The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 135

Klatru, the great warrior of the Brownwood of the River tribe, was deep in thought.

Orcs, by nature, did not engage in deep thinking. The very concept of prolonged contemplation was nearly nonexistent among them. Any orc who failed to make a decision within three seconds was neither fit to lead a tribe nor worthy of being a warrior.

However, for the first time in his life, Klatru had to think deeply.

Perhaps it was because half of his tribe had been either killed or captured (and those captured were likely dead by now). Or maybe it was because, for the past two months, they had been constantly on the move, shifting their tents every three or four days to evade the warriors of the Black Gale tribe. It could also be that, despite all their efforts, his people kept dying one after another.

But the most important reason was the strange human before him, who had just uttered the name Si-on.

Orcs had no written language. All knowledge was passed down orally, from mouth to mouth.

As a result, trivial things rarely survived beyond a single generation. The only stories that persisted through the ages were those essential to survival.

Yet, everything about Si-on had been passed down for generations.

Indeed. To the Brownwood of the River tribe, Si-on was a name tied directly to their very survival.

Among the numerous sayings about Si-on that had been handed down, the most crucial one was this:

If you meet a human of Si-on, listen to everything he says without question and think about it three times before making a decision.

For an orc, being told to think something over three times was an utterly absurd demand.

It was like putting a steaming hot meal and a bowl of spicy soup in front of a starving man and telling him, "Let it cool for five minutes so you don't burn your mouth."

However, Klatru's father and grandfather had drilled these words into him since childhood, repeating them at every opportunity. As a result, without even realizing it, the saying had been ingrained in Klatru's mind.

And so, for the first time in his life, he was forced to contemplate.

As he wrestled with this newfound concept of deep thought, he also found himself doing something unprecedented—watching a human's reactions and even asking questions.

"What's the difference between returning to the river and trying to survive by any means?"

"If you choose the former, half of your remaining tribe might die again."

"And if we choose the latter, we won’t die?"

"Eventually, you'll all die. From old age."

"Hrmm?"

Klatru, the one-eyed orc, frowned, still struggling to understand.

Si-on spoke again.

"It means none of you will die for the time being. And on top of that, I'll secure land where your tribe can live."

Krooo!?

Not only Klatru but also the other orcs let out astonished cries.

"Is that even possible? How? The Black Gale will never give up!"

Three questions in a row.

For an orc, this level of inquiry was almost unbelievable.

Si-on smirked.

"The Black Gale or whatever else, nothing can change my decision. As long as you cooperate with me, your Brownwood of the River tribe will gain new land and continue to prosper."

"You're not telling us to become farmers, are you?"

"I don’t mind raising sheep or cows, but that’s a bit much."

"Is there even land suitable for farming around here?"

"What’s farming?"

"Digging the ground."

"Ugh? Isn’t that what dwarves do?"

"It's different from that."

"But if we farm, do warriors have to dig too? I don’t like that."

"I'm telling you, there isn't even land here fit for farming!"

The orcs began muttering among themselves again.

"Krrrk!"

Klatru silenced them with a low growl, narrowing his lone eye. Then, he turned back to Si-on.

"If you’re serious about this farming nonsense, then we refuse. Orcs are warriors. An orc who does not fight is as good as dead."

A statement that was undeniably orc-like.

Krooo!

This time, the orcs pounded their chests, letting out cries that carried a completely different meaning from before.

Watching the intense exchange, Crown Prince Philon and the royal knights, who had been nervously observing from the side, were taken aback.

Since they couldn’t understand the orcish language, they assumed a battle was about to break out. The atmosphere was that charged with aggression and violence.

Si-on, raising a hand lightly to calm Philon and the knights, exercised patience and waited for the orcs' excitement to die down.

Though simple-minded and belligerent, orcs were not entirely oblivious to social cues. Seeing that the human, who had introduced himself as being from Si-on, did not even blink, they instinctively straightened their postures.

Just as Klatru had, the other orcs had also grown up hearing countless tales about Si-on from their elders.

Once the orcs had finally quieted down, Si-on swept his gaze over them, stopping at Klatru before speaking.

"Who said anything about farming? I’ll give you land. And on that land, you can continue doing what you love most—fighting."

"Krr?"

"You don’t have to fight other orcs or humans, do you?"

"Then who do we fight?"

Si-on smiled meaningfully.

"The monsters of the wasteland."

From that point on, things progressed swiftly.

Klatru and the rest of the Brownwood of the River tribe listened to Si-on as if entranced.

In the end, they agreed to follow him—for now.

Despite their aggressive and short-tempered nature, orcs had one advantage in situations like this.

Being short-tempered meant they had no patience for long, drawn-out discussions, which in turn made decision-making incredibly fast.

Had they been humans, they would have debated endlessly, bringing up counterarguments, reconsidering, and rehashing the discussion. Hours, if not days, would have been wasted in fruitless disputes.

The Brownwood of the River orcs, on the other hand, simply led Si-on into their tent, discussed the matter for a mere thirty minutes, and came to a decision.

Khehehehe!

The orcs, momentarily forgetting their dire circumstances, burst into laughter and chatted excitedly among themselves.

This was another one of their traits—whether a strength or a flaw depended on perspective.

Even if they had just faced something grim, the moment they found something to celebrate, they did so wholeheartedly.

Just look at them.

Some had already started wrestling, unable to contain their excitement.

Si-on chuckled, watching the familiar sight of these ‘muscleheads’—a nickname only he used for them.

Meanwhile, Philon and the royal knights, who had been ignored thus far due to the language barrier, did not share his amusement.

They had no idea why the orcs had suddenly gone berserk.

"Sir Salen?"

"Hm?"

"Shouldn't you explain things to us?"

Since they were in front of the knights, Philon maintained his formal speech. Si-on nodded.

"Of course. First of all, the Brownwood of the River tribe has agreed to join us."

"Ah, yes… wh-what?"

Not only Philon but even the royal knights looked dumbfounded.

Orcs, joining us—as in, Burgos? These muscle-bound monsters? Orcs, who were not just hostile to humans but actively smashed their heads in on sight?

Did that even make sense?

"J-joining us? You mean the orcs are going to enter Burgos?"

"Some might come in occasionally, but they won’t be living in our territory."

"Then what exactly…?"

Si-on, glancing at the orcs who were already preparing a feast, continued.

"We will establish a settlement for them near Burgos, specifically at the entrance of the Dragon’s Wasteland. Additionally, the northeastern part of the wasteland, bordering Burgos, will be recognized as the land of the Brownwood of the River tribe."

"Ah…."

The more Philon listened, the more absurd it sounded. His mind was beginning to go blank.

However, even though he had spent most of his life as a puppet-like, half-witted crown prince, he had still received a proper royal education.

"Sir Salen, granting land to orcs within the kingdom is unprecedented. First, the royal capital would have to approve—"

"It will be approved."

Recalling Si-on's backing, Philon quickly corrected himself.

"Yes, approval will likely be granted. But the nobles and ministers—"

"Who exactly? Those who are loyal only to His Majesty? Those who support the crown prince? Or those who follow Duke Lloyd?"

"Uh…"

Come to think of it, neither the ministers nor the nobles had any reason to oppose it.

Those who were loyal to the king himself would naturally fall in line. Those who supported Philon wouldn’t object either—after all, he was standing right here.

And the nobles aligned with his nephew, Duke Lloyd?

Under normal circumstances, they would oppose anything Philon tried to do just for the sake of opposition. But who had actively sent Sir Salen to Burgos and supported him?

That side could never oppose this.

So in the end—

"No one can oppose it?"

"Precisely."

Si-on grinned.

Philon, staring at him in disbelief, quickly regained his composure and spoke again.

"But can we truly trust these orcs? Right now, they’re obedient because they've been driven from their land, but what if their numbers grow and their strength increases? There’s no guarantee they won’t turn against us, is there?"

"Hmm, that is indeed a possibility."

"See? That’s why—"

"However."

"…?"

"Unlike other orcs, the Brownwood of the River tribe has a far greater enemy than us, Your Highness."

"What do you mean…? Ah!"

"Exactly. The Black Gale tribe—the ones who slaughtered their people and drove them from their land."

"……!"

Si-on briefly glanced at the orcs, who were now bringing out unfamiliar meat and fermented liquor made from sheep’s milk.

"Once the Brownwood of the River tribe regains its strength, they won’t be looking to attack Burgos. No, their priority will be exacting revenge on the Black Gale tribe. Turning against us? No. In fact, when that time comes, they’ll likely come to us for help."

"Help…?"

"More like support. Orcs never push their fights onto others. They might request weapons or supplies. And we’ll just provide a little assistance."

Si-on chuckled as he continued.

"Then, some might ask—why should we help? Why should we waste our resources on these violent, barbaric orcs who would bash in a human’s skull at the first chance they get?"

His gaze shifted back to Philon.

Fixated entirely on Si-on’s words, Philon found himself responding, albeit slowly, with a growing sense of certainty.

"Because by doing so, Burgos—and even the Kingdom of Obla—will establish, for the first time in history, an orc faction that is friendly to us? And it will be positioned right in the middle of the border between our kingdom and Orcland…?"

"Correct, Your Highness."

Si-on smiled.

As expected, the blood of a comrade-in-arms never faded.

Of course, Philon still had some shortcomings, but time would take care of that.

For now, a little guidance wouldn’t hurt.

"And one more thing."

"…?"

Philon and the royal knights, now staring at Si-on with eyes that practically screamed, What else could there possibly be? Is this man a monster in both strength and intelligence? watched as his smile deepened.

"These guys are exceptional fighters."

"Well, of course…"

They were orcs—wasn’t that obvious?

"They’re also extremely skilled at fighting monsters. Even though they roamed along the river, Orcland itself is an incredibly harsh place. There’s no race better suited for hunting and killing wasteland monsters than these orcs."

"……!"

At last, the city-bred fools realized what Si-on was truly aiming for, their faces filled with shock.

"That’s right. For the time being, these guys will be dealing with the monsters coming from the Dragon’s Wasteland toward Burgos. In other words, all we need to do is provide them with food and water, and in return, we get guaranteed safety and all the monster byproducts."