Episode 18
Not to surrender, but to meet the Cheollyeo tribe?

Molin’s expression was priceless—a mix of confusion and disbelief. He kept stroking his beard nervously, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to grasp Ian’s true intention.

Meeting the Cheollyeo tribe meant crossing the border. From Ian’s perspective, that was a death sentence.

As Ian hesitated, Mac and D’Gor leaned in, peering at the parchment. Their expressions shifted noticeably as well.

“Don’t you understand what it means to meet the Cheollyeo tribe?” Molin asked.

“I do,” Ian replied. “But if the palace sends investigators, my father will surely suspect me. The only central officials in Bratz territory are you, Lord Molin, and your party. And I’m the one closest to the estate. Even if there are spies planted, it’s obvious I’ll be the first suspect.”

It was a natural progression.

If the palace had sent investigators after nearly two weeks of pursuit, it meant they had solid evidence—evidence that must have leaked from the Bratz estate.

“They won’t leave me alone. The moment the investigators arrive, who knows what will happen. Knowing my father’s temper, he’ll probably interrogate me with a blade. So I will cross the border.”

The three men exchanged glances.

In truth, they didn’t care what happened to the boy—whether he died, became a slave, or fled across the border. Their goal was the downfall of the Bratz family and the value of the territory they would claim as a result.

“You might not come back,” Molin warned.

Ian knew this well.

Even with the peace treaty in place, safety wasn’t guaranteed. If the family fell, they knew exactly how the other side would act. It might be better to hide somewhere.

“Then I will do it.”

Ian, seeing through their thoughts, continued writing.

“Will you hide my mother and me?”

Molin kept his gaze fixed on the parchment, expression unreadable, but Mac and D’Gor looked clearly troubled.

This was the fall of the Bratz family, a matter of generations. Time was urgent and danger high, and protecting a bastard and his mother was a heavy burden—especially since they were outsiders.

“The Bratz territory is firmly in my father’s grasp. I understand it’s impossible. So I will cross the border as my father wishes. That alone is enough.”

As long as Derga lived, Ian’s bones could only be buried beyond the border. Even if he ran, there was nowhere to go.

But if the Bratz family was wiped out? Or at least if the head of the family, Derga, disappeared?

Ian could return.

And live as before.

“Risky, but not a bad choice,” Mac thought, stroking his brow.

If Ian stayed, he’d either be killed by his father or enslaved. But if he left…

“There’s hope. After time passes and memories fade, he might blend in among the villagers.”

Silently, Mac applauded Ian’s resolve. The handwriting at the end of the parchment slanted slightly, as if leaning into the future.

“This is a choice that truly carves out one’s destiny! Sir, I think this is worth agreeing to. Securing evidence with Ian’s help should be our priority. Derga is no fool. We can’t afford to waste time.”

Molin nodded in agreement.

“And above all, if the peace treaty proceeds…”

As Mac was about to write more, D’Gor stopped him with a light shake of his head—a silent reprimand.

Realizing his mistake, Mac glanced at Ian, awkwardly searching his expression. Ian answered by finishing the sentence.

“If the peace treaty goes through, it will be beneficial in many ways.”

The clash between the central investigators and Derga would unsettle the territory. But if the Cheollyeo tribe also stirred trouble during that time, it would be problematic. It was safer to proceed with the promised peace treaty. Even if the head of the family changed later, they could gain an advantage in negotiations.

“Ian, you should go outside more often. The flowers will be in full bloom when you leave, so you should take in the beauty of the Bratz territory before then.”

They were saying everything would proceed smoothly, as originally planned, on that spring day.

Molin pressed his family seal onto the paper with his fingertip—a gesture of honor and an absolute promise when one stakes their family name. He seemed grateful for Ian’s reluctant sacrifice.

“That seal is unusual,” Ian thought, barely moved as he observed the gesture.

Knock knock.

A sound came from outside.

“I’m bringing dessert.”

“Please come in.”

Fortunately, it wasn’t Countess Mary. Instead, servants entered carrying trays full of teacups and a teapot. As they busied themselves in the room, Mac slipped the parchment into his pocket and asked,

“I’d like to smoke a cigarette, Ian.”

“Go ahead. Just open the window.”

“Thank you. Hey, bring me an ashtray with a lid.”

“Yes, I’ll get it right away.”

“Is the lady running late?”

If Countess Mary was late, Mac planned to burn the paper along with the tobacco. Clicking his lighter out of habit, he asked, and the servant smiled awkwardly.

“Countess Merellof sent many things.”

“Do you often exchange gifts?”

“Hm? Well, the servants come and go two or three times a week.”

The servant politely presented a golden ashtray. As Mac opened the window, he suddenly noticed a familiar potted plant.

“That’s the one we bought at the park.”

“It’s a strange flower. It stays in full bloom for a long time.”

“Even the estate staff don’t know what it is?”

“Yes. Everyone says it’s the first time they’ve seen this plant. They worried it might be poisonous, but thankfully it’s not.”

Hmm. Mac exhaled a puff of smoke and shifted his gaze. Once the servants left, he carefully crumpled the parchment and dropped it into the ashtray, lighting the edge gently. The faint smoke drifted out the window and disappeared.

Knock knock.

This time, the door opened without waiting for a reply. It was Countess Mary, smiling sheepishly and covering her mouth.

“Sorry I’m late. It’s rude to leave guests waiting.”

“Not at all, ma’am. It seems Countess Merellof sent some precious gifts.”

“Since that side is close to the Hwan Kingdom, many curious things come through.”

“Is that so? There must be many rare items even the central court rarely sees.”

Mac asked, hinting he wanted to see them, but Mary smiled awkwardly and changed the subject.

“They’re things for women, so you probably wouldn’t be interested. Anyway…”

She inhaled deeply to savor the tea’s aroma, then hesitated.

“What’s that smell?”

“Sorry, ma’am. I was smoking a cigarette.”

“Oh, I see.”

Her eyes, which had been ready to glare at Ian, softened. For a moment, she thought the room was unkempt. Mary smiled brightly and brought up gossip again.

---

An hour passed.

That was how long it took for Molin and his party to leave after lunch. Except for the beginning, most of the time was spent with Countess Mary, which shortened the time needed to check the brooch.

Derga pulled a jewel from his magic container and asked,

“There are some gaps. Explain.”

Especially before the lady arrived.

Derga gave Ian a sharp look as he stood at attention. Ian showed no sign of nervousness or surprise.

“I was just listening to Mac and D’Gor talk. The weather was nice, so I went outside to look around. Overall, it was peaceful and quiet.”

The soft clatter of the brooch rolling echoed quietly. Derga’s expression was full of suspicion, but Ian knew it was a threat meant to intimidate and suppress him.

“If you’re done checking, may I leave? The tutor is waiting.”

“You said you’d write a letter in your own hand today?”

“Yes. It’s not perfect, but I’ll do my best.”

Ian already had everything prepared. The letter would be full of meaningless phrases about promoting harmony between the Bratz family and the Cheollyeo tribe, aside from handwriting verification.

“Go ahead.”

“Father.”

Despite Ian’s call, Derga didn’t look up. He just raised an eyebrow, signaling permission to speak.

“Has mother received the letter?”

“You ask pointless questions.”

It wasn’t pointless. Ian was consciously reminding Derga that his mother was his shackle. It was a way to make him feel the leash tightening in his own hand. But in the end, it meant nothing.

“Sorry. Then I’ll go.”

Ian bowed his head and left the study.

What Molin needed was evidence of embezzlement. The details would be revealed by the palace investigators, so even the smallest clue with a seal would suffice.

“The brooch is in the middle drawer of the desk. There was no lock. That can’t be right.”

From his angle, Ian couldn’t see the front of Derga’s desk, but it was where precious magic stones were kept. There was no obvious safe in the study, so if there was one, it was likely connected to the desk.

As Ian pondered how to search the desk,

“Ian.”

“Hana?”

Coming down the stairs, Hana peeked her head out cautiously, her voice low and eyes darting around as if checking for watchers.

“What is it?”

“Do you know someone named Beric?”

“Beric?”

Of course. Ian nodded, and Hana whispered,

“Beric is holding a sit-in at the main gate, asking to see you.”

The image came to mind, and I couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Even though he was someone so precious he couldn’t even meet his own mother, would I really let him meet some lowlife kicked out of the mercenary corps?

“I’ll just be a moment. Please let the tutor know.”

“Yes, Lord Ian.”

Hana dashed off toward the annex, and Ian headed for the main gate. The gardeners and gatekeepers definitely seemed uneasy. As Ian approached briskly, one of the guards awkwardly bowed his head.

“What’s the matter?”

“I heard you had a visitor.”

“Well—”

The gatekeeper scratched his nose, explaining.

“He’s technically still a trainee, but it seems he harbors some grudge against the mansion, so we turned him away.”

So he wasn’t here to see Ian after all—just trying to use the excuse of visiting to get inside. No wonder the report stopped at middle management.

“How arrogant.”

“Huh?”

Ian frowned. Taken aback by the sudden reprimand, the guard blinked in confusion.

“How dare the lowly guards decide who can see their master’s guests? If someone says they’re here for me, you report it up and handle it properly. Who do you think you are?”

By ‘up,’ Ian meant Derga, but it didn’t matter. There was no point hiding it, nor could he. If Beric was being handled like a mere pawn, it meant he was about to be taken back.

“…I’m sorry.”

Ian shot him a sharp look and nodded.

“Open the gate.”

“But—”

“I’m not leaving.”

Ian’s firm words made the gatekeeper open the main gate.

Creak.

A little ways off, Beric was half-lying down, as if planning to eat and sleep there until he met Ian.

“Hey!”

The moment Beric spotted the golden hair, he jumped up reflexively. The gatekeeper’s spear blocked his path, but Beric ignored them like they were invisible and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“You! What the hell!”

He was probably referring to those golden eyes and the strange power from that day.

Ian smiled gently and stood at the doorway. As he told the gatekeepers, he hadn’t actually stepped outside the mansion.

“You’ve gotten quite the impressive physique.”

The whip marks lined up clearly across Beric’s body. Ian gestured for him to come closer, and they met face-to-face at the boundary between the mansion and the outside world.

“Everyone, step back for a moment.”

“But—”

“Should I call the butler?”

It wasn’t Derga who managed these men directly, but the butler. If they found out the report had been cut off halfway, they’d be in serious trouble.

And this was the very person who had come looking for Ian. No matter what else, there was an order to keep a close eye on even the slightest thing regarding the illegitimate son.

“Just for a moment.”

The gatekeepers stepped back a little. Their distance was close enough to hear quiet words but far enough to respond quickly if trouble arose. Ian pulled Beric’s ear gently.

“You look like you need my help.”

“Cut the crap and tell me what that was back then—”

“I need you too.”

Ian cut him off, whispering.

“So from now on, follow me.”