Episode 2
“The Bratz family is vulgar for nobility.”

That was the whispered reputation of the Bratz household in high society. Perhaps it was because, among the many border counts, they shared a frontier with the barbarian tribes.

In the distant past, the sound of war horns never ceased, but recently, after a superficial peace treaty was signed, various exchanges had become frequent.

“Ian, your table manners are impeccable.”

Startled from hastily chewing his meat, Ian snapped to attention at the old man’s compliment. Was it sarcasm? Had he been so hungry that he’d eaten like a wild animal? Ian felt a pang of embarrassment and cleared his throat, but the old man’s praise was sincere.

“Your son carries himself with excellent grace. It must be thanks to Count Derga’s fine tutelage.”

“Oh, you flatter me, Lord Molin.”

Derga Bratz, head of the Bratz family, was momentarily confused by the sudden change in his child’s demeanor but maintained a polite expression. He glanced at Ian and replied,

“Well, the blood of Bratz runs through him, so it’s only natural. Please do convey my regards to His Majesty.”

“Of course, Count.”

Ian stopped chewing, puzzled by their cryptic exchange.

His Majesty? Me?

No, wait. Did he just say Bratz?

‘Come to think of it…’

His hands gripping the fork and knife felt small and thin. His view from the chair was low.

Ian swallowed the food in confusion and reached for his wine glass.

“Ah.”

The glass held not wine, but a beverage. And reflected in the round glass was not his own face, but that of a strange boy. Ian nearly lost his composure and almost spat out his drink.

Cough!

Grabbing a napkin to cover his cough, Ian heard the boy opposite him sneer,

“Tsk, tsk. Look at that. Thought he was doing well.”

“Cheh. When your brother slips up, you have to look after him.”

The boy called Chel pouted in displeasure. Countess Mary, sitting beside him, gripped Chel’s hand firmly beneath the tablecloth, scolding her son.

This was no ordinary meal.

Lord Molin was an official sent from the central imperial palace, here to assess whether Ian was fit to be admitted into the Bratz family.

Molin smiled kindly at Chel before turning his attention back to Ian.

“I hear you’ve been studying philosophy lately, Ian.”

Derga and the countess exchanged startled looks at Molin’s sudden question.

Ian couldn’t even write his own name properly. As the illegitimate child of the count who had taken a commoner outside the estate, he had received no proper education. Just moments ago, he had been gulping down finger bowl water.

“He’s not at a level to discuss that yet.”

The count quickly interjected, trying to defend Ian, though his gaze was sharp beneath the surface.

‘Foolish boy. I told him to memorize that stuff.’

They had crammed some lessons into Ian to prepare for Molin’s visit, but it seemed he had forgotten it all. The old man pressed on with a smile.

“Learning is like that. We strengthen our understanding by exchanging ideas. Ian, what have you been studying recently? You’re sixteen, but you haven’t attended school…”

The elderly man was both gentle and resolute. Having endured the central administration’s constant purges of talent for decades, he was no stranger to hardship.

At this point, even the count could no longer defend Ian. All eyes turned to him.

“Hmm.”

Ian cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. As expected, he was flustered—not because of Molin’s question, but because he realized this was the backyard of the Bratz border estate.

At the Bratz estate?

In the body of a boy he’d never seen before?

He guessed Naum’s space-time magic was involved, but he wasn’t certain. Space-time magic opens a passage between points in time and space, so it always comes with location restrictions.

Meaning, he had to be here.

But his last memory was of the underground prison. And he’d never heard of moving by borrowing someone else’s body.

“Ian?”

“Ah, my apologies.”

Ian responded with practiced grace to Molin’s prompt. It was a habit from the imperial palace. The Bratz family had never seen him smile like that before.

“Philosophy, yes… philosophy…”

Ian muttered to himself, as if pondering.

“May I answer for him, Lord Molin?”

Unable to hold back, his half-brother Chel spoke up.

It was maddening enough that Ian, an outsider, was the center of attention at this noble meal, but now he was being admitted into the family despite his lowly blood. Chel’s anger was understandable.

He wanted to steal the adults’ attention away from Ian—a foolish, pitiful act. Countess Mary shot him a sharp look, silencing him.

“Chel, Lord Molin asked Ian.”

She silently pleaded.

Son, please keep your mouth shut. This is all for your own good. You have to accept this lowborn child into the family if you want to survive.

“I like Master Furlen.”

“Furlen?”

Amid the commotion, Ian spoke softly. His appetite seemed to vanish; his dishes were neatly pushed aside.

Count Derga’s face turned pale. He had never heard that name before. If only he’d admitted ignorance instead of reacting like that! Where did this nonsense come from?

“Yes. Though the Holy See does not welcome him, Master Furlen’s humanism raises very important questions. By focusing on humanity and reflecting on truths created by humans, one can envision the true form of a ruler.”

It was purely Ian’s personal preference.

To Ian, the daily survival of his starving people mattered more than philosophy or humanities. His study of philosophy was superficial at best, so he simply named a well-known intellectual he remembered.

Derga rolled his eyes and glanced at Molin. The old man seemed surprised but then leaned closer to Ian.

“How do you know Lord Furlen?”

“Eh?”

But it was Derga, not Ian, who answered. Molin chuckled and shook his head repeatedly.

“Oh dear. Being a border lord, news from the center must be slow. I suppose you’ve been harboring some arrogant thoughts. My apologies to Count Derga and Ian.”

“No, no.”

Molin had realized the count didn’t know Furlen. Had he known, he would have frowned in displeasure rather than looking so dazed.

“Lord Furlen is the youngest son of the Hawkman family, who just recently came of age. Though young, he was the top student at Bariel University. Not long ago, he caused a stir at a scholarly debate in the imperial palace by advocating humanism.”

It was true that news traveled slowly in the borderlands.

It took a full two weeks by carriage from the capital to the border estate. No one, not even the count, had known this.

As everyone looked at Ian in surprise, Ian himself was inwardly stunned.

‘Master Furlen just came of age? I thought he was over a hundred years old.’

Not only was he in a strange body, but he had traveled back nearly a century in time. It was an astonishing situation, but Ian showed no outward sign of it, thanks to his disciplined bearing as emperor.

“I see. You like Lord Furlen’s philosophy. But you said the Holy See does not welcome it. What do you mean by that?”

“…Humanism holds that nothing is more important than humans, which the Holy See, devoted to God, does not favor.”

“Heh heh.”

A perfect answer.

Molin felt the fatigue of the past two weeks melt away.

“This journey was worth it. I did not expect the new son of the Bratz family to be so intelligent. I’m sure His Majesty will be pleased.”

In truth, it wasn’t unusual for nobles to admit illegitimate children. The aristocracy was rife with scandals of nobles fathering bastards. It was just another gossip in the dull social scene.

But Molin’s next words were strange.

“And the Cheonryeo tribe will welcome him as well.”

‘Cheonryeo tribe?’

Ian racked his memory and recalled the name. The Cheonryeo were the barbarian tribe to the east of the border. They would welcome his intelligence?

…Then.

‘He’s probably a hostage.’

A bastard sent to the Cheonryeo tribe as part of the peace treaty.

‘I think I understand the situation.’

The count smiled wickedly and covered Ian’s hand with his own. Now that he understood, he was like a demon disguised as a kind father.

“Ian, I have no doubt you will become a symbol of peace.”

The peace treaty was official.

Normally, each lord sent their own legitimate child, but the border barbarians were unpredictable.

In fact, Derga’s second older brother died crossing the border as a child to fulfill a peace treaty. They said it was an accident, but no one could be sure.

Given this, how could he send his only legitimate son, Chel? So he hastily brought Ian, whom he had never cared for, and tried to adopt him.

‘The imperial palace must have noticed this too.’

But of course, they couldn’t just send anyone. Through Molin, they tested Ian’s intelligence.

The smarter the child sent, the stronger the diplomatic leverage, which would benefit both sides.

Of course, since the Bratz family’s autonomy in the borderlands took precedence, this was half a formality. But it was also, in part, a way for the imperial court to keep the regional nobility in check.

“Ah.”

Ian immediately grasped the situation.

Even before his death, the Bratz family had repeatedly exchanged hostages like this to maintain peace.

In the end, though, they were brutally wiped out by the Cheollyeo tribe.

The real problem was that it took a full two weeks for the imperial messenger to arrive. By the time the other lords and the reigning emperor led their armies to the border, it was already too late.

‘Was it my great-grandfather?’

That was exactly the time of Ian’s great-grandfather, Lord Dae.

The emperor resolved the crisis by driving out the Cheollyeo and dividing the lands among the nobles and knights who had fought alongside him.

“Ian?”

Lady Mary called out to him.

As if to remind him to respond to the count’s words.

It was a gentle nudge to bring him back to his duties.

Ian smiled faintly and took another sip of water. Whatever this was, he had to admit one thing: he wasn’t dead. Somehow, he had been reborn in the form of a mysterious child.

“Yes, Father.”

Ian’s crisp reply seemed to satisfy Count Derga, who smiled in approval. Except for Chel, everyone else laughed heartily, blessing the peace Ian’s presence promised to bring.

“Well then, please eat.”

Only then did Derga relax and continue his meal.

Ian glanced around briefly to ground himself in reality. More than anything else, the steady pounding of his heart reminded him that he was alive.

‘I have no idea how any of this happened.’

If this was Naum’s magic, there was one way to find out: by visiting the imperial palace’s annex and investigating any traces of Naum’s spell.

But the journey from the Bratz borderlands to the capital took over two weeks—a distance that felt like an eternity to a child soon to be sold off to the Great Desert.

Yes. It was a world like that.