions somewhat.
*'Ah... That's why that Demon King called us clueless and basicless.'*
Blind moles who couldn't see an inch ahead—that's what they were.
Of course, until moments ago, he'd been one of these morons too.
"If we go back like this, we're all dead."
"Yesss!?"
"You think the family elders will let us slide?"
"......!"
"They'll either silence us to seal our mouths or sacrifice us while paying token reparations to Sion's duchy to wrap things up. Obvious, right?"
Yes. Either way, "we" get axed.
Realization dawned, draining the nobles' faces of color.
"Th-then what do we do, Sir Pedro?"
It was revolting, pitiful—grown men gaping like baby birds awaiting food.
But Pedro—awakened(?) a level thanks to "Sion's Demon King"—swallowed his curses and said,
"What else? Dump it all on that dogshit puppet brat."
"Ah!"
"And that's not all. To survive, we need to prove our worth."
"W-worth?"
"I just said it: the elders will either silence mouths or pay off Sion's duchy to end it."
"......?"
Frustrated with the clueless chicks, Pedro raised his voice.
"Front or back, you think that Demon King will sit still? 'Oh, okay'? Bullshit. He'll march in! With way more troops than today—from Sion's duchy!"
"Eeek!?"
The nobles' minds replayed the Demon King and his fifty evil spirits.
And their deeds: rivers of blood, scattered limbs, trampled guts and brains.
"Urp! Bleeech!"
Terrified of nightmares, the nobles vomited.
"He'll bring ten—no, twenty times more and hit Sauden. Think our Sauden—no, the count's family—can stop him?"
The nobles, faces whiter than white could be, shook their heads furiously.
"So we go back and spill the truth. Show the elders our worth.
Only we have seen and faced that Demon King. We must convince them: grant his every demand.
And to him too: only we can persuade Sauden and the Galen Count's family! We prove we're useful."
Thus, Pedro Piel became the only Sauden noble to escape being a shit-for-brains.
(To be continued next time.)