The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 134

Si-on had mercilessly slaughtered the knights of the northeastern territories, and Philon had witnessed the carnage firsthand.

Just like the messengers who had been present at the time, he was deeply shaken and humbled.

However, there was a crucial difference between Philon and the messengers.

The messengers had speculated that Si-on might be an exceptional knight—a Sword Master—based on his role in annihilating the Jetman Territory’s forces last year, as well as the rumors that had spread from the south and the Si-on Duchy.

On the other hand, Philon knew for certain that Si-on was the world’s one and only Dragon Slayer—a fact he had learned from the diary of his great-grandfather, the former king, who had personally recorded his experiences during the Dark Dragon War.

So while both the messengers and Philon were equally shocked and humbled, the former merely confirmed that Si-on was a Sword Master, whereas the latter became absolutely certain that he was a Dragon Slayer.

And that difference was immense.

If asked why the gap was so significant, one could list dozens of reasons, but there was one phrase that even those completely ignorant about swordsmanship could understand at a glance:

— Not all Sword Masters can become Dragon Slayers, but all Dragon Slayers are Sword Masters.

In fact, even the phrase all Dragon Slayers was incorrect.

Because there was only one.

That one and only existence, the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time) among sword-wielders, was right beside them.

So why would they even be concerned about a mere horde of orcs?

Philon had not the slightest bit of worry.

“Haha. I’m fine, so you needn’t fret so much either.”

Yet, his confidence began to waver within an hour.

“……”

Philon, who had been so relaxed just moments ago, had now gone stiff. The Royal Knights, too, wore tense expressions, their left hands gripping the reins while their right hands instinctively reached for their sword hilts.

The approaching orc horde didn’t look all that different from what they had imagined.

The problem was the gap between their expectations and the overwhelming reality before them.

Most of them were well over 180 centimeters tall, and some even seemed to surpass 2 meters. These brown-skinned giants were all absurdly muscular.

As the orc warriors rode forward, their massive shoulder muscles swelling as if ready to burst and their steel-like thighs exposed, sweat trickled down Philon’s forehead.

‘T-This is far more monstrous than I thought…’

The words ferocious and savage were commonly used to describe orcs, and Philon now understood that they were perfectly fitting.

There was simply no other way to describe these rugged, brown-skinned behemoths.

Even the Royal Knights, who barely flinched at the sight of a man dying before them, kept their hands on their sword hilts and swallowed dryly.

Even their warhorses seemed unsettled, reacting to the aura of the approaching warriors.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

Si-on’s horse, Blackie, stepped forward, leaving Philon and the Royal Knights behind.

They thought to themselves that the horse was as extraordinary as its master.

At that moment, Si-on and the orc warriors halted simultaneously, stopping at a distance of four to five meters from each other.

“……”

The orc warriors, without even attempting to hide their savage aura, brazenly scanned Si-on from head to toe.

Understanding the meaning behind their stares, Si-on spoke calmly.

“Swords, axes—it doesn’t matter. However you want to make your first introduction, I’ll oblige.”

“……!”

The orcs flinched, startled by how naturally he spoke their language.

But only for a moment. True to their nature as a battle-hardened race with first-tier combat instincts, they instinctively reached for their weapons.

“I am a member of the Obla Kingdom’s royal family, and one of the men behind me is as well. In fact, he is the Crown Prince.”

The orc warriors, who had just grabbed their massive swords, axes, and maces, hesitated mid-motion as Si-on’s voice reached them.

“So understand this—if you choose to fight us, there is no turning back. The moment you attack, you will be making an enemy of the Obla Kingdom. And of course…”

Even after hearing the name of the Obla royal family, the orc warriors continued glaring at him.

Meeting each of their gazes one by one, Si-on added a final remark.

“…the Si-on Ducal Family as well.”

The orcs' hands slowly withdrew from their weapons.

Not just in the Obla Kingdom, but across all human nations, the name Si-on carried extraordinary weight.

Duke Jang Si-on, their Founding Patriarch, had fought alongside his fellow heroes to slay the Dark Dragon and its horde of tens of thousands of monsters.

Of course, numerous troops from all across the land had joined the fight, but no one disputed that the Duke and his comrades had played the most decisive role in ending that dark era.

Jang Si-on was, as people called him, the legendary hero who saved the world.

But then…

What about the other side?

The Dark Dragon and the monsters it had commanded had long since been slain and turned to dust.

However, the Dark Dragon and its horde weren’t the only enemies Duke Si-on had faced.

Before the era of the Dark Dragon, he had also battled the orcs.

And back then, not a single orc who had crossed paths with him had survived. Not one.

That was enough for Si-on to become a ‘legend’—not only to the humans he had saved but also to the orcs he had fought.

Even after all these years, the mere mention of Si-on Ducal Family was enough to make these battle-hardened orc warriors take their hands off their weapons.

“……”

Orcs, by nature, were not a settled race.

That was why humans referred to the land they inhabited as Orcland. Orcland wasn’t a nation—it was merely a vast expanse where orcs roamed, constantly clashing with one another for survival.

That was also why, from time to time, tribes that had been defeated and driven out wandered down to the borders of human nations like this.

Moreover, since Orcland wasn’t a country, it had no borders. Instead, tribes roughly marked their territories based on impassable terrain, deciding, This is our land, that is yours.

And those ‘impassable terrains’ weren’t just a human concept—they were a reality for orcs as well.

In other words, for these orcs to have made their way down here, they must have had an incredibly urgent reason.

“Did you lose a battle?”

Si-on’s voice broke the awkward silence, making the orcs flinch.

It was quite a comical sight—these massive, muscular figures, crammed together inside a large leather tent, all flinching in unison.

But no one laughed.

“It wasn’t just a simple defeat, was it? If it were, you would have followed the Law of the Land, joined the victors, and fought alongside them. So, are they the kind that kill everyone?”

“A human who knows much about us.”

“How strange.”

“Is he a priest? But he looks far too big and strong for that.”

The orcs murmured among themselves.

Philon and the Royal Knights watched in astonishment.

To them, orcs were nothing more than savage, ruthless creatures—an inherently hostile race toward humans.

And yet…

‘I don’t know what they’re saying, but… they sure talk a lot.’

‘Orcs like to chatter. Noted.’

They were already shocked that Si-on understood the orc language, but this unexpected glimpse into the nature of a race they had only heard about left the city-bred knights utterly bewildered.

“I am a royal of Obla, but I am also a Si-on. It’s only natural that I know much about you.”

“……”

The orcs, who had been chattering amongst themselves, shut their mouths in an instant.

To both humans and orcs, Si-on was a legend—but the meaning of that legend was entirely different between the two races.

If it weren’t, then this tribe, known as Brownwood by the River, wouldn’t have welcomed their human visitors with hospitality instead of clubbing them to death on sight.

“Anyway. Am I right? Has a tribe emerged that disregards the Law of the Land and kills all, regardless of the outcome of battle?”

“That is correct. It is because of the orcs who do not follow the Law of the Land. Black Gale. We fled from them to come here.”

Because of Si-on’s reputation, the Brownwood by the River orcs spoke with an unusual level of deference.

It was hard to believe that these were the same notoriously aggressive orcs, but there was a reason for their attitude.

While orcs were not a settled race, they also didn’t wander aimlessly across all of Orcland.

Most orcs lived by moving in set patterns through specific territories at designated times. The Brownwood by the River tribe, as their name suggested, roamed along the riverbanks.

And that river was close to the Obla Kingdom.

Because of this proximity, no orc tribe in Orcland had internalized Si-on’s legendary infamy as deeply as they had.

“I see. Then you must have traveled downstream from the Gintess River to get here?”

“Amazing! You truly know much about us. You are indeed Si-on.”

“What, did you think I was an imposter? That’s why I never lie to orcs.”

“Kruh-ha!”

The orcs, each a head or two taller than Si-on, let out exclamations of admiration.

One of the lesser-known traits of orcs—something even most humans didn’t understand—was that orcs never lied.

Why? Because while humans could lie and later make amends with an apology or compensation, orcs had no such luxury.

For them, lying simply resulted in having one’s skull cracked open.

Thus, orcs had no concept of deceit.

While ancient history might have been different, in the present day, very few humans knew this truth.

And so, the Brownwood by the River orcs found themselves feeling an unexpected sense of favor toward this human, Si-on, whom they had only just met.

“The citizens of my city are uneasy because of you. That’s why I came.”

But that favor vanished in an instant.

“…Is that a declaration of war?”

By orc standards, Si-on’s words were nothing less than a challenge.

“If I was declaring war, why would I have followed you all the way here? I would have done it the moment we first met and left.”

“That is true. So, are we not fighting?”

Si-on sighed at the sheer orcishness of their black-and-white thinking, but he reminded himself why he had come in person and exercised patience.

“That depends on your Brownwood by the River tribe.”

“What do you mean?”

“First, let me ask—do you think the Black Gale tribe will chase you down all the way here?”

The brown-skinned warriors fell silent again.

Then, the fiercest-looking among them—a one-eyed orc warrior with an especially grim expression (even among a race where everyone looked equally menacing)—parted his thick lips to speak.

“The Black Gale seeks to control the entire Gintess River. They will not let us live.”

“I see. Then let me ask one more thing—have I seen all the survivors of your tribe, or are there more?”

“There are about twenty warriors still out hunting.”

“I see. So that makes a little over three hundred in total…”

By itself, it wasn’t an extraordinary number.

But what mattered was that, excluding the children, at least two hundred of them were capable of fighting.

Orcs could turn their women and elders into warriors if necessary.

And if their enemy wasn’t another orc but humans? Then everyone, except the youngest of children, would be prepared to fight.

“Good. Then I’ll ask my final question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do the Brownwood by the River wish to return to the river… or do they wish to survive at any cost?”

Your fate depends on your answer.

Si-on swallowed those words, his gaze heavy as he looked at these beings—an entirely different race, but one where each and every individual could become a warrior at a moment’s notice.