Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: Time Out!
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In truth, it wasn't normal for the vassals of the Pamell Count family to follow someone like Chief (Dung) Secretary Juang.
An independent territory—no, not some tiny little fiefdom, but a decently prosperous great domain like the Pamell Count family, which held four vassal lords? For its retainers to rely on the king's closest aide (or as it's better known, his hunting dog), the secretary?
Under normal circumstances, the count's direct kin and vassal lords would all rise up in revolt and beat him to a pulp.
But the situation facing the Pamell Count family right now was extraordinarily unique.
If it had simply been the great lord's death, there'd be no room for the chief secretary to meddle.
No matter how much he was an envoy sent by the king, the king's secretary was ultimately just an outsider with neither the reason nor the qualifications to interfere in funeral proceedings or succession issues.
But what if the great lord had died after gobbling down a massive dose of laxatives to finally cure a decades-old chronic constipation that had been the family's long-standing curse?
And what if, while racing to a distant toilet with his guts churning out yellow sludge in sprays, he'd grabbed the doorknob only to shit himself not just from his ass but his mouth as well, collapsing dead on the spot?
What if that decades-old backed-up turd had splattered onto everyone around him who was trying to support him?
That's exactly what had happened in the Pamell County.
The mercenary band the count had hired at great expense seemed to have been wiped out.
Contact with the insider from the opposing side, whom the count had actively collaborated with, had also been cut off.
The forces from the vassal lords, whom the count had forcibly assembled at great strain, had consumed massive military funds for over a month without result and caused all sorts of incidents along the way.
And the count himself had suddenly died right before a war whose victory he couldn't guarantee.
That alone was enough to drive anyone mad, but to top it all off, the opponent was the Sion Dukedom—the one that had unilaterally thrashed them even back in the old days when they were thought to be in the same weight class.
That terrifying foe was now barreling toward them, bulked up by four or five weight classes from diligent training, flexing its muscles all the way.
The Pamell Count family's retainers had only one choice.
Ding!
"T-Time!"
It was a pathetically shabby performance, considering they (more precisely, Count Pamell himself) had personally thrown the opening ball to start the match.
And their desperate, feeble voices didn't even reach the three-headed eagle, who was thoroughly enraged.
But by the grace of heaven, they had Chief (Dung) Secretary Juang—the referee—not in the center of the ring, but right by their side.
And so, the Pamell County retainers, covered head to toe in the decades-old shit that the count had sprayed everywhere, had no choice but to cling to the referee.
"Time! Time, please! At least let us wash off the shit!"
"Our fighter suddenly died! What? You say we have backups? Our d-direct kin? Would any of you like to fight Sion in the count's place?"
A few scrawny middle and high schoolers who'd been spitting everywhere at school tentatively raised their hands while reeking of the count's shit.
"But our opponent bulked up to heavyweight. You sure you're okay with that? For reference, our previous count—lightweight contender that he was—got his ass handed to him."
Their hands vanished at the speed of light.
"No one's available! We have no replacement fighter! We did, but not anymore, yes!"
"What? If the match is stopped, we'll have refund costs? But there are no spectators? Oh, to the opponent? Ugh, we have to pay it! Of course we do!"
Crushed by immense stress, their reason half-flown, the retainers just wanted to escape this agony as soon as possible.
And right beside them was the painkiller named Juang, sent straight from the royal palace at just the right timing. Without a moment's hesitation, they reached for the painkiller.
The painkiller's effects were remarkable.
But they had forgotten that misusing drugs always leads to serious consequences, no matter the time or place.
* * *
"You're the king's secretary?"
"Yes. It's regrettable that our first meeting is in such circumstances, but allow me to greet Sion's handler. I'm Juang Teber."
"Yonas Sion here. I'm regretful as well, Secretary Teber. Ah, of course."
Yonas, who had been treating Juang with cool indifference, turned his head slightly and shot a chilling glare.
"Your side is regretful too."
The same word "regretful," but the front and back felt entirely different.
It was like that magic (bullshit) word used both when apologizing and receiving apologies?
While Juang Teber and Yonas gave off a vibe of mutual respect—though not exactly warm and friendly—the man now meeting Yonas's gaze felt clear hostility and bowed his head with a bitter expression.
"I have nothing to say. For now, I apologize."
"For what?"
At Yonas's question, Boris Pamell—the 'temporary' acting lord—swallowed a sigh and replied.
"I apologize for everything."
Boris Pamell, the count's eldest son and internal affairs officer of the county, had opposed his father the great lord's decisions so vehemently that he'd ended up imprisoned in a tower.
When the count died and the retainers had to deal with some direct kin who were cluelessly angling for the great lord's seat, Juang had personally recommended him as the responsible party.
His status as the count's eldest son and legitimate heir was solid, and since he'd opposed the war to the end— even getting forcibly imprisoned by the count—he was perfect as a scapegoat for the Sion Duke family.
Moreover, the reason for installing him 'temporarily' was precisely to ease him out naturally later.
Isn't it natural for a son to clean up his father's shit?
Parental debts are inherited by the heirs, aren't they?
Boris knew exactly what those retainers were calculating.
He knew he was the responsible party, the sacrificial lamb, and the punching bag who would absorb all the blame before exiting stage left.
And yet, he'd accepted Juang's proposal.
'For our family... for the territory to survive, I have to do this.'
The saying "no worthy son under a foolish father" didn't hold in this case. Sometimes, a tiger of a son could be born under a foolish parent.
"Everything, you say... Does that include the crimes your father committed against the duke family and the dukedom?"
Yonas had heard the details of Count Pamell's end from Sion, but thinking he'd gotten off too easy, Yonas held nothing back.
Can't hold him accountable because he's physically dead?
Then I'll burn down whatever honor he has left.
"Of course. Instigating Sir Gedé Sion and collaborating in treason. Procuring and delivering the poison that led to the deaths of the previous duke and his sons. Hiring mercenaries to invade the dukedom's territory without any notice or permission.
As representative of the Pamell Count family and acting lord of the territory, I beg forgiveness for all of it."
"......"
If he'd tried even a hint of excuse, Yonas—who would have defied Sion's orders for the first and last time, even at the cost of his head later—found himself at a loss for words.
He hadn't expected such a direct, specific apology.
This made it awkward for their side to press further.
When the son who'd opposed his dead father to the end apologized so frankly and humbled himself, pushing harder would just make Yonas look petty.
"Sion handler, sir."
"Hm?"
Yonas, who had been scowling fiercely, turned his head.
"I believe you've confirmed that the Pamell Count side is apologizing sincerely. Correct?"
"Well... yes."
Boris's face lit up with relief for a moment.
But he didn't yet fully grasp Chief (Dung) Secretary Juang, who was even more cold-blooded and ruthless than Head Secretary Ju.
"However, a mere verbal apology means nothing. Do you agree, Acting Lord Pamell?"
"...I agree."
Juang nodded lightly and turned back to Yonas.
"Please state the demands of the Sion Dukedom publicly."
"Ahem!"
Confirming once more that the referee(?) was on their side, Yonas pulled documents from his breast pocket.
"The demands of our Sion Dukedom are as follows.
One, write down the full truth of this incident without omission or alteration: one copy to the Pamell Count family, one to the Sion Duke family, and one to the royal palace.
One, post the document at all city gates of Pamell County's castle town and the capital of Sion Dukedom, Shionia.
One, extradite to Shionia within one month all members of the Pamell Count family involved in the poisoning of the previous Sion Duke and his sons.
One, the Pamell Count family cedes territory from the northernmost border of the Echo-less Forest to the Nebel River to the Sion Duke family.
One, the Pamell Count family compensates the Sion Duke family with 40 million dien. However, the compensation shall be paid in installments over 10 years.
One...."
As the Sion Duke family's demands continued—totaling ten items in the end—Boris's face grew paler and paler.
"...Those are Sion's demands. Speak if you have any objections."
"...C-Could you reduce the compensation a bit?"
"Not a single dien less than 40 million."
"P-Please. Even paying 4 million dien a year over 10 years could bankrupt our county. If we go bankrupt, won't the Sion Duke family suffer losses too?"
Boris pleaded pitifully, as if clutching at Yonas's trouser leg.
Yonas, who was a bit weak with numbers and whose demands had been hastily drafted due to time constraints (though of course verified and approved by the progenitor himself), hesitated without an immediate reply.
At that moment, the referee stepped in again.
"The late Count Pamell effectively owned a great deal of real estate in King's City. Under other names, of course. And I'm told there are bonds in the Brelian Bank private vaults under his in-laws' names. Liquidate those."
"Ah...?"
"Hm. It seems the acting lord was unaware. Well, they were effectively the previous count's property, just under other names. Names the acting lord knows quite well, in fact."
"Me?"
"Yes. Sir Sten, the acting lord's younger brother, and Baroness Orlena, the acting lord's mother."
"......"
Boris's bewildered face froze solid. Then, very slowly—agonizingly slowly—it twisted into something grotesque.
Orlena was the count's concubine who had formally entered the family register as his second wife at the start of this year.
And Sten was the son she'd borne—the baby brother to Boris by over 30 years.
That's right.
Count Pamell had locked his tiger of an eldest son in a tower while planning to leave a fortune worth millions or tens of millions to the youngest son from his concubine.
All while, over the past month, massive military expenditures had piled up, with the castle retainers and officials screaming that they were dying.
"Haha... ha... huuuu!"
Letting out an involuntary hollow laugh through his grotesquely contorted face, Boris took a deep breath.
Then he fixed Yonas with a gaze that was somewhat steadier now, but flickering with an unidentified, eerie light.
"Would you like to take even more compensation?"
The nature of that light was madness.
"If you dispose of the scum bearing the Pamell name whom I point out, we'll accept all demands. Hell, we'll even become vassals of the Sion Dukedom."
It was the overwhelming madness of one betrayed and wounded by his father and family.
(To be continued)