Chapter 122
Chapter 122
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: The Next Emperor
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Exquisite fabric embroidered with flawless golden threads. Dangling with jewels so massive they put the crown to shame, yet the Emperor himself resembled a withered old tree.
Deep wrinkles etched by the passage of time, pupils faded to half their color. His ashen skin made it seem no surprise if he passed away any moment.
‘I can kind of tell just by looking at his face.’
Ian easily recalled him. The portrait of the Emperor hanging at the end of the left corridor immediately came to mind. Not just because of the strikingly poor complexion, but he'd heard tales of how this man had lived to such an age in that state, making it stick in his memory.
‘Then, the one after him…’
Ian’s gaze naturally shifted behind the Emperor. Prince Marib and Gail, the Second Prince, were entering in succession. Unlike before, they wore their uniforms impeccably, exuding a dignified air. The other princes didn’t even dare approach the dais, turning back instead.
‘The next Emperor has silver hair, blue eyes. And a scar running from his left temple to his right jaw. But the other princes aren’t visible here.’
It couldn’t be Marib or Gail. Not even close to the features, let alone the scar. Ian kept glancing around, recalling the next Emperor’s face.
Just in case, just in case. It was unlikely, but if all the princes died like with Ian and they brought in an external bastard, he needed to check even the ducal houses.
‘Silver hair, silver hair…’
Still, silver hair wasn’t common. He’d recognize it at once if he saw it.
It was the moment Ian felt a sense of relief and slowly turned his gaze. He realized that Marib and Gail, standing on either side behind the Emperor, were watching him. Eyes that seemed amused from one angle, wary and vigilant from another.
‘Hm. Sticking that close, they do look like brothers.’
The two were facing forward with some distance between them, apparently unaware they were both looking down at Ian.
Ian pretended not to notice and fixed his head toward the Emperor. The nobles beside him merely glanced nervously at the princes.
“Why… why are they looking like that?”
“Not at us, at Ian.”
“Indeed, today’s real star is someone else.”
“…No idea what they’re thinking. Scary.”
“Shh. Be quiet. His Majesty is about to speak.”
The nobles’ whispers ceased completely. The Emperor had taken a step forward. He worked his parched lips a few times, then smiled kindly.
“A year in the great Bariel Empire passes like this.”
The words were squeezed out in a hushed tone, yet the Emperor’s voice resonated to every corner of the vast banquet hall. Magic at work. A voice without spatial depth, as if echoing inside the head. Berik flinched in surprise.
“To you who have labored for the Empire this year, I offer my personal encouragement. Surely, next year’s blooming flowers will be more vibrant, the fields golden, and the returning winds warm.”
It was the Emperor’s New Year’s address. The nobles offered ceremonial smiles, nodding lightly or gazing up in attentive postures. He recounted the year’s events, great and small.
“The temple reconstruction due to the spring earthquake…”
Frankly, the Emperor’s endless, droning speech was boring. Ian glanced back and locked eyes with Romandro and Berik.
‘So! Bor! Ing!’
Berik mouthed the words at Ian, while Romandro sighed deeply, half his soul departed. Ian chuckled softly and turned forward again—just as his name was called.
“The traitorous border house of Bratz has been eradicated. Let those who oppose the great Bariel Empire look to their fate.”
Clap, clap, clap.
The nobles applauded lightly in approval. A warning that any house evading taxes or siphoning funds would meet the same end. As the Emperor spoke, Marib glanced at Gail with a smile. Gail remained expressionless.
Swoosh.
Ian sensed it was nearly his turn. The Prime Minister approached with a flower-adorned pedestal. The Emperor nodded lightly and continued.
“I hereby erase the name Bratz from history forever and establish a new house by imperial decree.”
The nobles’ gazes turned to Ian one by one. The moment he officially stepped into their world.
“Ian.”
The Emperor calling his name personally parted the nobles left and right, forming a path. Applause mingled with the imperial orchestra’s melody as Ian advanced with a smile. Reaching the dais, the Emperor’s face came into clearer view.
‘How old is he? I know he’s long-lived, but he really looks unwell.’
Ian knelt on one knee in courtesy. The Emperor personally patted his shoulder.
“Ian. Good to see you like this.”
“It is an honor, Your Majesty.”
“You bear the blood of Dergha Bratz, yet for your merits in suppressing the rebels for the Empire, I acknowledge it. And that you are undoubtedly a talent essential for Bariel’s progress.”
At the Emperor’s gesture, Ian rose straight. A brooch was affixed to his chest: a black sword crossed in an X, with white flowers blooming behind it. This would be his house’s crest henceforth.
“What the hell is that?”
“Who knows. Hard to see, but looks like a white flower?”
“White, when it could’ve been flashy…”
Some nobles snickered subtly, but Ian paid no mind. Unlike the surname, he’d chosen the crest himself.
‘They don’t even know it’s a gulla flower.’
In the borderlands, gulla was already indispensable. Soon, it would spread across Bariel, solving famines. To cement his role in that feat, he’d made the house crest a gulla flower.
In time, that white flower would become the Empire’s most honored emblem.
“Thus, I enfeoff you as Viscount Hielro.”
Ian Hielro.
That was his new name. Ian bowed gracefully with pleasure.
‘Hielro? Sounds familiar.’
The name rang a bell, yet wasn’t a noble house he knew… Something he’d overheard somewhere.
Hielro, Hielro.
Ian repeated the new surname as he received the title.
“For the glory of Bariel.”
“For the glory of Bariel.”
Ian placed a hand on his chest, pledging loyalty to the Emperor. Marib smiled brightly from behind, applauding. Gail did the same, ceremonially. Spirits’ lights filled the hall, swirling beautifully like scattering petals.
Clap, clap, clap.
“Viscount Ian Hielro. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Viscount Hoikmen.”
“Oh, you know me?”
“More precisely, I know your son, Lord Purn. Humanism—I benefited greatly from it.”
“Pleased to meet you. I am Marquis Haynes.”
“An honor, Marquis.”
As Ian descended, the nobles’ reactions softened somewhat. Simply because the Emperor had bestowed a name. He hadn’t changed from before, yet. Of course, more still gossiped from afar, unwilling to approach—but Ian was clearly now central in high society.
“Next, I commend the merits from the Roxan battle. Hail, Tommy, and Naki from the Magic Department.”
Ian’s moment had passed, but the New Year’s gathering continued. Knights who’d earned merits in various wars crowded the stage, and a few nobles received promotions. As congratulations for Ian tapered off, he cautiously moved back.
“Ian! Over here!”
“Hey! Master Ian Hielro~?”
“You’re a real viscount now. A nobleman. Congratulations!”
Romandro and Berik approached, thrilled and whispering excitedly. Their joyful congratulations were a pleasant sight. Ian nodded with a smile.
“The Mana Confirmation Ritual will take a bit longer.”
“Yeah. Now we just stand and watch—quite relaxing.”
No other promotions matched Ian’s complete status change; others ascended via stairs beside the dais, not the central red carpet.
“But, Lord Romandro.”
“Hm?”
He hadn’t noticed on the straight path from the entrance. Women gathered in groups on the second-floor balcony above the door, watching the proceedings.
“Are those ladies up there His Majesty’s consorts?”
“Ah, yes.”
A strict line drawn. Aside from the Emperor, Empress, and princes, the rest of the family stood one step back from power’s center.
‘Ah. Silver hair.’
Ian spotted a woman among them. Her hair tied up in one, posture elegant, seated prominently even among consorts. He quietly called Romandro again.
“Do you know that silver-haired consort?”
“Who? Silver hair? Ah.”
Romandro glanced around, then whispered. Their spot was quiet, nobles more into private chats than the Emperor’s words—but this was the palace. Every word needed care.
“It’s Lady Dillaina.”
Dillaina. Mother to the Fourth and Fifth Princes, the only consort still at the Emperor’s side. Others had married for politics, avoiding much contact with the aging Emperor.
But Dillaina, with sons to protect, clung to every scrap of influence, personally attending him and leading palace events.
“She prepared this New Year’s gathering in His Majesty’s stead. Handles all internal affairs, filling the Empress’s absence well.”
Dillaina had silver hair.
Then…
“Are her sons silver-haired too?”
“Hm? Yes. They take their mother’s hair, and their father’s eyes.”
Blue eyes. Ian was certain the next-generation Emperor was her son. The question was which: Fourth or Fifth Prince…
‘With the First and Second Princes pushed from the throne, the order of Fourth and Fifth doesn’t matter.’
Ian kept watching upstairs for a prince.
Then.
“…!”
A boy of about twelve appeared beside Dillaina. Ian instantly recognized him from the Emperor’s portrait. That child grown would be the man in it.
“Lord Romandro. That boy…”
About to ask if he was the Fourth or Fifth Prince.
Another identical boy appeared. Romandro glanced up casually and replied.
“Ah, yes. The Fourth and Fifth Princes are twins.”