The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 70

In truth, it wasn’t normal for the vassals of the Pamel Count’s family to follow a figure like Joan (pronounced Jo-ang), a royal secretary.

An independent territory, and not just some tiny one, but a large domain like the Pamel Count’s land, which even had four vassal lords of its own, shouldn’t have been relying on the king’s closest confidant (also known as the “royal hound”) for guidance.

Under normal circumstances, the direct line of the Count’s family and the vassal lords would have all risen in rebellion, ready to beat him down.

But the situation facing the Pamel Count’s family was highly unusual.

If it were just the death of the great lord, there would have been no place for a royal secretary like Joan to step in.

No matter if the king sent him as a representative, when it came to funeral procedures and succession issues, the king’s secretary, being an outsider, had neither the reason nor the authority to interfere.

However, what if the great lord had died while desperately trying to resolve decades of constipation, having consumed a large amount of laxatives?

And what if, while rushing to a distant bathroom, the lord had sprayed yellow liquid everywhere, only to die right at the moment his hand touched the bathroom door, not just from his rear but also from his mouth?

Furthermore, what if the decades-old waste splattered all over the people supporting the lord?

That was precisely what had happened in the Pamel Count’s domain.

The mercenaries hired by the Count at great expense appeared to have been wiped out.

The insiders with whom the Count had actively collaborated were suddenly out of contact.

The forces of the vassal lords, which the Count had hastily summoned, had not only burned through enormous funds over the past month but had also caused all sorts of incidents and accidents.

And the Count himself had suddenly died right before a war that didn’t guarantee victory.

As if all that wasn’t maddening enough, their opponent was the Si-on Ducal Territory, which had beaten them mercilessly even back in the days when they had thought they were evenly matched.

That terrifying opponent had since bulked up, having climbed four or five weight classes, and was now charging toward them, flexing its muscles.

The vassals of the Pamel Count had only one choice left.

Ding!

“Ti-TIME!”

It was a pitiful display, especially considering they were the ones (or rather, the Pamel Count) who had rung the bell to start the match.

Their desperate, yet weak, cries for a time-out didn’t reach the furious three-headed eagle.

But, fortunately, they had Joan the secretary, who, like a referee, was standing right next to them, not in the center of the ring.

Thus, the vassals of the Pamel Count’s domain, with decades of foul waste smeared all over them, had no choice but to cling to the referee.

“Time! I said time! Please, just let us clean off this mess!”

“Our player died suddenly! What? You’re asking if we don’t have a substitute player? The direct line? Is anyone from the Count’s family willing to fight Si-on instead?”

Some scrawny middle and high schoolers, who used to spit on the school grounds, timidly raised their hands, reeking of the mess left by the Count.

“Are you sure you’re up for it? The opponent has bulked up to the heavyweight division. For reference, the previous Count, who was a light contender, also got beaten.”

Their hands disappeared in a flash.

“No, we don’t have anyone! There was someone, but not anymore, no!”

“What? You’re saying there’ll be a refund cost if we stop the match? But there’s no audience, right? Oh, to the opponent? Of course, we’ll have to pay them! Absolutely!”

The vassals, their minds half gone from the crushing stress, only wanted to escape the pain as quickly as possible.

And conveniently, standing right beside them was Joan, a painkiller sent directly from the royal palace, and without hesitation, they reached out for relief.

The painkiller’s effect was tremendous.

But they had forgotten that drug abuse always leads to serious consequences.

* * *

“You say you’re the royal secretary?”

“That’s right. Though I regret that our first meeting had to be under these circumstances, I greet you, Sir Hander of Si-on. I am Joan Tever.”

“Yonas Si-on. I share your regret, Secretary Tever. And of course…”

Yonas, who had addressed Joan in a rather calm manner, turned his head slightly, his gaze chilling.

“…I regret the same with you.”

Though the word “regret” was the same, the tone and feeling between the two instances were vastly different.

It was the kind of word—a curse of sorts—that one uses when apologizing or receiving an apology.

While the atmosphere between Joan Tever and Yonas was one of mutual respect, though not exactly cordial, the man standing under Yonas’ cold gaze felt clear hostility, his expression turning bitter as he bowed slightly.

“I have no excuses to offer. For now, I’ll simply apologize.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

Yonas’ question was met with a sigh from Boris Pamel, who had been appointed the temporary representative of the Pamel domain.

“I apologize for everything.”

Boris, the eldest son of the Count and the Interior Minister of the domain, had opposed his father’s decisions, eventually being confined to the tower.

After the Count’s death, Boris had been recommended by Joan to the vassals as a responsible figure to deal with the situation, particularly after they had already dealt with some of the direct line relatives who had foolishly sought to seize power.

As the legitimate heir and the son who had opposed the war to the point of being imprisoned by the Count, Boris was the ideal figure for the Si-on Ducal family to negotiate with, providing them with plausible deniability.

Additionally, Boris had only been appointed as “temporary” representative because they intended for him to eventually step down.

It was only natural for the son to clean up the mess left by his father, right?

After all, the debts of the parents were inherited by their children.

Boris was fully aware of what the vassals had planned.

He knew that he was both the responsible figure and the sacrificial lamb, that he would bear all the blame and be forced to step down eventually.

Yet, he accepted Joan’s proposal.

‘For our family… for our territory to survive, I must be the one to do this.’

The saying “a tiger father begets a tiger son” didn’t apply in this case.

Sometimes, a tiger father begets a son just as fierce, or even fiercer.

“‘For everything,’ you say… Does that include the crimes your father committed against the Ducal family of Si-on and the Ducal territory?”

Yonas had heard from Si-on about the Count’s final moments, but he felt that the Count had gotten off too easily.

If the Count was beyond physical punishment, then Yonas intended to burn the man’s remaining honor to ashes.

“Of course. Inciting Sir Gede Si-on and conspiring in his rebellion. Obtaining and delivering the poison that killed the previous Duke and his sons. Hiring mercenaries and unlawfully sending them into the Ducal territory without notice or permission.

As the representative of the Pamel Count’s family and the acting lord of the territory, I offer my sincerest apologies.”

“……”

Had Boris tried to make even a slight excuse, Yonas would have disobeyed Si-on’s orders for the first and last time, even if it meant losing his head later. But now, Yonas found himself speechless.

He hadn’t expected Boris to offer such a detailed and straightforward apology.

It made it difficult for him to push the matter further.

Here was the eldest son, who had opposed his father to the end, now humbly apologizing and lowering himself. If Yonas pressed him further, he would only make himself seem petty.

“Sir Hander Si-on.”

“Hmm?”

Yonas, who had been scowling deeply, turned his head.

“With this, I believe it’s clear that the Pamel Count’s side is offering a sincere apology. Would you agree?”

“Well… yes, I suppose so.”

At that, Boris visibly relaxed, a look of relief crossing his face.

However, he still didn’t fully understand the severity of Joan, the royal secretary, who was colder and more calculating than any foreman.

“But an apology in words alone means nothing. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Pamel?”

“…I agree.”

Joan, who nodded lightly, then turned to Yonas again.

“Please present the demands of the Si-on Ducal Territory.”

“Ahem!”

Confirming once more that the “referee” was on his side, Yonas pulled out a document from his coat.

“The demands of our Si-on Ducal Territory are as follows:

First, write down the full truth of this incident, without any embellishment. One copy will be kept by the Pamel Count’s family, one by the Si-on Ducal family, and one by the royal palace.

Second, the written document must be posted on the gates of all the castles in both the Pamel Count’s domain and the capital of Si-on Duchy, Sionia.

Third, all individuals from the Pamel Count’s family who were involved in the poisoning of the former Duke and his sons must be sent to Sionia within one month.

Fourth, the Pamel Count’s family will cede the territory from the northernmost border of the Forest Without Echoes to the Nevel River to the Si-on Ducal family.

Fifth, the Pamel Count’s family will pay 40 million Diens in compensation to the Si-on Ducal family. This sum will be paid over ten years in installments.

Sixth…”

As Yonas read the demands, Boris’ face grew increasingly pale.

By the time all ten points of the demands had been read, Boris looked as though he was about to burst into tears.

“…These are the demands of Si-on. If you have any objections, speak now.”

“…Could you perhaps reduce the compensation a little?”

“We cannot reduce the amount by even a single Dien from the 40 million.”

“Please! If we have to pay 4 million Diens every year over ten years, our Count’s domain will go bankrupt. If we go bankrupt, won’t the Si-on Ducal family suffer losses as well?”

Boris practically pleaded, his expression desperate, as if he were about to cling to Yonas’ leg.

Though Yonas, who wasn’t great with numbers and had rushed the writing of the demands (though the Founding Patriarch had personally approved them), felt a bit unsure if the math was correct, he couldn’t answer right away, hesitating for a moment.

That’s when the referee stepped in again.

“The late Count owned a significant amount of real estate in King’s City. Although the titles are under different names, in practice, they belonged to him. Additionally, I believe there are bonds under the names of the Count’s relatives in his private vault at the Brelian Bank. That should cover it.”

“What…?”

“Hm. It seems you weren’t aware, Lord Pamel. Well, the titles are under different names, so that’s understandable. But the individuals holding them are people you know well.”

“I know them?”

“Yes. Your younger brother, Sir Stin, and your mother, Baroness Orlena.”

“……”

Boris’ expression froze, and slowly, his face began to contort in a grotesque manner.

Orlena was the concubine of the late Pamel Count, a mistress who had been formally added to the family register earlier this year.

Stin was her son, a child more than thirty years younger than Boris.

That’s right.

The Pamel Count had locked his tiger-like eldest son in a tower while leaving a vast fortune, possibly worth millions or even tens of millions, to the youngest son he had with his mistress.

Meanwhile, over the past month, the enormous war expenses had piled up, leaving the vassals and administrators of the lord’s castle screaming in agony.

“Haha… Ha… Huuuuu!”

Boris let out a hollow laugh, his face twisted grotesquely before he took a deep breath.

Though he now appeared calmer than before, a strange, unidentified light flickered in his eyes as he looked at Yonas.

“Would you like to receive more compensation?”

The light in his eyes was madness.

“If you take care of the bastards with the name ‘Pamel’ that I point out, I’ll agree to all the demands. No, I’ll even become a vassal of the Si-on Ducal Territory.”

It was the overwhelming madness of someone deeply wounded and betrayed by his father and family.