Episode 15

Seventeen-year-old Berrick was a bit of an odd kid. Maybe it was because his fiery red hair matched his fiery temper, but none of the fellow trainees liked him. It had been that way from the very beginning.

When the squad leader tried to put him in his place by picking a fight, Berrick fought back fiercely, refusing to give in until his arms and legs felt like they might break. In the end, it ended with him passing out.

“He’s the kind who won’t win, but won’t lose either.”

That was the nickname all the trainees whispered behind his back.

“Rest.”

“Haah…”

“Move to the shade.”

Under the blazing sun of the training ground, everyone staggered at the instructor’s command to rest. Yet no one helped Berrick to his feet.

He didn’t expect it either. He simply closed his eyes and caught his breath. Soon enough, he’d get up on his own.

“Berrick?”

A strange voice calling his name made him open his eyes halfway. A head of golden hair shone brightly, but that was all he could make out—his vision was still blurry.

“Can you stand?”

“…Who are you?”

“Ian.”

“Get lost.”

Berrick knew the Count Bratz had an illegitimate son, but he had no idea this brat was him.

He didn’t care. After all, they’d been living together for half a year, and Berrick didn’t even know the names of his bunkmates. How could he know a kid who had just arrived at the mansion a month ago and lived like a walking corpse?

“What a nasty attitude.”

Ian looked down at him thoughtfully. No matter how he looked at it, Berrick fit the profile of a magic swordsman.

Maybe it was prejudice, but every magic swordsman Ian had met had a similar temperament—always reckless, as if they had to slash through everything, causing trouble wherever they went.

“Your attitude is quite insolent.”

“Ah…”

Ian scolded him by splashing water on his face. Berrick just closed his eyes, feeling the coolness, and opened his mouth slightly.

Ian glanced back. Chel, Deo, and the other trainees were watching from the shade, puzzled. They had no idea what the illegitimate son was trying to do.

“Shall I test him?”

Turning his back on them, Ian crouched down and pretended to give Berrick water, but instead, he held his chin. Through his fingertips, Ian let his magic flow into Berrick.

“…”

The scowl on Berrick’s face gradually softened. It was as if the blood clots that had filled his body were slowly melting away.

Just a little more, just a little more…

Perhaps mistaking the relief for the water’s effect, Berrick was desperate enough to lick up even the drops spilled on the ground. Ian scattered the rest and stood up.

“That’s enough.”

Ordinary people can’t absorb pure magic. It’s because of the difference in the density of the vessel that holds the power. Magic users have sturdy vessels that don’t leak, but ordinary people are like sieves—they can’t contain it.

That’s why healing and illusion magic are so highly valued. Offensive magic can be poured all at once to shatter the vessel, no matter who the target is. But healing or illusions, which transform magic so the target can receive it, are among the most advanced techniques.

So, how about Berrick?

Not only did he absorb the magic well, but his reaction was immediate. Even though the power was faint, he was as desperate as a newborn searching for its mother’s milk.

“He’s got potential.”

An unexpected find. Ian never imagined a magic swordsman’s seedling would be here.

Releasing his magic, Ian headed toward Chel and Deo. Chel was already sweating profusely, looking exhausted despite doing nothing but standing.

“Brother, let’s call it a day and head back.”

Those words were long-awaited. Chel’s face brightened instantly, flushed with relief.

“R-Really?”

“And from tomorrow, you can train with me.”

Then his expression darkened again, as if he’d sunk into the mud. Is he still just a kid? How can his emotions be so plainly written on his face?

“If you’re the next Count, that’s what you should do.”

Ian smiled gently and added. Meanwhile, Berrick lay on the training ground floor, still feeling the lingering magic.

---

“You’re going to the training ground with Chel?”

Derga asked, just as Ian finished organizing all the messages stored in the magic stone brooch. Though he had called Ian at dawn, the outside world had already grown dim.

Ian cleared his throat, worn out from talking all day.

“Yes. It’s right outside the back gate of the mansion, but I must ask Father’s permission since I have to leave the grounds.”

Derga took the magic stone from its glass case and wiped it with a dry cloth. His expression was either indifferent or suspicious—it was hard to tell.

“I have no other intentions. As I said, even going outside drains a lot of energy. If both heirs of the family are in such a state, the Cheonryeo tribe will look down on us, and more importantly, we won’t survive crossing the border and the four seas.”

It was a reasonable point. Derga pushed aside a pile of documents and said with a tone that felt like a test—very arrogant.

“If you wander outside too often, you’ll get restless.”

Was he implying he didn’t trust Ian’s intentions? Ian was honestly uneasy about meeting Mollin regularly, but he didn’t like that Derga kept giving him chances.

Ian pulled a letter from his pocket.

“This is the reply to the pouch you gave me earlier.”

A letter to his mother. He used it as his answer. As long as his mother was there, he couldn’t afford to act recklessly—Derga knew that better than anyone.

Derga carefully unfolded the neatly folded paper.

“Please add that I’m still clumsy at writing.”

That was nothing. Derga had already heard from the butler that the tutor had helped Ian write the reply during lessons.

Rustle.

He unfolded the letter. The handwriting was messy, but the affection inside was unmistakable.

—Mother, please don’t worry. I’m doing well here. The Count, the Lady, and the young master are all taking good care of me. I will definitely find what you asked for. Please stay safe until the day I return. I send my longing with a short song: When the moon falls from the sky, the sun will rise. There is no eternal darkness.

The last line seemed like a secret code between mother and son.

Derga stroked his beard after reading Ian’s vow to find the “Gurut leaf.” It was a subtle gesture to hide the smile creeping onto his face.

“What did your mother ask you to find?”

“Father… didn’t you see the pouch?”

It was a test question, but the answer surprised him.

Derga looked up at Ian’s face. His unusually sharp gaze showed he was clearly concerned about his mother’s request to keep it secret. A smile he couldn’t hide played at Derga’s lips.

“Do I look that idle?”

“No, I don’t know, but it’s a hair ornament that Cheonryeo women usually wear.”

But all of this was part of Ian’s plan.

In a situation where he had to hide his mother’s request, he pretended to doubt whether Derga had even checked the letter. He lowered his eyes and dropped his voice as if wary…

Ah, he really couldn’t act. Acting was neither his style nor his skill.

And Derga, who was so easily fooled by Ian, was just as foolish.

“If you grant permission, I’ll start training at the ground from tomorrow.”

Ian carefully circled back to the topic. He had already pestered Chel to get Derga’s approval through him, but he wanted to make it official.

Derga nodded, stroking his beard.

“Don’t think of hurting Chel under the guise of training. If you do, Deo will cut your throat right there.”

He spoke such a harsh threat to a child without hesitation. Ian bowed his head repeatedly, not forgetting to express his gratitude.

“By the way, when are you meeting Lord Mollin again?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Ian would go out again to meet them.

Derga frowned as if pondering something. Probably because the Countess opposed it, Chel wouldn’t be allowed to accompany him then.

“I see.”

Derga waved his hand, signaling Ian to leave. As he turned, Ian didn’t forget to glance over his desk.

There must be something about taxes in there…

Click.

Standing in the dark hallway, Ian thought of Mollin. What exactly did they want from him?

He didn’t know the details, but it was clear they wanted to bring down Derga. Even using Ian instead of Chel was part of the plan.

“Then the tax issue must be the key. They suspect Derga of tax evasion.”

But it was dangerous. Tax evasion against the royal court was one of the gravest crimes. If things went badly, they could accuse the entire Bratz family of treason and have them executed.

If Ian didn’t die, he’d be punished by being reduced to slavery.

“Whatever happens, it’s dangerous.”

If the Bratz name disappeared, so would the family—and Ian’s value would vanish too. His survival was at stake.

A deadly tightrope walk.

Derga was trying to sell Ian off to the desert, and Mollin wanted to consume the Bratz family. Ian had to stay sharp between them.

“But it seems they’ve planted eyes and ears inside the mansion. Especially about the letters—they definitely know something.”

“Ian?”

A servant holding a lantern called to him, asking if he was ready to return to his room. Ian followed him down the corridor. Being the highest point in the mansion, he could still see the faint glow of the training ground beyond the window.

“Everyone’s working hard late into the night.”

At Ian’s warm murmuring, the servant who had been walking ahead let out a quiet chuckle. Wasn’t Ian the one who had suffered the most, stuck all day in Der’s office? The servant felt a subtle sense of closeness to the boy who brought fresh, clean meals every day from the kitchen.

“I’ve prepared a separate set of training clothes in your bedroom.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Have a peaceful night, Lord Ian.”

Meanwhile, in the training grounds, the men—still flushed with heat—swung their swords and spears. The most striking among them was Berrick, with his fiery red hair.

“What the hell did that guy eat today?”

“Right? He’s got way too much energy.”

“He was barely hanging on just this afternoon.”

Berrick was the type whose strength drained away like a candle flickering out at sunset. Yet somehow, even after everyone else had returned to the dormitory, he kept swinging his sword without pause.

Ssshhh!

Shing!

With all his might, Berrick sliced through the scarecrow’s neck. For the first time, his sword moved exactly as he willed it. His ragged breaths were soaked in exhilaration and pleasure.

“Haha… this is it, damn it.”

What was going on? Was this the sign that his training was finally paying off? Or was it just because he’d been collapsing all day? Why the image of that blonde kid kept coming to mind under the sunlight, he couldn’t say. Still, Berrick gripped his sword once more.