Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Intention
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“Ian. My little boy. Ahem.”
The tutor cleared his throat once and glanced at Ian. The bastard son who received this letter was illiterate, so he must have asked someone else to read it for him.
The most natural choice among them was the tutor.
Ian rested his chin on his hand, his clear eyes sparkling.
“Please continue reading, sir.”
“Are you doing well there? Thanks to Count Deruga, your mother is at peace. I don’t have to work and spend my days happily. You should study diligently with gratitude toward the count. Chel may be your half-brother, but don’t forget you must serve him. Consider it an honor to be the symbol of reconciliation. Above all, build a solid relationship with the Cheonryeo Tribe. You and the young master are the hope for generations to come.”
The tutor reciting the letter glanced at Ian.
“And I have one favor to ask.”
Yes. And now the real issue.
“I hear the Cheonryeo Tribe smokes something called gurut leaves instead of mana cigarettes. Your mother wants to try it once. Next year, on your birthday when you come home, could you secretly bring some seeds?”
Gurut leaves were a kind of stimulant used by the Cheonryeo Tribe.
They chewed them finely in a pipe or rolled and burned the leaves. It was a Cheonryeo Tribe secret—what exact plant it was and how it was made were unknown.
One thing was certain: they always had a leaf in their mouths when charging into battle.
“And a flower bloomed in that flowerpot you cherished so much. Once you cross the border, I won’t be able to see you anymore.”
“…Hmm.”
“The last line says this: If this letter reaches you, write down one verse of the song I often sang for you. I love you always. My son.”
As expected, the dried flower petal in his pocket was the real gift from his mother. And only the last paragraph was the true content of the letter. She had used her wits. By demanding a code, she ensured the count had to deliver the letter and send back a reply.
‘She slipped in a request to smuggle gurut leaves while sending the letter…’
What was strange was Count Deruga’s approach. Why go to such convoluted lengths to tempt Ian?
If he simply threatened her life as before, Ian would comply. There was no reason to go roundabout like this.
“Master Ian?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. Please keep today’s letter a secret.”
“Of course.”
There must be more to Count Deruga’s hidden intentions. Ian resolved to uncover it.
The tutor took out a clean sheet of parchment and asked.
“Shall we write the reply today?”
“No. I have too much to say, so I need time to organize my thoughts. I’ll ask you next time.”
“I see. Your mother must be waiting.”
He was urging him.
But even if he wanted to write, he didn’t know the lyrics.
‘If I write the wrong lyrics, she’ll cause a fuss on her end. She’ll know something’s happened to me.’
The fetters bound Ian but also protected him. What if his mother misunderstood and took her own life? He couldn’t predict how Count Deruga would react to tighten his hold.
‘In the worst case, I could be confined until the reconciliation ceremony.’
It seemed best to meet her in person.
Fortunately, tomorrow was lunch with Lord Molin.
If he played it right, he could gain both an outing beyond the estate and insight into Deruga’s intentions.
* * *
“Oh, Lord Molin.”
“It’s only been a week, Count Deruga.”
As prearranged, Molin arrived at the estate with his attendants. They were two young men who looked bold and spirited—clearly juniors Molin was mentoring in the Central Administrative Office.
“Pleased to meet you, Count.”
“We’re truly grateful for the luncheon hospitality.”
The men, introduced as Mac and Drgor, kissed the back of the countess’s hand. Countess Mary smiled gracefully and presented her son Chel.
“I hope you all have a pleasant time.”
“Ah, so this is young master Chel? Then this must be?”
There was no real confusion, of course.
As he’d heard, Ian had radiant golden hair like sunlight. It was just polite pretense.
“I’m Ian.”
“Nice to meet you. I’d been looking forward to this.”
“Call me Mac, young master.”
Chel looked displeased at being addressed with the same title as Ian. But what could he do? He couldn’t complain in front of the adults and Ian. Chel simply stuck close to his mother as they walked to the garden.
“As expected of House Bratz. The garden is splendid.”
“To receive such praise from someone from the capital—what luck we have today.”
Trivial conversation passed between them, subtly gauging each other’s stature. There was no malice. It was just the natural, habitual demeanor of nobles.
“Master, we’ll serve the appetizers.”
“Very well.”
At the butler’s signal, servants wheeled in trolleys.
“What would you like for the aperitif?”
“It’s a fine day, so sherry for me.”
“And for young master Ian?”
At Mac’s kind question, Ian almost absentmindedly asked for the same.
Sherry was white grape wine. He was at an age where drinking was ambiguous. He smiled brightly and requested a fruit drink instead.
“You look much more refined than last week.”
Molin smiled kindly as he wiped his hands. Though bound as a sacrifice for reconciliation, to the old man’s eyes, Ian was brimming with youthful freshness.
“Perhaps because I was looking forward to today.”
“Ha ha. Is that so?”
“To be honest, I have many questions about the capital. Last time was all about me, so I felt a bit disappointed. Right, Father?”
At Ian’s brazen remark, Deruga cleared his throat and stroked his beard. Meanwhile, the servants set out aperitifs and simple salads.
“Indeed. What are you so curious about? The capital is just like anywhere else where people live. I’m glad I brought Mac and Drgor. This old man doesn’t know much about young folks’ affairs.”
Ian started with small talk.
What did capital students study? How did they spend their free time? Had they really seen a mage? When mages came up, Molin, Mac, and Drgor’s eyes sparkled.
“Especially, I’m curious what people usually eat in the capital.”
“The capital isn’t particularly special or abundant. Local specialties all go to the imperial palace. Above all, there’s hardly any farmland in the center.”
“So merchants handle distribution otherwise.”
“Exactly. That’s why famines in the capital come not from dry land, but empty purses. Regulating supply and demand properly is one of the palace’s roles.”
Unlike Chel, who just rolled his eyes and pretended to know, Ian casually chimed in, leading the conversation. Mac and Drgor exchanged meaningful glances.
‘He’s sharp for a commoner bastard, as they say.’
His insight struck at the core, and his focus was beyond his years. Ian leisurely cut his steak and joined in.
“Food is the most basic necessity, so supply must always be plentiful. Discovering new foodstuffs would be wonderful.”
It was an offhand remark. Light as weather talk. But the adults all focused on Ian’s words. Deruga and the countess wondered why he was so talkative today, while the guests seemed intrigued.
Especially Lord Molin.
“New foodstuffs, you say. I’m curious about your insight, Ian.”
“It’s nothing like insight. What we thought inedible might turn out to be a precious ingredient.”
“Ha ha ha. Is such a dream possible?”
“You never know. The starving will eat anything to survive without discrimination. A close look might yield good discoveries.”
He had no intention of revealing gula yet. He planned to stay silent until the right moment, but dropping a hint like bait seemed fine. Then Mac added as if struck by a thought.
“Come to think of it, I hear the slums make stew from seafood shells. Surprisingly tasty, they say. Have you tried it, young master Ian?”
It was the first sharp question amid the friendly banter. Ian, who grew up poor in the red-light district. The poorest of the poor.
‘Sharper than expected.’
Ian swallowed a laugh inwardly.
The center and the border were in a mutually checking relationship. The palace tacitly approved sending Ian instead of Chel.
But if doubts arose about his qualities after he went to the Cheonryeo Tribe? If it caused harm to Bariel? It would give leverage to pressure the border effectively.
Thus, the intent behind the question was clear.
‘Ian, you’re from the slums, right?’
Forcing the laundered bastard’s origins from his own mouth, like hiding an eel in the eyes. With three central officials hearing it, no testimony could be surer.
“Ian? Lord Mac is asking you.”
The countess smiled and urged him. She seemed oblivious to the political undercurrents in a single phrase. Chel was the same, of course.
“He probably hasn’t—”
“Chel!”
As Chel stammered foolishly, Deruga sharply rebuked him. Clang. Startled, he dropped his fork. But Deruga maintained a calm expression as he reined in his son.
“Lord Mac asked Ian. Interrupting is rude. Be careful.”
It meant shut your mouth.
Chel pouted sullenly and clamped his lips. Countess Mary gripped her son’s hand under the tablecloth. Her glare at her husband was sharp. It wasn’t even a big mistake—why yell? Her son was already down after messing up last week!
“I’ve never eaten it.”
“Is that so?”
Ian set down his knife and answered firmly.
For now. It was best to show obedience beside Count Deruga.
“Though I grew up outside the estate, Father always cared for me warmly. No matter what anyone says, I’m proudly of House Bratz blood.”
“Oh ho. Indeed you are.”
Everyone knew it was a lie, but the ridiculous situation called for playing along.
Molin gave a highly satisfied smile. As if impressed that Ian had seen through the sudden attack.
“That said, I haven’t tried it, but I’d like to if I get the chance.”
Deruga frowned, but said nothing more. Ian’s reply was crisp and flowed naturally.
“I see.”
“After all, where’s the high or low in things from nature? If it sates hunger, isn’t that gratitude enough in itself? And they say it’s a delicacy.”
For a moment, Molin felt a sense of déjà vu at Ian’s response.
It was an argument he’d definitely heard somewhere before…
“You sound just like His Highness the prince.”
Drgor scratched the itch.
‘Prince? Which one?’
By Ian’s era standards, the current emperor was several generations removed. And princes? There were always more than ten.
In short, even Emperor Ian wouldn’t know who the prince from a hundred years ago was.
“His Highness Second Prince Gail. He said it quite matter-of-factly while discussing street food with nobles. Ha ha.”
He couldn’t speak up front but must have trashed him behind his back. A prince of the realm spouting uncultured nonsense.
Gail, Second Prince. It rang strangely familiar…
“You two would get along well if you met.”
“How could Ian dare.”
“No, I think it’s an excellent opinion.”
At Deruga’s face-saving remark, Drgor waved it off with a laugh.
He meant it. In an era where tens of thousands starved yearly, what did street food matter? Survival came first.
“Face is a scary thing. Even street food has value, so it sells.”
“True. But reality is harsher. Even commoners won’t touch food eaten by the lowly.”
At Mac and Drgor’s lament, the countess chimed in.
“Even if a new crop is found, it’ll take ages to distribute, right?”
Not a bad topic, but the context was off. Ian shook his head unwittingly.
“No, Mother. Distribution isn’t the issue.”
“Is that so? You must have thoughts on it, Ian.”
Molin’s tone was probing. Ian smiled as if to say, why act like you don’t know when you do?