Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: Congratulations
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The outside was in an uproar.
“Ian is becoming the new lord!”
“Congratulations, Ian!”
“Congrats! Come on, you Cheonryeo tribesman! Have a drink instead of holding back.”
“Guess I’ll have to call you Viscount from now on. Haha!”
The news of Ian’s appointment as lord had spread quickly, drawing the territory’s residents in droves. The festive atmosphere stretched the night on endlessly. Ian watched the scene from the window, a faint smile on his lips.
Chielonia ultimately had to leave without having that deep conversation with Molin. All they exchanged were knowing glances born of the years they’d spent together.
“Ha, good grief!”
Amid everyone’s joy, including Ian’s, only Romandro couldn’t bring himself to smile as he swigged his wine. With a pop, Romandro shook the bottle.
“I can understand up to viscount. Given the territory’s size, baron wouldn’t cut it, but count felt a bit much.”
On top of that, frontier regions effectively wielded a count’s authority regardless of title. It was the bare minimum rank below the ducal and marquis ranks reserved for imperial kin—recognition of their autonomy.
“Frontier viscount, such an unfamiliar term.”
“And on top of that, ten thousand gold coins within a year? Anyone who’s ever seen Bratz’s tax reports wouldn’t dream up a demand like that.”
They knew and did it anyway.
He didn’t know the emperor’s intentions in approving it, but whoever proposed it first must have banked on failure to pay.
And that was… most likely Gail.
“Isn’t a year’s taxes from Bratz just ten thousand? And now another ten thousand on top! With things as they are, how can they demand double the taxes right away? His Majesty is heartless—how could he forget the Bratz residents exist before any power struggles.”
Romandro vented his frustration. At the same time, he looked at Ian with pity. The residents outside might not know, but this was like savoring sweetness for a year only to fall into slavery.
Better to live it up as lord and at least avoid debt!
That wasn’t all. He’d surely have to head up for the appointment ceremony, where he’d register as a mana user and undergo mage oversight too.
“Three or four months? That’s how long he can relax in the territory.”
“Until New Year’s, that’s about it.”
“No! What three or four months? He’s already exhausted rebuilding the territory! Unless he gets a full month after the snow falls!”
“Why are you getting so worked up, Romandro?”
Ian refilled his wine as if to calm him.
“Either way, we’ve achieved the goal of making you lord here. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Thud!
“Ian!”
At that moment, Berik flung the door open and shouted. His flushed face could’ve been from joy or drink—no telling which. Berik barreled in, bumping shoulders with a few Cheonryeo tribesmen.
“Pig! Let’s hunt a pig!”
“I said no, Berik!”
“Come on! Just try it!”
“Fine. I’m in the mood. Give it a go.”
“Yes! Look at this! Perfect day for it!”
Crash! Clatter!
As Berik charged out yelling, Kakantir and Nersarn appeared. They approached Ian with beaming smiles.
“Congratulations, Lord Ian.”
“Thank you. It’s all thanks to the Cheonryeo.”
“Ahh, it really worked out well.”
“More than expected?”
“Yes. If I had to put it that way, indeed. Haha!”
It was confirmation that shoving Derka aside and backing Ian had been the perfect choice. Now, they’d be treated not as barbaric border folk but as a true ally nation, poised for economic and cultural growth to match. This place was practically the gateway to the Variel Empire, after all.
“May I see the emperor’s letter?”
“Of course.”
Ian unfurled the scroll Chielonia had delivered. At the bottom, neatly inscribed, was the name of the current emperor: Klai Berosion.
‘I don’t know much about him.’
Ian mulled over past emperors’ names, but nothing special came to mind. It was an era of chaos. Countless emperors had come and gone in a single century—only natural. Even he himself hadn’t lasted three full years.
“Hm?”
“What is it?”
“…Nothing.”
What caught Ian’s eye was none other than the imperial seal. Its size was subtly different from the one he remembered. He thought it a trick of the eye and ran his fingers over it, but his sense of touch only sharpened the discrepancy.
He’d stamped it daily.
Ian could vividly recall it even with his eyes closed, so this subtle difference nagged at him fiercely.
‘The seal’s different?’
But that couldn’t be. The imperial seal had endured over a thousand years since the founding. He’d never heard of it being lost midway, and even if it had…
‘I’d know.’
Unable to shake the doubt, Ian kept examining the seal. Certainty and suspicion surged wildly within him.
One conclusion.
The seal had been changed midway.
But why? For what reason?
Romandro, watching from the side, chimed in.
“You’ll wear it out.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Well, uh. Now that you’re viscount, how should I address you….”
Romandro glanced at Kakantir and mumbled. He hadn’t noticed when it was just them, but outsiders made the reality hit home. Viscount Ian outranked Romandro in any case.
“It’s not official yet, so be at ease.”
“R-Really?”
“Of course. You don’t have a surname, after all.”
“Ha, haha! Hope winter comes quick. Never dreamed I’d head to the capital before the New Year’s ball. Gotta write my wife.”
Romandro’s voice bubbled with excitement just thinking about it. He’d figured it’d drag past the new year, but finishing the mission early was pure joy. Kakantir voiced his intent to withdraw too.
“We’ll start pulling back our Cheonryeo warriors gradually. Weather’s turning cold, and they miss the Great Desert.”
“Oh, you’re heading back.”
“I’ll go soon, and Nersarn will stay on here.”
But it seemed unplanned. Nersarn, standing behind, froze in horror at the words. So weak to cold, the mere notion of ‘snow’ season must terrify them.
“By the way, I heard the capital demanded ten thousand gold coins.”
“Yes.”
“Can you manage? We’d help if we could, but that’s beyond us. Ten thousand enemy heads? That we could do.”
It was a joke, but didn’t sound like one. It didn’t seem impossible for them. Ian raised his wineglass as if to say not to worry.
“No issue. It’s not due at the appointment—they gave a full year. It only took a couple months for me to rise to lord from the Great Desert.”
Life flips overnight; ten thousand coins were nothing. A year was plenty. Above all, going to the palace was his goal anyway. Who knew what might happen after? No need to fret yet.
“Indeed, the gods don’t pose unsolvable riddles. You’ll find another chance in the capital.”
“I think so too.”
Ian drained his glass and glanced out the window. The residents’ celebration raged on. Late as it was, no one showed fatigue. The desolate territory apparently needed this boost. Everyone having such a blast…
“Oh, Ian. With the lord’s appointment document, shouldn’t you spread the good news to neighbors?”
Neighbors. At Romandro’s words, Ian looked to Kakantir. Closest was right here.
Next up…
“Ah, right.”
What remained was Merelrof. He’d sent a protest over the assassination attempt, but no reply. The stonewalling was flawlessly dismissive.
“I’ll write to Merelrof. With the official appointment, they should respond this time.”
* * *
“What? That guy got a title?”
“A letter just arrived.”
Merelrof practically snatched the letter from the butler’s hand. It announced a formal appointment at year’s end, naming him viscount, complete with a handwritten note. At the bottom: ‘Thanks to you, dear Count Merelrof.’
“Good grief. End times, I tell you. A brothel rat playing noble.”
“We should send congratulations, but the prior letter’s reply is pending…. What should we do?”
He meant the one under Romandro’s name, reporting the attack on Ian. Merelrof had snorted at it then. Had it come straight from Ian, he’d have flipped tables over “killing Merelrof residents,” but sender Romandro kept him to silent dismissal.
“Why bother? Just have a servant pass word. Too cheap to waste paper and ink.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Utter arrogance. Even so, with an official ennobling, neighbors deserved some courtesy. They checked each other, sure, but in the borderlands, they only had each other when trouble hit.
The butler figured he’d ghostwrite a cheap reply. Count Merelrof tossed the letter aside and finished his documents—tallying territory revenue before winter.
“By the way, butler.”
Count Merelrof suddenly sounded puzzled.
“Nothing from Bratz on food supplies?”
“No, nothing related.”
Odd. Worse harvest than last year, and even prepared Merelrof was flashing warning lights. Foreign caravans staying longer with the cold was a relief, but what was Ian planning with no response?
“Planning to eat corpses? Tsk tsk.”
Count Merelrof smirked and flipped through papers. As the butler bowed and headed down the hall, the countess waved her fan at the end, signaling him over.
“Madam. What is it?”
“Letter from Bratz?”
“Yes. Lord Ian’s been officially named viscount.”
“Oh ho.”
The countess let out a small exclamation of surprise.
“What did the count say?”
“Well….”
“About the reply.”
The butler hesitated, unable to answer properly. He’d planned to write it himself. The countess read his intent and nodded with a smile.
“Leave it to me. And separately—open the exclusive storage for a gift.”
“The count’s permission….”
At the butler’s words, Countess Merelrof snapped her fan shut fast. Her airy laugh froze solid.
“I’m heading to get it now.”
“No need to go that far, Madam.”
The butler hurried to dissuade her. The count had already forsaken a reply to him. No sense risking wrath over a gift. But the countess brushed him off firmly.
Snap!
“We must.”
Leaving those meaningful words, the countess strode into the study.