Episode 12

While Chel was away at the tailor’s shop, only Ian and Morlin remained in the sitting room.

“If you cross the border—”

The quiet clinking of dishes sounded pleasantly in the calm room. At Morlin’s even tone, Ian lifted his head.

“You must miss this place terribly.”

“Once you leave your homeland, it never truly leaves you—even in death.”

Was that too mature an answer for a child? Ian hesitated for a moment, but Morlin didn’t seem to mind.

“You seemed quite interested in the capital.”

“Of course. Any Bariel citizen would want to set foot in the capital at least once.”

The imperial palace and the papal seat held a special significance—both the starting point of patriotism and the final destination of a sacred pilgrimage.

Even setting aside such grand reasons, the capital hosted small festivals and events every month. For a child—especially an illegitimate son of a poor family—it must have seemed like a dazzling dream.

“That’s unfortunate. Once you cross the border in a couple of months, you won’t have many chances. By the way, has Master Chel ever been to the capital?”

Ian smiled and shrugged.

Probably not. This place was the farthest frontier from the capital.

The debut of Bariel nobles into society was the emperor’s responsibility. Every autumn, when the rice was at its most golden, a grand party was held for young nobles about to come of age.

“Well, I think it might take a little longer.”

In a year or two, both Chel and Ian would be old enough to enter society. But with the uncertainty of tomorrow, they couldn’t count on next year.

“If you have the time, you should ask the count to arrange a trip to the capital. Master Chel will have many opportunities, but you, Ian, might not.”

Morlin’s tone subtly emphasized Chel, as if comparing their situations to provoke a reaction.

But Ian took it calmly. Deep down, he wanted Morlin to stop beating around the bush and get to the point, but everything had its proper order.

“I still have much to learn. I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Morlin seemed skeptical. Ian was too sharp to struggle over a single letter.

Ian smiled faintly and asked,

“If I go to the capital, will I be able to tour the imperial palace?”

“Of course. The sons of the Derga count family receive special invitations from Lord Gale himself. I noticed you were curious about magicians last time.”

Morlin’s eyes gleamed, trying to gauge whether Ian’s golden eyes were real or an illusion. But Ian was too busy pondering the name Gale to notice.

“No matter how I think about it, that name sounds familiar.”

“Under Lord Gale’s command are many skilled magic users. It will surely be a valuable meeting.”

“Oh.”

Ian covered his mouth with a napkin and laughed wryly. The words “Gale” and “magic users” had triggered a faded memory—his name was written somewhere in the back of his mind.

“That sounds like a truly meaningful encounter.”

As emperor, there were only two types of people he had to remember:

Those who had achieved great merit, or those connected to rebellion.

Especially the latter—handling their aftermath was crucial. Even after a hundred years, investigations were conducted regularly to ensure their bloodlines were completely severed.

“Second Prince Gale… a rebel. A failure.”

That was why the name sounded so familiar. And if Gale’s identity was that…

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing.”

Ian narrowed his eyes and looked at Morlin.

Had he sensed traces of magic in the sitting room that day?

“Gale’s rebellion was largely led by the magic department.”

That had a huge impact on Ian.

A purge of rare magicians had taken place, and Emperor Ian had borne the burden. Back then, nearly five hundred magicians had dwindled to barely a hundred in Ian’s generation.

“That’s right. I even once tore up a report in frustration, wondering why magicians were involved in causing such trouble.”

Things were becoming clearer.

Morlin’s approach to Ian made sense now.

Given how this was unfolding, Morlin must have noticed something in the sitting room. Recruiting magic users—talented individuals before they officially became magicians.

“Do you seem uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s just…”

Ian studied Morlin’s expression. Whether Morlin was certain about his magic or not, it wasn’t a bad thing in Ian’s current situation. If used well, it could even be welcome.

Ian slowly fiddled with the brooch on his chest, as if to show it.

“My eyes are a bit irritated.”

Then he covered his mouth with his fingers, signaling that the brooch recorded conversations. They needed to communicate silently.

“Is that so? Just a moment.”

Morlin looked surprised for a moment, then stood and walked to the table. He picked up a small notepad and pen.

“Would you like to write something?”

“Eye drops, I see. Thank you.”

Carefully, Morlin handed the notepad to Ian and sat close. His pen moved briskly.

“Is this a mana stone?”

Ian nodded. Morlin touched his temple briefly, then frowned. Such a rare item even in the capital—how did a frontier count possess one?

Still, his handwriting was confident, betraying no hesitation. He wrote what he had been thinking over and over.

“Do you want to cross the border?”

Ian shook his head. The sound of scraping soup bowls accompanied the reply.

“Chel is the heir, so it wouldn’t make sense. Ian, you have a birth mother, don’t you? If you leave Bariel, the countess won’t let it go.”

Morlin’s words matched Ian’s expectations.

He was probing the child’s deepest resistance by mentioning his birth mother—the only weak point.

They wanted Ian to stay here instead of Chel.

“If you saw me use magic, then as expected, they want to pull me toward Gale’s faction to strengthen their power. If not…”

There was only one other possibility for rebels.

They wanted to use Ian as a puppet to seize the Bratz family’s lands. Though poorly managed, their army was several times larger than others.

Above all, a successful rebellion depended on swift action. If they made this place their base before other frontier nobles could send reinforcements, they could effectively block them.

“But I wonder—what about Derga?”

Either way, gaining the count’s cooperation was the fastest, surest path.

“The current power lies with the first prince, so Derga and the second prince’s faction are at odds. The approach from the second prince’s side isn’t necessarily bad. They probably haven’t even mentioned rebellion outright, just subtly forming a faction. But since they’re trying to lure Ian, it’s natural to assume it failed.”

Though brief, Ian knew Derga well.

Someone as greedy and politically savvy as him wouldn’t outright reject the second prince’s approach. If anything, he might have delayed to keep his options open. But judging by Morlin’s attitude, it seemed he had flatly refused.

Ian looked at Morlin calmly.

“Are you saying you want to help me?”

“If you wish.”

Why?

Why was Derga uninterested in the central power struggle?

Suddenly, Ian recalled the documents he’d seen in the office. The military ratio was so high it was hard to understand. Taxation was at a bombshell level, but was it enough? He even wondered if the territory had special resources.

“Could it be…”

Was Derga skimming taxes meant for the palace?

If so, everything fit—the reluctance to get entangled with the center, the abnormal economy, the busy work during the off-season.

Tap, tap.

Morlin lightly tapped Ian’s arm to get his attention, signaling him to answer the last written question. Ian wrote back with a small hand.

“What do you want from me?”

They communicated well. Morlin openly mentioned the golden eyes from that day.

“Are you, by any chance, a magic user?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Ian flatly denied it. Revealing he was a magic user would do more harm than good. Besides, Morlin was backed by the magic department and plotting rebellion. It was wiser to hide it until he could protect himself.

Morlin silently tapped the notepad, his sharp eyes trying to detect lies.

“That’s a shame.”

“Are you going to stop talking because of that?”

“Not at all. We need you, Ian. If you help us well, I will oppose your induction into the capital. Then you won’t need to cross the border.”

“Are your clothes comfortable?”

At that moment, Degor’s voice came from outside. He was surely about to enter, signaling that the conversation should wrap up.

Morlin calmly gathered the notepad into an ashtray, lit it, and sealed it with the lid.

Creak.

“Huh?”

Chel, newly dressed, paused at the door. The atmosphere was oddly stiff. Morlin greeted him with a gentle smile.

“Oh, the tailor on your side really is skilled.”

“Sir Degor gave it as a gift. Thank you.”

“It was my fault for spilling the water. Let’s finish our meal. By the way, where is Mac? Why isn’t he here?”

No sooner had he spoken than the door opened again. The guards were gone, and Mac was alone.

“Those who drown in barrels don’t die by drowning but by the liquor itself. He tasted it and lost his mind.”

Mac’s cheerful words instantly lifted the mood. Ian smiled in response and continued slicing the remaining meat, while Morlin gave a subtle nod to his two subordinates.

“How is it?”

“As sharp as expected.”

At their first luncheon, Morin had conveyed Gale’s intentions to the count, but Dergah’s reaction was less than encouraging.

Just as Morin was about to open the door, feeling awkward, his gaze met Ian’s golden eyes. If handled right, this could be valuable—especially since Ian was a magic user. It felt like a godsend.

But when Ian flatly denied being a child…

“Keep a close watch.”

Morin raised his left eyebrow and gave instructions to Mac and D’Gor.

Meanwhile, Ian glanced down at the fork in his left hand and the knife in his right. It felt as if the entire imperial palace and the Cheonryeo tribe were resting in his grasp.

A smooth motion.

Then the steak in the center would be Bratz. Using both at once, he could slice through it cleanly.

“The meat tastes excellent, as expected.”

Ian added with a satisfied smile, then naturally continued.

“The guards have fallen asleep, so I don’t think we’ll be going far today. How about a walk in the park after the meal to help digest? I’d like to see the lake you mentioned, Lord Morin.”