Chapter 91
Chapter 91
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 91
Chapter Title: The End of Merelrof
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The atmosphere was so frigid it was as if they had invited guests only to treat them this way. The butler poured water into Ian's glass while furtively watching his master's mood. Everyone residing in the Merelrof estate was solely focused on the count's temper, yet Ian and the man he had brought, Berik, showed no sign of discomfort whatsoever.
"Wow, this smells amazing."
The man named Berik even sniffed the air, savoring the aroma of the meat to his heart's content. The Merelrof Count asked in an irritated tone.
"Lord Ian. Why on earth did you bring that one along?"
"You must have seen him before, my lord. Berik, the one I rely on most these days for handling my affairs. Since you invited me to dine, I thought I'd introduce him while I was at it."
There had been no instruction to come alone, so what was the problem? The count's irritation surged at Ian's attitude, pretending to be oblivious with that grin. If he'd known it would come to this, he would have had someone spit in the bastard's soup.
"Eat."
"Yes, my lord."
At the count's command, the butler began serving the dishes in earnest. As the saying went, even a rich man who falls takes three generations; the territory itself was on the brink of ruin from starvation, but the estate's grandeur remained intact.
Ian smiled brightly at the sight of the gula dish.
"I'm glad you've taken a liking to gula."
"Indeed, I'll grant you that it's a rare delicacy. I heard you permitted gula trade with the territory's people. Now even the lowly rabble will know its flavor?"
"Good things are meant to be shared. No need for thanks. Thanks to you, my lord, I was able to gather part of the tribute. Consider this my expression of gratitude."
The moment Ian took a sip of water, Berik—as if on cue—began devouring the food, as his expression put it. He ate with the ferocity of someone intent on emptying the Merelrof storerooms. Clink-clink, the only sound was Berik's utensils clashing endlessly.
"...There's a limit to vulgarity. Really."
The count openly rebuked him, but Berik paid it no mind. His attitude screamed, bark all you want; I'm eating. Ian passed even his own plate to Berik and spoke up.
"Since you so kindly invited me to dine, I prepared a gift in appreciation. Clark, wasn't it? The slave you gave me last time."
At Ian's words, the wife's knife paused for the briefest instant—too short for anyone but him to notice.
"I think I'll return him. If I'd known deals of this magnitude were in play, I wouldn't have accepted him in the first place."
"Hmph. Well, if that's your choice, I won't stop you."
"No contract was notarized, so you can just take him back. Oh, and I have a proposal. I'd like you to encourage your territory's people to consume our territory's gula dishes actively."
The count scowled. Wouldn't that just mean Merelrof's money flowing straight to the neighboring territory? Seizing the moment, he set down his utensils and snapped.
"Lord Ian, barring the earth splitting open, you and I will be neighbors for life. How could you decide something as major as permitting gula trade on your own? And right after trading with us, no less!"
"I'm afraid I don't follow. We didn't go into Merelrof to sell; your people came to us to buy. How could we refuse?"
Hadn't that reaffirmed economic autonomy once more? Ian crossed his arms and replied, deliberately showing his own displeasure.
Of course, he felt nothing of the sort inwardly, but a negotiation required at least this much posturing.
"Besides, it was precisely because of the trade with you that I could permit it. It meant our frozen relations with Merelrof had thawed. I thought you'd see the significance too, but I suppose I was mistaken."
'That bastard's mouth...'
The count barely suppressed his boiling rage and regained his composure.
"Fine, I get the significance, but the timing felt off. Nearly gave me the wrong idea—you permitting trade with the rabble the moment I bought some."
"That's exactly why I'm asking. Recommend consumption to your people, but prohibit trade in raw gula. We'll enforce on our end, but we're short-staffed. Supply and demand are inextricably linked; one side being cautious isn't enough."
This was why Ian had accepted the dinner invitation.
Focusing not on 'selling' raw gula, but laying the groundwork around 'buying' it. A month from now, if the count were dead, fine—but preparing for if he lived was safer.
Of course, it doubled as filling Berik's bottomless stomach. His activity level made food costs unmanageable, but occasions like this seemed promising.
As long as the count didn't stroke out from high blood pressure.
"One more plate here!"
"Please wait a moment."
"Fill it up full. Don't skimp and cut it thin."
Berik held up his empty plate and requested of the butler. The count glared daggers but couldn't bring himself to stop him, instead downing his wine.
"...Moderation with the drink."
"Fine. I'll inform the territory. Raw gula will be contraband. That satisfy you? You know what I mean."
The count ignored his wife's words outright and warned Ian. He'd cooperate to the max, but if they tried selling raw gula before the estate's cultivation was done, there'd be hell to pay. Ian glanced at the wife and nodded.
"Of course, my lord."
"Then finish up and leave. Apologies, but I have a backlog of work. Wife, entertain Lord Ian."
He couldn't stomach continuing the meal. It was exceedingly rude, but Ian didn't mind. Without the count, the dinner would be far more pleasant. The wife nodded as if to say leave it to her, and he stormed out.
Bang!
"Whew."
Once the door shut, the wife let out an involuntary sigh and pressed her forehead. She hadn't acted out like that with guests present, but perhaps due to the medication, his nerves had grown even more frayed lately.
"Are you alright, my lady?"
"Of course. Look, they're eating well, aren't they?"
But contrary to her words, she set down her cutlery as if her appetite had vanished. With a look, she dismissed the butler and all the servants from the dining hall.
Creak.
As the door closed, Berik redoubled his enthusiastic feasting. Ian casually inquired about the situation.
"How is it? Are you using the cosmetics I sent last time well?"
One could never be too sure. Just as Derka had the mana stone brooch, perhaps the Merelrof Count did too. Understanding his implication, the wife smiled faintly and affirmed.
"Yes. Even today. Doesn't my complexion look good?"
"It does, somewhat. Truth be told, I'm no expert."
"You brought Clark, I hear."
"He's outside. He holds more value than gold."
The message was clear: this was for her sake. With the count's death, the family headship would be vacant— an opportunity Ian, as neighbor lord, couldn't ignore. Their interests aligned perfectly, but this was unmistakable goodwill.
The wife lifted her head slightly in thanks.
"I see. Thank you."
"No trouble at all."
"Still, it feels wrong to take it for free. You seemed quite interested in my ring last time."
The amber gemstone said to be made by some mysterious alchemist. She glanced upstairs and murmured.
"If it's alright, I'd like to give you that at least."
"I'd be honored."
"Would you tell me? Why you're so fixated on a failed alchemist's gem."
It was simple curiosity. Ian nonchalantly pulled out the necklace from around his neck.
"Truth is, I have something similar."
"Oh my. A necklace."
"Seems from the same alchemist. I've had it since I was young, so I'm curious about it in many ways."
Fascinated, the wife leaned in closer to inspect the necklace. It matched her ring perfectly.
It was then.
Creak.
A servant entering froze in the doorway. Ian and the wife's proximity was too intimate. No one in the dining hall had done anything suspicious, but the servant instinctively averted her eyes to the floor.
"Th-the utensils, to replace them."
"Yes. I was about to call you. Change that one's plate."
The wife gestured as if it was perfect timing. Berik had smeared sauce everywhere. The servant timidly tidied the table, bowed, and exited.
"The guests are still eating?"
"Did she starve for days? Why's she eating so much?"
"Right? Whew, we'll run out of meat at this rate."
In the adjoining prep room, the servants bustled about. The one who had carried the plates stood dazed, as if something was off. An impatient colleague tapped her shoulder.
"What're you doing? Move it!"
"Huh? Oh, right. Yeah."
"Did you see a monster in there or what?"
"...Not a monster, but... did you know the lady and Lord Ian were that close? I thought they'd only met a few times."
"Why? What happened?"
"When I went in... the lady was touching Lord Ian's nape."
Crash!
Too startled, the colleague dropped a plate. The kitchen servants all froze and turned. Pale-faced, they gaped, then swarmed the culprit with warnings.
"Watch your mouth, girl!"
"You must be crazy."
"If the master finds out, we're all dead."
Not just Lady Rien— if unlucky, the servants would bleed too. And had any of them not received the wife's aid during a beating here at least once?
"No loose talk. Eyes shut, ears plugged."
"Got it..."
"Forget it ever happened. Remember last time the master beat you and the lady took the blame, bedridden for three days? Her too, him too—they'd be crippled and cast out without the lady."
They steeled themselves in grim silence, steadying pounding hearts. Honestly, with a husband like that, who wouldn't lose it? Ian was her peer in age, a commoner-turned-lord with real talent, and above all, strikingly handsome.
'It's enough to drive one mad. Really.'
An invisible storm brewed in the estate. They scattered hastily, and even the butler outside the door abandoned entering and turned away.
Creak.
Thud-thud.
The butler's heavy footsteps crawled into the corridor's darkness. Toward the count's study.
'Ian seems to be seducing the wife to target Merelrof...'
But was there a way to warn without harming her? The butler sighed deeply, leaning his forehead against the wall. Far off, a sliver of light leaked from the dining room door.
"Butler?"
A servant called him then. The title 'butler' snapped him awake like cold water. Useless fretting.
"You're not unwell, are you?"
"No. Enough. Assist in the dining hall."
"Yes, sir."
Passing the servant, the butler hardened his resolve. He felt gratitude and human affection for the wife, certainly—but first, he was the loyal butler of House Merelrof.
Knock-knock.
"My lord. May I enter briefly?"
The door opened, and the count, smoking a mana cigarette, turned curiously. His gaze asked if Ian had left.
* * *
The next day.
Ian rose for the usual morning, stepping out of his bedroom. An utterly peaceful routine, unchanged. The weather felt milder than typical for winter.
"Berik?"
"He's laid up with a stomachache."
"That guy's something else. Tsk."
Ian sipped tea in the dining hall, clicking his tongue. Was it Berik's absence? The estate felt unusually quiet. Romandro was sleeping in, while Ner Sarne and most of the Cheonryeo Tribe spent their days at the border observation posts.
They went stargazing for divinations nearly every day.
Clatter-clatter!
Thud! Boom!
"What is that?"
"No idea."
The commotion outside made even Haina, pouring tea, pause. A servant came running in a frenzy, nearly tumbling.
"Lord Ian! Lord Ian!"
"Quite the energy this morning."
"A l-letter from—from Merelrof!"
"Those guys, really..."
"Th-the count's d-dead?"
Ian furrowed his brow at the garbled words. The servant panted, stumbling over her explanation.
"The Merelrof Count is dead."
"What? We had dinner together just last night."
Had the sleep apnea come sooner than expected?
But the servant's reply dashed that.
"Clark stabbed him to death."