The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 74

Si-on had experienced an uncountable number of battles throughout his life.

This wasn’t just a rhetorical statement, but a literal truth.

When a seasoned mercenary in his mid-thirties, approaching retirement, said, “How many battles have I been in? Well, too many to count,” it was usually possible to count them.

At most, they might have fought three or four times a year.

So even if someone entered the field in their late teens or early twenties, they could still tally up every battle they’d participated in if they thought about it carefully.

Even during periods of war, conflicts rarely lasted longer than a decade.

And it was extremely rare for mercenaries to survive and experience more than fifty battles during such times.

In short, anyone claiming to have experienced “countless battles” in the current peaceful era was either being lazy or lacked the mental acuity to recall them—because, in reality, they hadn’t participated in as many battles as they claimed.

However, in Si-on’s case, it was true.

Though he had spent a long period in relative peace, serving as a duke and later traveling with his wife, there were significant periods where he didn’t pick up his sword.

Yet, during the other times, he had participated in one or two large and small battles almost every quarter.

That span covered more than half of what was granted to a typical human lifespan.

In other words, he had experienced over 100 real, bloody, and brutal battles.

And when you fight that much, even if you’re not a brilliant strategist, you start to see the “flow” of battle.

Even in a game played for fun, once you’ve played more than 100 times, you start to see patterns for how to perform well (though knowing what to do and actually doing it are two different things). So how could someone not see the flow of a life-or-death battle after so many experiences?

In short, Si-on was one of the few people in this era who could truly be called a “master of battle.”

Thus, the decision this expert made in the current situation was incredibly simple.

“You’re saying… we should just attack? Are you serious?”

Joan, not even bothering to hide his thoughts, wore an expression that plainly said, “What kind of nonsense is that?”

Though slightly amused by this, the old dwarf who prided himself on being generous decided to show a bit more patience towards the competent but socially awkward royal secretary.

“Yeah. From what I’ve heard, it sounds simple enough.”

“But, still, there are more than ten knights, plus quite a few mercenaries and soldiers.”

“The knights under that Botan fellow are all from the royal capital, and Varetti’s family estate is right next to the royal family’s domain.”

“Yes, but why does that matter…?”

“How many actual battles do you think they’ve been in?”

“…Pardon?”

Si-on smiled even more as Joan still failed to grasp his point.

“Let me rephrase. How many times have you risked your life in battle while working for Marco? Twenty times?”

“A little over ten.”

“Exactly. You, who quietly handled various missions as Marco’s right hand, have only been in that many. So, how many battles do you think those young nobles, who were raised as elite knights and stuck to the crown prince’s side in their late teens or early twenties, have been in?”

“…”

“And you’re aware of how comfortably those territories near the royal family’s lands live, right?”

Of course, Joan knew.

The smaller and medium-sized territories neighboring the royal domain shared one characteristic.

They didn’t train formal armies at all, aside from the few dozen guards who maintained order in the towns.

If trouble arose in their land?

They simply had to send a request for “help!” to the neighboring royal domain, and soldiers would come pouring in.

They would be fed, housed, and paid a small fee to the administrator—cheaper than hiring mercenaries.

In short, the soldiers from Baroness Varetti’s family estate, like those who came from the Bettisect family, were merely the type to strut around town, bossing the residents around.

“But there are still mercenaries, right?”

“Even if the men I left behind at the August Lord’s castle fought with their bare hands, they’d win.”

“…”

Though Joan said nothing, his expression of disbelief was clear. Si-on, ever patient, kindly explained again.

“How many battles do you think they’ve fought on the way from Burgos to here? Don’t worry. We can just storm the place. And didn’t Marco say it? Follow my lead.”

“Understood.”

Invoking the ultimate argument that always worked with those from the royal capital—“Your king said so”—Joan begrudgingly agreed.

The drawbridge at the August Lord’s castle was always lowered during the day.

Since Si-on and his men had dealt with Anserman, there hadn’t been any threats to the castle, and many workers and servants frequently passed in and out.

Raising and lowering the bridge each time would’ve been inefficient, so it had become routine to leave it down from dawn until dusk.

Thus, the three horses leisurely crossed the bridge as if the riders were knights on a leisurely outing.

At first, the castle guards simply tilted their heads and watched them pass by.

But as Si-on and Joan crossed more than half the bridge, a few guards widened their eyes in shock.

They recognized “Sir Salen,” who had nearly destroyed the lord’s castle just months earlier.

“S-S-S-S-Sir Salen.”

“Yeah, that’s right. How’ve you been? You’ve gained a bit of weight, haven’t you?”

In reality, Si-on didn’t know the guard’s name or face, but he deliberately spoke in a friendly manner.

The guards had been ordered to immediately detain and report the impostor “Salen” if he ever returned, but they were too frozen in fear to move.

They had all witnessed how Si-on fought “that day.”

Not only that, they had seen firsthand how Si-on drove Anserman out and completely transformed the castle and estate.

So when they received the order that the “real Sir Salen” was actually an impostor and a criminal, and they should subdue him if he returned, they all thought it was some sort of cruel joke.

Even the administrator who delivered the message sighed deeply, as if lamenting their impending doom: “What the hell are they thinking? We’re all going to die…”

Still, orders were orders, and they had no choice but to say they understood. But none of the guards actually believed Si-on was a fraud.

How could someone with such incredible swordsmanship go around committing fraud?

A person of his caliber could easily become a knight or retainer in any major territory—not in some small, insignificant place like the August Estate.

Besides, their lord himself had acknowledged him.

Thus, the guards had been deeply troubled, wondering what they would do if Si-on ever returned.

But they soon realized their worries were completely unnecessary.

“Just tell me where this Baron Botan from the royal capital is, and then you can either stay here or go hide somewhere. Pass the word to the other guards, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Baron Botan is probably in the lord’s office right now.”

Smiling, Si-on unsheathed his sword.

The guards all nodded in unison and quickly stepped aside, clearing a path.

Si-on strolled along leisurely, as Joan followed behind with a bewildered expression, wondering what was happening.

They passed through the castle gates so peacefully that even those in the castle courtyard barely paid them any attention.

Most assumed it was another group of nobles visiting to greet the aristocrats from the royal capital.

Without encountering any resistance, Si-on and Joan walked their horses right through the courtyard.

Finally, when they reached the main castle—

“Hey, who are you guys?”

“Who are you? Some local knight?”

The mercenaries guarding the entrance to the castle, some slouching lazily or harassing passing maids, tilted their heads curiously.

One of them, in fact, was still groping the chest of a struggling maid.

“Hey, you can’t just draw your sword here, man. I don’t know who you are, but—”

*Shhhk!*

Something flashed, and the mercenary froze.

“Wha… Ugh…”

As he began to sense that something was wrong, his body stiffened. J

ust before he could react, his head tilted sideways.

That was the beginning.

Screams erupted, and the panicked mercenaries started to shout and draw their weapons, preparing to flee.

But that didn’t happen.

As Si-on passed by the remaining mercenaries near the castle entrance, he swung his sword. (Joan was the only one who actually saw the trajectory of the blade.)

The moment the first mercenary’s head hit the ground, all the others collapsed, fatally wounded.

“…!”

Joan’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

If there was such a thing as artistry in killing, then what he had just witnessed was a masterpiece, crafted by the hands of a master.

It was only then that Joan understood.

He now realized why Si-on had so casually suggested they could storm the castle filled with knights and soldiers.

“They didn’t even react. If it were the Janstrick boys, at least one or two would’ve tried something.”

Muttering under his breath, Si-on turned his gaze to the young maid who, still stunned and sitting on the ground, blinked in confusion at what had just happened.

“Hey, little maid. You know who I am, right?”

“Huh? Y-yes. I know you. Y-you’re Sir Salen.”

The maid quickly regained her composure and answered.

“Good. Lead this gentleman here to the tower where the lord’s deputy is imprisoned.”

“You mean Miss Jenna, right?”

All the maids in the August Lord’s castle admired and liked Jenna, who had been appointed as the acting lord’s deputy.

After all, Jenna was the epitome of a girl crush.

Even the burly mercenaries and stubborn retainers couldn’t stand up to her.

So as soon as Si-on mentioned Jenna, the maid immediately understood what he was trying to do and was eager to help.

“Yes.”

“Understood. Follow me, sir.”

Though a little disheartened to be called “sir,” Joan obediently followed the maid.

As Joan and the maid disappeared around the back of the main castle, Si-on calmly shook off the blood from his sword and entered the building.

The first people he encountered inside were the August family’s retainers and low-level officials.

At the sight of Si-on, they reacted as if they had seen a ghost, visibly trembling.

But when Si-on simply gestured with a slight nod, they pressed themselves flat against the walls of the corridor, lowering their heads.

This was a direct result of what Si-on had done just a few months earlier—it had left a lasting impression.

Instinctively, they knew.

Si-on had returned fully aware of the situation, and his nod indicated that, as long as they stayed out of his way, they would be spared.

Thus, their choice was clear.

Do nothing, and you’ll be safe.