Chapter 69
Chapter 69
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: The King's Envoy
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“What’s good is good, I suppose.”
Woof woof! Meow!
With only the distant cries of dogs and cats echoing, Sion leisurely strolled through the streets of the castle town in Count Pamell’s territory, where not even a single rat could be seen, before effortlessly scaling the outer walls of the count’s castle.
“Let’s see.”
It had been nearly half a century since his last visit to the Pamell count’s castle, so things were a bit fuzzy, but Sion—whose body wasn’t the only thing immortal, but whose mind remained sharp as ever in his mid-twenties—quickly recalled old memories and located the count’s bedroom.
“Hmm. Something’s off.”
There wasn’t a single guard posted inside the castle, let alone in front of the count’s bedroom, which struck Sion as odd.
Yet his senses didn’t pick up anything unusual.
It was as if no one was patrolling at all, and everyone in the castle had fallen into a deep sleep under some mass sleep spell.
Still, Sion didn’t let his guard down completely.
When he’d taken out Gede and Hozart, he’d at least roughly gauged the enemy numbers and composition, and he’d been prepared to slaughter them all if needed.
But not this time.
He had no idea what forces lurked in the lord’s castle, and he couldn’t just kill everyone, so avoiding detection was paramount.
‘Though if I slaughter them all and leave no witnesses, that’d still count as an assassination.’
Entertaining such ruthless thoughts without a second thought, Sion quietly opened the door to the count’s bedroom.
The moment the door creaked open, he heard the faint breathing of two different people.
The bedroom was so vast that the bed was nearly ten meters from the door, but Sion could hear it clearly.
One set of breaths was very low and even, suggesting the count was sleeping with a woman beside him.
However.
‘Ho?’
The instant Sion took a step into the bedroom, the low, rhythmic breathing abruptly stopped.
He knew he shouldn’t think this way, but with an intriguing “variable” finally appearing, Sion grinned in the darkness.
Having entered without a sound, Sion fixed his gaze on the spot where the breathing had ceased.
The bedroom was shrouded in pitch blackness, without even a sliver of moonlight, but Sion could see everything perfectly.
Sion’s form grew hazy.
Without so much as twitching from the waist up, he glided forward with his feet, closing the ten meters in an instant and coming to a stop at one spot.
Snore… snore…
Beside the head of the bed where Count Pamell lay snoring lowly, someone was sitting in a chair.
It was so dark, and Sion had approached so swiftly and silently, that the man didn’t seem to notice even as Sion held a dagger to his forehead.
But that wasn’t the case.
“Honestly, I was skeptical.”
From the darkness, the man looked straight up at Sion.
“My father mentioned you in passing, and His Majesty even told me before sending me here, but it was hard to believe. A human living over a hundred years without aging? Ha…”
Letting out a light sigh, he continued with a bitter expression.
“Now I’ll have to give His Majesty 100 dien. Lost the bet.”
“That king hasn’t changed a bit despite all those years. You’re Marco’s man?”
“Yes. Officially, I’m here to mediate the dispute between the Pamell count family and the Sion duke family, but unofficially, I was ordered to meet you, Sir Sion.
Ah, is it all right to address you as Sir Sion? You’ve retired, after all, and you’re no longer Duke Highness.”
“Sure.”
Sion smirked and sheathed his dagger.
As the killing intent hovering at the man’s brow finally vanished, the man slowly stood and bowed politely.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Juwang Teber. Feel free to call me Juwang. I’m one of the Court Barons serving His Majesty, holding the position of Second Secretary.”
“Teber? Related to Kiro Teber?”
“He’s my father.”
“Ah, so that’s how you noticed me coming in.”
No wonder the face looked familiar—it was the son of one of the escorts disguised as a secretary serving the king, the last time he’d seen him about thirty years ago.
“Your father’s doing well?”
“He retired and passed away three years later.”
“I see. So why are you here? Shouldn’t you be guarding Marco?”
“My younger brother’s better at protecting His Majesty. My main role is as secretary, and I picked up a few tricks from my father.”
For someone like that, stopping his breathing the moment the door opened was proof he’d learned well from his father, who suited the assassin role more than guard.
“Anyway, why did Marco send you to me?”
The current king knew of Sion’s existence.
And with their uncle-nephew relationship still intact, Sion doubted the king had sent his close aide to interfere or annoy him.
“His Majesty instructed me to cooperate fully with you, Sir Sion.”
“Cooperate? With me?”
“Yes. Specifically, regarding any matters involving you and the Pamell count family, he said to cooperate unconditionally, no matter what actions you take.”
“Hoo.”
Sion’s relationship with the current King Marco Obla was quite good.
It had been a long time since they’d last met, but theirs was the kind of bond that didn’t change even without frequent contact.
That said, neither the king nor Sion would offer unconditional favors to anyone, given their long lives, lofty positions, and heavy responsibilities.
“Marco must have a favor to ask me.”
“…Impressive.”
“This much is nothing. You know how many years your king and I go back.”
“I was referring to His Majesty the King.”
“What?”
To Sion’s dumbfounded look, Juwang Teber lifted the corner of his mouth ever so slightly.
“His Majesty said not to relay my message unless Uncle Sion mentioned the request first. But he laughed and said you probably would.”
“Damn it.”
Sion chuckled.
The brat was still cute, even as an old man.
But whether he was over eighty or not, an uncle couldn’t just take a hit from his nephew without retaliation.
“That favor—it’s about the throne, right?”
“…Yes.”
“Why aren’t you saying ‘impressive’ now? I saw your eyebrow twitch.”
“Er, impressive. His Majesty and you truly resemble close kin.”
Somehow unable to act his age, Juwang Teber bowed his head, leaving the unspoken latter half unsaid.
“Yeah, you’re weak but got a sharp mouth and arrogant attitude, just like your old man.”
“……”
“Anyway, from what you’re doing, it seems you’ve guessed what I’m here for, right? Including waiting here ahead of time.”
“Yes. I’ve been doing this every night since arriving at the castle.”
“Good.”
Sion took a liking to Juwang.
Doubting Sion’s existence to the end, even after hearing directly from the king, showed he wasn’t blindly faithful but sensible and cool-headed.
And showing no agitation upon confirming an immortal with his own eyes meant he was mentally rock-solid.
A guy like this would handle business reliably.
Sion moved silently onto the bed. Then, like a parent tucking in a child, he pulled the blanket from under Count Pamell’s belly up to his neck.
Next, he knelt astride the count’s body, picked up a large pillow scattered on the bed, and placed it over the count’s face.
Swoosh—
Pressing down hard with his weight atop the count’s body, Sion smothered the face with the pillow.
The small-framed Count Pamell couldn’t budge under the superhuman strength that could crush a mountain lion or bear barehanded.
He pressed so forcefully that not even a muffled groan escaped.
After about three minutes, Sion stood up again.
Whether from suffocation under the soft pillow, the count’s eyes were wide open, his mouth smeared with drool, but otherwise his face looked remarkably peaceful.
“Handle the cleanup. Low smell—he only pissed himself, no shit.”
“…Yes.”
“I’m off. I’ll come back with the kids in a couple days. Can you finish by then?”
“I’ll clean up the successor candidates too. You’ll choose yourself?”
“Yeah. See you.”
With a casual wave, Sion slipped out the bedroom door as silently as he’d entered.
A moment later, Juwang wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“A monster. Thank goodness I didn’t inherit the family business.”
He’d stopped breathing the instant the door opened, and Sion had looked straight at him upon entering.
Judging by that movement on the approach, if he’d wanted, he could’ve plunged a dagger between Juwang’s eyes the moment the door opened.
“If Duke Sion targeted His Majesty’s life…”
Even if his late father came back to life and the three of them attacked together, they probably couldn’t stop him.
“No, better to think the other way.”
In the current king’s nearly sixty-year reign, had there truly been no attempts at rebellion or assassination?
Surprisingly, none.
At least, none that had ever surfaced.
Everyone chalked it up to good luck, and Juwang had been one of them—until tonight, when he glimpsed part of the truth.
“Terrifying, truly.”
How many such “favors” and “deals” had the king and Duke Sion exchanged over the past sixty years?
Juwang smiled wryly without realizing it, then slightly furrowed his brow.
The urine stench from the dying count was quite pungent.
Surveying the count’s corpse and the bed, Juwang pondered for a moment before moving.
“Lord Count woke briefly in the night feeling hungry. He tried to call a servant, but then he spotted the fruit tray here.”
Juwang reached out, picked up a few fruits from the tray, and dropped them onto the bed.
“His throat was dry too, so he decided on grapes. He plucked the largest, ripest one like this.”
Juwang detached a large grape and shoved it straight down the dead count’s throat.
“Oh dear… Unfortunately, still half-asleep, the grape got lodged in his throat.”
Juwang began the “cleanup” he’d promised Sion.
* * *
The next morning.
The count’s body was discovered in the bedroom, dead from choking on a large grape.
With the Pamell count family on the verge of marching out, chaos erupted as expected, and the vassals and officials—thinking the worst was over—plunged into collective panic as their stress ballooned tenfold.
An unprecedented incident: the lord dying on the day of departure.
If not for the myriad incidents they’d endured over the past month, the count family’s vassals might have been shocked but regained composure and swiftly discussed countermeasures.
But imagine a company worker who’d slaved away on a project for a month, finally wrapping it up and about to head off on a six-day, four-night Southeast Asian vacation.
—Hey, sorry, but the client canceled. Start from scratch. Come in now.
How would that feel?
Then, five minutes later, in the taxi rushing to the office after snapping out of panic.
—This is the client’s deputy manager. We’ll handle it, so go enjoy your vacation.
How about that?
Exactly.
While the Pamell count family’s vassals screamed in shock and terror as if the sky had fallen (and indeed, a sky-like great lord had died), there was no client deputy manager—but there was Juwang, secretary of the Obla Kingdom.
(To be continued next time)