Chapter 60
Chapter 60
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: Father, the Emperor
-----------------------------------------------------------------
As he aged, the Emperor craved freshness. Renovating his bedroom was part of that. He had one wall replaced with glass to take in the evergreen garden year-round. Sometimes he lay so still it seemed he might be dead, and Marib felt that way now.
“Father?”
The Emperor turned his head at his son’s voice, smiling gently. Kindness seeped from the deep creases in his face.
“You called for me?”
“Yes. Marib. You seem awfully busy these days.”
“It’s always like that. Especially in summer.”
Marib sat naturally before the Emperor as he replied. It was a private space, a private summons. He scanned his father’s complexion and asked.
“Is something wrong?”
“…No. I just felt like it had been too long since I last saw your face.”
“That’s sudden.”
“Marib.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Has anything happened with Gail, by any chance?”
It was an open secret that the Emperor favored Gail. Marib knew it well, but the Emperor never mentioned Gail’s name in his presence. It was his way of protecting the succession and his sons.
“No. Nothing. Why do you ask?”
“…I had a dream last night. Carolina appeared in it.”
Unlike Marib, the legitimate son of the Queen, Gail was the child of the first concubine. She was some noble of unknown origins who had risen as far as her beauty could take her, or so she was judged.
“A woman who never even appears in my dreams usually…”
The Emperor’s voice grew moist. Marib swallowed a sigh inside. He shouldn’t have come, using work as an excuse. He turned his gaze far away, hiding his expression.
A single peach tree stood alone.
“She handed me a peach. And sobbing, she asked me to call for Gail.”
“Father.”
“If there’s no issue, then fine.”
The Emperor patted the back of Marib’s hand and ended the conversation one-sidedly. Even with his kindly smile, the Emperor’s arrogance in communication remained. Marib nodded and left his father’s bedroom.
Creak.
“Prince Marib?”
When Marib froze after exiting, his aide called out curiously. The prince approached the line of servants standing at attention.
“Is there any issue with managing His Majesty’s bedroom?”
“P-Pardon? No, none, Prince Marib.”
“Then why is Father’s sleep troubled?”
“Pardon?”
The servant seemed to hear it for the first time. As he instinctively looked up to question it, Marib slapped his cheek in an instant.
Slap!
“If I hear anything like this again, I’ll have the heads of everyone responsible.”
“I-I’ll keep that in mind.”
Father and son might not realize it, but they resembled each other perfectly. Warm as spring one moment, then a sudden chill without warning. The servants exhaled in relief only after Marib’s shadow vanished.
“Is today’s schedule finished?”
“Yes, Prince. But you should head to the office, not the bedroom.”
The schedule was finished?
As Marib frowned, the aide quickly added.
“A messenger bird arrived from Romandro.”
“I’ll check tomorrow. I’m tired today.”
“But the report is quite shocking…”
He knew well the mood of his superior after dealing with the Emperor. But Molin was among the group that went along. It meant not just Marib, but Gail would learn of it too.
“Briefly.”
He’d listen and decide. The aide summarized the report shortly and thickly, as his superior wished.
“Derga’s bastard son Ian has rebuilt and taken control of Bratz with the Cheonryeo Tribe. Captain Erica has left the territory.”
“…What?”
“And he’s a mana user, apparently.”
Marib stopped walking entirely and turned to his aide. The aide’s expression claimed innocence, insisting it was a report without a single lie.
“This is chaos.”
“Indeed.”
“To the office.”
“Yes. I’ll prepare.”
Marib gritted his molars and tied his hair up in a single knot. It was a full moon night.
* * *
The next day, under the full moon.
In the back alleys of a tavern in Merelrof territory, bizarre information was easy to come by.
“What? They’re buying gulla in Bratz and exchanging it for money?”
“Shh! Keep it down! Someone might hear.”
“No, why the hell? What do they want with weeds?”
“Who knows? They’re barbarians. Can’t make sense of it. Even Logan from the red brick house brought six bundles and got two gold coins.”
“There’s a time limit, though. The nearby forests are already picked clean. To get more gulla, you’d have to go deep in.”
“Unbelievable. Living to hear about someone buying dogweed for money. They’re insane.”
“Who cares? It’s good for us, right? My wife’s been nagging for meat lately anyway.”
Whoever started it, everyone in Merelrof’s underclass knew. The people of Bratz territory were the same.
“What? Gulla?”
“There’s a notice up. One gold per three bundles.”
“They’re wasting money, aren’t they?”
“They won’t say why!”
Bewildered, they still fulfilled exactly what Ian wanted. They roamed hills and fields, gathering gulla they’d normally trample, stuffing it into sacks and bringing it to the mansion. Day by day, the piled gulla seeds in the warehouse rose nearly to the ceiling.
“How many bundles today?”
“Forty-nine.”
“Faster than expected.”
Ian looked satisfied and moved on. In the restricted garden behind, gulla cultivation research was in full swing. It grew well in all harsh conditions except cold, but there had to be an optimal method.
Ian had never grown it himself, so research was necessary.
“There’s almost no growth difference between those watered a lot and those not. Guess we need to try different soils.”
“Then fetch some dirt from the riverbank over there.”
“Ian! Look at this. Sprouts already.”
Haina and Romandro’s subordinates, covered in dirt, stood showing Ian. About the length of a finger joint, very small. Ian smiled brightly and patted Haina’s shoulder.
“Good. Well done.”
“Oh, and Romandro ate more gulla earlier. Ian, please say something.”
“Again? I told him yesterday.”
“He must’ve thought no one saw.”
Since that day, Romandro ate gulla at every meal without fail. Ian had even asked him to restrain himself. From one seed, ten more gulla sprouted… Better to eat meat instead.
“Got it. I’ll talk to him again.”
Ian said as he left the garden. He planned to multiply the gulla as much as possible before winter. It would likely be the most abundant year-end in Bratz residents’ lives.
“What’re you thinking?”
Berik, following behind, overtook him and asked. Before Ian could answer, Berik snapped his fingers and guessed.
“Wanna bet? Thinking about the old man? He’s gone dead quiet all of a sudden. Suspiciously so.”
“Ah. Yeah. Right.”
Ian briefly wondered who the old man meant, then realized it was Molin.
“He hasn’t come out?”
“His two underlings are wandering around, but it’s been a while since I saw the old man’s face. He’s eating well, though.”
They’d attached mana stone brooches to the beds in their room. Planned to snag them during cleaning, but they never left the room, so it kept getting delayed. Time to retrieve them directly.
“Tell Romandro we’re all having dinner together today.”
“All together? What if he says no?”
“Add that it’s also a meeting, so mandatory. Search for the mana stones in the meantime.”
Berik nodded and fell back.
They might’ve heard the gulla rumors. Even if they had, Ian needed to officially inform the palace envoys—precisely Molin’s group—of the plan. Romandro was writing reports his way, and Molin his.
Knock knock.
“Ian entering.”
“Come in, Ian.”
It was just before lunch, so gathering was quick. Unlike Romandro, who rose lightly to greet him, Molin’s group lifted their heads stiffly, clearly displeased.
“Nice weather today.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing much. Just been a while since I saw my guests’ faces. Wanted to check if you’re comfortable, and share some words.”
By calling Molin’s group ‘guests,’ Ian clarified positions. This was his space.
Mac muttered sarcastically.
“Seem busy. Very.”
“Ah. Heard from Romandro?”
At Ian’s question, Mac and Drgor’s faces crumpled. If Romandro saw them as equal colleagues, he’d have shared the gulla discovery.
But they were treated like uninvited guests, hearing nothing. Ian’s silence order was for mansion folk, not Romandro.
“Ahem. Not yet.”
“My apologies.”
Romandro winked his left eye and coughed awkwardly. As Mac opened his mouth, the dining room door opened, and food came in.
“Lord Molin must report to the center too, so I’ll tell you. Nothing grand. We found a new crop to get through winter.”
Nothing grand? Berik smirked inwardly from the corner. He vividly recalled Romandro blabbing about Variel’s great famine. While Ian talked to the three men, he signaled the servants.
“A crop? Not that gulla, I hope?”
“You knew.”
“Of course. Rumors are flying about the one-and-only dogweed being bought for money at the mansion. Even people from Merelrof are coming, so every deaf person in Bratz knows.”
Mac raised his voice, a bit excited. But at Molin’s glance to restrain, he bit his lip and shut up.
“Then, do you know?”
Drgor interjected instead of Mac. Voice low and calm, but hostility not fully hidden.
“Know what?”
“Why Bratz is buying weeds for money. What people are saying.”
“Curious. What are they saying?”
“Ian’s squandering aid funds to sell the territory to the Cheonryeo Tribe.”
“Hoo. Creative.”
Ian chuckled lightly. Not entirely baseless. Pushing out advisors and palace influence, if Bratz collapsed, the Cheonryeo Tribe gains most.
“But if that was the plan, I’d have shown my hand the moment you arrived. Why let food stores dwindle?”
“What? Dwindle?”
“Mac. Lower your voice.”
“And we wouldn’t rebuild so diligently. Whoever it is, tell them spreading such nonsense will be punished severely as an insult to our allies and me.”
Ian stared steadily at Mac and Drgor. Territory folk busy surviving might question, but not rebel. Perception of Cheonryeo Tribe and Ian was quite good, and territory fall didn’t mean theirs.
Derga died—what changed?
Clearly Mac and Drgor spreading it. At Ian’s warning, silent Molin spoke.
“…You. Don’t you know what gulla is?”
Toxic, so common folk uprooted it on sight. Thus, in cities, gulla only in filth piles or sewers, untouched by hands.
“I know well. But Romandro enjoys it, so everyone will love it.”
He added a slightly regretful smile.
“But, Lord Molin. Don’t you remember? We talked about this before.”