Chapter 47
Chapter 47
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: The Mine Foreman Smirnov
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Seilun? You... I mean, Your Excellency, are you truly Sir Seilun?”
“You’ll know once you check.”
Longlive gulped dryly, his eyes shaking wildly as he closely examined the ID token Sion held out.
And then.
“My apologies! Sir Seilun! Knight Ethan Longlive! I sincerely beg your forgiveness!”
Longlive snapped a salute and bowed his head sharply.
“Ah, what’s all this...”
Stalrif and the labor officials were taken aback by the sudden change in attitude, but it was a perfectly natural reaction.
Longlive, once a court knight, had followed his wife to the Dukedom and settled there.
And that wife’s middle name was Seilun.
To the current “Longlives,” who took pride in their ancestor who had served the consort of Founding Duke Sion—also the Queen Mother—Seilun was just as emotionally close as the Sion ducal family itself.
“Wasn’t Longlive the knight who followed the princess to the Dukedom? How did he end up as a knight of Paloma?”
Sion tossed out a question whose answer he already knew full well.
“After His late Excellency Founding Duke Sion passed the name Seilun to his second son and sent our family to branch off to Paloma, he sent our household along with them.”
To be precise, it was passing down his wife’s middle name to the second son. It had been arranged with King Obla at the time, so there were no issues.
Thus, the Sion whom Ethan Longlive now faced was not only his great-great-grandfather’s original liege lord but also the “main house”—the true one that had specially granted the middle name even when parting from the Sion ducal family, ensuring his descendants could serve generation after generation.
“I see. Then, as a member of the royal family named Seilun, I ask a descendant of the knight who once served the princess. Sir Ethan Longlive, will you tell me the truth from now on?”
‘Shit.’
The main house Seilun was overwhelming enough, but now the royal family was layered on top.
Longlive instinctively glanced at the waiting soldiers. What if he used them now to silence things by force?
‘No chance.’
With so many eyes watching, that was impossible.
“Let’s head to the mine foreman first. I had business there anyway.”
“Y-Yes...”
Like a lamb being led to slaughter, Longlive had no choice but to follow.
* * *
Iron Mountain Dwarf Mine Foreman Smirnov was a burly-eyed man in his mid-to-late fifties.
Having risen to the position of mine foreman—overall head and representative of miners and craftsmen—over a decade ago, he’d been plagued by worries lately.
The contract renewal date was approaching, but the Sion ducal family was mired in internal strife.
Several years had passed since the previous duke’s suspicious death, yet no new duke had been appointed.
Normally, Blint Sion, the previous duke’s heir, should have succeeded, but the problem stemmed from Blint not being of age at the time of the death.
His uncle, Gede Sion—the previous duke’s younger brother—was to serve as regent for exactly one year until Blint came of age.
Up to that point, it was no big issue. It was just a matter of time.
But during Gede Sion’s regency, questions resurfaced about the long-ago deaths of Blint’s two older brothers.
Rumors emerged that their falls from horseback and illnesses had actually been orchestrated accidents and poisonings.
Naturally, Blint—the third son—came under suspicion.
More precisely, Blint’s mother, Lady Katrina, the previous duke’s second wife.
In any case, Blint’s ascension to the dukedom was put on hold until the truth was uncovered.
Gede did not return to Paloma and clung to the regency, but the previous duke’s retainers—who had long recognized Blint as heir—demanded he step down.
With civil war looming, Gede accepted and returned to Paloma.
But he dropped a bombshell: if the truth wasn’t properly revealed, he’d push for Paloma’s independence.
Thus, the Sion ducal family’s internal issues grew ever more convoluted...
‘Convoluted my ass. It’s just an uncle-nephew power struggle.’
Smirnov didn’t care who became the new duke, as long as the contract was renewed quickly.
The Iron Mountain Dwarves were thriving here anyway.
Whether Gede or Blint, their lives wouldn’t change much.
But then.
A secretive proposal had recently shaken his resolve.
-Support me as the next duke, and I’ll renew the contract on even more favorable terms for the Iron Mountain Dwarves.
The Iron Mountain Dwarves had no say in the Sion ducal family’s affairs.
But was an alliance called an alliance for nothing?
The Iron Mountain Dwarves’ techniques had greatly aided the Dukedom’s development, and their craftsmen were still key personnel.
Thus, the collective will of the Iron Mountain Dwarves—embodied by their mine foreman—couldn’t be ignored. Even without formal voice, Smirnov’s endorsement would sway the ducal competition significantly.
So Smirnov had agreed to the covert offer.
They’d served under Sion protection for decades, but they deserved a little extra gain instead of losses.
The other side had planned the details.
The dwarves might get a bit hurt, but none would die—and if even one did, it’d be called off.
And execution was imminent.
No—when he heard moments ago that dwarf warriors had been attacked, he realized today was the day.
Longlive and Paloma’s troops would swiftly subdue the attackers, using it as pretext to declare support for Gede, and all would be...
“Mine Foreman! Foreman Smirnov!”
“What is it?”
Sensing the moment had arrived, Smirnov stepped forward sternly.
But the labor official who burst in shattered his expectations.
“Our warriors beat the attackers who ambushed them! They’ve even captured prisoners and are bringing them here now!”
“......”
* * *
The moment he saw the warriors proudly marching in with prisoners, Smirnov’s heart sank—though he’d half-disbelieved it until then.
Still hopeful, he scanned for Longlive, but even he betrayed that hope, trudging along with his head bowed.
‘Damn it!’
Pretending to stroke his beard to hide his gritted teeth, Smirnov soon locked eyes with someone.
A young knight walking just behind Longlive, leading a massive black horse two hands taller than a normal mount.
‘Smiling?’
The knight—whom he’d never seen before—smiled at him.
Smirnov’s face hardened.
He might not know the wider world well, but he knew dwarves were still a rare sight.
For this man to smile casually at him meant he was very familiar with dwarves—something only Dukedom residents, especially Sion ducal folk, tended to be.
Yet those from the Sion Dukedom—especially the ducal family—didn’t smile at the Iron Mountain Dwarves’ mine foreman.
Especially not now, amid such chaos.
‘Who the hell is this guy?’
As Smirnov felt a twinge of confusion, the knight reached him, tilting his head slightly.
“I’m Sir Seilun. You’re the Iron Mountain mine foreman?”
‘This arrogant bastard...’
Smirnov bristled.
But Longlive—arrived with the impudent young knight—stepped forward, tempering his rage.
“Seilun is of the Obla royal bloodline, Foreman.”
Smirnov flinched.
No matter their protection under the Sion ducals, they couldn’t ignore the Obla royals.
The royals had smoothed paths for them to settle in the Dukedom, after all.
“I’m Smirnov. I hold the Iron Mountain mine foreman post.”
But this was his home turf, so Smirnov squared his shoulders and intensified his already bulging glare.
The knight then stepped closer, looking down at Smirnov and whispering low—inaudible to those around, but clear to Longlive right behind.
“How much do you know of this incident Paloma planned, Foreman?”
“...!!!”
Smirnov panicked at the direct, unexpected jab.
‘You idiot!’
Longlive, watching, stifled a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut.
Just like Stalrif, Mine Foreman Smirnov had revealed his true feelings without resistance.
‘You moronic dwarf bastards! Did you all eat your ages out your asses?’
They weren’t young or low-status.
These middle-aged dwarves—equivalent to lords and key retainers among humans—were acting like green boys, making Longlive want to grab them by the collars.
But the one who’d reduced these high-status dwarves to fools, Sion, had foreseen it all.
Sion knew dwarves—especially Iron Mountain ones—better than anyone.
‘They’ve lived under our protection for generations, negotiating and conversing only with us.’
Not slaves. Equal (as they believed) partners bound by contract.
Yet the Iron Mountain Dwarves had worn the invisible chains of Sion protection for decades.
And “contract renewals” with the Sion ducals? Always the same terms dragged on.
Thus, their negotiation skills had badly atrophied.
-Sion will take care of it all.
-There’s hope, there’s hope. We lived without it during the Demon Dragon War, but...
That was exactly the state when Sion first took them in.
Could such dwarves, now decades later—safe, well-paid, eating white bread and meat soup—handle real negotiations?
Old mine foreman or not, prod them, and their hearts laid bare. (Though really, just shock.)
“Th-That... I-I... We...”
“The prisoners have already spilled everything. Sir Longlive here too.”
I didn’t!
Longlive itched to jump up and deny it, but he couldn’t utter a word.
The prisoners talking was obvious, and Smirnov’s reaction—following Stalrif’s—was proof enough.
Denying it now would just make him look foolish.
With Seilun—closest blood of not just the Sion ducals but the Longlive family too—questioning directly, he couldn’t play games.
“I-I don’t know. Truly, I know nothing.”
Yet the naive (though he’d never admit it) dwarf parroted futile denials like a mynah bird.
Sion crouched slightly.
And whispered to the foreman still stuck in “I don’t know” mode, unworthy of his years.
“Your father was Kalikoff, right? Loves the sulfur hot springs at South Mountain. And you bathed there often with him as a kid. Remember me?”
“...!?”
Suddenly hearing of his father, dead over a decade, Smirnov panicked further.
He peered closely at the young knight whispering right in his face.
“You nearly got killed as a kid grabbing a bear cub at the hot springs—mother charged in. Remember who saved you?”
“...Eek!?”
Sion pressed down on the terrified Smirnov’s shoulder and smiled.
“How’ve you been, Vodka?”
He still didn’t know what “Vodka” meant or why he was called that.
But Smirnov clearly remembered the man who saved him from the bear as a child—and that only he ever called him Vodka.
(To be continued)