Chapter 48
Chapter 48
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: The Three Elf Tribes Unite
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“The High Mountain Elder has decided to join as well.”
“Understood.”
Jonas nodded at Priel’s words, but his expression wasn’t particularly bright.
Priel, whose own emotions rarely fluctuated and thus rarely considered others’ feelings, turned toward his kin without any special reaction.
“All three of the true elf tribes are attending? Isn’t this a huge deal, Uncle?”
Sirban couldn’t hide his excitement and made a fuss.
His nephew, who still knew nothing.
But unable to decide what to say—or even if he should say anything to Sirban at all—Jonas had to swallow a sigh that threatened to escape.
“Don’t make such a fuss. It’s not entirely unprecedented, so just do your job as a member of Paloma… no, Sion.”
“Yeah, yeah. Oh! Should we go build some rapport with the High Mountain Elves then?”
“Hoo… Sure.”
Sirban hurried off toward the elves.
“Are you alright, brother?”
At Pieto’s voice, Jonas gave a weary smile.
“I’m fine. We’ve secured the elves’ cooperation—what could possibly be wrong? I’m just a bit tired.”
It had been a fairly grueling march, but as a seasoned knight, he shouldn’t be this fatigued.
Yet even if his body was fine, mentally, Jonas had been utterly exhausted these past few days.
“If you’re tired, why not stay here an extra day?”
“What are you saying? We can’t do that when the Progenitor has given his orders.”
Since Sion had revealed his true identity to Pieto as well, the two had grown even closer than before.
Serving the great Progenitor directly and sharing his secrets had allowed Pieto and Jonas—despite their significant age gap—to bond like true cousin brothers.
“So, we’re heading to the ducal castle now?”
“I suppose so.”
Just as with the North Mountain, the South Mountain and High Mountain Elves were few in number. Selecting the delegation to send to the Sion ducal family’s castle of the Three-Headed Eagle would take only a few dozen minutes.
“What about the mercenaries? They’ve just been wandering around—won’t they have complaints?”
“The Stellman Mercenaries? They have zero complaints.”
“Really?”
Even though they’d been traveling together for months, Pieto was still a noble, distinct in status from the mercenaries. And they weren’t even from the same region.
Yet Pieto spoke as if he were one of the Stellman Mercenaries.
Jonas had learned during their recent travels that Pieto had gotten quite close to the mercenaries, but there was a difference between a noble simply being friendly with mercenaries and acting like he belonged to their group. It struck Jonas as a bit odd.
“How did you end up getting so chummy with those mercenaries anyway?”
“Well, fighting together tends to do that…”
“Hmm. Feeling some camaraderie, are you?”
“Who knows.”
Pieto smiled awkwardly, thought for a moment, then continued.
“It’s probably because I’m under the Progenitor, and so are the Stellman Mercenaries. There’s this sense of… kinship? Like comrades. It’s like battlefield brotherhood, as you said.”
“Kinship… Hmm?”
Jonas murmured softly, then suddenly narrowed his eyes.
“Huh? What’s wrong?”
Pieto asked, puzzled by the sudden change in expression, but Jonas shook his head right away.
“No, it’s nothing.”
In truth, it was something.
Their conversation had just made Jonas realize a new possibility.
‘No way… Could the Progenitor be planning to make Pieto…?’
No, no. That was jumping to conclusions.
Jonas tried to dismiss the thought that Sion might be using the mercenaries’ strength to position Pieto as the new ‘head’ of the ducal family.
It was already a tough road for Pieto—who’d returned to the ducal family after two generations—to be accepted as the new Sion. For him to become duke through force was simply impossible.
‘But…’
Even so, Jonas felt uneasy.
An intuition nagged at him that something he hadn’t considered was about to happen—and that it would bring drastic change to Sion.
“Hey, take a look over there, brother.”
Pieto’s words drew Jonas’s gaze to where he pointed.
Two massive gau were approaching, carrying elf warriors.
“Hm?”
Upon closer inspection, one gau had two riders, and the one seated behind seemed to spot them, leaping off nimbly.
“Sir Pieto!”
“Oh, Lit. What brings you here?”
Pieto greeted the man approaching with evident pleasure.
“I’m a subordinate of Jena, who’s guarding August Territory on the Progenitor’s orders.”
“Hm. I see.”
She was fairly pretty and sharp-looking, if put kindly—or like a sly ferret, if honest—reminded Jonas of Jena as he nodded.
Why had this person, whom the Progenitor seemed to trust enough to entrust August Territory to, sent a subordinate?
“Jena Allot, Branch Chief—er, Proxy Jena Allot’s urgent dispatch to Sir Seilun. Where is Sir Seilun?”
“Si… Sir Seilun is moving separately for now. Urgent dispatch? Has something big happened in August Territory?”
“Well, various things have come up, but… I don’t know the details. Anyway, I need to deliver this to Sir Seilun quickly.”
“Hm.”
Jonas hesitated briefly.
Even if she was a subordinate of one of Sion’s subordinates, was it right to send an outsider to Iron Mountain?
Pieto stepped forward for him.
“Brother, everything’s wrapped up here—why not all go find Sir Seilun together? He went to meet the dwarves, so if we follow the road, we might run into him midway.”
“Yeah. That’s for the best.”
There were several paths to Iron Mountain, but only one leading from there to the ducal castle.
They’d likely encounter Sion returning from his business—or they could just go to Iron Mountain and meet him directly.
“Tell Priel we need to hurry a bit.”
“Yes.”
Pieto headed toward the elves, and Jonas watched his retreating figure.
This young cousin of his was remarkably dependable for his age: quick-witted, and from what the mercenaries said, exceptional as a knight.
Plus, even the somewhat arrogant and immature nephew Sirban—who had a notoriously sharp tongue—followed him quite well, suggesting outstanding charisma.
Honestly, Jonas had been quite surprised at how quickly Pieto had befriended Sirban.
‘The other direct kin will be shocked too.’
Sirban’s temperament was infamous even among relatives.
The boy ignored anyone who didn’t suit him, acting like the world revolved around him.
For such a kid to get along with a cousin just a few years older—one they hadn’t even seen in decades—would shock more than a few direct kin.
And that shock would turn into fondness for Pieto.
‘No way… Did he plan this far ahead? Truly making Pieto… No. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions alone. Better ask the Progenitor directly.’
Jonas shook his head vigorously, as if shaking off his worries.
* * *
“Vodka.”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
After dismissing the others, Sion and Smirnov held a private meeting.
Naturally, knight Longlive and the other Labor Bureau members had looked eager to stay, but Smirnov had to send them away.
If the man before him was who he thought—who he knew for certain—then he couldn’t reveal the ‘truth’ to anyone else.
“I assume you’ve already guessed. Even as a kid, you were sharp for a dwarf.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
“That wasn’t praise.”
“……!”
Prostrated flat, Smirnov trembled.
Suffocating silence descended.
Hearing only his own heated breathing, Smirnov remained still in his bowed position.
His quick wits and sharp mind—rare for a dwarf—seemed to grind to a halt like broken gears.
“Stand up.”
“Y-Yes.”
Smirnov rose cautiously.
His eyes beheld Sion’s face, unchanged from all those years ago.
‘Is this really possible?’
The rumors he’d half-doubted, the legends he’d heard from others, felt utterly powerless before this truth.
Excitement gave way to fear, rising like storm clouds, when what he’d vaguely suspected proved real.
That fear stemmed not only from the man before him being an inscrutable being who neither aged nor died—but from the chance that this inscrutable one had seen through his schemes and was preparing ‘judgment.’
Yes. The one seated across from him now could have his head severed without any loss or harm.
“Why did you do it?”
The low, gentle voice carried an irresistible force. The Mine Foreman, leader of all Iron Mountain dwarves, shuddered violently.
This single question made everything clear.
The inscrutable one—the savior, ally, strongest sword and shield of the Iron Mountain dwarves—already knew everything.
“P-Please forgive me. I-I was foolish.”
“…I’ll hear excuses later. I asked why you did it, Mine Foreman Smirnov.”
It would’ve been better if he’d called him by that mysterious nickname, Vodka.
Using his official title meant Sion was viewing the situation not through their childhood bond, but as the Progenitor—the beginning and end of Sion.
Smirnov desperately fought his buckling knees and spoke.
“The dispute over the ducal seat dragged on, shaking Iron Mountain constantly. Deliveries fell behind, and the craftsmen dispatched to the Dukedom grew restless and dissatisfied. A-As Mine Foreman, I couldn’t just stand by. So…”
“You accepted Gede’s proposal?”
“…Yes.”
“You knew the Pamell Count family was involved?”
“I-I heard that just recently. Th-Those mercenaries were hired by the Pamell Count family… So even if problems arose, we could shift the blame to them…”
“And if Gede became duke, you could just vaguely pretend to apologize and bury it?”
“Y-Yes.”
Smirnov sweated profusely without respite.
How could someone who’d abandoned the Dukedom for decades grasp the situation so precisely, as if he’d witnessed it firsthand?
“You were told the contract renewal would adjust shares in Iron Mountain’s favor?”
“Y-Yes.”
“From 6-4 to 5-5, right?”
“P-Pardon? N-No. They said they’d raise it to 45%.”
“What?”
As Sion’s brow twitched, Smirnov paled in terror and blurted out without breathing.
“I-It’s true! I swear on hammer and shovel—they said that. Y-You can ask Longlive outside.”
“Ha…”
Sion frowned at his desperate demeanor—not from doubt.
‘These mad fools dare encroach on my retainers?’
Crack.
Sion cracked his knuckles.
At the sound, Smirnov’s face drained to ashen.
He knew all too well how strong this man—Sion incarnate—truly was.
As a child, this man had beaten two pursuing grizzly bears to death with his bare hands.
With those very fists now cracking knuckles—fists that felled even adult gau-hunting grizzlies.
And back then, too, he’d loosened his knuckles just like this before pummeling the bears.
Sensing he might share those bears’ fate today, Smirnov prostrated at light speed.
“P-P-Please forgive me! I let greed over 5% blind me into this unforgivable act. S-Spare me just once!”
“5-5.”
“…Pardon?”
Smirnov, who’d cried out desperately—nay, with his life on the line—unconsciously lifted his head.
“I’ll make it 5-5.”
“…!!!”
“But in return, Vodka—you do one job for me.”
“Anything you command.”
Far from beaten to death, Sion—the man himself—had raised their share by 10%. Smirnov bowed his head like lightning.
And in that moment of astonishing fortune—the greatest of his life—he vowed absolute loyalty from the heart.
But he had no idea.
‘I left a will anyway stipulating final shares at 5-5. If we can fully claim the Iron Mountain dwarves this way, it’s actually a gain.’
Some ruined their ties with the Iron Mountain dwarves for a 5% profit; others gave exactly what was originally planned and reaped new gains.
That was the way of the undying ancient monster.
(To be continued)