Chapter 33
Chapter 33
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Unexpected Kinship
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 33
Thwack!
“Damn it all!”
The moment he entered the annex of the lord’s castle assigned as his lodging, Yonas hurled his hat aside.
Sirban, who had arrived first after being chased out from the initial meeting, approached cautiously and spoke up.
“Uncle, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Hoo…. You don’t need to know.”
Though irritation surged the instant he saw his nephew’s face, Yonas reined in his emotions.
Sirban might have been overstepping without knowing his place, but strictly speaking, it wasn’t his fault things had turned out this way.
“He had everything calculated from the start. A cunning bastard.”
“Who are you talking about? Oh, that collateral from the royal family?”
“Watch your mouth.”
Sirban pouted at Yonas’s cold glare but quickly bowed his head.
“……Yes. Anyway, what did he say to get you like this?”
He might be an immature nephew, but he was the youngest son his brother Gede cherished.
Sirban had no chance of becoming a duke, but given how much Gede doted on him, he could very well end up as governor of Paloma.
“We’re scrapping the entire plan.”
“Yes?”
“Everything we had in motion—stop it all. Especially you: don’t do anything that draws attention. Just lay low.”
“You’ve got to at least tell me why.”
Ignoring his frustrated nephew, Yonas gulped down some water, then turned to him mid-wipe of his water-dampened beard.
“No, wait. Sirban, there’s one thing I need you to do.”
“A… job?”
“Yeah. Something only you can handle.”
Sirban had frowned at the mere mention of work, but his eyes lit up with curiosity at the words “only you.”
“First off, you haven’t met that Piote fellow yet, right?”
“Yes. I was thinking of paying him a visit, but he’s been too busy teaching some kid.”
Yonas breathed a sigh of relief.
If this hotheaded nephew had met the guy without knowing anything, there was an eighty percent chance tempers would flare or some incident would erupt. Thank goodness.
“Then you’ll see him at dinner tonight. Get chummy with this Piote.”
“Yes?”
One moment he’s whining about squires and rootless country bumpkins, and now get chummy?
“Act friendly and subtly fish for info without making it obvious. Especially about Sir Sailun. Something we can use might turn up.”
“Understood.”
Sirban, whose first impression of Sion had soured his feelings toward him, caught his uncle’s intent and nodded.
‘Sleazy bastard. Let’s see about that.’
‘Arrogant prick. We’ll see.’
Uncle and nephew reignited their resolve.
* * *
“Piote, when you see this Sirban guy, act warm and get friendly with him.”
At Sion’s sudden instruction, Piote—who was exhausted from his grueling childcare(?) duties—furrowed his brow.
“Why?”
His nanny role had soured his tone.
As his grandfather, Sion was tempted to correct his great-grandson’s manners (with a bit of tough love), but he let it slide for now.
“I got the sense he’d spill everything if you poke him just right. Anyway, once you’re buddy-buddy, casually probe about his father.”
Born into nobility with good looks and immense family pride?
From Sion’s experience, once you got them talking, info would come pouring out like potatoes from a vine.
And somewhere in that tangle, the ‘royal potato’ vine was bound to appear.
The one that would reveal which bastard to actually kill (for real) for poisoning Brian.
“You think the people who arrived today are connected to that… incident you mentioned before?”
Piote’s demeanor turned cautious the moment the previous duke’s poisoning came up.
‘Smart kid.’
Praising his great-grandson inwardly, Sion replied.
“Not certain yet. That’s why your role’s key. You’re around the same age, so you’ll hit it off.”
“We’re not the same age. I’m four years older.”
“Close enough.”
Sion chuckled.
“Anyway, don’t outright ask about his dad or grandpa. Subtly, got it?”
“Yes. I’ll do my best.”
Piote, whose loyalty to Sion now rivaled Kilburn’s, showed fierce determination.
And beyond his attachment to the Sion ducal house, Piote—who aspired to be an outstanding knight—felt revulsion and rising fury at the thought of a vassal betraying his lord out of ambition.
“Expression.”
“Yes?”
“Manage your expression. Who’d believe ‘let’s be friends’ with a face like that? They’d think you want to throw down.”
“Oh, yes. I’ll be careful.”
Piote opened and closed his mouth a few times before forcing a smile.
“This okay?”
Sion was pleased with Piote’s smile. He’d clearly inherited his youngest daughter Maria’s blood— the kid was far too handsome.
But contrary to his inner thoughts, Sion replied indifferently.
“Hm. It doesn’t scream ‘fight me,’ but if I were the target, I’d still misunderstand.”
“Misunderstand how?”
“Like, ‘Is this guy trying to seduce me?’”
“Yes……? Ah! N-no, not at all! I like women!”
“You think I don’t get it? Just don’t smile like that at another guy—it’s too much. Act normal. Like with your Stric mercenary buddies.”
“Yes, got it.”
Piote smacked his lips awkwardly, then glanced at Sion before asking.
“But to get friendly… won’t it be tough while babysitting?”
“Hmm.”
It wasn’t wrong, so Sion stroked his chin.
“We’ll decide after seeing the dinner vibe.”
“Yes, sir!”
The prospect of escaping nanny duty if he played it right brightened Piote’s face.
* * *
“You’re saying that child is the heir to the August family?”
Yonas spoke as he eyed the little boy sitting rigidly, intimidated by all the adults.
“Yes. Sir August’s decision.”
The wording mattered, but since the final call had come from Baron August while fully compos mentis, Sion stood firm.
“I see.”
Suspicious as it seemed, it was their territory’s affair, and Yonas had no desire for further friction with Sion. He acquiesced.
“So, young Lord Piote is tutoring the boy?”
“Yes. And please, speak comfortably, brother.”
“……Alright.”
Piote was young enough to be his nephew, but since Piote’s grandmother Maria and Yonas’s grandfather Theo were siblings, they were cousins of the same degree.
In this world’s nobility, six degrees was considered close kin.
Noble society revolved around bloodlines, so even eight degrees out, they’d often be treated as family depending on context.
‘Strictly speaking, I should be the one cozying up to him, not Sirban.’
Yonas smiled wryly inside as he thought of his quite amicable six-degree cousins scattered across the duchy, from the capital Sionia with its double-headed eagle emblem to various spots.
But lingering aversion toward Piote deep in his heart led him to delegate the task to his nephew instead.
“Normally, I’d brief young Piote on ducal house matters myself, but as you see, I’m too old. Someone closer in age like Sirban might be better— what do you think, brother?”
At Yonas’s words, Piote’s eyes widened, then he snuck a glance at Sion.
He’d been waiting for a chance to play friendly—talk about a gift from the heavens.
But unaware of their intentions, Yonas grew a bit anxious.
“Not that I’m dismissing you, Piote. I’ll need to meet Sir Sailun often, so Sirban might make for easier chats.”
“Understood. Let’s do that.”
“Good. Thanks.”
As Piote agreed readily, Yonas inwardly relaxed and turned to his nephew Sirban.
Yet the nephew, brimming with resolve just before dinner, now wore a face like he’d eaten shit.
‘Why’s he making that face?’
It wasn’t a snap decision here—they’d discussed and agreed already. What was with the expression?
The reason soon emerged.
“Nice to meet you, nephew.”
“……Likewise. Great… great-uncle.”
Ah….
Right—though only two years apart, Piote was Sirban’s great-uncle.
The pampered youngest son of Paloma’s governor, raised on every luxury since childhood, now had to treat a peer he’d just met—like a senior relative despite the slim age gap. No wonder he looked sour.
‘Ugh. Missed that.’
One unforeseeable twist after another had kept it from his mind.
All he could do was hope his immature, prideful nephew wouldn’t blunder.
“Great-uncle? Nah, just call me uncle casually. Between us.”
“Yes, uh, un… uncle…….”
As Sirban’s face soured further, Yonas stepped in to salvage the mood.
But Sion was quicker.
“Young folks like them will warm up fast. It’s heartwarming. Haha.”
“Indeed. Haha…….”
Yonas awkwardly nodded, unable to say, “Aren’t you young too?”
At their first meeting, he’d openly treated Sion like a green kid, but now his attitude had flipped?
They hadn’t even seen Sion at dinner prep, so Sirban couldn’t have done anything to win him over.
Then?
‘Hm. Trying to show he holds no grudges and has a big heart?’
If so, now was the moment.
“By the way, Sir Sailun. One question.”
“Go ahead.”
“About Baron August’s son, Anseman. What’ll you do with him?”
Sion’s eyes darkened subtly.
The topic—potentially crucial to Yonas and whoever sent him here—had finally surfaced.
“His crime’s grave, but he’s the lord’s direct kin, no? Stripping his title and exiling him per royal law seems fitting.”
Sion stared silently at Yonas before smiling faintly.
“Exile, huh…. Is that your thought, Sir Yonas? Or the one who sent you here?”
“Hm? Does it matter?”
“It might, or might not. But if it’s the latter… what’s your personal take? What should be done with Anseman August?”
Choose your words wisely.
Your fate hinges on this answer.
(To be continued in the next chapter)