Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: Two Paths
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With his complicated feelings plainly showing on his face, Piot left the room, leaving Sion alone.
Gazing out the window from the lord's office, Sion considered going to see Baron Ryle August, who was nominally still the lord here, but he dismissed the thought.
‘At least not right now.’
He had suffered a severe illness and now dementia on top of that, barely lucid for less than an hour a day.
Having witnessed so many deaths over the long years, Sion knew well how cruel it could be to reveal the truth to someone on the brink of death.
Ryle August, his granddaughter's husband, was merely incompetent, not evil.
According to the information Olot had provided, the couple had gotten along well until their granddaughter Roana's death.
He had remarried because he had no sons, and it wasn't solely Ryle August's fault that the son they finally had turned out to be a fool.
Of course, one couldn't say the father bore no responsibility for his child's failings, but Sion judged there was no need to burden a dying dementia patient with that.
“Perhaps he already knows but is pretending not to.”
So let him quietly end his days in the illusion he has forced upon himself.
As he dimly recalled the face of his granddaughter—who had smiled brightly at him as a baby and shyly smiled at her husband on their wedding day—Sion decided to show mercy to Ryle August.
“But your son cannot have that.”
Muttering softly as if Ryle August were standing before him, Sion continued.
There was something called a hunch.
Or instinct, as it was otherwise known, and during his long time in this world, Sion had realized his instincts were exceptionally sharp and accurate.
And right now, that instinct was signaling that Anserman August was involved in the death of Brien, his first grandson and the previous Duke of Sion.
Of course, the information from Olot formed the basis of that, but even setting that aside, the Anserman Sion had seen today was just the type to cause 'incidents' and be easily manipulated by others.
“The most important thing is to find evidence first... but a confession would be better still.”
And Sion knew over a hundred ways to make a suspect who kept his mouth shut confess.
After all, what he had learned from his many masters wasn't just killing techniques.
* * *
Leaving the office, Sion headed to the room where Anserman August was confined.
Though he had been beaten until his teeth were loose in front of everyone, as he was the acting lord, they hadn't thrown him into the castle's underground dungeon but instead confined him to his usual bedroom.
Receiving salutes from the mercenaries guarding the bedroom door, Sion entered the room.
“Eek!”
Anserman, who had been pacing the bedroom anxiously with his battered face, jumped in fright at the sight of Sion.
Without so much as a greeting, giving him not even a second's reprieve, Sion ambushed the trembling Anserman, who was backing away in fear.
“Anserman August. You have two paths.”
“P-paths?”
“First, tell everything you know about Duke Brien Sion's death and spend the rest of your life locked up here until you die.”
Sion hadn't beaten Anserman just to vent his anger.
For an heir to the lord who had lived arrogantly his whole life, direct violence was an experience that went beyond intensity to become unforgettable until death.
And knowing the provider of that experience was right in front of him could sometimes make the body react against one's own will.
Just like now, when a sudden, piercing question was thrown without warning.
“……!!!”
The moment Sion saw Anserman's wandering eyes and his body shaking as if seized by chills, he was certain.
This man was connected to Brien's death.
“Wh-wh-what are you t-talking about? H-how could I h-have anything to do with D-Duke Highness's d-death...”
If Anserman had met Sion under normal circumstances through proper procedures, he wouldn't have shown such an immediate, idiotic reaction.
Even if Sion hadn't put on the gloves he favored (the same ones he had worn while beating him) midway through speaking, Anserman would have at least tried to maintain some composure as the lord's heir.
But with the fear of Sion, his blunt question, and the symbol of the first violence he had ever endured—the gloves—reappearing, Anserman's body had no choice but to betray his master's will.
And to Sion—or anyone else in the room—that was as good as a confession.
“Second, keep spewing pathetic lies like that and end up with your head miserably chopped off and hung at the castle gate.”
“Gasp!”
Anserman, who had been spitting as he frantically made excuses that anyone could see were lies in his panic, froze solid without even realizing what a fool he was making of himself.
“Back to the first path. Who? Who killed Brien?”
Sion released just a tiny bit of killing intent.
A strong-willed, resolute person might feel a slight chill, but for someone like Anserman, whose spirit was completely broken and drowned in fear, it was enough to make the heart race and the hair stand on end.
“Ugh... I-I don't know. I r-really don't kn-know...”
“Changing the question. Who from the Sion Duke family comes to mind first right now?”
“……!”
Anserman's eyes immediately darted away from Sion.
Seeing the natural reaction people have when recalling something, Sion smiled coldly.
“Want to make a bet? I'll stake my own head that the person you just thought of—or someone they sent—will show up here in a few days.”
‘My head? Wait, don't people usually stake their own necks?’
The thought flashed through his mind, but Anserman didn't dare voice it.
Foolish as he was, Anserman wasn't completely stupid.
The man before him had concluded he had chosen the second path, not the first.
“What about you? Anserman.”
Feeling as if a dangerous beast ready to tear his throat out had bared its fangs and was smiling, Anserman barely managed to part his lips.
“I-I...”
* * *
After the funerals for those who died in the previous battle ended, Sion returned to the lord's castle with a few attendees.
There had been seven or eight deaths, and their families were deeply moved when Sion personally oversaw the burials and attended the funerals to the end.
The fact that the occupier of the lord's castle was from the Sion Duke family and the royal line caused quite a stir in August Castle and the village.
Ordinary people in this world rarely left their territory or its surroundings from birth to death.
For such people, a royal they might see once in a lifetime had appeared at their funerals.
Moreover, this person of the kingdom's noblest blood not only covered all the funeral costs but also gave consolation money to the bereaved families.
“The incompetent acting lord committed a grave error, but those who bravely fought on his orders bear no blame. On the contrary, I was moved by their noble honor. Money cannot buy honor, but for the sake of their surviving families—who were sons or fathers to someone—I shall reckon the honor of the dead in gold, if only a little.”
Along with those words, the amount Sion gave to the families wasn't actually that much.
Roughly half a year's pay for a knight or soldier?
But the 'incompetent' acting lord whom Sion mentioned hadn't even attended the funerals, let alone responded in any way.
In contrast, the 'competent' occupier who had seized the castle had personally looked after the families of those who died fighting them, and that fact mattered.
On top of that.
“Let me add a little more of my sincerity. On behalf of Sion and Kilburn, I offer my deepest condolences. Your brother was brave.”
When the handsome young lord—who was none other than the grandson of the daughter of the first Duke Sion Highness—personally gripped each bereaved family member's hand and distributed gold coins, their hearts softened.
‘It doesn't particularly appeal to me, but what can you do? This world is like this.’
In a world where human life wasn't precious, showing even a little care and sincerity like this easily moved them to gratitude.
Moreover, in a society moved by status and class, it was an honor beyond their wildest dreams for someone so high up—whom they could scarcely dare look at—to apologize and show such concern.
Thus, shortly after Sion and the Zanstrick mercenary band occupied Baron August's castle, the residents had come to see Sion and Piot as their 'rulers.'
“Somehow... it feels a bit strange.”
Piot, raised in Logos Territory under his father Baron Kilburn, couldn't quite understand the current situation.
If someone had invaded and occupied Logos Territory and its castle, not only he but the residents would never have stayed quiet.
Yet in August, not only the residents but even the nobles who had served the August Baron family were yielding to reality, with some fawning over Sion and Piot.
“It's because your father, Sir Kilburn, was such an outstanding lord.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Piot smiled bashfully, pleased by Sion's praise of his father.
“I've traveled many territories and met many lords, but Sir Kilburn is one of the few with exceptional ability. Having been born and raised in a place ruled by such a man, it's only natural you can't understand this situation. But tell me, were the territories we passed through on the way here all that different from this one?”
“Hmm. They're pretty similar, now that you mention it.”
“Exactly. Almost all territories are more or less the same. Squeezed here, squeezed there, beaten when told to be, conscripted and dragged off when told to fight. Direct territories are a bit better, but most are about the same.”
“What about... the Sion Dukedom?”
“No. That's different.”
Sion straightened his chest and declared proudly without thinking.
This was one thing he could boast about.
The Sion Dukedom, which he had built from the ground up, was completely different.
“Oh, really?”
Catching Piot's look as if to say, *Why boast so proudly about someone else's territory?*, Sion snapped to attention and cleared his throat.
“Ahem! You'd best see for yourself what makes it different.”
“Yes. Now that you mention it, I'm really looking forward to it.”
‘Whatever you imagine, it'll exceed your expectations, you rascal. You might never want to leave. Heh heh.’
Not that he'd let him leave even if he wanted to.
Perfectly concealing his nefarious intentions toward his great-grandchild, the old schemer wore only an affable smile.
“But you said someone might come soon? Probably someone from the Sion Duke family, right?”
“Yes. That's a given, and maybe from other places too.”
“Yes? Other places...?”
“It's been over a month since you started moving with me, right?”
“Yes. A month and a half or so. But why do you ask?”
Turning to the puzzled Piot, Sion gazed at the simple kingdom map on the wall of the lord's office, marked only with key locations as was standard in this world, and spoke.
“A month and a half—no, two months—is more than enough time for word about us to spread everywhere.”
Precisely, word about 'me' to spread to the tiny few who knew 'who I am.'
Sion was certain that some or all of that tiny group would react in some way.
And among them, 'someone' would greatly aid his plans, whether the person intended it or not.
“Then... perhaps the royal family has heard about Sir Seilun by now?”
“Of course. Someone in the royal family must have heard for sure. Heh heh.”
That's why he had moved about so noisily in various ways.
(To be continued in the next installment)