Chapter 9
Chapter 9
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The Second Luncheon
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“We can use rumors.”
“Rumors?”
Ian glanced lightly at Molin. As if to say he would now give the answer Molin wanted, so listen carefully.
“To be precise, rumors that make desires come true. Like how eating it makes your skin smooth, adds shine and thickness to your hair. Or that it helps with weight loss or gain. Or if we spread word that it’s effective for pregnancy, they’ll be scrambling to eat it from each other.”
Regardless of man or woman.
In truth, this was a method often used by the Central Office. Forming public opinion to correct market imbalances—a most basic yet effective approach.
“Intriguing. But the capital’s citizens are sharp and clever. Idle gossip would be exposed in no time. What then?”
Mac asked, moistening his lips with sherry. That posed no problem either.
“We just station guards.”
Ian placed his index and middle fingers on the table to mimic human legs. Then he traced a circle beside the tableware, sauntering idly.
“We station them elaborately, but leave deliberate gaps in security. Coveting rarities is human nature. Even if the guards are worthless as dog shit, greed will make them steal it anyway. They’ll wonder what exactly it is that such lofty figures guard day and night. By then, it’ll be impossible to stop them even if we try, so everyone will naturally get their hands on it. However.”
“However?”
“These are mere side issues. The real question is whether a substitute supply will emerge.”
Molin, Mac, and Drgor felt a spark of static in their minds. The Central Office gathered the empire’s sharpest minds. Countless people had reviewed it.
It was an answer worth expecting from the learned, but they had never seen a mere boy just shedding his childishness respond with such keen insight. And this was a child who had wandered the brothels until recently.
Only then did the three men recall what they should have considered first.
‘First and foremost, can the Second Prince cross the border?’
They had overlooked it. No, they had been arrogant. Assuming a bastard from the slums would naturally lag behind.
Whether aware of it or not, Ian smiled brightly and brought a piece of steak to his mouth.
“It really is delicious.”
“Y-Yes. The nice weather must be making it taste even better.”
It had started as a light luncheon, but the atmosphere had shifted noticeably. Ian sensed everyone’s attention on him.
‘For now, that’s enough about Gula.’
Now for the main event. Ian intended to probe why Derga had schemed via letter and whether there was a chance to slip out of the manor.
“Does Master Ian enjoy writing?”
The small talk resumed. Mac addressed Ian, but his gaze naturally shifted to the lady and Chel. Even if they had come to see Ian, focusing too much on one person would be rude.
“I’ve heard the lady has a fine grasp of literature. I expect her children are exceptional as well.”
“Oh my. You flatter me. It’s just short pieces of writing. But Sir Mac, I hear you’ve authored two whole books yourself? Praise from someone like you embarrasses me.”
At her coquettish response, Drgor chimed in.
“Lady, no need for that. From what I’ve seen, Sir Mac is far more skilled at writing letters than books. Anyone who receives one ends up shouting declarations of love amid tears.”
“Drgor! That’s too much jesting.”
“Ahaha! Master Ian, ask Sir Mac for help when writing letters. It’ll be most useful.”
His playful wink was utterly comical. The lady burst into giggles at whatever amused her so, but Derga’s expression grew unusually dark. The topic made him deeply uncomfortable.
‘The Cheonryeo Tribe demands your handwritten letter.’
The timing was exquisitely poor. It almost implied Ian had reason to write letters. Did he know? If so, how had he found out?
Derga moistened his lips with wine and took the lead.
“We received a message from the Cheonryeo Tribe, in fact.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“They demand periodic handwritten letters from Ian.”
Derga chose his next words carefully.
“We’ll use the bloodline confirmation potion anyway, so I don’t know what they’re so worried about. Savages are like beasts—utterly incomprehensible.”
Mac smiled brightly and backed Derga up.
“Beasts are always wary of the world by nature. That’s their way of life. They follow order only through strength, don’t they? Chieftains they met in spring are often replaced by autumn.”
Strength above all. A community where every hierarchy was determined solely by might. The chieftain had to accept any challenge to duel, and only death brought peace to all.
“If they weren’t so quarrelsome, Bariel would have even more headaches.”
How fortunate they culled their own numbers. At Mac’s words, Ian asked a question.
“Then the current Cheonryeo Tribe chieftain—is she a rival to the tribal leader? Or a subordinate?”
The Cheonryeo Tribe had been crushed before Ian’s ascension, lowering their status. Occasional reports of desert crossers vanishing pointed to sandstorms or the tribe, nothing more.
Thus, Ian’s knowledge was fragmented and basic at best.
Mac shook his head at Ian’s question.
“No. Neither. The tribal leader is an elder named Winchen, so ancient her age is unknown. Leaders change almost daily, but she has held the position for a long, long time.”
“Ah. So that means……”
Ian murmured in surprise.
“She’s the spiritual pillar of the Cheonryeo Tribe.”
Correct. He grasped it perfectly even from a single hint! Mac’s gaze brimmed with approval.
“From what I’ve heard, the entire tribe sees her as one who touches the heavens. She possesses a most special ability.”
“An ability? But I heard they disdain mana.”
“It’s hard to call it mana exactly—more like gypsy arts, if anything. Blind, yet she discerns truth from lies by voice alone.”
Ah. Ian curved his brows softly.
‘The blind chieftain who sees truth.’
Now Derga’s intentions made sense.
Gurut Leaves were undoubtedly contraband. Impossible to import legally. If Ian smuggled them properly, the gains would be immense. It was the plant the Cheonryeo Tribe always carried into battle, after all.
Boost Bratz’s military might, or weaken the tribe’s combat prowess. Either way, it would tilt victory toward Bratz.
But if caught midway?
Ian would face the chieftain’s interrogation. He’d confess it was purely for his mother. If the tribe protested, Bratz could offer Ian and his mother’s deaths as atonement. Unrelated to the count, they could placate with suitable compensation.
‘The chance the Cheonryeo Tribe declares war on that pretext?’
Still slim. For now.
Bratz’s destruction came in the next generation. There must have been a reason then. A full-scale war now seemed implausible.
“You must have heard tales of the tribal leader too, Count. Isn’t that right, Count Derga?”
“Y-Yes. Well. Truth be told, I’ve never seen the tribal leader myself.”
Derga cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced at the boy.
‘But how does this kid know?’
The tutor reported unwavering belief in Ian’s dullness, yet the occasional spark of wit sowed doubt. What thoughts swirled in that small head? Impossible to guess.
“The more I hear, the more fascinating the tribe seems.”
Ian caught his gaze and smiled even brighter, leaving no room for suspicion. As Ian naturally continued cutting his meat, Derga soon withdrew his wary eyes.
But what to do about this?
Ian had already seen through Derga’s intentions. If Ian stood before the chieftain, everything would come to light inescapably.
‘Not that I plan to.’
Afterward, meaningless chatter flowed and scattered on the wind. Laughter erupted around Mac, Drgor, and the countess—ha ha ho ho.
“So, His Highness the Second Prince Gail says, ‘Toss that impudent brat into the pigsty right now!’”
“Oh my goodness! Truly?”
“Yes. He’s so hot-tempered.”
“Ohoho! How dreadful!”
Then suddenly, Ian turned his head in puzzlement.
Molin, Mac, and Drgor were Central Office officials. All public servants served the emperor and official heir in their duties. For such men to leave the capital for months held deep meaning.
Either vital enough to bear the emperor’s trust.
Or sidelined far from key posts.
Derga, ignorant of capital affairs, wouldn’t know, but Ian’s instincts prickled oddly.
‘Why keep mentioning the Second Prince?’
The official heir was the First Prince, so their liege should be him too.
Of course, other princes had followers, but mostly fringe figures distant from power’s core.
Yet these three men spoke only of Second Prince Gail incessantly.
“Master Ian. What are you thinking so deeply about?”
“Nothing. Your stories were so entertaining, I was just listening raptly.”
“Is that so? I must have misread you. Your face looked so stern. Heh heh.”
Molin subtly drew Ian’s attention. His face smiled, but his eyes scanned the boy sharply and persistently.
Was that golden eye from their first luncheon a hallucination? Mana users were said to possess superior intellect. If so, perhaps……
“Count Derga.”
Molin dabbed his mouth with a napkin and spoke. As if on cue, Mac and Drgor fell silent.
“I felt it last time too, but Master Ian’s erudition never ceases to surprise even me. Credit to the count and lady’s excellent guidance, no doubt.”
“…You flatter us.”
“So I have a small request.”
At those words, Derga gulped his wine with a flicker of unease.
Sly old fox. How many times had “request” spelled trouble?
As Derga pondered his response, a brief silence fell. Ian seized the moment.
“Would you like to see my room?”
Ian asked with a playful lilt.
It wasn’t aristocratic phrasing, but the jest of a polite child. Scolding it sternly would be graceless. The lady glared at Ian’s head as if itching to speak.
“That sounds fine, but it’s something else this time.”
All eyes in the Derga family turned to Molin’s mouth. Only Mac and Drgor remained composed, as if expecting it.