Chapter 269

The corridor connecting the arena to the exit—a place where those left penniless lingered, unable to bring themselves to leave. Drunk on alcohol, drugs, and despair, they swayed unsteadily, their quiet commotion a mix of tears and laughter.

At the dead end of the hallway stood an odd pair: a burly, rough-looking man and a blond boy. Their combination was jarring to anyone’s eyes, yet no one paid it any mind. Right now, everyone was too weighed down by the misfortunes pressing on their throats to care about appearances.

“Would you like one?” Timothy offered a cigarette.

Ian politely declined. A strange, yet surprisingly comfortable silence settled between them. Perhaps it was because they both knew who the other was. The flicker of a lighter briefly illuminated Ian’s face before fading away.

Until the smoke dispersed, the two men gauged the moment in silence rather than exchanging words.

He said his name was Timothy. He knew who I was. Was it a coincidence that he spotted and followed me? What an incredible coincidence.

Whenever the Kingdom of Burgos sent a delegation, Timothy usually led it. So naturally, there were quite a few people in the Bariel Palace who knew him.

But for a young, inexperienced minister of the Magic Department—who had barely settled in and was already cleaning up palace messes—to recognize Ian immediately was unexpected.

I can’t deny it.

They were both certain of each other’s identities. At this point, pretending ignorance would be ridiculous. Clearing his throat, Ian broke the silence.

“I must admit, I’m surprised. I never expected to see you in a place like this.”

“The feeling’s mutual. I doubt the Burgos delegation came here to celebrate your appointment in advance,” Ian replied with a sly smile, cutting him off. Rumors about him becoming the heir were rampant, but no official invitation had been sent yet—so no need for premature excuses.

Timothy hesitated briefly, then decided to properly introduce himself. Though unofficial, it would be better to remember this as an official meeting.

“Allow me to introduce myself formally. I am Timothy Obia, head of the Burgos Kingdom’s diplomatic delegation.”

“Ian Hielo, Minister of the Magic Department at Bariel Palace.”

“Did you come here because you recognized me?”

“Yes. I can’t speak for the rest of the delegation, but I don’t have such hobbies.”

Timothy was about to add that he didn’t either, but Ian stepped back to avoid the smoke, leaning against the wall with a grin.

Ah, right. Don’t be fooled by that youthful face. This boy took control of the Magic Department and cleaned up the palace before even coming of age.

“Still, it’s impressive. I only made my first official appearance recently, yet you recognized me. I didn’t realize Burgos’ intelligence was so sharp. Though, of course, I suppose it’s thanks to you sneaking in quietly.”

So he didn’t rise to this position by magic alone. His tone was just like the old bureaucrats Ian had seen in Bariel. The head of a delegation sneaking in and struggling in a place like this—no wonder he recognized Ian. Was this a veiled attack?

Timothy swallowed hard along with the smoke. This might be more complicated than he thought.

“At first, I wasn’t sure either.”

“Really?”

Most would have avoided eye contact with Ian. But Ian looked him straight in the eye without a hint of fear or surprise, even in a situation where death could come at any moment. Calm and composed, as if he had some kind of backup. That steadiness drew more attention than the commotion caused by Beric.

“…Especially when your group called me ‘Ian.’ That was the clincher.”

“I see. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They shook hands lightly, sharing a smile that didn’t quite reach the darkness between them. After all, their feelings stemmed from very different places.

For Ian, this was the first time in a hundred years he’d met someone not related by blood but by personal connection—albeit a distant one, as an ancestor of a close friend.

Living with Naum, he’d heard endless praise and boasts about this man. It was strange, fascinating even. A rare spark of genuine interest warmed him.

“You called yourself the Burgos delegation. May I ask why you’re here?”

Timothy’s smile was a reflex, a diplomatic mask. Though he hadn’t snuck in, his presence here was precarious.

If Ian reported him or used magic to seize control, Timothy would be investigated.

An official Burgos envoy caught in a lowly illegal gambling den? That would be a scandal—both for prestige and protocol.

Especially now, with Bariel’s palace, nobility, and government in transition. No one knows what policies the young crown prince will pursue toward neighboring countries. I heard many central nobles were executed.

In times of turmoil, it’s best to turn attention outward. War is the perfect distraction. The young prince would surely use it to solidify palace unity and secure resources.

So Timothy’s tension was understandable. Approaching Ian first rather than trying to evade him was a calculated move.

“Let me be clear—I entered with official permission.”

With a smooth motion, he pulled out his entry permit. Ian merely smiled, uninterested. Pressed to get to the point, Timothy finally spoke.

“…I’m looking for someone.”

Ian glanced up at the barred ceiling, already guessing as much. The question was: who had brought him all the way to Bariel?

“They deal in slaves. Illegal slaves, at that. You’re making quite a claim, Timothy.”

Ian teased, and Timothy’s cigarette burned halfway in an instant. He inhaled sharply, flustered.

“No, no. Of course not. Burgos has slave markets too. I’m…”

He hesitated, then realized there was no turning back.

“I’m looking for a gypsy.”

Burgos was the closest kingdom to the northwest, where Astana lay, and where conflicts were unfolding. They watched the situation most closely.

Ian raised his eyebrows in surprise. Timothy didn’t seem to be lying, but the story was absurd.

“You came all this way just to find one gypsy?”

The influx of refugees and migrants from conflict zones had ushered in a new era in Burgos. Many gypsies and sorcerers—those untouched by magic—had arrived, sparking social and cultural change.

Their king was especially keen on ‘prophecy.’ After all, the future was as elusive as the universe’s truths.

“This gypsy has a complicated past. Tracking him led me here. I’ve crossed many countries in recent months. The latest report places him nearby, but given his condition and the presence of a market like this…”

In well-organized places like Bariel, it wouldn’t matter much, but smaller countries likely adjusted their border procedures for Timothy’s diplomatic status.

“You’ve been traveling long, then.”

“Bariel is my last stop. I’ll return soon. As you said, the Fifth Prince’s heir appointment ceremony is coming up.”

Timothy stubbed out the cigarette, exhaling the last smoke. Ian’s gaze flicked over his shoulder as a staff member approached.

“Sir, we asked around nearby. They say the man you’re looking for has no scars on his face. His limbs are intact.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes. Otherwise, he matches your description. Would you like me to connect you? Though, since he’s not our property, you’d have to pay double the fee.”

Timothy shook his head.

“No, that’s not necessary.”

He flicked a coin as a tip, trying to end the matter. But the staff didn’t leave, prompting puzzled looks from both men.

“Uh… do you know this gentleman?”

“Why do you ask?”

The staff nodded toward Ian. Rumors had already spread among the employees: a rich sucker had come in, and once the game ended, they planned to squeeze him dry.

They had no idea who Ian really was—someone who’d never been called a sucker in his life, and never would be.

“I have some business with him. If you don’t know him, please go ahead.”

For various reasons, Timothy felt uneasy with Ian around. The man’s presence alone was intimidating, and if Ian helped him, they’d have to drag in the entire neighboring building’s staff.

Sensing the situation, Timothy chuckled softly.

“We do know each other.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re done, shall we be on our way?”

He waved his hand dismissively. They did know each other—just found out moments ago.

“Understood…”

The staff shuffled off reluctantly. Though he knew Ian was a mage and could handle himself, this was Timothy’s courtesy and consideration. Checking his pocket watch, he said,

“We should get out of here soon. It only gets crazier at night.”

“I’d like to, but I left something at the bars.”

Not that he was worried—he just dreaded the complaints and whining Beric would unload when he returned.

Timothy paused, realizing Beric’s presence. Ian was a palace insider; Timothy, a dispatched envoy. Their power dynamics were clear, and so were their roles.

“I’ll handle the negotiation. Honestly, the gold coin you were about to pay earlier is more than enough, so this should be settled easily.”

“Oh? I’d appreciate that.”

Ian replied with a sly grin, as if surprised by the offer of kindness. But Timoth knew better.

“In that case, I should return the favor. Before you leave the capital, come find me. I’ll treat you to some tea.”

“…Yes. Thank you.”

Timoth clicked his tongue silently. Offering tea was just a polite front. What it really meant was formalizing his visit to the capital, forcibly sharing the tracking results, and unilaterally reporting everything to King Burgos.

Whether Ian sensed his concern or not, he simply smiled calmly and headed toward the arena.

They probably would have kept walking like that—if not for the sound of dozens of footsteps descending the stairs.

Creeeak.

Tap, tap, tap!

Ian and Timoth turned around simultaneously. The employee who had taken the payment appeared, accompanied by his comrades. All of them were fully armed.

“Is that them?”

“Yeah. The blond one just won at least thirty gold coins in chips earlier, and that big guy said he’d pay five times the price to rescue an old slave. If we clean out their pockets, we won’t have to work for a while.”

“Who are these guys to have that kind of money?”

“Boss, honestly, we’ll turn a blind eye to you. But that blond guy? He’s a friend of the one who caused trouble at the club, so we can’t let him off. Just leave the money pouch and go.”

The man standing at the front chuckled as he swung his sword. Footsteps kept coming. It seemed like all their allies nearby had gathered—for the sake of the burly Timoth.

“What will you do, Timoth? They’re telling you to leave the pouch.”

Ian asked casually, and Timoth rolled up his sleeves. Call that casual? If Ian got hurt here, who knew how it would boomerang back to Burgos.

In the worst case, rumors might spread that Timoth had hired someone to harm Ian. It sounded far-fetched, but in their world, such slanders were everyday occurrences.

“You know my answer. If Ian dies or gets hurt here, I’m the one who’ll be in trouble.”

Ian stepped back, looking at him.

“Honestly, I feel the same.”

If Timoth were to die or get hurt here, it would be a real problem.

Because then, Naum might disappear in the future.

At Ian’s muttered words, Timoth hesitated for a moment. Then, someone standing nearby hurled a sword blade like a spear.

Sshhhiiik!

Ziiing! Ziiing!

Thwack!

As Ian activated his magic, Timoth blocked the blade with his armored forearm.