Chapter 18
Chapter 18
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Preparation
-----------------------------------------------------------------
He won't die, but he wants to meet the Cheonryeo Tribe?
Molin's expression was a sight to behold. Some emotion between bewilderment and absurdity. He kept stroking his goatee, opening and closing his mouth. Trying to figure out Ian's intentions.
Meeting the Cheonryeo Tribe meant crossing the border. For Ian, wasn't that a path to death?
At his hesitation, Mac and Drgor craned their necks to peer at the parchment as well. Their faces twisted in the same entertaining way.
"Do you not understand what it means to meet the Cheonryeo Tribe?"
"I do. But if an investigator comes from the palace, my father will surely suspect me. The only central folks in Bratz territory are you, Lord Molin, and your group, and the one who stayed close at the estate is me. Even if there are planted eyes and ears, it's obvious I'll be the first under suspicion."
It was the natural course of events.
If the palace had personally dispatched investigators after nearly a fortnight, it meant they had some solid evidence—and solid evidence pointed to something leaking from the Bratz estate.
"He won't leave me be. The moment investigators barge in, who knows what'll happen. Given Father's temper, he'll interrogate me with a blade at my throat. So I'll cross the border."
The three men exchanged glances.
Truth be told, they didn't care what happened to the kid. Whether he died by his father's hand, became a slave, or crossed the border—it was all the same. What they wanted was the fall of House Bratz and the value of the territory they'd claim because of it.
"You might not come back."
Ian couldn't be unaware of that.
Even with the truce holding, safety wasn't guaranteed. If the family vanished, who knew how the other side would react? Hiding somewhere might be better.
"Then."
Ian pierced their thoughts and continued writing.
"Will you hide me and my mother?"
Molin kept his gaze fixed on the parchment impassively, but Mac and Drgor clearly looked troubled.
Toppling House Bratz, a lineage spanning generations, was urgent and risky enough. Protecting a bastard and his mother on top of that was a burden too far. Especially since they were outsiders.
"Bratz territory is in Father's grasp. I know it's too much. So I'll cross the border as Father wants, for now. That alone is enough."
As long as Derga lived, Ian's bones could only be buried beyond the border. Even if he fled, he had nowhere to go.
But if House Bratz was wiped out? No, if just the head, Derga, was gone?
Ian could return.
And live as before.
*It's risky, but maybe not a bad choice.*
Mac thought, fiddling with his eyebrow.
Stay here, and it was death by father's hand or slavery—one or the other. But if he left...
*Hope emerges. After time passes, when memories fade. He could blend in with the villagers.*
He silently applauded Ian. The writing at the end slanted halfway, as if leaning in with his pen.
*It's a true choice to forge your own fate! Sir. I think this is worth hearing him out. Securing evidence with Ian's help should come first, shouldn't it? Derga's sharp; we can't dawdle.*
Molin nodded in agreement.
*And above all, if the truce proceeds...*
As Mac moved to write next, Drgor stopped his pen. A light shake of the head, with a scolding look.
Realizing his slip, Mac turned to Ian. His glance checking Ian's face looked awkward. Ian completed the sentence without a word.
*If the truce proceeds, it's beneficial in many ways.*
Friction between the central investigators and Derga would unsettle the territory. If the Cheonryeo Tribe stirred trouble in that gap, it would be problematic. Better to safely proceed with the promised truce for now. Even if the family head changed later, they'd hold the advantage in negotiations.
"Ian. Let's go out often. We're leaving when the flowers bloom, so you should take in the beauty of Bratz territory beforehand."
It meant everything would proceed without a hitch, as planned, on that spring day.
Molin drew his family crest on the paper with his fingertip. A gesture those who valued honor made when swearing oaths. Staking his house's name made it an absolute promise. He seemed grateful for Ian's sacrifice—not quite a sacrifice.
*The crest is unusual.*
Ian noted the gesture indifferently.
Knock knock.
A knock came from outside.
"We've brought dessert."
"Come in."
Fortunately, not Countess Mary. Servants carrying trays full of teacups and a teapot. As they bustled in, Mac stuffed the parchment into his pocket and asked.
"Mind if I light a mana cigarette, Ian?"
"Go ahead. Just open the window."
"Thanks. Hey, bring a lidded ashtray."
"Yes. Right away."
"But Madam's late, huh?"
He'd planned to burn the paper with tobacco if Countess Mary was delayed. Click click. Mac fidgeted with his lighter out of habit as he asked, and the servant smiled awkwardly.
"Lady Merelrof sent over quite a lot."
"You exchange like that often?"
"Pardon? Well... Servants come two or three times a week."
The servant politely presented the golden ashtray. Mac, opening the window, suddenly spotted a familiar flowerpot.
"That's the pot you bought at the park then."
"It's a rare flower. Stayed in full bloom for so long."
"No one at the estate knows what it is?"
"Yes. Everyone says it's a first. We worried about poison, but thankfully not."
Hm. Mac exhaled a puff of smoke and looked away. Once the servants left, he crumpled the neatly folded parchment into the ashtray. He lit it carefully, burning from the end. Faint smoke swirled out the window and vanished.
Knock knock.
This time, the door opened without waiting. It was Countess Mary. She covered her mouth, laughing as if embarrassed.
"Sorry I'm late. Terribly rude to leave guests."
"No, Madam. Lady Merelrof must have sent precious gifts."
"Being near Hwan Kingdom, all sorts of novelties come in."
"I see. Must be things hard to find even in the capital."
Mac asked with a hint of wanting to see, but Countess Mary smiled awkwardly and changed the subject.
"They're for ladies, so probably not to your interest. Anyway..."
She inhaled deeply to savor the tea's aroma, then paused.
"What's that smell?"
"Sorry, Madam. I smoked a mana cigarette."
"Oh, did you?"
Her glare at Ian softened instantly. She'd assumed poor room management for a moment. Countess Mary smiled brightly and brought up gossip again.
* * *
One hour.
That was how long it took for Molin's group to finish luncheon and leave. And except for the beginning, most of it was with Countess Mary. Thanks to that, the brooch check was much shorter.
Derga pulled a gem from the mana gauge and asked.
"Quite a gap. Explain."
Especially before the countess came in.
Derga sharply scanned Ian, who stood at attention. No sign of tension or fluster.
"I was just listening to Mac and Lord Drgor talk. The weather was so nice, I looked outside. Overall, a peaceful, quiet atmosphere."
Clink clink.
Only the sound of Derga rolling the brooch echoed quietly. His face full of suspicion, but Ian knew. It was a threat to intimidate and press him.
"May I go if you're done checking? The tutor is waiting."
"You're writing a personal letter today, right?"
"Yes. I'll do my best, though lacking."
He already knew what to write. Something about promoting harmony between House Bratz and the Cheonryeo Tribe—full of meaningless content except for handwriting analysis.
"Out."
"Father."
Even at Ian's call, Derga didn't look up. Just a twitch of his brow granting permission to speak.
"Has Mother received her letter?"
"...Foolish question."
Not foolish. Reminding Derga consciously that Ian's leash was his mother. Making him smug that he held the collar tight in his hand. But in the end, nothing there.
"Sorry. Then."
Ian bowed his head and left the study.
What Lord Molin needed was proof of embezzlement. Details would come from the palace investigators, so anything with a seal would do, even minor.
*The brooch is in the center desk drawer. No separate lock. Though there shouldn't be.*
From his angle facing Derga, Ian couldn't peek in the drawer. But it held precious mana stones, and Derga's study had no obvious safe. If there was one, likely tied to the desk.
Pondering how to search the desk.
"Ian."
"Hanna?"
Descending the stairs, Hanna peeked out. Her cautious voice and glances around spelled trouble. Checking if anyone watched.
"What's wrong?"
"Do you know someone named Berik?"
"Berik?"
Of course. Ian nodded, and Hanna whispered as if she'd expected it.
"Berik's protesting at the main gate, demanding to see you."
Ian chuckled, imagining it. A precious body who couldn't even see his mother—would they let in a thug kicked from the private guard?
"Tell the tutor I'll be right there after a quick look."
"Yes, Ian."
Hanna dashed to the annex, and Ian headed to the main gate. Sure enough, the gardeners and gatekeepers buzzed. As Ian approached briskly, the guard bowed awkwardly.
"What is it?"
"Heard my guest came."
"That is—"
The gatekeeper scratched his nose explaining.
"He's a former trainee, seems to hold a grudge against the estate, so we turned him away."
Not really here for Ian—just using him as an excuse to get in, they misjudged. That's why it stopped at mid-level report.
"Insolent."
"Pardon?"
Ian scowled. At the sudden reprimand, the man blinked.
"You underlings dare screen the master's guest? If he's here for me, of course ask up the chain first—what gives you the right?"
"Up" meant Derga, but no matter. Nothing to hide, couldn't hide it. Using Berik as a limb meant taking him in.
"...S-sorry."
Ian glared and nodded toward the gate.
"Open it."
"But..."
"I'm not going out."
At Ian's firm words, the gatekeeper opened the main gate.
Creak.
A bit away, Berik lay half-propped. Planning to eat and sleep here until seeing Ian, probably.
"Hey!"
Spotting golden hair, Berik sprang reflexively. The gatekeeper's spear blocked him. But Berik ignored them like air, bellowing.
"You! What was that?!"
The golden eyes and strange power from that day, no doubt.
Ian smiled brightly and stood at the gate. As instructed, he hadn't stepped outside.
"You look much fitter now."
Whip scars striped clearly. Ian beckoned him closer, and they faced off at the estate's boundary.
"Step back for a bit."
"But—"
"Shall I call the steward?"
Derga didn't manage them directly—the steward did. If word got out the report stopped midway, they'd catch hell.
Especially since it was someone here for Ian. They had orders to manage even trivialities about the bastard.
"Just for a moment."
The gatekeepers stepped back a bit. Close enough to hear whispers, far enough for quick response if trouble. Ian pulled Berik's ear close.
"You. Look like you need my help."
"Quit yapping and first tell me what that was back then—"
"I need you too."
Ian cut him off, whispering.
"So from now on, follow me."