Chapter 72
Chapter 72
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: On the Road to Ogust
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“The Pamell proxy lord said he would accept all the demands.”
“Understood. You’ve worked hard, sir.”
“It was no trouble at all. We gained so much from it. Honestly, I’m wondering if this is even allowed.”
Officially, he was the fair and impartial referee dispatched by the king (at least the Pamell Count family believed so without a doubt), but in truth, Juang was no different from a match-fixer who had placed massive bets on illegal sports toto, utterly shameless as he was.
As compensation for sending Juang to mediate between the two families, the king had secured significant interests and strong leverage over the Pamell Count family.
The Pamell Count family and the Sion Dukedom were the most powerful forces in the southern kingdom of Obla, and if they had truly clashed, the entire south would have descended into chaos.
Whatever the inside story, the king’s envoy had successfully mediated.
In other words, the king’s name now echoed through the south, where his influence had barely reached before.
That alone meant the king had gotten everything he wanted.
“But I don’t see Lord Sion anywhere.”
Juang, wearing a satisfied, drowsy expression like a cat that had finished a whole can of feed, asked the question, and Yonas furrowed his brow.
“What are you talking about? He left yesterday.”
“Yes?”
Juang’s half-closed eyes snapped wide open.
“He left? Ah, did he head to the dukedom first?”
“He went to Ogust Territory. Said he had to look after his subordinates.”
In my opinion, it seemed like he had found something to torment them with.
Yonas swallowed those words.
At that, Juang shot to his feet.
“Oh no. His Majesty the King said to make sure to relay a message once affairs here were wrapped up. I’ll take my leave as well, Lord Handler.”
“Following the patriarch? Very well, go ahead.”
Since Yonas knew Juang was one of the few who knew Sion’s true identity, he nodded.
“Until we meet again. Stay well.”
Even in his haste, Juang bowed politely before turning away, and Yonas watched his retreating figure, clicking his tongue without realizing it.
“Tsk tsk. He’s going to relay a message and end up tangled in something else again. Well, he’s the king’s secretary, so he’ll handle it.”
Handler of the Sion Duke family returned to the paperwork that had never been part of his fate before.
He wanted to follow Sion himself, but knowing that whatever happened there would mean even more ‘work,’ he clumsily but diligently wielded his pen.
* * *
Clop, clop.
Two black and dun horses slowly passed along a dirt path winding through dense forest.
A day had passed since parting with Yonas, and Sion had just reached the border of Pamell Count territory.
“Whoa, whoa. Let’s rest a bit.”
With no particular reason to hurry, Sion repeated the pattern of traveling an hour then resting twenty minutes.
While Blackie and Yellowie drank amiably from the stream, Sion pulled bread, jerky, apples, and wine from the backpack on Yellowie.
Spreading a blanket over a tree stump and sitting down, Sion enjoyed a late lunch while feeling the cool forest breeze.
“My appetite has definitely increased.”
He polished off a loaf of bread big enough for two grown men, two thick, chewy slabs of jerky the size of his palm, and two apples, downing half the leather flask of wine.
He had always been a big eater, but lately—precisely since seeing his ‘level’ in the North Mountain—his portions had increased by about 1.5 times.
“Is my metabolism higher now? Or is it the system’s influence kicking in fully?”
Either way, his physical abilities seemed slightly improved compared to the past.
“Well… it’s a good thing, so who cares?”
He was already certain that decades ago, neither his strength nor his physical prowess had any equal in this world.
And now, in that state, he had grown even stronger.
Of course, that ‘even stronger’ was already near-monstrous.
Sion stared at the dagger he had used to peel the apple, then without the slightest hesitation, slashed his palm.
“Heh…”
Seeing only a red line drawn on his palm with not even a scratch, Sion let out a hollow chuckle.
If it had been anyone else’s hand, the force would have split the palm in two.
At this level, he probably didn’t need armor.
“But I can’t do that.”
If others saw him unscathed even by a blade, it would cause an uproar.
Better to keep wearing chainmail or padded armor like now to avoid such hassles.
External temperatures barely affected him anyway, hot or cold, so armor was no discomfort.
“Hmm. That said, more people know about me now…”
The ministers of the Triad Eagle Castle were no issue.
They were exceptionally loyal, enough to re-register as clan members, already viewing Sion as half-divine.
Zanstrik mercenary captain Stelmann had been quite shocked, but he had half-seen Sion as his lord before, and learning Sion was the benefactor who played a decisive role in his father founding the mercenary band only made him more deferential.
Blaho was the same.
Learning that ‘Sir Sailun,’ who had made him quit the Black Eagle Legion, was none other than Duke Patriarch Sion, Blaho followed him from morning till night at the castle, begging for instruction.
Because Sion was the origin of the family swordsmanship built by his grandfather and perfected by his father.
In any case, he was as annoying as his father, so Sion had picked a day and given him a proper ‘spar.’
Not some enlightenment or great awakening—just a few cracks in his bones leaving him immobile for 3-4 weeks.
“That Juang fellow is a bit of a problem… I’ll have to say something to Marco next time I see him.”
He trusted the king, but the man had aged a lot.
Age could cloud judgment, lead to things he wouldn’t have done before.
Sion didn’t want just anyone knowing his ‘truth.’
“How many know about me now?”
Still under a hundred, probably?
According to Juang, even the king’s direct kin didn’t know—only two or three closest aides—so it should be fine for now.
As he thought that, Sion’s ears caught a noise.
“A horse? Just one. A traveler?”
Riding alone on one horse usually meant a wandering knight.
But the speed suggested a courier.
Moments later, from the bend in the path skirting the forest, a brown horse appeared galloping at a pace between trot and canter.
“Huh?”
Seeing the rider, Sion squinted one eye.
“As expected, you’re traveling slowly. It was a bit of a chore catching up.”
The rider slowed upon spotting Sion—it was none other than Juang, the king’s secretary, more capable and cool-headed than even the head of the procurement division.
* * *
“…So this Boris fellow seriously suggested to the count’s vassals that they become vassals of our duke family?”
Riding side by side, Sion echoed back the story Juang relayed.
“Yes. I didn’t expect the Pamell proxy lord to actually propose becoming true vassals to the Sion Duke family to the count’s retainers. In any case, the vassals threw a fit, so that was shot down, but the rest of the demands all passed.”
“Good. We would have refused if they’d really tried to join as vassals.”
“Hmm. Isn’t the Pamell Count family solid enough? Pretty decent, all things considered?”
“We couldn’t digest them.”
“True. Even with all that mess, once they’re vassals, openly devouring them would be a bit much.”
Liege and vassal was a contractual give-and-take.
But Sion wanted to take from Pamell Territory without giving anything back.
“Besides, do you think our dukedom’s subjects would just shrug and say ‘oh, okay’?
Pamell Count might take all the blame and die, but to them, he’s blood enemy tied to the previous duke’s poisoning. Push it, and they’ll pretend to accept outwardly, but seethe inside. Too much burden for Handler and the new ministers starting fresh.”
“You have political acumen too.”
“…What do you take me for? I’m still the founder of the dukedom.”
“I know the late Princess Stella handled most diplomacy and internal affairs.”
“……Marco told you everything, huh.”
The current king had adored and followed his aunt—Sion’s wife Stella—from childhood.
So even when she came to live in the dukedom with Sion, they exchanged letters almost monthly, keeping him informed of affairs there.
“My wife was remarkable, no denying it. Any man living with her for years would learn a thing or two unless he’s an idiot.”
“That’s not what I meant. In any case, the war between Pamell Count family and Sion Duke family is completely over. Even if no real battles happened.”
They had taken out mercenaries in the echo-less forest, but mercenaries were just mercenaries.
The elites of both families hadn’t even clashed before the war ended.
“The Sion Duke family has gained a chance to infiltrate the great Pamell Territory from the roots. Legally strip it bare while they pay reparations over the years.
In about ten years, Pamell Count territory will be virtually subjugated to Sion Duke family, vassal ties or not. Congratulations.”
“Congratu…?”
At Sion’s lowered voice, Juang flinched for the first time and turned to him.
Under the immortal superhuman’s chilling gaze, Juang felt his body hair stand on end.
“My grandsons and great-grandsons died without even natural spans. Filial ingrates worse than beasts, sure, but I killed some descendants with my own hands. You think that’s offset by nibbling some neighbor territory? Secretary Juang?”
“……My imprudent words—my deepest apologies. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll let it slide once for Marco’s sake. Don’t let your tongue run wild again.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Forgetting for a moment that Sion wasn’t a ‘typical’ lord, Juang bowed, feeling goosebumps ripple up his arms.
‘Don’t forget. Duke Patriarch Sion is the man who built his domain from the foundation with his own hands, then handed it to his son without attachment and left. Judging such a man by mortal standards—what a grave mistake on my part.’
Gulping to steady himself, Juang cautiously asked.
“By the way, is there a special reason for heading to Ogust Territory? I thought the Olot girl sends regular reports.”
“Not just for info. If my guess is right, it’s about time flies start buzzing around there.”
“Flies… plural…?”
“Do those in the royal castle who know Marco sent you here?”
“No. Officially, I’m on leave.”
“Good. But do you think knowing about Sailun—not me—is limited to Marco?”
“……You mean the royals will come looking for Sir Sailun.”
“I’ve made a name for myself here and there, half willingly half not. Given the state of affairs, a few must be curious enough to send people.”
“Hmm. Royals who can access top-grade info from guilds would likely mind His Majesty and hesitate.”
A valid point.
But Sion smirked at his highly capable yet somewhat naive(?) secretary.
“Those born noble or in high stations have the most curiosity and overconfidence. ‘What could possibly happen to me?’ The group that thinks that biggest—don’t you know?”
“…….”
Juang, knowing most high nobles and high-succession royals in the castle—nay, nine out of ten—were like that, could only shut his mouth.
“Well, I promised to help Marco with this mediation as payment, so think of it as the opening skirmish.”
“You think the succession contenders sent people?”
“Absolutely. And I’ll treat whoever they send as reps of those contenders.”
“That means…”
“Top-grade talents usually gather equals or at least second-rates around them. Third- and fourth-rates don’t use superiors—only inferiors or trash.
Judge the sender by the ones sent. Never been wrong in all my years.”