The Founding Monarch Became the Mastermind

Chapter 39

“Uh… Y-yes, that’s right. What is this? Is it magic?”

“I’ve never seen letters like this before… Are they really letters?”

Piotr and Stelman asked urgently.

As they entered the village, suddenly, unknown symbols and numbers appeared at the upper left corner of their vision, leaving both men incredibly startled and bewildered.

Yet, since no one else seemed to react, they briefly wondered if they were just seeing things.

Amid this confusion, the elf warrior they had just met today accurately drew the sentence (whether it was letters, symbols, or images, they still weren’t sure) on the ground.

“I don’t know either. It’s not in our elven script. Among our tribe, only the Elder and I can see this, and only in this place.”

Friel tilted his body slightly and pointed in one direction. Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise.

Until a moment ago, the clouds had covered the moon, hiding it from view, but as the clouds passed and the moonlight shone down, the scenery of the clearing became clearly visible.

“Wow!”

“Whoa….”

A massive tree, bathed in moonlight and starlight, stood in the center of the clearing, exuding an overwhelming presence.

The tree, with a circumference of at least 50 meters and a height reaching about 100 meters, was so majestic and awe-inspiring that it left them breathless.

“This is…”

Piotr mumbled involuntarily as he looked up at the tree, and Si-on spoke.

“It’s the Tree of the Holy Spirit. It’s always present in elven villages of some size.”

This tree was the most crucial and defining factor that distinguished elves from humans in terms of their physical and mental characteristics, as well as their overall ecosystem.

“By the way, you said you started seeing these letters near the Tree of the Holy Spirit?”

In response to Si-on’s question, Friel turned back towards the group and nodded.

“Yes. It seems the traveler can see it too. But since you called them letters, it seems like you know what they are?”

“Well….”

Si-on trailed off.

Of course, he knew what it was.

‘Level at this timing?’

He recalled his conversation with the wasteland dragon, Derkios.

Through that conversation, he had suspected that this world might be some sort of game, but now, out of nowhere, a ‘level’ had appeared?

Could it be that this place was indeed inside a game?

Moreover, the level displayed at the upper left of his vision was:

[LEVEL 99]

Despite the shock and confusion, Si-on, who had lived for over a hundred years, quickly calmed himself down like the old monster he was.

‘Nothing changes. I just need to do what I must now.’

“More importantly, judging by what you said, it seems that you’ve only started seeing these letters recently. Am I correct?”

“That’s right. It’s been less than a month. I checked it while guiding you all here, just in case.”

“I see. Then, maybe what appears behind those letters is… No, it would be better to discuss this with the Elder since he can also see these letters.”

“…As you wish.”

Though it seemed like he had more to say, Friel, aware of the others who couldn’t see the ‘level,’ complied.

“Then, does the Elder wish to meet only the traveler familiar with our language and culture? Or….”

Friel’s gaze shifted to Piotr and Stelman.

The two who recognized the ‘level’ were also being invited to meet the elven Elder.

‘He’s quick-witted.’

Si-on’s eyes shone with interest as he looked at Friel.

For an elf, who typically lacked social skills by human standards, this was quite unusual—a rather peculiar elf indeed.

‘If that’s the case…’

The plan he had set since deciding to visit the elves first upon entering the duchy needed slight adjustments.

‘Piotr, Stelman, and Friel….’

Si-on, who had finished his calculations in an instant, spoke.

“Sir Piotr Si-on Kilburn, a rightful descendant of Si-on’s blood, has the reason and qualification to meet the Elder. However, it would be a bit difficult for the mercenary captain. Commander Stelman Janstrick, establishing a connection with the Buksan tribe alone should be sufficient. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I will follow your wishes. I’ll go back and prepare our men.”

“Do so.”

As always, Stelman gave a straightforward answer and turned away.

“Sir Yonas, how about accompanying the mercenary captain? As you’re well aware, it’s best to follow the elves’ instructions closely.”

“U-understood.”

Yonas, who almost instinctively shouted “Yes, sir!”, awkwardly altered his words and followed Stelman.

“No, I… I’ll go with Uncle.”

Sirvan, who had wanted to meet the elven Elder he’d only heard about in stories, wore a disappointed look when Yonas shot him a stern glare, and reluctantly turned back.

“Then, this way.”

Friel led Si-on and Piotr toward the Tree of the Holy Spirit.

The Tree of the Holy Spirit was not just a single tree. It was formed by six or seven trunks entwined like serpents, rising upward.

There was a door set into the gap between the trunks. Si-on followed Friel through the door.

“Elder. Under Si-on’s guarantee, I have brought a traveler who knows manners and has guided a new Si-on here. He has brought a gift and only asks for a conversation with the Elder. Though it is late, I have brought him.”

Friel, perhaps out of consideration for Si-on and Piotr, spoke in the human language instead of Elvish.

At that moment, a figure who had been lying on a wooden bed covered with leaves as large as a human torso, like a bedsheet, sat up.

“Cough, cough! A new Si-on and a traveler who retains his manners? Then we must meet right away. It’s been such a long time….”

An elf elder, who looked no different from an 80-year-old human except for his long, pointed ears, stopped speaking mid-sentence.

His blue eyes, set in heavily wrinkled lids, flickered as they fixed on Si-on.

“So the current Elder is you. It’s been a while, Bael.”

Si-on called out the name of his old comrade, who had fought alongside him long ago.

The young elven warrior who had accepted his proposal and had come to this place with tribes that had lost their homes.

Time had aged the elf friend who once seemed eternally youthful and full of vitality into something resembling an ancient tree, but Si-on could still recognize him.

“Jang…?”

The aged elf, well over a hundred years old, also recognized his old friend, who looked just as he did in their youth, and called out his name.

“Yes, it’s me.”

At Si-on’s reply, a faint light flickered in Bael’s once clouded and murky eyes.

His memories, which had been sinking below the surface as his aging mind declined, began to slowly resurface.

Those memories, brought back by the call of their old master, soon reassembled themselves into what could only be called nostalgia.

For one of the rare times, a long smile appeared on the lips of the old elf.

“Jang Si-on, my comrade.”

Bael moved his creaking joints and hugged Si-on tightly.

“It’s been a long time, my friend.”

Si-on also smiled and gently patted his old friend’s now frail back.

The two parted after their reunion of several decades.

“Fifty years, has it been?”

“The last time we met was when Theo succeeded the Si-on name, so about that long. Even though I had my suspicions, it’s still hard to believe….”

Though happy to see Si-on again, Bael’s reaction was restrained.

He had long suspected Si-on’s secret, having known him since they came to the duchy after the Dark Dragon War and until Si-on’s eldest son, Theo, became the new duke.

“So, have you returned completely?”

“Probably.”

Si-on and Bael spoke in Elvish. Piotr, unable to understand, merely watched their expressions, but Friel was different.

Friel’s eyes widened as he looked back and forth between the Elder Bael and Si-on.

Respect for the highest elder and the innate patience of the elves kept him from interrupting, but his gaze remained fixed on Si-on, his lips moving constantly as if in disbelief.

Bael glanced at Piotr, who was standing behind Si-on, and asked.

“Is that young man your descendant?”

“Yes. He’s Maria’s grandson.”

“I see.”

Bael knew all of Si-on’s children. He had seen the youngest daughter, Maria, quite often.

Maria, who had been young then, had strangely followed Bael around, and although Bael, like most elves, rarely showed emotions, he didn’t push away his comrade’s daughter and often played with her.

“He resembles her quite a bit. But it seems this young man doesn’t yet know who you are, does he?”

“That’s right.”

“Given that you’ve brought him to meet me, I assume you’re planning to tell him about yourself now?”

“I didn’t intend to at first, but I’ve changed my mind. This kid can see those letters too. From what I’ve heard, you and our friend here can see them as well.”

“Ah. So, you can see them too, Jang.”

Bael nodded heavily and turned his gaze to Friel.

“Friel, this is Duke Jang Si-on.”

“Yes. I gathered that from your conversation just now.”

Friel looked at Si-on and placed his hand lightly over his left chest, bowing slightly like a knight.

“Friel of Buksan greets Jang Si-on, the eternal friend of all elves.”

Si-on mirrored Friel’s posture.

“I am Jang Si-on. Please understand that I did not reveal my identity from the beginning due to certain circumstances, Friel.”

“I understand.”

Friel’s gaze shifted to Piotr.

Though elves were often emotionally reserved and somewhat rigid, they were far from unintelligent.

The suspicious death of the previous duke and the sudden arrival of Si-on with a new descendant after decades made it clear that something significant was about to unfold.

“Uh… Excuse me, but could you tell me what you’ve been talking about?”

Having listened to the long conversation in incomprehensible Elvish and feeling the growing attention on him, Piotr cautiously asked.

“You don’t seem to know.”

“Wait.”

Si-on raised his hand to stop Friel.

“This is something I need to tell him.”

“Understood.”

Si-on turned to the bewildered Piotr.

“Watch closely.”

“Wha—!?”

Piotr gasped as Si-on suddenly drew a dagger and held it up to his face.

But when the beard that had covered half of his face was removed, Piotr’s shock turned into utter disbelief.

From the first day he met him until now, Piotr had always felt an inexplicable familiarity with Si-on.

Despite their few years’ difference, interacting with Si-on often felt like dealing with his father or older brother, occasionally making him feel small.

Yet, the comfort Si-on exuded balanced that out, just as being in the presence of his father or older brother would.

Si-on’s strict demeanor, the odd look of melancholy that sometimes passed over him when he gazed at Piotr, had felt a bit uncomfortable at times.

However, Piotr had chalked it up to Si-on’s concern for him as he sought to seize opportunities far away in the southern territories.

Si-on’s vast knowledge and experience, which seemed to have no bounds, had always made him a teacher who willingly imparted countless lessons. And Piotr had eagerly absorbed them.

Indeed, Si-on had seemed like a perfectly compatible and comforting presence.

But when the beard covering Si-on’s face was gone, Piotr suddenly realized the source of that comfort.

Salen—or whatever his true name was—bore an uncanny resemblance to his father in his youth, and even to the grandmother Piotr had only ever seen in portraits.

If a mirror had been present, Piotr might have thought Si-on looked more like himself than his father or grandmother.

“S-Sir Salen…?”

“Salen is just one of my wife’s middle names. My name is Jang Si-on. I am your grandmother’s father and your great-grandfather.”