Chapter 65
Chapter 65
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Gathering from the Heart
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Oh my goodness, what in the world is all that?”
“There was a huge commotion in the middle of the night, I heard.”
“What happened? Who did it?”
“They say Ian got attacked on his way back to the estate.”
“What?! How?”
“That’s what they’re investigating now, right? He went out to distribute the gula and got struck by lightning out of nowhere.”
“What about Ian? Is one of those bodies him?”
As dawn broke, everyone learned about the events of the early morning. With corpses piled up like a mountain blocking the alley, there was no way to keep it a secret. And the blood flowing out all the way to the main street?
While the guards lined up the bodies in a row for identification, the onlookers kept their distance and whispered among themselves.
Meanwhile, the estate was just as noisy, especially the basement of the main building.
“Uwaaaagh!”
Two of the attackers had survived.
One was presumed to be ‘Petreio,’ and the other was an unidentified man. Petreio, gagged and screaming, was drenched in sweat, tears, and blood.
“Do you have any idea how horrific you look right now?”
“Ughhh…”
“If this keeps up, you’ll die. Once we confirm your identity, I’ll get a physician for you.”
In truth, a physician had already examined him while he was unconscious. But the wounds were so bizarre and severe that the diagnosis was he wouldn’t last three days. Berik pressed a cloth firmly against his face, venting his frustration.
“Just open your damn mouth already!”
“Aaaagh!”
“Shut up! Fuck, anyone would think I’m torturing you!”
Though tied to a chair and gagged, what they were doing was closer to nursing than torture. They’d wiped away the grime with lukewarm water, but with his skin peeling off in places, even that felt agonizing.
“Keugh…”
“Berik, that’s enough. Strip him completely.”
“His clothes? All of them?”
“Not a single rag left.”
“Ugh.”
Berik grumbled but followed Ian’s orders.
Petreio was military. He wasn’t sure exactly what kind of work he did, but it was clear he’d served under imperial palace regulations. Judging by his age, he’d seen plenty of battles large and small. In such cases, they often tattooed their identity on their bodies—just in case they ended up as mangled corpses on the battlefield, to ensure they could return to their homeland.
“Huh? Is this it?”
As Berik peeled off his upper clothes, he spotted a tattoo on his left side. But it had been deliberately scratched and mutilated. They’d prepared meticulously.
“Tsk tsk.”
Ian leaned in to inspect the wound, then met his eyes. Even with his gut pierced and face melting, his gaze hadn’t dimmed. These types didn’t crack easily. Molin knew that all too well.
“I don’t want to torture a dying man.”
“…”
“But a true warrior never forgets revenge. I hope you have no one precious to you. Anyone bearing the name Petreio will meet the same end as you.”
It was a calm yet brutally cruel statement. Ian had no real intention of following through—he’d just said it to probe for weaknesses. As expected, no reaction.
“…Keep a close watch.”
“Okay. Whew. The stench of blood is making me gag. For real.”
Ian had no choice but to leave the cleanup to Berik and stepped out into the basement corridor.
Creak.
“…Uwaaaagh!”
Petreio’s scream leaked through the closing door before cutting off abruptly. As Ian headed to the opposite end of the corridor, he heard someone tumbling down the stairs.
Thud! Tatat! Thud thud!
“I-I-Ian!”
“Ah, Lord Romandro. You’re awake.”
“This! This! Oh dear…”
He’d rushed over right after waking, dressed in light clothes. He grabbed Ian’s shoulders, scanning him up and down, seemingly shocked at how unscathed he looked.
“I heard over a dozen able-bodied men were killed…”
“As you can see, I’m fine.”
“As expected of a mana user! Indeed!”
“Please calm down first.”
Berik would’ve been floored if he heard. He was the one who’d fought tooth and nail—why was Ian getting all the praise?
“Petreio was behind it. Seems like one of Molin’s men, but he ruined his face with poison the moment we caught him, so identification’s impossible. We’re investigating, but he kept throwing out weird names.”
“Wh-what about Molin’s group?”
“No real difference there.”
At Romandro’s question, Ian nodded toward the room at the end of the corridor. That’s where Molin and the two other men were locked up.
“What do you plan to do now?”
Romandro paced in front of Ian, then asked again, as if he saw no clear answer. Even if it was true that Molin had tried to kill Ian, custom-wise, there’d be no real repercussions for him. Molin was an imperial administrative officer, and Ian was, as he claimed, a commoner stationed in the Great Desert. Even as a mana user and estate manager, Ian held no official position.
“Kill them?”
“No. I don’t want any more investigation teams from the palace.”
If Ian killed Molin, the palace would send more people. If unlucky, Gail’s faction might dispatch troops to execute him outright.
“Then?”
“This isn’t for me to decide.”
“…Huh?”
“I told you, didn’t I? I’d prove it. So please relay a message to Prince Marib. I will obey.”
Proving he wasn’t on Gail’s side—this was the cleanest, least messy way. He could guess the palace situation, but it was just a guess. He couldn’t be sure what Molin’s death would bring, so he was handing that decision to Marib.
“Then until the reply comes…”
“Keep them there. That much is fine.”
“Understood. I’ll send a messenger bird right away.”
“Ah, wait a moment, Lord Romandro.”
Ian stopped him as he started bounding up the stairs. Ian handed over a ring carefully wrapped in cloth. It was a simple silver band, with a tiny needle on the inside surrounded by discolored poison.
“Have you heard of anything like this? It made his face melt the instant it pricked him.”
“Hmm. Let me see…”
Romandro leaned back, squinting.
“Planning to reuse it?”
“Can it be done?”
“Well, you’d need a craftsman to refill the needle, but it’s not impossible. The poison looks like Tevarphin. Assassins use it to hide identities, or slavers and such for crimes… That stuff.”
Human trafficking or organ trading, etc.
It was a toxic substance commonly used in crimes where bodies couldn’t be identified. It wasn’t used in Ian’s era at all—quite a shock.
“There’s such a thing?”
“You wouldn’t know. Why so surprised?”
A hundred years ago, they used poisons this vicious. A chill ran down Ian’s spine. How many crimes had been committed and buried thanks to corpse disfigurement?
It was definitely unknown in Ian’s time—likely banned for some reason, though he didn’t know when or why.
Romandro glanced at Ian, then said he’d write the letter and headed upstairs.
“I’ll send it off as fast as possible.”
“Yes, thank you. See you later.”
Ian rewrapped the ring in cloth and pocketed it. Then he approached the room at the end of the corridor where Molin’s group was held.
“No disturbances from inside?”
“No, sir.”
“Open the door.”
Clank.
At Ian’s order, the guard unlocked the door with a fist-sized padlock. A wooden bowl of food lay on the floor like animal feed.
Mac shot to his feet reflexively at the sound of the opening door.
“You bastard Ian!”
But the guards held him back. Ian set the overturned bowl on the table and asked.
“Did you get some sleep?”
“You filthy wretch, acting above your station! Do you even know who we are? Open this door now! Or I’ll kill you! The palace won’t let you get away with this!”
This time, Drgor didn’t hide his agitation either. He lunged forward as if to grab Ian by the collar, demanding answers.
“We came on imperial orders! Treating us like this is an insult to the center! Act like a border lord! Cheonryeo Tribe! You too, behave properly! Ian’s with your tribe now, as he says! Do you not understand what it means for one of yours to treat an imperial administrator like this?”
“That’s why you’re still alive.”
“Wh-what?”
“If not for the palace banner, you wouldn’t be eating—you’d be in Petreio’s seat right now.”
Ian pulled out the ring as he spoke. Holding the band with cloth, he thrust the needle toward Mac’s face. Mac flinched back instinctively, recognizing it.
“Petreio!”
“The investigation’s ongoing. Even if his face is necrotic, he doesn’t cease to exist. And haven’t you already heard?”
The red brooch Berik had shown them. Their secret talk was recorded verbatim. But Molin’s group showed no fear. They shouted defiantly, claiming injustice.
“We know nothing about that! If you’re so confident, hold a proper trial! What kind of farce is this? For someone without even a name to…”
“Even the territory has lost its name—how could a person keep theirs? Drgor, this is the border. Not your precious center.”
Ian brushed the dust off Mac’s rumpled collar as he muttered.
“A subordinate’s mistake is the superior’s mistake. Above all, the Great Desert warriors don’t take revenge lightly. The brooch leads to one inevitable conclusion, and I have no intention of letting it slide.”
In truth, he’d punish them per Prince Marib’s orders. Ian glanced at the spilled barley porridge on the floor and warned.
“Food is precious.”
A warning that next time, they might eat what fell on the ground. Ian signaled the guard to watch them closely and stepped out.
Click.
“Lord Ian! L-Lord Ian!”
At that moment, Hanna came rushing down to the basement, calling for him.
“What is it?”
“All the territory folk—they’ve come in a huge crowd!”
Why would the territory folk come? For what reason?
But Hanna, in a hurry, stomped her feet and ran ahead.
Ian chased after her, running through hypotheses. To loot the gula? Or troops Molin had arranged?
“Lord Ian!”
As he emerged from the basement, sunlight poured down brightly. Beneath it gathered the territory folk, all holding wildflowers or small fruits. They too looked surprised to see Ian.
“You’re unharmed!”
“Oh, thank goodness. Thank goodness!”
“Who started that nonsense? They said Lord Ian took a brutal stab to the gut?”
“We were so worried. Heard there was a massive attack in the night… The blood in the alley was everywhere.”
“You’re okay, right? Going out at night like that, oh dear.”
“Shh! Quiet down! The central bastards might hear.”
“Lord Ian, take this. It’s small, but hearty.”
The territory folk surrounded Ian, pouring out their worries nonstop. They scanned him for injuries with their eyes and pressed gifts into his hands. In an instant, his arms were full of flowers and fruits.
“This is all…”
Ian fell silent for a moment, gazing at the flowers. In just three short years, what had sustained the weight of the crown? It hit him late.
These tiny smiles. That was everything.
“Perfect timing, everyone. Lord Romandro has finally given permission.”
“Huh? Permission for what…”
“For the cultivation, distribution, and consumption of gula.”
“Waaaaah! No way!”
“Thank you! Thank you!”
At the unexpectedly good news, they hugged and jumped for joy. Ian gestured for them to calm down, and they all looked at him with sparkling eyes.
“But there are conditions.”
“Just say the word!”
They buzzed excitedly, envisioning bountiful winters in their minds. Ian handed the flowers and fruits to Hanna and announced.
“Have all the territory folk gather in the square this afternoon. I’ll make the announcement there.”