Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 87
Chapter Title: The Ancestor's Discipline
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*Slap!*
*Ugh!*
*Smack!*
*Gah!*
Calvert tumbled across the office floor, unable to pull himself together.
What in the world was happening to him right now?
Was this really reality?
It hurt so much.
Blood? A broken tooth? Was that mine?
“Stand up.”
The chilling voice alone made his body hair stand on end, dragging Calvert back to reality.
“Nuh… m-muh muh…”
The shock that rattled his skull, the agony of his mouth torn open and teeth shattered—it all kept him from speaking properly.
But the young man who had worn a faint smile until entering the office now seized Calvert by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and delivered another slap.
*Smack! Slap!*
After four more back-and-forth strikes with palm and backhand, Sion flung Calvert—eyes rolling, blood-mixed drool spilling from his mouth—onto the sofa.
A moment later, cold water poured over Calvert’s head. He jolted awake, his dazed mind snapping back to clarity.
“Ugh! Uuuugh…!”
His first instinct upon regaining his senses was to scramble like a bug to the edge of the sofa and curl into a ball.
This sudden, overwhelming violence was something Calvert—born heir to the Sion Rozin family and raised like a prince for over thirty years—simply couldn’t endure.
“Mnyah… Y-you dare hit me… Hic!”
As Sion sat down opposite him, Calvert flinched in terror, hunching tighter and shielding his head with both hands.
“Hey.”
“……?”
“Lift your head. Or your leg goes flying.”
*Gasp!*
At Sion’s warning, Calvert recoiled in fright and slowly lowered his hands, raising his head.
His face now puffy and swollen, Calvert stared blankly as Sion gazed at him impassively.
“You’re wondering what this is all about, right? Probably think I’ve lost my mind. But here’s what you need to know. There are at least three reasons I can beat you like this. Reasons why I could even kill you right here and now, and nothing would happen.”
“Tha… ugh….”
“The name I go by in the world is Jang Oblas Sailun. That’s right—royal blood. Your great-great-grandfather’s mother’s brother. Brother to the Hero King.”
“……!”
Even though the line had split off generations ago, the Sion Rozin family was still treated as direct kin by the dukedom.
Which meant he couldn’t possibly be ignorant of the royal family tree or the duke’s lineage. He’d learned from childhood how the Sion Rozin house had begun.
“I’m the full proxy delegate, authorized by the current king and the Sion duke family’s handler. For certain matters, I can do whatever I please.
That alone gives me the authority to punish you—not just for incompetence, but for deliberately shirking your duties and responsibilities as mayor of Rozin.
But that’s not the end of it. That wouldn’t be enough for me to beat you, would it? Not you, the mayor of Rozin, bearer of the Sion Rozin name.”
Staring straight into Calvert’s eyes, which trembled ceaselessly with confusion and fear, Sion continued.
“Get a grip and look at me. Look right at my face.”
Sion could view the levels and stats of other registered clan members.
But absurdly, he could only check his own level—nothing else.
It seemed tied to that ‘error’ message from the Shionia reconquest, displayed in multiple languages.
For whatever reason, he couldn’t access detailed stats like strength or agility, nor his innate talents.
Everything came out as garbled numbers and letters.
At least he had over ten talents as a consolation?
Among his twelve talents and specialties, Sion had noticed one particularly unusual.
Something he’d long suspected, now officially recognized as a ‘skill’ upon status window activation?
Anyway, the ability Sion was certain was a skill was ‘Intimidation.’
“Look at my face.”
He hadn’t experimented enough to be sure, but for now, it worked: infuse words with ‘force’ against someone of lower level, psychologically cowed or confused, and they’d obey.
Not like hypnosis where they’d do anything ordered.
Complex actions were impossible—just simple commands for a fleeting moment.
And for Calvert, already broken in spirit, that was plenty.
“Uh… uuuuh…!?”
Calvert’s eyes, fixed fearfully on Sion’s face, slowly widened.
He was, after all, born into a family bearing ‘Sion’ as a middle name.
No way he’d never seen portraits of the great founder who started the duke family.
Perhaps it was etched in his DNA, or maybe the intimidation clouded his normal judgment.
Either way, under its pressure, the moment Calvert realized the man who’d just unleashed hellish violence on him looked exactly like the founder’s portrait…
“F-Fou… Founder niim…?”
He accepted Sion’s true identity.
“Do you get it now? Why I could kill you right here and face no consequences? Descendant of Suo.”
Jang Suo. Sion’s third son, Calvert’s great-great-grandfather.
The third son, who passed years before eldest Theo, always harbored inferiority toward his father and big brother.
Yet with a kind heart and strong sense of duty, he’d diligently developed Rozin.
Then a freak carriage accident took him, leaving Sion unable to be at his final moments like with Theo. Heartbroken, he showered Suo’s children—grandkids—with unseen favors.
Rozin becoming the dukedom’s third port city after Paloma and Flan, and the main house overlooking the Sion Rozin descendants’ half-hearted efforts—all stemmed from that.
But seeing Calvert and Rozin’s reality, Sion realized.
Had he stayed close, pouring love and favor directly, it wouldn’t have come to this.
He’d merely indulged Suo’s line with neglect disguised as love and favor.
“Who’s to blame? It’s all on me. But descendant of Suo, you’ve crossed the line. Incompetence is one thing. But you went further.”
“Fo… Founder nim… mercy… have mercy….”
As a child, Calvert had visited the Three-Headed Eagle Castle, played with young direct-line cousins, and heard tales of the ‘immortal founder who neither ages nor dies.’
He’d laughed it off growing up, but learning his own father and grandfather had heard the same stories gave him chills.
Then he’d forgotten it all.
Until now.
He understood.
The man before him was Founder Duke Jang Sion.
How could he be sure?
- Will you rejoin as a Sion clan member?
Strange text appeared before his eyes.
He couldn’t even read it, but Calvert knew the founder was granting him one last chance.
“I… I…”
Tears welling, as Calvert tried to speak—
*The door burst open!*
A group entered the office without knocking.
* * *
“A private audience?”
“Yes. He had an authenticated letter stamped with the duke family and handler’s seals. Even a confirmation bearing King Obla’s personal mark.”
That made him a state envoy-level VIP.
If the Sion Dukedom were normal, he could meet the duke himself.
For Rozin’s mayor—a mere appendage city—it wasn’t just permission; granting an audience elevated their status.
“But still.”
“This is a critical time for Rozin. How can we leave the mayor alone?”
Bellin and Miuran’s words furrowed the city official’s brow. He was one of the higher-ups not swayed by Yazan.
“You’re being too harsh. Even if you’re Yazan envoys, can you equate yourselves to one bearing King Obla’s personal confirmation? Is Yazan that powerful?”
“…….”
The pair grimaced and fell silent.
Yazan had boomed in recent years.
But among the inner sea’s nations and territories, mighty Obla ranked top three. Yazan—a rich city-state, mere great territory in scale—was seen as several tiers below.
“Anyway, the mayor said to send you up as soon as you arrived. So go if you want.”
Irritated by the Yazan group led by Bellin and Miuran, the official grumbled and turned away.
“That bastard…”
“Hold it, dear. He’ll be out of his post in days anyway.”
At Bellin’s urging, Miuran—pirate temper flaring—cracked her neck side to side and took deep breaths.
“Phew! Right. Let’s head up. That grand envoy might screw something up?”
“Heh! Won’t change a thing. Still, greetings and face-time can’t hurt. Fun imagining that smug envoy’s face crumbling later.”
Convinced it was all over, the pair dismissed their Yazan mercenary guards and headed to the mayor’s office.
Oblivious that the old monster schooling his descendant inside knew they were coming—even their hallway chat.
Without knocking, they threw open the door.
And saw.
The mayor, face a bloody mess, tears streaming. Before him, a poised young man sat like it was his room, beckoning them casually.
“……!”
“Wha… what?”
Extreme shock freezes the mind.
That was Bellin and Miuran.
Sure, maybe the mayor got ambushed here—who knows. But the obvious culprit lounged comfortably, even waving them in.
“The Yazan punks causing trouble—you guys? Come here.”
“You… wh-what… who the hell….”
“You crazy bastard…?”
Bellin, no pushover herself, still reeled in shock as a woman. But Miuran—pirate who’d seen and done it all—rushed him fast.
But she shouldn’t have reached for that cutlass.
Fancy-looking, but it had drunk human blood dozens of times—sailor’s blade.
*Thwack!*
Less than a second after the sofa man blurred—
Miuran felt brutal impacts to her left side and right jaw, crumpling on the spot.
“Eek!”
Bellin—clueless where her brutal pirate lover got hit—legs gave out, and she collapsed.
(To be continued)