Chapter 248
Chapter 248
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 248
Chapter Title: Jin's Request
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Melania's eyes narrowed slightly. What on earth was that doubt? Referring to himself as if he were a third party.
But Ian paid it no mind and kept peering into the amber gemstone. It bore a striking resemblance to the one Prince Marib had used during the rebellion—and the one hidden beneath the Silask flowerpot.
‘On the surface, it looks like Idgal. I’ll need to investigate it more closely.’
Hadn’t Acorella said as much? That if it was artificial, slicing it in half would reveal geometric patterns. The mark of an alchemist’s creation, their unique signature.
If this truly came from bastard Ian’s hands, it would display a texture utterly unlike ‘Idgal’.
“Ian.”
Ian turned at Melania’s call. Her eyes brimmed with deep suspicion. That unrelenting gaze, the distance closing between them. Melania asked cautiously, her voice now formal as if she had reined in her emotions.
“Lord Ian, do you truly have no memory of it at all?”
It was phrased as a question, but it was little more than a probe. This was a critical variable for Melania.
If Ian had lost his memories, it would create an imbalance of past information. A golden opportunity for Melania, who held all the cards.
“You smiled, you know. So happy that the flush wouldn’t leave your cheeks. And so…….”
Melania faltered, trailing off mid-sentence. If Ian didn’t remember, wouldn’t it be wiser to toss out something abstract rather than a direct recounting of events?
Ian saw through her intent and met it with silence. Claiming he remembered carried too many risks, while admitting ignorance was no smart play. Vague deflection would amount to admission all the same.
The past put current Ian at a disadvantage, but when it came to palace intrigue, Melania was the desperate one. The longer the silence stretched, the more likely she’d crack first.
Swish.
Ian fetched the pressed flower without a word. Silask, glowing faintly red in the lamplight. Even in the capital, traces of it were elusive—yet here it appeared again, alongside the amber gemstone. Just as it had in the desert.
It was clear now: the Rutherford Merchant Group had ties to the flower, lending credence to Melania’s claims.
Idgal was something Prince Marib had wielded too, but this flower? Among everyone Ian had encountered thus far, only he was connected to it.
“Say something. Please. This way, it’s just…….”
Just like a stranger, beyond mere amnesia—like someone treating it as another’s affair. Melania swallowed the absurdity and pressed on.
“As if I’m the one spinning lies, when the proof of that day is right here, plain as day.”
“Hmm.”
Ting!
Ian flicked the amber gemstone lightly in acknowledgment. He’d struck gold.
Idgal’s effects rivaled those of a Mana Sealing Stone, rendering it a dire threat to any mage. Tracking down the Rutherford Merchant Group, confiscating their stock, and destroying it all—that was bound to be one of the Magic Department’s top long-term priorities.
And yet, for bastard Ian—no, for the Magic Department Minister himself—to be tied to its creation? To swear fealty to Rutherford, no less?
“What of this note, then? You don’t recognize this either?”
Rustle. Melania pressed him, unfurling the weathered scrap of paper. On the verge of claiming ignorance of the script, Ian realized he’d seen it before.
The strange characters from when he’d first awakened in the House Bratz master’s chambers and stepped into the bastard’s room. Just as undecipherable then.
‘A secret unraveled to save the Haiman family. Deemed threatening enough to me to hold value as leverage for their relief. Caution warranted, since its contents remain unknown—’
For the Magic Department Minister to craft Idgal was a contradiction in terms. It held no power over non-mages, only tightening the noose around their own necks. Backlash within the department would be fierce.
‘The present circumstances make it workable, though.’
Played right, it could work in his favor.
The heir apparent, Jin, trusted Ian. The imperial family would see him as ideal for checking the Magic Department’s power, lending Jin much-needed stability.
Stability bred unbreakable loyalty. The Magic Department would gain firmer footing and trust across the empire. Ripples, yes—but a virtuous cycle in the making.
“Melania. I’ve told you time and again: there’s no bond between us. You call them evidence, but aren’t they all subjective assertions? What were we to one another? For that sort of closeness, we sure held our blades with deadly intent.”
Had Arsene’s true nature not been demonic beast, Jin and Ian’s positions would’ve crumbled beyond salvage.
And if this truly menaced Ian, she’d have unleashed it ages ago. Especially during the trial, when Marib and Rutherford’s links surfaced—prime chance to drag Ian in.
“Whatever our ties might’ve been, don’t foist your solitary recollections as truth. I’m confiscating these. They can’t be glossed over, so await disposal.”
Click. Ian placed the items in the jewelry box and secured the latch.
As if she’d foreseen it, Melania fixed Ian with a steady gaze. No flicker of recognition at the note meant true amnesia. Anything else……
“Rutherford enters Variel before autumn’s end. Meet him, Ian, and you’ll find no escaping your fate.”
To Melania’s knowledge, oaths were eternal, intrinsic. They didn’t vanish because the sworn party forgot.
“Melania. For Variel’s dignity, I’d prefer a more humane approach with you.”
A warning: cease needless provocation. Torture could pry her lips open, but this was his final courtesy to Haiman’s legacy. Their role in smoothing Variel’s currency flow was undeniable.
Yet Melania stood firm.
“Sever my hands and feet at will. My tongue? That I’ll cut myself.”
No matter the torment, her mouth stayed shut. Softening her features, she drew close to Ian and pleaded piteously.
“I’ll cede Haiman’s bank shares. Taxes too—I’ll bear them to the limit of endurance. Demote my title, and I’ll accept with humility. Nothing more sought. Just continuance, nothing else. I beg you. In return, I’ll awaken every forgotten moment of that day for you, Lord Ian. Haiman’s fall may serve the throne somehow, but it ill suits you.”
Ah. Ian regarded her, then shifted his gaze past her ear. Outside the window, branches swayed briskly.
Arsene had uttered something akin before his end. Forcing a choice between Variel and himself—empty words. Past or present, Ian’s reply stayed constant, unhesitating.
“Melania. What holds meaning for Variel holds meaning for me. Bide quietly, sans commotion. Else, your kin drifts forever beyond reach.”
“Lord Ian!”
Stay silent if you crave reunion with family. Ian left those words behind and departed the reception room.
The attendants outside eyed the jewelry box in his grasp. He passed them the amber gemstone from within, issuing orders.
“…Send this to Captain Acorella. Have her confirm if it’s Idgal.”
“Yes. Understood.”
“And—”
Ian paused, drumming the window frame. The sudden information deluge left his mind abuzz.
First order: uncover this oath Melania claimed bound bastard Ian’s flesh.
‘Rebellion demands punishment; leniency sets foul precedent. Ill for posterity. Palace discipline would slacken forthwith.’
“Watch Melania with utmost care. Evening: summon Mother and Nersarn.”
“Yes. Understood. To the Magic Department?”
“His Highness Jin? At the department?”
“No. Lady Dillaina’s quarters.”
Ian checked his pocket watch as he stepped out. Hours since they’d parted. Straight to his mother, no doubt—yet lingering still. No word from Xiaoshi meant no crisis, but odd.
“To her then. I’ll escort His Highness Jin back to the Magic Department.”
Swish.
At Ian’s command, attendants parted left and right, scurrying ahead. Carriage prep.
Ian spared a backward glance at Melania’s sealed reception room, then turned resolutely. Gail’s death—slated for historical erasure—was known to the divine... and to him.
But was Melania truly the sole soul privy to bastard Ian’s vow?
‘Just nothing troublesome, please.’
So thinking, Ian unfolded then refolded the note with care.
Bastard Ian. What in blazes was his true nature? Mana traces, alchemical prowess to boot. Life before that backyard meal in House Bratz? Utter mystery.
‘One truth emerges, though.’
Emperor Ian awakening as bastard Ian entangled far more causality than foreseen.
Ian boarded the carriage, cradling the jewelry box.
* * *
Dim-lit bedchamber.
Faint light filtered through heavy curtains, soon to fade entirely.
Ian entered the antechamber adjoining Dillaina’s bedroom. Xiaoshi rose from his chair to greet him.
“His Highness?”
“Within.”
“Still?”
“Indeed.”
Creak.
Oddly, death’s scent hung in the air. Unlike Berik’s battered arrival.
Metallic blood bespoke vitality; this faint medicinal haze evoked bare threads of life prolonged.
“…What is he……?”
The brief passage betwixt Xiaoshi’s room and bedchamber. Ian halted at Jin’s sporadic murmurs.
The boy lay prostrate bedside, where Dillaina rested, murmuring fondly.
“My first tutor. Truth is... I earned the praise in literature. Couldn’t say it like a fool.”
“…….”
“Had I caught those missteps sooner? Mother. At least you wouldn’t lie here thus?”
“…….”
No reply from mother, yet the boy persisted. Caressing her sob-shriveled hand, conjuring her responses solo. Forehead to shoulder once more.
Jin milked his tears, then offered another tender reminiscence.
“Yellow flowers remind me of you, Mother. Know why? Yellow suits you perfectly.”
“…….”
Thusly, looping and reliving a decade’s unspoken words.
Ian leaned wallward, granting quiet vigil. Sobs crescendoing, his thoughts turned to his own dam. Had he wept so at her passing? Memory failed.
“…Ah.”
“Mother.”
Jin caught the groan as summons, ears pricked. Inaudible to Ian. Tears cascaded from blue eyes; soon a wretched grimace as lips fretted her brow.
“No. No. Don’t. I’ll live long. Long enough those ten years’ shades never resurface. So please, don’t.”
Dillaina feebly lifted hand, fingertips to son’s wound. Tracing slow, as if measuring scars from Marib... from him.
Drop.
Strength fled sudden; hand tumbled. Jin snatched the wrist swift—but felt finality.
“Mother?”
Dillaina’s breath was stilled. Jin quaked, choking screams scarce childlike in their raw agony. Fitting: now utterly alone. Father ever distant; mother, siblings his tether here...
“Ah, ah, no. No! Mother, wait—just!”
“Your Highness.”
“Lord Ian! Lord Ian!”
Jin’s plea for aid snagged on a gasp. Breath ceased, yet tears poured ceaseless.
“Your Highness. I’ll summon aid.”
“Hic…….”
Aid comes. Child dabbed sleeves to eyes at Ian’s pledge. Coiled tight against sorrow’s tide. The exalted show no tears—Ian’s lesson.
“Your Highness.”
Ian extended hand; Jin burrowed into coat, face veiled. Xiaoshi peeked inward at the stir. His subdued call roused outer clamor.
“Fetch the physician. Death declaration required.”
“Oh dear! W-wait a moment!”
“Outside! Anyone there?”
Clatter clatter!
“…Begone. Lord Ian.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll screen.”
“And stay thus.”
“Yes. So I shall.”
“Here, ever…….”
“…….”
Attendants and physician dashed in frantic, yet Ian’s finger-to-lips quelled: handle hushed. They bypassed Jin unseen, assessed Dillaina.
“…Black shroud must be readied.”
Thus passed Jin’s mother.