The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 127

"How… can I do that?"

After a long silence, Philon finally spoke.

Si-on didn't answer right away and instead turned his head.

Naturally, Philon's gaze followed.

There stood someone who, despite keeping his mouth shut, couldn't quite hide his surprise—Sirvan.

"That child, Sirvan, is my great-grandson. He has been designated as the next Duke of Si-on."

"……."

Both Philon and Sirvan flinched at the same time.

Philon had only thought of Sirvan as Si-on's secretary or attendant, while Sirvan had never expected Si-on to introduce him as the next duke so openly to the crown prince.

"Sirvan followed me here because, at present, there's nothing he can do in the duchy. He wanted to hone his skills in this place."

"……!"

"Yes, my grandson is similar to you, Crown Prince."

In Si-on's eyes, Philon and Sirvan were alike in certain ways.

Both were born into noble lineage, yet neither truly knew what they wanted to do.

"He's much younger than you, but he's here trying to find what he's good at.

That's why I've allowed him to try whatever he wants. For now, he's acting as my secretary, but if he wishes, I can send him to the monster-hunting division, or he can learn about the byproduct trade."

"Are you saying… you'd give me the same opportunity?"

"Oh, Crown Prince. You think I'm offering you an opportunity? No. Here, if you desire it, you can try anything."

"……."

Philon pondered for a moment before raising his head.

Biting his lip, he locked eyes with Si-on, his expression now carrying a determined resolve as he spoke cautiously.

"What if… someday, I decide that I want to become king?"

Si-on smirked.

"If you truly desire it, there's no reason I can't help."

"Truly…?"

"Yes, truly."

It was no lie.

Even in the future, if Philon truly pursued the throne, Si-on was willing to assist him.

Then what about his promise to Duke Lloyd?

From the beginning, Si-on had only promised to "get rid of the crown prince." If the crown prince happened to be absent from the capital for a year or two and the next king still hadn't been decided, that would simply mean Duke Lloyd was incompetent.

But Si-on was confident—that would never happen.

"But, this is just my opinion."

"……?"

"You understand now, don't you, Crown Prince? The Kingdom of Obla… No, this world will never return to what it once was."

"What do you mean…?"

"The monsters."

"……!"

"People call it the Monster Crisis, don't they? Do you believe this situation will calm down anytime soon?"

"I… What do you think, Duke Si-on?"

"You may call me Lord Si-on. In any case, I believe it's impossible. The kingdom, no, the world, will never return to the way it was. That means Marco—that brat… Ah, my apologies, it's become a habit. Anyway, the current king must be losing his mind right now."

The entire kingdom? No.

Si-on believed that even managing just the royal domain and the central region would already be a struggle.

"Even if the royal capital takes aggressive action, it will take at least three or four months—maybe up to a year. To completely resolve the issue? No, just to push the monsters back to their initial habitats and breeding grounds, it will take that long. Now, do you think that will be the end of it?"

Watching Philon's face grow darker—his expression gradually turning gaunt—Si-on continued.

"Of course not. A force will have to be stationed to monitor the monsters and periodically cull them. The royal capital and the kingdom's army alone can't handle that. In the end, specialized forces will have to be trained. Not just the king and his ministers, not just the lords, but many people will have to come together and deliberate on this. So, what do you think? Can you rule the kingdom while also overseeing and resolving this crisis? Do you even want to? At a time when radical—no, cataclysmic—change is inevitable?"

"No!"

The response was immediate.

Si-on chuckled internally—this was the reaction he had anticipated.

Contrary to rumors, Philon wasn’t completely incompetent, but he feared failure and despised responsibility.

And now that even his trusted uncle, Earl Rundel, had fallen from power, the idea of stepping into a situation this complex—one that would make his head spin just hearing about it—was undoubtedly unappealing.

"You like power, don't you, Crown Prince? But you understand that if you become king in times like these, you won’t be able to enjoy that power at all?"

"Uh… yes."

Faced with the pointed question of an old monster, Philon hesitated briefly before responding awkwardly.

"Then this place is perfect for you."

"…Excuse me?"

"As I mentioned earlier, use this time to figure out what you want to do and what you're good at. Two or three years, perhaps? By then, you'll have power."

"What do you mean…?"

"Clueless, aren't you? Fine, I'll give you one final hint."

"……?"

Not just Philon, but even Sirvan looked confused as they stared at Si-on.

With a meaningful smirk, Si-on spoke.

"I am the Acting Governor of Burgos. My term is not a formal four- or five-year appointment."

"That means… Ah!"

Philon's eyes widened as he finally grasped something.

At least his intellect wasn’t entirely lacking.

Si-on had invested a fortune into Burgos.

Not just the administrator but also the city's long-standing noble families had all taken Si-on’s money to expand their businesses—whether it was a pub, a brothel, a shop, or even a small farm with just a few dozen sheep.

Many of them had siphoned off a considerable portion of the funds for themselves, but under the administrator’s warnings and the pressure of the "royal" name, they at least made an effort to put on a show of doing something.

As a result, a great deal of money began circulating through Burgos.

No matter how much of a backwater it was, Burgos was still part of the royal domain. It had more flexibility than a lord-governed territory, and taxation was relatively lighter.

And when a large influx of money suddenly entered such a place?

Naturally, people would start flocking there in droves.

Given the nature of the region, most people were mercenaries, but mercenaries also needed to eat, sleep, drink—in short, they spent money. Moreover, when it came to spending, few groups were as liberal with their coin as mercenaries who lived for the present.

With money flowing and mercenaries gathering, merchants began to frequent Burgos one by one.

Although slightly smaller than most direct territories of at least military scale, Burgos—home to thousands—had always been a place where everything was in short supply: clothing, shoes, weapons, food, and even people.

However, as mercenaries and merchants flooded in, those shortages were somewhat alleviated.

Meanwhile, like a drizzle soaking clothes over time, the number of monsters and reported sightings steadily increased.

And in this world, a "safe place" was simply where there were many armed men.

Ironically, mercenaries who might turn into bandits when encountered outside became dependable "allies with swords" within the direct territory.

As word spread that the region was filled with armed individuals, more people flocked in—those seeking work, displaced people looking to settle down, and opportunists hoping for a big score.

At this point, Administrator Swart and the local notables finally understood Sir Salen’s grand vision.

Receiving investment from Sir Salen, who was rapidly gaining an impressive reputation in the southern Si-on Duchy, turned out to be an incredible stroke of fortune.

So, even though the monster crisis had erupted across the entire northeastern region, causing many mercenaries to leave, they remained unwavering followers of Sir Salen.

And now, with Si-on himself arriving as Governor, everyone in Burgos, from the administrator down to the local elite, could do nothing but declare their utmost loyalty to him.

However, even they had concerns.

Si-on was only the "interim" governor.

Being interim meant that, at best, he would remain here for a year or two—perhaps even less than a year.

If his tenure had been planned on a yearly basis, he wouldn't have been given the title of "interim".

This made the administrator and the local elite uneasy.

In the Wastelands of the Dragon, monsters continued to multiply, and it was only a matter of time before they reached Burgos’ doorstep. On top of that, for some godforsaken reason, even the orcs had started crawling down from the north.

And now they were supposed to accept that Si-on, their "interim governor," could leave at any time?

Even though his presence was reassuring, the thought of him leaving kept them awake at night.

It was like children whose father, after years working abroad, suddenly returned home bearing gifts in both hands. At first, they would rejoice, but as the days passed, their joy would turn into anxiety, fearing the inevitable moment he would leave again.

In fact, Administrator Swart was so anxious that he had chewed his fingernails down to nothing.

Then, one day, a guest arrived at their home, looking for their father.

Though he didn't look particularly trustworthy, he arrived in an expensive foreign car, flanked by dozens of bodyguards. And who was this guest? None other than the grandson of their father’s company president!

And now, this third-generation chaebol was not only going to live next door but also personally look after them whenever their father was away?

"You’ve all heard the news, haven’t you? This is Crown Prince Philon, His Highness, the grandson of His Majesty the King. From today onward, he will be staying in Burgos and assisting me in managing this territory."

"It is a pleasure to meet you all. Though my abilities are humble, I will do my utmost to assist Sir Salen and contribute to Burgos’ stability, as well as the security of the northeastern region."

Si-on gathering the administrator and the local elite to introduce Crown Prince Philon was no different from that very scenario.

"Oh my goodness! Such a blessing for our Burgos!"

"Hic…! His Excellency the Governor and His Highness the Crown Prince will take care of everything! We've had no hope until now—no hope…."

"Long live His Excellency the Governor! Long live His Highness the Crown Prince! Long live His Majesty the King!"

Administrator Swart and the local notables were genuinely moved to tears, shouting their cheers with bloodied throats.

Burgos had, quite literally, risen from the ashes like a dog.

"The Crown Prince is staying in Burgos!?"

"He’s working with the Governor? What? For at least a year!?"

The messengers sent by the northeastern lords were in an uproar.

Just a day ago.

Frustrated with the interim governor, they had planned to wait out the monster crisis and then, once things calmed down, form a "solid front of iron" to renegotiate contract terms.

But that thought vanished in an instant.

Because this wasn’t just any royal.

It was the Crown Prince.

The King’s grandson, a figure who ranked among the top five most famous people in the royal capital—albeit for all the wrong reasons—was now stationed in Burgos, assisting the governor.

‘W-we’re fucked.’

That thought struck all the messengers at once.

They exchanged glances, immediately realizing they all shared the same grim realization.

The iron-clad front they had intended to form had just crumbled to dust.

Except for one person—the messenger from the Volphart Estate, who had never joined their cause from the start.

All the others, now drenched in cold sweat, nervously glanced at the Volphart messenger. He smirked at their anxious expressions.

"Relax, I won’t say a word. I’m not one for tattling. But rather than worrying about me, you should be more concerned about the people in the inns and taverns you visited. I hear some of you got quite emotional there."

"Ah…!"

The faces of those who had drunkenly vented their frustrations turned pale.

But the worst part was that the Volphart messenger wasn’t finished talking.

"Also, I heard the knights who accompanied you have been picking fights with the Si-on Duchy’s soldiers. You sure that’s a good idea? I mean, knights testing each other’s skills in friendly bouts is one thing, but running your mouths carelessly could land you in serious trouble."

"W-wha—!?"

Water flows from higher ground to lower.

The messengers had vented their frustrations among their own men, which inevitably trickled down to the subordinates below them.

In other words:

–What? Those bastards are treating our territory like some pushover they can exploit?

–Our people are dying, getting injured, and fleeing, and they’re just looking to make a profit off of it?

–Goddamn it, this is pissing me off.

In just a single day, tensions had built up.

And with the messengers and their entourage scheduled to leave Burgos by noon at the earliest, or the day after tomorrow at the latest, it was all too obvious what their men might do when faced with soldiers from the Si-on Duchy whom they assumed they’d never have to see again.

Crash! Bang!

Two or three men lunged forward first, followed by the rest who stormed out in a frenzy.

"N-no, stop!"

"Please! Dear gods!"

Uttering desperate pleas, the messengers frantically sprinted toward the open training ground where the Peregrine Division had set up camp.

But their prayers went unanswered.

"You motherfuckers think you’re so tough? Then bring your asses up the mountain!"

A group of knights, already buzzed from drinking in broad daylight, were picking fights with warriors clad in brigandines adorned with a hawk emblem—each gripping a club (which was actually a sword) in both hands.