Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Stroll
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"Huu! Huu!"
The blue moon still hung in the dawn sky.
Ian sat by the window, gazing absently outside. He had tossed and turned all night with much on his mind, only to be woken by some noise.
"Left face!"
"Left face!"
"Forward march!"
It was the sound of Bratz's private soldiers heading out for dawn training. Ian rested his chin in his hand and examined them closely.
'That's quite a lot for private soldiers.'
The number streaming out the main gate in a long line was no small force.
Considering the typical ratio of mansion garrison soldiers to those deployed across the entire territory, Deruga seemed to maintain an excessive number of troops.
'Not that it's easy to cut back on soldiers. It must be a headache for him too.'
Other border regions reduced their troop numbers upon forging peace treaties.
The now-jobless soldiers could return to their trades, tilling fields or selling goods to pay taxes back to the lord. Peace treaties brought not just tranquility but economic benefits as well.
Yet Count Deruga, despite having maintained such treaties since his father's time, had not reduced his forces. It was probably because they were superficial peaces, incomplete and untrustworthy.
The count's second brother had been ambushed and killed crossing the border, and Ian himself was a sacrificial lamb sent off presuming his death.
'In that case, it might be better to just break the peace.'
An army could only be sustained if the territory's people supported it economically. Right now, there were too many soldiers relative to that base.
Frequent battles would actually balance things out. Ongoing conflict would reduce the military burden on the locals, and victories would bring new labor and capital.
Of course, defeat was another matter, but as the humans' heads swelled bigger, that outcome was obvious. He needed to resolve it before then.
'War if war, peace if peace.'
He needed to commit firmly to one or the other. This halfway nonsense only amplified everyone's suffering.
Take Haena, for example. She worked in the count's mansion, of all places, yet she was starving without the errands Ian gave her.
Creak.
Ian straightened his clothes and stepped out of his room. In the corridor, he saw a servant dozing off with a bob of the head. Probably the one on night watch, monitoring him.
"Hey."
"I-Ian?"
"It's cold out. Come inside."
Was he dreaming or awake? The servant wiped his mouth and blinked. It was the first time Ian had gone outside at dawn. Until now, they had just confirmed no issues overnight by handing him his breakfast tray...
"Wh-where are you going?"
"For a stroll?"
At this hour? Maybe he was up to something.
As the servant's eyes narrowed disrespectfully, Ian smiled brightly and tilted his chin. His gaze was ice-cold.
"What are you staring at?"
It meant lower your eyes and step aside.
The servant came to his senses and bowed his head, but he couldn't hide his distress. Letting Ian go seemed risky with the mansion so quiet, but there was no good reason to stop him.
"Um, Ian..."
"You can follow if you want."
Ian permitted it as if there was nothing more to say, then led the way down the corridor. Even if told not to, he wouldn't listen anyway, and the mansion was full of unknowns. Better to take him along and let him learn the layout.
"Is that annex locked?"
"It's for guests, so we clean it daily."
"You're saying it's open, just roundabout. What about that one?"
"The armory's security is paramount."
He keeps a tight lip.
The servant glanced at Ian warily but gave no straight answers. The moment his watch ended, he'd dash off to report somewhere. Ian could see it plainly but didn't care. He wasn't doing anything problematic.
The real issue was elsewhere.
"Haa."
He let out a ragged breath and straightened his back. He'd been diligently gathering information, but the first problem he noticed was the boy's stamina.
An untrained body. He'd suspected as much, but it was worse than imagined. Just walking the mansion was this exhausting. He'd surely collapse from fatigue before reaching the border, let alone meeting the Cheonryeo Tribe.
And the second problem.
'No gula either.'
He'd checked the well-kept garden and even the secluded rear yard, but no gula plants.
A weed tough in breeding and survival—it must have been uprooted and burned wherever spotted. Unlikely to find it anywhere but deep mountains, away from settlements. Unable to go outside, this was another issue.
"Ian, dawn's breaking. Time for breakfast."
The servant yawned widely, urging him. His night shift was ending. It was rude for a servant, but given Ian's status, understandable. Ian nodded and complied meekly.
"Alright. To the main hall dining room."
"Pardon? The main hall?"
Ian knew what the question implied.
Hadn't he taken last night's dinner on a tray in his room? He'd done so for every meal.
But Ian had no intention of continuing that. He was ravenous, and he needed to face the Bratz family members who held his lifeline.
"Oh my. Ian? Good morning?"
"What brings you here..."
The busy servants at the dining room entrance panicked at the sight of him. From the tableware, it seemed two people were inside.
"For breakfast."
"The countess and young master Chel are there."
"Deruga—no, Father?"
"He went out yesterday and hasn't returned."
Tsk. He clicked his tongue, but all things considered, not a bad situation. Without Deruga, dealing with the two would be easier.
"Open the door."
At Ian's command, the servant reluctantly turned the handle. The opulent dining room came into view.
The two waiting for their main course looked up in contrast: Chel's eyes widening in surprise, Lady Mary's narrowing in displeasure.
"What is it?"
Her tone was sharp.
Ian responded coolly.
"Good morning, Mother."
He greeted lightly and sat across from them.
Chel fidgeted, glancing at his mother, but failed to notice her glaring at Ian. Her expression was so vicious, it was hard to believe it was the same kindly lady from the garden yesterday.
"Take your meals in your room."
Even with her biting words, Ian calmly leaned toward the table.
"I did that last night. But chewing on a bit of bread, I thought it over and realized it wasn't right."
"What?"
"I drank the fingerbowl yesterday, startling Lord Molin greatly, didn't I? With both of the count's precious children making mistakes."
At his words, Chel's face flushed bright red.
Mary slammed down her knife and clamped her mouth shut. Her eyes warned: shut up or face the whip.
"Father instructed me to study diligently. It's hard to learn etiquette eating alone off a tray, so better to do it together."
A sly deception. It wasn't Deruga's order, but he made it sound like it was.
"Mother?"
"...Sit."
Her face showed her stomach churning from the morning hassle.
Lady Mary irritably gripped her fork and knife, slicing into her frittata. Chel, appetite gone, sat still, sneaking glances at Ian. Ian smiled brightly, meeting his eyes.
"Trays can't compare to dining at the table, right, brother?"
"Y-Yeah..."
The portions were far larger. Ian elegantly and diligently sated his hunger. Meanwhile, he closely observed the lady: her jewelry, dress, every accessory would be praised as precious even in Emperor Ian's era.
The lowly starved, eyeing even the bastard's bowl, while the lady indulged in luxury.
The house was a mess overall.
"Mother, I have something to say."
"Can't you just shut up and eat?"
"Please switch my room. A lamp would be nice too."
"Ha!"
Only then did she look at him, bursting into hollow laughter in disbelief.
"You don't know your place. Switch rooms? And what's this lamp for? Dull-witted, can't even read a letter, wasting on nonsense. Just like your vain, lowly mother?"
It went beyond insult to outright excrement.
Chel's body visibly stiffened. Clearly worried Ian might rage, reveal golden eyes, unleash unknown power.
"My mother is the countess, so of course I'm just like her. You're absolutely right, Madam."
But Ian smiled brightly, landing a counterblow. The vain, lowly woman you mentioned is you.
Her courteous tone kept her from catching on at first, but soon she realized the impudence and flushed red.
"...You!"
"Lord Molin said next week, when he comes, show him my room."
She trembled, about to shriek. Ian smoothly cut in. A lie, but one he could handle and that served purpose.
"We can't show such a room to an honored guest. Even switching just for the day, he's sharp—he'd notice. We have spare rooms, so giving me one now would be best all around, no?"
"Who do you think you're staring at!"
"If I show any shortcomings from my dullness, the burden falls solely on brother Chel. You don't want that, do you, Mother?"
Molin was a central official from the palace, tasked with checking provincial nobles. If things went wrong, Chel might really be sent in his place.
"I'll do my best, Mother."
Ian smiled brightly, chewing his meat. So shut up and support me materially and morally.
The countess went from flustered to absurd. How had this corpse-like thing become so brazen in just a day?
Bang!
Utterly displeased, she shoved back her chair and stormed out. Chel hesitated, watching, then stood.
"Brother?"
"H-Huh?"
As Chel slipped toward the door, Ian called.
"Forget yesterday. Everyone makes mistakes, right?"
"Y-Yeah, but..."
"Dredging up the past is for petty small-minded folk."
Outwardly consoling Chel's mistake, but really: forget what you saw. Chel nodded silently and fled.
'Plenty of food left, huh?'
Ian quirked a brow at the bountiful table. He ate his fill, then pushed the rest aside—for the servants.
"Mm."
Ian leisurely savored his food, gazing outside. Alone in the vast dining room, it felt truly peaceful. A leisure unknown in his past life.
Then, his reflection caught in the glass: small, frail, unfamiliar face.
'Ian.'
If Emperor Ian was here, where had bastard Ian gone?
Ian rested his chin, facing the calm child's face. The garden's great tree swayed gracefully.
Meanwhile, that late afternoon.
Fuming but helpless, the countess had Ian's room switched to the annex. Servants rummaging for his few belongings found an odd paper.
"What's this?"
Ian had written Variel history the night before. But soaked in a water glass, the ink had smeared completely, the paper crumpled and torn. Impossible to read.
"Was Ian studying?"
"Then why soak it?"
"Why? Must've been embarrassing even for him."
Unknowing, the servants tossed the paper in the trash. Everyone in the mansion doubted the illiterate bastard could do otherwise.