The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 139

"So, that's how it turned out. The Governor has given instructions for you to take care of things for a few days."

"Oh, come now. There's no need for thanks. Isn't this something I should be doing anyway? Hahaha."

Stelman was slightly surprised by the unexpected reaction from Administrator Swart, who he had assumed would grumble or at least furrow his brow.

"I understand you've been extremely busy lately. Are you really okay with this?"

"Well, I suppose I’m getting old—my stamina isn’t quite what it used to be. But it's fine. I finally feel like a proper administrator, you know?"

Power has many flavors.

More precisely, because the people who wield power are different, their attitudes toward it and the emotions they derive from it vary widely.

Administrator Swart was someone who knew how to enjoy the ‘positive side’ of power.

Even Si-on hadn’t anticipated this aspect of him. Swart was the type who found immense joy and fulfillment in properly executing his duties and seeing tangible results from his authority.

That was why, although he occasionally complained about his waning stamina, he never actually rejected the increasing workload.

As an administrator, he gained both honor and a sense of accomplishment. Moreover, as one of Burgos’s leading figures, he also reaped financial benefits. So, Administrator Swart worked tirelessly, like an ox.

"By the way, how's that matter we talked about before? Any progress?"

Swart’s eyes were filled with expectation, and Stelman nodded.

"Yes. We've reached an agreement with the Alphmarine Mercenary Guild. The guild master and some staff will be arriving here within the month."

"Oh! That's great news."

Swart’s expression brightened.

The most crucial group among the rapidly increasing population of Burgos was the sword-wielders—mercenaries.

For now, Si-on, Stelman, and the Peregrine Division were maintaining tight control, but Si-on was busy (as he insisted), and the Peregrine Division had to continuously patrol the northeastern territories.

In other words, there was a growing lack of resources to properly manage mercenaries—who were at least ten times more dangerous than a group of wild stallions.

Thus, Si-on and Administrator Swart had agreed on the necessity of establishing a ‘Mercenary Guild’ in Burgos.

However, managing and mediating the unruly mercenaries—many of whom were effectively independent military units—was no easy task. Even an ordinary lord would struggle to keep a mercenary company in check.

So, while Si-on had decided to establish the Mercenary Guild in Burgos, he found himself at a loss when it came to assembling the personnel necessary to lead and operate it.

That was when Stelman proposed an idea.

They should seek assistance from the Alphmarine Mercenary Guild—the largest in the northeastern region.

"The guild master there is currently negotiating with the city of Alphmarine. But as you know, the situation there is a mess right now, so he's reluctant to leave."

"That makes sense. Right now, all the lords must have their eyes fixed solely on Alphmarine."

Even though the lords had accepted the numbered tickets Si-on distributed, the monster crisis was still ongoing.

As a result, the northeastern lords had no choice but to maintain close ties with Alphmarine, known as the ‘City of Mercenaries.’

Over a thousand mercenaries had already been stationed there, and after the monster crisis erupted, that number had doubled almost overnight.

"What about the administrator of Alphmarine? Do they have any complaints about us?"

Ordinarily, Swart should have sent a letter or an envoy to inquire himself, but the notoriously ‘timid’ administrator didn’t dare.

Especially after Si-on’s arrival and the Crown Prince Philon’s extended stay in Burgos, Swart now had the perfect excuse to ignore Alphmarine. ‘What, an administrator like me is supposed to go against the Governor and the Crown Prince?’

However, as the situation escalated, he could no longer afford to ignore it.

So, upon hearing that Stelman had a strong connection with the Alphmarine Mercenary Guild master, Swart had enthusiastically asked him to assess the situation in the city.

"Complaints? If anything, it seems they welcome it. At least, that’s what the guild master said."

"Huh? They welcome it?"

"Yes. The sudden influx of mercenaries has been a nightmare for them. On top of that, the lords keep sending envoys to request reinforcements almost daily—it's driving them insane."

"Ah…."

Swart could understand that.

Even in Burgos—a city less than a quarter of Alphmarine’s size in both land and population—the monster crisis had turned everything upside down.

Alphmarine, the heart of the northeastern region, must be a living hell.

"But now that the Governor has taken office in Burgos, the burden has eased a little. If a mercenary guild is established here, it will be a huge relief for Alphmarine.

That’s why the mayor of Alphmarine is actively supporting the idea. He even told the opposition to shut up unless they were willing to personally go out and deal with the monster problem themselves."

Cities like Alphmarine, which served as regional hubs, were tangled in a web of competing interests and factions.

The monster crisis was a massive threat and a severe crisis.

But for some, it was also an opportunity to reap enormous profits.

For those who held influence in a city as large as Alphmarine, securing dominance over these interests was a matter of life and death—it was a veritable goldmine.

So, from the perspective of these power players, Burgos emerging as the ‘hero’ solving the monster crisis in the northeast was something they wanted to prevent at all costs.

Lords complaining?

Not their problem.

In fact, the more the northeastern lords struggled, the more dependent they would become on Alphmarine.

And that meant greater profits for Alphmarine’s power brokers.

As a result, these factions opposed Burgos’s request for cooperation in establishing a mercenary guild.

But.

The opposition complaining?

Not the mayor’s problem.

After all, he only had to serve out the remainder of his term before returning to the capital.

And who did he need to worry about then? Duke Lloyd? Crown Prince Philon? Either way, he needed to keep those two happy.

With less than a year left in his term, the mayor of Alphmarine essentially told the opposition: ‘If you’re not going to solve the problem yourselves, shut up.’

Faced with the administrator’s roar, the opposition had no choice but to temporarily hold their tongues.

"So, the delay in their arrival is because of the opposition?"

"Yes. But the Alphmarine Mercenary Guild master assured me he’ll resolve it soon, so it shouldn’t take much longer. That man isn’t just anyone, after all."

Stelman gave a sheepish smile, recalling Bikau, the mercenary guild master who had played a crucial role in his decision to follow Si-on to the Si-on Duchy.

At that moment, Administrator Swart, who had been deep in thought, suddenly grinned, his monocle gleaming.

"If you ask me, this will be resolved within a few days."

"…Excuse me?"

Stelman tilted his head in confusion, wondering what this timid man was talking about.

Swart might have been timid, but he was also incredibly sharp-witted.

"Just wait and see. Those opposition members who defied the mayor—do you really think they’d dare defy the Crown. Prince. too?"

"Ah."

That was right.

That very morning, Crown Prince Philon had left Burgos with the royal knights, heading back to the capital.

And along the way, his route required him to pass through Alphmarine.

"And by the way, didn't you receive a message from the royal capital a few days ago?"

"A message...?"

"They said they're sending an official from the capital to check how things are progressing here. But for that official to reach Burgos, they have to pass through Alphmarine first. A crown prince and a royal official in the same place... I doubt the opposition will be able to utter a single word against them, don't you think?"

That is true power.

It might not be his own power, but standing close to those who wield real authority made all the difference. In the past, Swart would have had to bow and scrape before half-baked power holders he couldn't even look in the eye. Now, the thought of those very same people having their heads figuratively smashed in made Swart grin from ear to ear.

"Th-that's true."

Impressed by Swart's sharp thinking, Stelman suddenly thought of something and asked,

"By the way, Administrator, aren't you worried?"

"Hm? About what?"

"About His Excellency the Governor. No matter how you look at it, he went after those orcs alone."

"Huh? Why?"

"...What?"

Stelman was taken aback by Swart’s reaction—one of absolute confidence, as if to say, What nonsense are you talking about?

"Why would I worry about His Excellency the Governor?"

"I mean, even if it's him, the Black Wind Clan orc tracking unit has at least a few hundred members. You're really not the least bit concerned?"

Stelman was beyond shocked—he was getting angry.

He had seen firsthand how powerful Si-on was, so he could understand. But as an administrator, wasn’t it Swart’s duty to be at least a little concerned about his direct superior's safety?

"Listen here, Deputy Commander Janstrick."

"Yes?"

"Between the two of us, I probably knew how absurdly powerful our governor is before you did."

"What? What do you mean...?"

"Our governor survived for seven years in the Dragon Wastelands before returning."

"......!"

Seeing Stelman flinch, Swart’s usual lighthearted demeanor vanished. He spoke with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

"You may not know this, Deputy Commander, but as someone born and raised in Burgos, I know very well just how dangerous the Dragon Wastelands are.

Since I was old enough to remember, I've seen hundreds of knights, mercenaries, and adventurers venture into that land.

Half of them didn’t even last six months before fleeing. The rest? Never heard from again. Dead, every last one of them.

And yet, the only person to survive there for a full seven years… is our governor."

"......"

"An orc tracking unit? Maybe on a normal day, I’d tell him to reconsider.

But our governor, who survived seven years in the Dragon Wastelands, just shrugged and went after them alone—without hesitation.

That means there’s zero reason to worry.

You do know what the most pointless worry in the world is, don’t you?"

"...Worrying about His Excellency the Governor."

"Hahaha! Then why the long face? Come on, let’s go grab a meal."

"Sounds good to me."

Stelman relaxed and let out a small smile.

Today, he confirmed that Administrator Swart trusted Si-on as completely as he did.

Tracking the orc detachment wasn't difficult.

"Orcs are the same as ever."

The Brownwood Tribe along the river had been thorough in covering their tracks since they were the ones being hunted.

But the orcs Si-on knew? They didn't bother with such things. And the scene before him only reaffirmed that fact.

Animal and monster bones littered the ground, remnants of tents and campfires scattered about.

After sifting through the traces, Si-on mounted his horse again.

"They left less than six hours ago. In that case..."

He’d almost certainly catch up to them today.

Orc detachments and scout units rarely strayed more than half a day’s distance from their main force.

The only problem was that the wasteland winds had erased their tracks, leaving no clear direction to follow.

"Let’s go."

Even so, Si-on was completely unconcerned.

After all, he had a hound as good as any tracker.

Neigh!

Blackie raised his head high and sniffed the air.

Most people didn’t realize this, but horses had an exceptional sense of smell.

They could distinguish scents, especially those of predators, and even detect the smell of water or grass from kilometers away.

And among horses, Blackie—whom Si-on had acknowledged as a ‘monster’—was in the top 1%.

More importantly, this was the wasteland.

There were no obstacles, making it easier than ever to pick up a scent.

Blackie lifted his head in different directions, sniffing vigorously.

Then, after confirming the trail, he broke into a brisk trot.

A trot instead of a slow walk or full gallop meant the target was within 10 kilometers.

If it had been closer, he would’ve walked.

If it had been farther, he would’ve galloped.

As expected, within an hour, Si-on spotted a group of orcs moving in the distance.

And alongside them...

"A tracking unit."

Dozens of tents.

A black flag with a crescent blade insignia fluttering in the wind.

And among the tents, hundreds of hulking, dark-skinned orcs bustling about.