The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 124

Royalty belongs to the highest class of society.

Of course, that didn't mean they could wield unchecked power however they pleased.

Even within the royal family, there was a strict hierarchy. If a lower-ranking royal acted recklessly without reading the room, they could easily find themselves impeached by the high noble families—often referred to as the ‘great noble families’—and have their skulls metaphorically, or sometimes literally, cracked open.

But the direct royals—those who were officially listed in the line of succession—were a different story.

Unless they were absolute scoundrels of the worst kind, royals classified as direct descendants of the reigning king wouldn’t face impeachment, nor did they have to worry about execution or exile.

Even if they were widely recognized as complete bastards, the worst they’d suffer was exclusion from the line of succession. Life itself would not be a struggle. (Though, being stripped of succession rights was practically a death sentence in its own way.)

At any rate, while direct royals didn’t hold absolute power, they still possessed considerable authority and wealth.

Even the eldest of the great nobles treated them with deference.

They were granted a formal claim to the throne and permitted to command up to a hundred private soldiers.

On top of that, they received a substantial estate carved out from the royal domain, ensuring they were financially formidable.

And if that direct royal happened to be the Crown Prince?

What if their father, the former Crown Prince, had already passed away?

And what if their grandfather, the King, was an old man over seventy, one who could pass away within a few years without surprising anyone?

They would be second only to the King himself, reigning over all others. Unlike other royals, they could truly be considered an absolute authority.

For over ten years, Philon had lived as such a figure of power.

Everyone bowed their heads before him. Nobles, whether in the capital or the royal palace, scrambled to win his favor.

Not once did Philon ever doubt that he would one day sit on the throne.

Even recently, when his uncle, Duke Gio Lloyd, began gaining traction, he had felt a slight unease. But deep down, he still believed that he was destined to be the King of the Kingdom of Obla.

That belief wavered only when that unheard-of Sir Salen suddenly emerged, seizing control of major affairs and eventually aligning himself with Duke Gio Lloyd.

At first, even then, Philon still reassured himself that the throne was his.

But then—the moment he saw his strongest supporter and closest ally, his uncle Earl Rundel, in a state of agitation—his conviction finally began to crack.

"I will never let this slide. Collateral branch or whatever—I'll crush them. How dare they dismiss me—me, Rundel?! Do they think they can treat me the same as those petty emissaries from backwater northeastern territories? That bastard—I’ll kill him. I swear I will."

Agitation was nothing more than disguised fear.

And why had Philon always relied on Earl Rundel?

Because no matter how shaken or anxious Philon himself became, Earl Rundel always responded calmly—like an unshakable pillar of authority.

That was why, even as he neared forty, he still leaned on the uncle who had raised and educated him in place of his late father.

But now—that pillar, the very person he depended on, was openly agitated before his very eyes.

He wasn’t just tense—he was downright afraid.

And that fear was contagious.

A powerful sense of dread, one that even his teenage years hadn’t brought upon him, seized Crown Prince Philon in full force.

"Un-uncle? W-why are you acting like this? Please, calm yourself."

"Calm? Do I look like I can calm down right now?!"

Earl Rundel snapped his bloodshot eyes toward Philon, and the Crown Prince instinctively flinched, pulling his shoulders back in retreat.

Seeing this, Rundel’s face twisted in sheer disgust.

"Again? Again?! How many times have I told you? You are the very foundation of this kingdom! You should never fear anything—you should stand proud before everyone! How many times have I told you that?! Do you think Gio Lloyd and the rest would dare look down on you if you acted like a true royal?!"

"U-u-uncle…"

"Don’t stutter!"

"Hhk…!"

At that single command, Crown Prince Philon instantly reverted into his twelve-year-old self.

"Hhk! Hhk!"

His face drained of all color as he began to hiccup uncontrollably.

As a child, Philon had suffered from a severe stuttering problem. It was only through Earl Rundel’s (often violent) training that he had been able to overcome it.

But now—not only had he witnessed his uncle’s panic and fear for the first time, he had also been thrown back into the very same atmosphere of strict discipline that had tormented him in his youth.

The trauma, long buried, had resurfaced without warning.

"Hhk! Hhk!"

"Hah! For fuck’s sake…."

Earl Rundel let out a sharp sigh as he watched the hiccuping Crown Prince stagger backward like a frightened child.

Then, turning his gaze toward the servants standing with their heads bowed low, he barked:

"What the hell are you standing around for?! Bring His Highness some water and tend to him—immediately!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

The attendants rushed forward, quickly offering Philon a drink and massaging his shoulders and limbs in an effort to soothe him.

Yet, despite their efforts, Philon's condition barely improved.

Earl Rundel, his expression full of displeasure, merely stood there watching.

Knock, knock!

Just then, a knock on the door was followed by a voice from the hallway.

"Your Highness, Crown Prince, and Earl Rundel. It is time for your scheduled meeting with the Governor."

"Hmph."

A glint flickered in Earl Rundel’s eyes.

Like a beast locking onto its prey, his expression shifted into something predatory.

He whipped around to face the still-hiccuping Crown Prince.

"That’s enough. Philon—no, Your Highness—let us go."

"Hhk! Y-yes, yeshhk!"

"Tch."

Clicking his tongue in irritation, Earl Rundel seized Philon’s arm, dragging him forward roughly, as though escorting a criminal.

The Kingdom of Obla, an undisputed powerhouse of a nation.

And yet, within its borders, its Crown Prince, a man of immense power, was nothing more than a twelve-year-old boy, abused and broken under the guise of education—nothing more than a puppet with cut strings, being dragged along by his uncle.

*** * ***

"Thank you, Your Excellency, Governor!"

Visitors numbered 13 through 17 bowed repeatedly before exiting the Governor’s office, their attitudes nearly identical to those of the previous guests.

At the desk, Sirvan, who had been swiftly jotting down notes in elegant handwriting, finally put down his pen and met Si-on’s gaze.

"It’s them now."

"Right."

Sirvan straightened his attire before rising from his seat.

A few moments later—

"Your Excellency, the esteemed guests are entering."

With a knock, the door swung open.

Crown Prince Philon and Earl Rundel stepped into the office.

—And Si-on felt it immediately.

Twitch.

Earl Rundel’s eyes twisted slightly.

The young man, who looked barely twenty, had already stood up and displayed proper manners. Yet the other, who appeared to be five or six years older but was still no more than a youth, only slowly rose from his seat after seeing him enter.

‘Arrogant brat.’

Earl Rundel’s gaze turned cold.

But everyone present in this room was both noble and special. Losing one's manners or dignity was unacceptable.

Thus, suppressing his rising urge to kill, Earl Rundel naturally shifted his emotions into calm composure and spoke as nonchalantly as possible.

"Ah, we finally meet, Sir Jang Salen. I’ve heard much abo—"

"Welcome, Your Highness, Crown Prince. My apologies for making you wait. The responsibilities entrusted to me are of the utmost importance, and the situation turned out to be far worse than anticipated, so I had no choice but to act accordingly."

Si-on completely ignored Earl Rundel and respectfully bowed to Crown Prince Philon.

"……!?"

"Oh? Ah, w-well, is that so?"

"Yes. The northeastern lords are also vassals of His Majesty the King. Given the urgency and gravity of their current crisis, I had no choice but to prioritize their needs. I would appreciate your understanding."

"T-the northeastern s-situation is i-indeed more d-dire than o-other regions—I-I saw it on my way h-here. I-it’s quite all right… Hahh, G-Governor, please withdraw your apology."

Perhaps because of Si-on’s unwaveringly polite demeanor, Crown Prince Philon gradually stopped stuttering as he spoke. Not only that, but he was far more composed and formal than usual.

"Please, have a seat over here."

Si-on guided Crown Prince Philon to the seat of honor. However, he didn’t even glance at Earl Rundel, who stood beside the prince.

As Si-on passed by, Earl Rundel’s shoulders trembled slightly.

Only after the Crown Prince had taken his seat did Si-on sit down himself.

And then—finally—he looked at Earl Rundel, who still stood like a stone pillar.

Their eyes met.

But before even a full second passed, Si-on turned his gaze back to the Crown Prince.

"……!"

Earl Rundel’s shoulders visibly shook—so much so that even an idiot could tell.

The meaning behind that brief glance was clear.

"Sit if you want. If not, don’t."

It was the classic commanding look that a superior gave to a subordinate.

"Was your journey here troublesome? These are turbulent times, so I was personally concerned that someone of your stature might have suffered any discomfort."

"N-no, not at all. I had p-plenty of escorts and my attendants took good care of me, so I was f-fine."

Crack!

At that moment, the fragile thread of Rundel’s patience, which had already frayed at noon, finally snapped.

Step. Step.

Expressionless to the point of eeriness, Earl Rundel moved forward.

He neither sought Si-on’s permission nor Crown Prince Philon’s, seating himself without a word.

Thud!

He sat with such force that an audible thud rang through the room.

The sound was enough to make Si-on look at him.

Crown Prince Philon, his nerves already on edge, turned toward his uncle with wide, wary eyes.

It had been years since he’d last seen his uncle this furious.

"Rundel Gillian."

"Jang Salen."

"That’s it? Do you have any idea who I am?"

There was no flowery noble etiquette, no refined formalities.

Earl Rundel was far beyond that now.

"Or are you ignoring me on purpose? And why? No, at this point, does the reason even matter? Fine then, Sir Salen."

His pride had been trampled on beyond humiliation. In his nearly sixty years of life, never had he experienced such disregard.

His rationality was hanging by a thread.

"Tell me, do you have a death wish?"

"……."

Si-on’s eyes widened slightly.

It wasn’t that no one had ever threatened to kill him before.

But those were usually bandits, robbers, or thugs.

In other words, people who carried blades.

It had been a long time since a high-ranking noble, especially a man of this age, had suddenly thrown out a murder threat like this.

"I may have provoked him somewhat, but this is…"

It was new.

And thrilling.

Without realizing it, Si-on smiled.

But Earl Rundel, ignorant of the true nature of the immortal ancient monster before him, saw only one thing—

A worthless prey mocking him.

Like a beast growling at its target, he lowered his voice menacingly.

"You’re smiling? Hah. Fine, let’s make this even more entertaining."

*"I spent days reviewing the royal genealogy of the Salen line. There are exactly six men between the ages of early twenties to mid-thirties whose names are recorded in the family registry. All of them live in the capital.

Out of those six, only three have left the capital in the past year—and all three merely visited their estates in central regions, never staying away for more than a month.

In other words…"*

"There is no one like you in the entire royal registry of the Kingdom. Interesting, isn’t it?"

"……!"

Crown Prince Philon’s jaw dropped.

Only now did he realize the reason behind his uncle’s confidence before their departure to Burgos.

"Oh? Still smiling? You must really be enjoying this."

"I assume you believe His Majesty’s silence will protect you. After all, no one in this land can oppose the King’s will."

"But do you know something?"

"I may not be able to defy the King, but I am the only person who can make things difficult for him."

"Did you know that even His Majesty, if I, Rundel, decide to take action, will tolerate it at least once or twice?"

Earl Rundel’s confidence was absolute.

Because it was real.

Like any other great noble, he feared the King and acted cautiously in his presence.

But Earl Rundel possessed a card that no other noble in the Kingdom of Obla had.

And that card was something only the King himself knew the truth about.

"His Majesty must feel guilty about something concerning your father."

"Though, personally, I have no idea why he would feel that way."

"……!!!"

"That aside…"

"Aren’t you curious why your father had to leave the royal palace in silence?"

"And why he had to spend his entire life hidden away in his estate?"

The immortal ancient monster knew far more about Earl Rundel’s lineage than Rundel himself.

And he intended to use that knowledge against him.

His goal?

To drive a wedge between Crown Prince Philon and Earl Rundel.

"If you want to take down the rider, you shoot the horse first."

To "deal" with Crown Prince Philon, he had to get rid of the horse that kept choosing its own path, regardless of the rider’s will.