Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The Administrator Arrives
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“Hey.”
“Y-Yes? Me?”
The remaining guard, already numb from Sion’s nonchalant attitude despite the massive incident, jumped in surprise and unwittingly spoke in a deferential tone.
“Take rough care of those bastards. They won’t die, but leaving them like that will turn them into cripples.”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
The guard hurriedly tended to the thugs crawling on the floor like insects. He had no idea what to do with their shattered bones, but for now, he at least made them as comfortable as possible, laying them down or propping them up.
“Ugh... Hic...”
Sion drummed his fingers on the table as he listened to the innkeeper’s sobs, tears streaming down his face as he leaned against the corner of the pub.
‘This place is run by an administrator, not a lord, right?’
Regions governed not by all-powerful lords—who wielded near-absolute authority in their domains akin to kings—but by administrators dispatched or appointed from the capital tended to have more systematic laws and administration than typical fiefdoms.
That was one reason Sion could hand over the royal family token to the guard without hesitation.
Of course, he hadn’t done so naively, relying solely on that.
‘Burgos. A backwater town, but it’s going to be incredibly important to me.’
People in this world paid little attention to a rundown village like this.
But it was different for Sion.
As Der Kios had said, the Dragon Wasteland would become a vital quest zone that any user had to visit.
‘I need to get in early. At least secure some influence here.’
That was precisely why Sion had bothered handing the royal token to the guard.
‘Even if that guy runs off with it, no big deal. The innkeeper selling my horse without permission is a bit weak as leverage.’
A guard daring to steal a royal family token?
It would give them legal grounds to interrogate (and beat) the responsible parties.
Of course, the best outcome was the guard delivering it to a high-ranking official here.
That had been the primary goal from the start, and no administrator—not a lord—would be insane enough to ignore the royal family.
‘Let’s see how this plays out.’
Sion’s plan had effectively begun the moment he arrived in Burgos.
* * *
“What’s this?”
The guard captain, in his early forties, picked up the metal plate the guard presented with a bored expression.
“W-Well, sir...”
The guard trailed off with a troubled look.
By the book, he should report everything honestly and show those rowdy mercenaries in the city streets the full might of public authority.
But doing so would execute justice at the cost of exposing his little side hustle.
“Hm? This is...”
The captain’s eyes sharpened as he examined the plate.
Relieved that his superior’s attention was fixed on the plate, sparing him from confessing his side gig, the guard inwardly rejoiced.
“Do you recognize it, sir? The guy from the Cactus Pub said to bring someone who could.”
His boss, a former mercenary who’d traveled widely in his youth, would surely know what it was...
“It’s real gold? Pure gold. Well, now...”
The captain dashed the guard’s hopes, his eyes briefly gleaming with greed.
But he wasn’t an idiot, so he quickly suppressed it.
Even setting aside who might possess a pure gold token, someone casually handing it over wasn’t ordinary.
Preferring a long, steady gain over a momentary one—wanting a smooth retirement as a rural guard captain—he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Ahem! Anyway, the guy... er, the gentleman who gave you this said to bring someone who could recognize it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm. No way he’d say that for nothing. And there’s gotta be a reason for the commotion, right?”
No one had died, but several were badly injured—was calling it a mere “commotion” accurate? The guard quickly replied anyway.
“The thing is, the Cactus Pub owner said...”
The guard concisely relayed the sequence of events as explained by the inn’s boy.
“...And that’s how it happened.”
The captain, who had listened with a slightly stiffened expression while stroking his chin beard, furrowed his brows.
“Good grief. Bottom line, he sold off a guest’s horse without permission, right?”
“W-Well, technically yes, but...”
“Technically, my ass. I told you, we only look at cause and effect. Circumstances are for the administrator to judge, not us.”
Well-packaged, but it boiled down to a cover-up.
The guard admired his captain’s astute political instincts, honed over a decade of holding the post without issue.
“As expected, wise, sir. So we handle it that way...?”
“Yeah. Pass it along. Feels like nothing good comes from getting tangled up. Send guys to keep an eye on that guy... er, gentleman loosely, and grab the thugs and the innkeeper too. Oh, give ‘em basic treatment so they don’t drop dead right away.”
“Got it. I’ll head to the administrator right now.”
The guard turned, once more filled with admiration and respect for his captain, who cleanly dumped the responsibility without a second thought.
“No, wait. Let’s go together. You’ll just get brushed off alone.”
“Captain...”
Moved by his leader’s refusal to shove blame onto a subordinate—a true captain’s demeanor—the guard was overcome with emotion.
“Heh. It’s just what’s right. Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir!”
But he didn’t know it was the captain’s shrewd calculation: no good came from deep involvement, but dipping a toe in might snag a small reward.
* * *
“What’s this?”
“Yes. Well, this is...”
Ten-odd minutes ago, the guard captain had shown the exact same reaction to the administrator.
Burgos’s administrator was a noble, but not a titled lord.
Nor was he directly dispatched from the palace, but the captain stood rigidly at attention, reporting politely.
Because the post rotated among the old local powerhouse families in the region.
“...So, I brought it myself, thinking it best for you to see and judge directly.”
“Is that so? Hm, let me see...”
The administrator, monocle wedged between his sunken cheek and puffy eyelid, examined the token.
‘He could just look at it normally.’
Knowing the impractical monocle was to emphasize his noble status—however minor a rural lordling he was—the captain kept such thoughts to himself.
“A lion with a sword in its mouth. Hmm, looks familiar...”
The administrator paused while turning the pure gold token over.
“Do you recognize it? Seems from a prominent house, given the solid gold.”
The captain congratulated himself on not handling it rashly himself as he asked.
“Where!?”
The administrator shot to his feet, shouting, startling the captain.
“P-Pardon? Where?”
“Where is he? The one who had this!”
“Ah, yes. We’ve got him... er, waiting at the Cactus Pub for now.”
Grateful he’d sent soldiers for surveillance rather than arrest, the captain smoothly rephrased.
“Well done. Let’s go. Hurry!”
“Yes, sir. After you.”
Some count’s second son, was it? Excluding a knight from a major capital powerhouse family a decade ago, the administrator had never once rushed to meet anyone first. The captain moved swiftly.
And since it was wise to gather info on a potential “small reward” source, he cautiously asked while hurrying along.
“By the way, what noble house is it? My knowledge is limited; I had no clue...”
The administrator halted mid-stride and turned, eyeing the captain with a mix of contempt and pity. The captain regretted asking, smacking his lips.
“You ignorant fool. Even a guard captain should know this crest.”
‘You didn’t recognize it at first either.’
One couldn’t point out a boss’s minor slip, so the captain gave an awkward smile.
But he froze, smile intact, at the administrator’s fervent voice.
“The royal family! The royal family of our Obla Kingdom!”
* * *
“Ohhh! My pride! Burgos’s pride! The great kingdom’s pride! What brings such a noble figure from our esteemed royal family to this humble place!?”
The administrator, practically flying over lightly on his feet, bowed obsequiously before Sion—who sat with arms crossed in a chair—like a reed in the wind.
‘What’s this now?’
Sion had expected a high official like a lord or administrator if the guard didn’t bolt with the token, but not this reaction. He found it a bit absurd.
Seeing it would smooth things over, though, he replied calmly.
“Are you the administrator here?”
Used to archaic speech depending on the interlocutor, Sion’s question made the administrator bow quickly.
“Yes. I am Inolla Schwartz, appointed by His Majesty the King as Burgos’s fourth-generation administrator.”
“Pleased to meet you, Administrator Schwartz.”
Sion merely nodded from his seat in response to the courteous greeting. He hadn’t even given his name or exact status.
It was rude for someone appearing mid-twenties to treat a man over forty thus, but no one—including the administrator—dared object.
On the contrary, it erased the administrator’s lingering doubts.
‘Likely a branch member, but royal blood for sure. The attire, the behavior. Certain.’
As rural gentry, he and his family were hypersensitive to true nobles’ manners and lifestyles.
Thus, he instantly recognized Sion’s leather armor, boots, and waist sword as top-quality despite their worn appearance.
“I’ve heard the gist from the guard captain.”
“Good. I’d have been annoyed to explain it again.”
“Oh dear! We wouldn’t dream of such discourtesy. I’ll handle this properly. I’ll ensure your journey to the capital is free of any inconvenience.”
“If you handle it well, only good words about Burgos will spread in the capital. The palace too, of course.”
Spot-on, Sion gave the answer the administrator craved.
The man’s smile deepened.
“I’m deeply grateful for your words, milord. First, I’ll get the precise details from the innkeeper.”
“Do that.”
The administrator bowed politely to Sion and approached the innkeeper, subdued alongside the thugs in the pub’s corner.
After low threatening murmurs and barked demands lasting mere minutes, he returned to Sion.
Sion narrowed his eyes at the administrator’s expression.
Unlike his confident departure, the man now looked thoroughly flustered.
“Sorry for the wait, milord.”
“No matter. Something didn’t go smoothly, it seems?”
“Well, you see...”
Unable to hide his distress, as the administrator trailed off, Sion spoke lowly.
“Administrator. Whatever it is, tell me straight. The royal family bows to no one in this kingdom.”
“Ahem! If you insist, I’ll trust you, milord. The innkeeper sold your horse to the Kilburn Barons.”
“Kilburn Baron family?”
Ordinary enough name, yet vaguely familiar; Sion tilted his head.
“Yes. The lordly family of nearby Logos Territory. One of their sons took it as a birthday gift.”
“Hmm...”
Sion uncrossed his arms, feigning thought as he drummed the table.
A minor gesture, but to the watching administrator in this moment, it was anything but.
He pressed on quickly.
“As the clear victim, milord, we can’t further inconvenience you. I’ll send someone to the Kilburn Barons at once. They paid, but it’s stolen property nonetheless; they return the money, you get your horse back.”
He forced a smile, but Sion caught the subtle shift in tone from before.
“Is that so? Sounds uncertain, though.”
“...!”
Flinching, the administrator sighed.
“Whew... Embarrassing, this. As you know, milord, I’m Burgos’s administrator, but I can’t order around a lordly house. And the Kilburns have been Logos lords since before the Demon Dragon War...”
In short, they outranked him.
He could bully minor locals, but commanding a house with history, tradition, and prestige? Absurd for an untitled administrator.
Forget orders—even requests, or speaking first, depended on circumstance in this world’s reality.
‘Yet he offers to send someone anyway?’
One or both: he dislikes the Kilburns, or wants to impress Sion more than expected.
The latter was clear from his initial reaction; now confirm the former.
“A proud lordly house hearing of an unsavory incident from years ago? Unless it’s another noble, they’ll just beat you and chase you off—if you’re lucky.”
“Ahem.”
The administrator’s mere throat-clearing, without denying the slight on the barons’ reputation, confirmed Sion’s hunch.
“Don’t bother sending someone and complicate things. Come with me. How about it?”
“Oh! If you say so, milord, I’ll gladly follow your will.”
One might expect feigned regret, but the beaming smile made Sion smirk.
With this, the Burgos administrator owed him a debt.
(Continued in the next chapter)