Episode 10

“What exactly is a ‘request’?”

“It’s already been a week since we arrived here, but aside from coming and going to the mansion, we haven’t really been able to go anywhere else.”

“So?” Derga answered with an expression before he even realized it. But everyone could already guess what was coming next. Ian bit his lower lip softly, swallowing his excitement.

“Well then, if you would kindly allow it, I would like to ask young master Ian to show us around the estate. I understand that the count and his lady are very busy, so I wouldn’t dare trouble them. Ha ha.”

Mac and D’Gor, who had been quietly listening nearby, chimed in at just the right moment. It was so natural, so perfectly timed.

“That’s a splendid idea! Why don’t you join us for lunch as well? Sharing a meal along with some intellectual conversation would be most enjoyable. Right, D’Gor?”

“Um…”

The lady hesitated, worried she might interrupt, but ultimately stayed silent. Guiding three unfamiliar men she’d never met before felt like too much of a burden. D’Gor, seemingly oblivious to her hesitation, replied.

“Of course. Besides, Ian has only recently been living outside, hasn’t he? I’m sure he knows many interesting things we don’t.”

When D’Gor said “we,” he meant the Derga count family, including these outsiders. Do you know the alleys of the common folk? Only Ian could possibly. It was a clear warning not to interfere.

“Ahem.”

Derga looked thoroughly flustered. He couldn’t even swallow the wine in his mouth, his eyes darting around as he tried to think of a reason to refuse.

But Ian wasn’t a baby, nor a child to be kept indoors. And now, with the added excuse of an intellectual discussion, it was hard to say no.

“Frequent visits to the mansion are hardly proper for guests. If you permit, we would be happy to host you at our residence. The coachman we hired is very kind.”

Molin sealed the deal. Ian, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. Since they were being pulled forward, he figured he might as well push from behind.

“Lord Molin, where exactly is your residence?”

“Near the park in District 3 of Portroga.”

“Oh, Portroga?”

“You seem familiar with it.”

“Well, I was born and raised here.”

It was an ambiguous answer, open to interpretation. Even if Ian the illegitimate son had known the area well, Emperor Ian had no real sense of what kind of district Portroga was. But since Molin had specifically mentioned the park, Ian could bluff his way through.

“In that case, all the better. A stroll through the park for some reflection sounds wonderful. The sun’s been quite warm lately, hasn’t it? I noticed there’s even a small boat on the lake, but being old, I haven’t dared to try it. If Ian would assist me, I might just find the courage.”

Molin smiled, twitching his eyebrows.

‘They have some kind of scheme,’ Ian thought.

He studied the count’s expression. Derga forced a stiff smile, but his face was tense. He had no good reason to refuse, yet plausible excuses kept piling up.

“Count?”

“Ian, your opinion matters most.”

In the end, the count played his trump card: he handed the decision over to Ian. His lips smiled kindly, but his eyes were cold as ice. The unspoken pressure was clear—handle this wisely.

‘Interesting.’

A border count and a central government official, Molin, were locked in a power struggle over a single child. It was a scene not uncommon in the imperial palace, but seeing it from below rather than above gave it a different flavor.

“Well…”

Ian carefully weighed his words on the taut string of tension. Naturally, going outside was advantageous, but shaking things up before the outcome wasn’t a bad idea either.

“If I’m a poor guide, I might only get in the way. I’m still young, so I’m not sure I can satisfy you all.”

It was an unexpected answer. Lord Molin and his companions’ faces stiffened slightly. Derga covered his smile behind his wine glass and nodded.

“True, it’s rare to have the chance to glimpse the knowledge of those from the capital. If it’s not just a tour but a luncheon with intellectual discussion…”

Ian glanced at Derga. His jaw, as if savoring wine, was set rigid. At that moment, D’Gor smoothly jumped in.

“Count, if we have offended you by our request, please forgive our impertinence.”

His skill in steering the conversation was remarkable—so adept at raising each other’s standing and drawing out positive responses.

Derga’s answer to that was already decided.

“…Not at all. It’s no trouble.”

“That’s a relief. When would be convenient?”

“Please ask Ian. Ian?”

All eyes turned to Ian again, and this time Molin stepped forward with grace.

“Since the count is granting permission, it would be best if he chose the date. After all, all matters in Bratz are handled by the count.”

Even Emperor Ian had to admire the finesse. As a central official, Molin was sharp and quick-witted. The arrogant border noble Derga could never out-talk them.

‘What’s their real intention?’

At first, Ian thought it was just a minor check by Lord Molin—to keep an eye on the illegitimate son, making it easier to find faults through frequent meetings.

But watching the three of them trade barbs and retreats, it was clear they had another purpose. They were putting a lot of effort into what should have been a side opportunity. Had Derga noticed?

‘He has.’

His hand carefully stroked his beard. His rolling eyes betrayed his thoughts. Since he had no reason to refuse, he would cooperate and try to uncover their true intentions.

“How about lunch tomorrow?”

Derga asked Molin but kept his gaze on Ian. Ian, as if having finished his calculations, smiled lazily. The stern expression from before had vanished completely.

“Oh, thank you, Count.”

“I have a favor to ask in return.”

Ian answered, then looked at Chel. Everyone’s attention shifted to the child. Chel, about to take a bite of steak, froze.

“As Ian said, these gentlemen from the capital will surely be excellent teachers. Therefore, I hope Chel will join and share in the learning.”

It was a bothersome request, but not an unreasonable one.

Mac, D’Gor, and Molin exchanged quick signals. Their communication was so subtle, just eye contact, that no one noticed.

“But Father, I don’t want to go to school—”

“Very well. Young master Chel is exceptionally bright. I look forward to the luncheon discussion.”

“Thank you for your kind words.”

Before Chel could protest, the adults had already made their decision. Chel shot Ian a resentful glance. Things were already awkward enough, and now he was expected to spend the whole day with them? Outside the count’s mansion, no less.

“Shall we bring out dessert?”

“Yes, it was a truly excellent meal.”

Ian nodded in agreement, a satisfied smile lingering on his lips. This meal had given him everything he wanted. Even if he hadn’t eaten, he would have felt full.

“Today’s meal was an honor, Count Derga.”

“We shall meet again next week.”

“Ian, I will send the carriage to pick you up for lunch tomorrow.”

After that, the conversation lost all substance. The usual polite laughter was gone. Everyone had lost interest, and the atmosphere quieted. Molin and his party left, leaving half their dessert untouched.

“Please be careful on your way home.”

“Madam, until next time.”

The three guests kissed Mary’s hand in farewell, then climbed into their carriage and disappeared. As the meal ended and Ian prepared to enter the mansion, Derga called his two sons.

“Chel. Ian.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You must report everything they said, word for word. Stay sharp.”

It was a perfectly natural warning. When Chel and Ian nodded simultaneously, Derga fixed Ian with a cold stare.

“And you, come with me to the study.”

Mary and Chel looked at each other in confusion, but that was all. The two disappeared down the hall to their rooms, while Ian followed Derga upstairs to the study.

Creak.

The study looked much the same as before. There seemed to be more papers, but Ian wasn’t sure. Derga rummaged through a drawer without saying a word.

Clink.

“Hmm.”

He pulled out a small brooch—an emblem of a tiger and laurel wreath set with a red gem. It was definitely the Bratz family crest.

“Wear this when you go tomorrow.”

Unlike the careless toss of a mother’s pocket, Derga personally approached and pinned the brooch to Ian’s chest. Ian immediately recognized it.

‘A magic stone capable of recording and tracking.’

In Ian’s time, these were common, but a hundred years ago in the borderlands, they would have been rare. It was surely a family heirloom used secretly when personal safety was at risk.

Derga lightly brushed Ian’s chest and warned him.

“Never lose it. Take care not to scratch it. It’s worth dozens of times more than your insignificant body.”

“…I will remember.”

Two children’s reports had their limits. Especially against three seasoned men from the central government. Couldn’t they handle a clueless kid like Chel? They would surely lose Chel and come after Ian.

“I will assign someone to watch you. Don’t cause any trouble. Come straight to the study when you return.”

Does that mean Ian is fully on Derga’s side? He’s the one clutching his mother’s lifeline, ready to sell him off beyond the border. Reluctantly, I had no choice but to pull out the precious family magic stone brooch.

“Yes, Father.”

But Ian clicked his tongue when he saw the magic stone pinned to my chest. His expression said he was certain I couldn’t communicate through writing. He thought it was useless, like clinging to something worthless for comfort. It was laughable.

Creak.

Ian bowed politely and left. Once back in my room, I examined the brooch closely. When I infused it with magic, it quickly fizzled out. That meant it had very little capacity to hold power.

Zzzing. Zzzzing.

‘This is bottom-tier, even among the low-grade.’

At least Ian could control it if he really tried.

‘Tracking is done with a magic stone of the same kind, so that’s fine.’

Derga was probably staring at a compass in his office right now. It wasn’t an ordinary needle but made from a magic stone identical to the brooch. By measuring direction and light intensity, it could track the target’s location.

‘If only I can figure out the recording part…’

Ian focused again, channeling magic into the stone, which glowed a deeper red. His golden eyes softened.

“Oh, right.”

Suddenly, I almost forgot—one of the reasons he wanted to go outside was to meet his birth mother. Ian rang the bell, calling for a servant.

Ding!

“Did you call, young master?”

“Bring some snacks.”

Snacks? We just finished lunch.

The servant bowed, hiding his surprise. But Ian hummed a cheerful tune, gazing out the window. He wasn’t waiting for the snacks—he was waiting for the person who would bring them.