The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 128

Si-on had decided to send Crown Prince Philon to Burgos after his conversation with Duke Lloyd.

Two rightful heirs of the royal family, competing for the next throne.

Normally, such matters would only end when one of them perished—whether physically or socially.

However, Si-on had no intention of dealing with Crown Prince Philon in such a manner.

He was the Crown Prince, after all.

If he were to handle such a high-profile figure—one who commanded the attention of both the capital and the royal palace, for better or worse—it would inevitably attract overwhelming scrutiny and plunge everything into chaos.

Even if their status and rank were high, handling figures like Gede or Count Pamel, who were merely regional concerns, was an entirely different matter compared to the repercussions this would bring.

Would Si-on, who prided himself on being a ‘mastermind,’ ever make such a choice?

It was out of the question.

Didn’t Crown Prince Philon send Baron Botan?

That was Earl Rundel’s doing. And as for Baron Botan—that foolish man—he didn’t even realize he was sticking his head into a tiger’s mouth and showed ‘killing intent,’ which led to his death.

By eliminating Baron Botan, Si-on not only sent a warning to Earl Rundel but also successfully lured Philon to Burgos.

As a result, he held no particular grudge against the Crown Prince, who had merely been used.

In fact, the situation had worked out so well that Si-on had completely severed Philon from Earl Rundel, making their relationship start not at a negative but at a neutral ‘zero.’

Of course, that was Si-on’s perception of the situation. From Philons’s perspective, however, his view of Si-on had shifted to a ‘positive.’

Thus, Si-on’s decision to ‘send’ Crown Prince Philon to Burgos was executed entirely by the Crown Prince’s own free will—without any coercion that Si-on had initially planned to use depending on the situation.

Si-on was satisfied.

He would have to take care of Philon for a while, but since everything had been resolved peacefully—without anyone shedding blood (except for Earl Rundel, who didn’t count)—there was no reason not to be satisfied.

That was, until Crown Prince Philon mentioned what he wanted to do first.

* * *

“…You want to do what?”

“I want to see the Great Monster Hunting Division in action. If possible, I’d like to participate as well.”

Si-on frowned at Philon’s request and asked again with a reluctant expression.

“You do remember that you’re still the Crown Prince, right? Hm? That you’re the grandson of the King?”

To put it in perspective, this wasn’t just any wealthy scion. It was like the third-generation heir of one of the top conglomerates in a country wanting to personally participate in pest control. Except that these ‘pests’ actually killed people.

“Of course. But there’s no law that says a Crown Prince can’t go on a monster hunt, is there? Even His Majesty the King has personally led expeditions before.”

“That’s…”

Si-on started to say something but then shut his mouth.

Come to think of it, where else would that friend of his, who had risked his life hunting monsters and evil dragons since his days as Crown Prince, have gotten his bloodline from?

Even his son would don armor at the drop of a hat, storming off in a fit to deal with disobedient lords.

And just look at those sparkling eyes.

Though it was ages ago, Si-on could recall seeing a similar expression.

He couldn’t remember the name, but a friend of his had the exact same look when they were about to go do some volunteer work with an idol they admired.

That was the face of someone about to do something they genuinely wanted to do.

‘More than that, I told him to go ahead and do what he wanted. I can’t just start opposing him from the get-go. Tsk.’

Si-on let out a quiet sigh and nodded, still feeling somewhat reluctant.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, then so be it. But on one condition—both you and the royal knights must strictly follow my orders.”

“Yes! Of course!”

Seeing Philon’s bright, beaming expression—so different from the first time they met when he had been dragged to Earl Rundel like a cow to the slaughter—Si-on’s mood lightened as well.

If he had objected or refused, he wouldn’t have seen that look.

“Then, would you like to watch the division’s training first?”

“Oh! That would be wonderful. Please, lead the way.”

“Alright. And as I said, be mindful of how you speak when others are around.”

“Yes, yes.”

Excited, Philon took the lead and walked ahead.

With that, Si-on guided him toward the Peregrine Division’s training grounds—a clearing they used as both a base and a drill area.

“Hey, you bastards! You think you’re so damn tough? Come up to the back mountain!”

There, they saw knights from a northern territory—drunk, their faces red from alcohol—picking a fight with the Peregrine Division members while slurring words that sounded oddly familiar.

“…Why the back mountain, of all places? Wait, do we even have a back mountain here?”

“No clue.”

The Peregrine Division members, particularly those from the Janstrick Mercenaries, barely spared the drunken knights a glance and muttered among themselves.

They could have been offended, but surprisingly, they weren’t particularly affected.

That was to be expected.

The division members who had followed Si-on to Burgos included around ten former Janstrick Mercenaries—battle-hardened veterans.

The rest were ‘new recruits’ who had previously served as guards or militiamen in the Si-on Duchy until recently.

For the mercenaries, such situations were nothing new, so they paid it no mind.

As for the new recruits, who had just left their homeland for the first time and were still on high alert, they were simply bewildered.

“Let’s just go. We’ve got enough on our plate already.”

“Agreed. Let’s go, guys!”

“Yes, sir!”

At the command of a seasoned veteran, the new recruits promptly responded and followed without hesitation.

Excellent handling.

When dealing with drunkards, it's always best to avoid conflict.

But the problem was that alcohol often gave people courage they normally didn’t have.

And if the ones drinking were knights who had lived by the sword, that ‘courage’ would become boundless.

“Ptuh! They say southern bastards have small balls, and I guess it’s true.”

“Those punks call themselves monster hunters? That’s a joke.”

“Damn right! You know your stuff, Sir Knight!”

Hahahaha!

The ‘iron-clad unity’ of the envoys had long since crumbled, but the knights they had brought along as guards—despite hailing from different estates—displayed a newfound camaraderie, forming an alcohol-forged brotherhood that transcended regional divisions.

It was almost hard to believe that just days ago, they had been snarling at each other whenever their eyes met.

At any rate, the knights of the northern estates were thoroughly enjoying their newfound bond.

“We’re not from the south, though.”

“What?”

With a mix of drunkenness and sneering, their gazes whipped around.

The soldier who had drawn their attention was Miska, the youngest of the former Janstrick Mercenary Group, a man known for his mouth being the last thing to sink even if he were drowning. He tilted his head with an innocent expression.

“Oh? You didn’t know? While the newbies here were born and raised in Duke Si-on’s territory, the rest of us are all from the north.”

“Ha! What kind of bullshit—”

“Hm? Sir Knight, didn’t you come from Belmont Estate?”

“…And just who the hell are you?”

Another soldier spoke up, drawing the knight’s attention.

The knight scowled fiercely as he turned toward him.

“Heh, don’t you remember me?”

“Why the hell would I—”

“You came to Alphmarine six or seven years ago, didn’t you? Asking for help because a forest troll sub-adult appeared in Belmont Estate.”

“…What?”

“My captain and I went to Belmont Estate for that request. You seriously don’t remember?”

“…Ah.”

The knight’s drowsy, drunken eyes suddenly snapped back to clarity.

It felt as if the alcohol had completely left his system.

How could he possibly forget?

Back then, two forest troll sub-adults had appeared in the estate, and the knights sent to hunt them—one estate knight and over ten soldiers—had all been slaughtered. Panicked, he had personally rushed to Alphmarine City to hire the most renowned monster-hunting mercenaries.

And yet…

After the mercenaries easily dealt with the trolls, he had tried to pull some ‘noble arrogance’ over the spoils—only to get beaten to a pulp by the mercenary captain, ending up in the same bloodied state as his fallen comrades.

“W-Wait, you’re from… Janstrick Mercenary Group?”

“Oh, you finally remember! I was there too, you know. Sir Knight, you were—”

“Wahahaha! What a pleasant reunion!”

The knight darted forward like lightning, grabbing the mercenary into a tight embrace.

And then, in the fastest whisper he could manage—

“Please, just let me save face.”

“If you disappear in five seconds.”

“…Thank you.”

In a hug that lasted no more than three seconds, the deal was struck.

The knight then patted the mercenary on the shoulder as if they were long-lost friends.

“Haha. If you ever visit our estate, let’s catch up over drinks.”

“I’d love to.”

And with that, the Belmont Estate knight vanished like the wind.

The other estate knights could only watch in stunned silence as one of their own deserted the Alcohol Brotherhood.

Though they were intoxicated, they weren’t complete idiots.

And despite their inebriation, they still had enough reason left to recognize one crucial fact.

Any knight from the north knew about Alphmarine.

As the largest royal estate city in the northern region, Alphmarine was uniquely positioned between multiple territories, earning it the title of ‘City of Mercenaries.’

And the Janstrick Mercenary Group—the name that had just been spoken—was widely regarded as the best monster-hunting force in Alphmarine, up until just a year ago.

The knights wouldn’t have been overly alarmed by hearing that name alone.

However.

The real issue was what had happened before the Janstrick Mercenary Group disbanded.

With fewer than fifty men, they had utterly crushed the vastly superior forces of Jetman Estate, shattering the balance of power in the war between Jetman and Volphart.

Si-on and the Janstrick Mercenaries had left the north shortly afterward, so they remained unaware, but…

That battle had shaken the entire northern region.

To this day, it was still spoken about among all warriors, regardless of their rank or status.

So much so that the remaining Janstrick Mercenaries in Alphmarine had been recruited by various estates or mercenary groups for high prices.

In other words—

It was only natural that the knights here would sober up instantly upon hearing that name.

Yet, they were still knights.

They had started this fight. They couldn’t back down now.

This was a matter of pride.

“Oi.”

“Hm?”

At the sudden icy voice, the knights turned around.

And then, they flinched.

Because walking toward them was a man wearing a broad, beaming smile.

The Interim Governor.

Behind him, one person followed, his expression filled with keen interest.

And behind that person, a unit of soldiers marched in perfect formation.

At the moment the knights recognized those soldiers—

They didn’t just feel sober.

They became sober.

The man leading the unit was in his mid-to-late thirties, clad in a white brigandine adorned with golden embroidery.

And on the chests of his soldiers, embroidered in an unmistakable crest, was a symbol that even the most ignorant of knights would recognize.

The Royal Family’s insignia.

“…We’re fucked.”

And that wasn’t from the knights.

It was from the northern envoys, who had just barely missed their chance to intervene.

They could only swallow hard and squeeze their eyes shut.

If only they could say, ‘That guy was the weakest among us.’

But no—

This was like watching a Demon King… followed by the Great Demon King.