Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Proposal
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While Chel was off at the dressing room, only Ian and Molin remained in the reception room.
“Once you cross the border—”
The quiet reception room echoed pleasantly with the clink of silverware. At Molin’s casual tone, Ian looked up as well.
“You must miss this place terribly.”
“Home is something you can’t leave even after death.”
Was that too mature an answer for a child? He pondered it for a moment, but Molin showed no particular concern.
“You seem very interested in the capital.”
“Naturally. Doesn’t every citizen of the Bariel Empire want to set foot on its soil at least once?”
The imperial palace and the papal court held special significance. They were the starting point of patriotism and the endpoint of a holy pilgrimage.
Even setting aside such grand reasons, the capital hosted minor festivals and events every month. To a child—especially the bastard son of a poor noble—it must seem like a dreamlike, dazzling place.
“That’s a shame. If you cross the border in a couple of months, you’ll never get the chance. Then, has young master Chel ever been to the capital?”
Ian smiled brightly and shrugged.
Probably not. This was the farthest border from the capital, after all.
The social debut of Bariel noble children fell under the emperor’s purview. Every year, on a day when the rice was ripest in autumn, he gathered the young nobles on the cusp of adulthood and threw a grand party for them.
“Who knows. It might take a bit longer.”
In a year or two, both Chel and Ian would be old enough for their social debuts. But in a situation where even tomorrow was uncertain, they couldn’t pin hopes on next year.
“If you have the time, ask the count for a trip to the capital. Young master Chel may have plenty of opportunities, but not you, sir Ian.”
The nuance oddly emphasized Chel. As if comparing their situations to provoke him.
But Ian responded calmly. What he really wanted was to cut the preliminaries and get to the point, but everything had its order.
“I still have much to learn and feel I’m not ready yet.”
Molin remained skeptical. Someone so clever didn’t seem the type to struggle over a single letter.
Ian smiled faintly and asked,
“If we go to the capital, can we tour the imperial palace?”
“Of course. For the young masters of the Derga count family, I’ll specially request invitations from His Highness Gail.”
Molin’s eyes gleamed. To gauge whether Ian’s golden eyes had been real or an illusion. But Ian was too busy mulling over the name Gail to notice.
‘No matter how I think about it, the name feels familiar.’
“Under His Highness Gail are many excellent mana users. It’ll surely be a good encounter.”
“Ah.”
Ian covered his mouth with his napkin and let out an exasperated laugh. It was thanks to the association between ‘Gail’ and ‘mana user.’ The faded memory surfaced with his name.
“I see. It really will be a good encounter.”
As emperor, there were only two kinds of people he needed to etch into memory.
Those who had rendered great merits, or those tied to treason.
The latter especially required thorough follow-up, so neglect was never an option, even after time passed. They investigated periodically, even after a century, to ensure the bloodline was fully severed.
‘Second Prince, Gail. A traitor. Failed.’
That was why the name rang such a bell. And if Gail’s identity was that, then…
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Ian narrowed his eyes at Molin.
Could it be that he’d seen traces of mana in the reception room that day?
‘One of the key players in Gail’s rebellion was the Magic Department.’
The impact on Ian had been immense.
Already scarce mages had been purged en masse, and Emperor Ian had shouldered that burden directly. At that time, nearly five hundred mages had dwindled to just over a hundred in his generation.
‘Right. That’s why I once tore up a report in a fit. How could they drag mages into that mess?’
Now it was clear.
The reason Molin was approaching him.
Given how this was playing out, he’d definitely noticed something in the reception room. Mana user—a preemptive recruit of talent before they became full mages.
“You look unwell.”
“No. Just…”
Ian gauged Molin’s reaction. Whether Molin was certain about the mana or not, it wasn’t bad for Ian’s current situation. If used well, it was something to welcome.
Ian slowly toyed with the brooch on his chest, as if to draw attention.
“My eyes are a bit irritated.”
He then covered his mouth with his fingers. A signal that the brooch recorded conversations. They needed to exchange intentions without words.
“Is that so? One moment.”
Molin looked briefly surprised, then stood and walked to the desk. He held up a small notepad and pen.
“Would you like to write it down?”
“Eye drops. Thank you.”
He handed over the notepad carefully and sat close to Ian. His handwriting was bold and swift.
-Mana stone?
Ian nodded in affirmation. Molin pressed his temple briefly, frowning. A rare item even in the capital—how did a border count have such a thing?
Swish.
But his writing hand didn’t hesitate. What he’d mulled over repeatedly in his head went down on paper.
-Do you want to cross the border?
As if. Ian shook his head. The sound of scraping the soup bowl clean came with it.
-With a deficit like Chel around, it’s unreasonable. And you have a different birth mother, don’t you, sir Ian? If you leave Bariel, the countess won’t let it slide.
It matched the preamble he’d expected.
Mentioning the child’s sole weakness—his birth mother—to prod at deep-seated resentment. They wanted Ian to stay here instead of Chel.
‘If he saw me use mana, as expected, he’s trying to pull me to Gail’s side to bolster their forces. If not…’
Traitors had only one option.
Prop Ian up as a figurehead and swallow the Bratz territory. Management was a mess, but the soldier count was several times higher than elsewhere.
Above all, rebellion succeeded through swift strikes. Before other border nobles could send reinforcements, using this as a base would secure an effective foothold.
‘But a mystery. What about Derga?’
Either way, cooperating with the count was the quickest and surest path.
‘The real power now is with the First Prince, so they’d be checking each other. Approaching the Second Prince’s faction wouldn’t be bad. They wouldn’t even mention outright rebellion—just subtle power-building. But since they’re tempting me, it’s natural to assume it fell through.’
In the short time, Ian had come to know Derga.
For such a greedy, politically sensitive man to reject the Second Prince? It’d be more convincing if he’d stalled to play both sides. But Molin’s attitude suggested outright refusal.
Ian looked at Molin with calm eyes.
-Will you help me?
-If you wish.
Why?
Why was Derga uninterested in central power struggles?
Suddenly, Ian recalled the documents from the office. An inexplicably high military ratio. Taxes were bomb-level, but could that cover it? He’d even wondered if the territory had some special resource.
‘This guy… could it be…’
Was he embezzling taxes meant for the imperial palace?
Then everything fit. The attitude of avoiding central entanglements, the abnormal economy, the busy non-farming season work.
Tap tap.
Molin lightly tapped Ian’s arm to draw attention. He wanted a reply to the last line. Ian wrote back with his small hand.
-What do you want from me?
We’re communicating well. Molin openly mentioned the golden eyes from that day.
-Are you perhaps a mana user, sir Ian?
-I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Ian denied it flatly. Revealing himself as a mana user now had more downsides than ups. Plus, the opponent was from the Magic Department plotting rebellion. Hiding it until he could protect himself was wise.
Molin tapped the notepad silently. The old man’s eyes sharpened to detect lies.
-That’s a pity.
-Will you back off because of that?
-Absurd. We need you, sir Ian. Help us well, and when you go to the capital, we’ll oppose your household registration. Then there’s no need to cross the border.
“Is the outfit comfortable?”
Just then, Drgor’s voice came from outside. He’d surely enter soon—a signal to wrap up.
Molin calmly gathered the notepads into an ashtray. He added a small ember and sealed the lid.
Creak.
“Huh?”
Chel, newly fitted in his outfit, paused at the door. The mood was oddly stiff. Molin smiled kindly and welcomed him.
“Well, well. That dressing room madam does fine work.”
“Lord Drgor gifted it to me. Th-thank you.”
“It was my fault for spilling the water. Let’s finish the meal. I wonder what’s keeping Mac.”
No sooner had he spoken than the door opened again. No guards—just Mac alone.
“He’d drown in a wine barrel, not water—death by alcoholism. Told him to sample it, and he took one sip and was hooked.”
Mac’s jovial remark instantly livened the luncheon mood. Ian smiled back, slicing and eating the remaining meat, while Molin gave his subordinates a look.
‘How is he?’
‘As expected, sharp.’
At the first luncheon, Molin had conveyed Gail’s intentions to the count, but Derga’s reaction was lackluster.
The moment he awkwardly opened the door, he’d met Ian’s golden eyes. If used well, it had value. Especially if a mana user—a godsend opportunity.
But the kid denied it outright…
‘Keep a close eye.’
Molin twitched his left eyebrow, signaling Mac and Drgor.
Meanwhile, Ian gazed at the fork in his left hand and knife in his right, as if holding both the imperial palace and the Cheonryeo Tribe.
Swish.
Then the steak in the center would be Bratz. Using both at once, he could cut it cleanly.
“The meat is as excellent as ever.”
Ian added his bit with a satisfied smile. Then naturally appended,
“With the escort asleep, we can’t go far today. Shall we stroll the park after eating to aid digestion? I’d like to see the lake Lord Molin mentioned.”