Episode 27
The day had finally come.

Ian sat on the edge of the bed, watching the sun rise outside. Ever since opening his eyes in the Bratz estate, he had been running toward this very moment.

Knock, knock.

“Ian-nim.”

Hana called softly as she entered cautiously. It was clear she had been crying the day before. Her usually small eyes were swollen and puffy, making it hard for her to meet his gaze.

“Hana. My goodness.”

“Have you packed all your things?”

Though her question was serious, Ian just nodded. There wasn’t much to pack—just a few clothes, some miscellaneous books, and the only thing in the room that seemed truly his: a potted plant.

“…I almost wish I had more luggage.”

So those left behind in the mansion would have something to remember him by. Ian smiled and straightened his shirt. Even a single shirt was worth a couple of gold coins, with its intricate white embroidery and gold leaf making him look like a precious possession.

“And your father?”

“He was coughing just now. He said to bring you to the dining room.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Ian passed Hana and headed for the door, but then turned back quietly to make a request.

“Hana, if possible, I want you to quit working at the mansion after I leave.”

“W-what? Why…?”

“It’ll be hard, but it’ll be better for you. Please tell the others as well. But make sure the Count—no, the Count doesn’t find out.”

Hana looked puzzled, but Ian said nothing more and stepped out. From here on, it was up to her.

In the dining room, Derga, Lady Mary, and Chel were already seated, impeccably dressed.

“Sit.”

“Yes, Father.”

It was the last meal, but the atmosphere was hardly different from usual. Ian had never truly belonged to this family.

“You’ve memorized the order of the peace ceremony, right?”

“No problem.”

“Always remember why you’re still alive.”

“Of course. For the honor and glory of Bratz.”

Ian seemed in better spirits than usual. Crossing the border, his head might roll at any moment, yet he carried himself with such composure—where did that come from?

“When I return for my next birthday—”

He sliced a piece of meat and ate as he spoke.

If he survived, he would be granted a brief return for his birthday. Derga paused mid-chew.

“May I see Mother?”

“…Ian.”

“I’m leaving far away, and I won’t even get to see Molin or Mother.”

Molin had left the Bratz estate early that morning, hastily packing to head to the capital. Since the deal with Ian had gone smoothly and was nearing completion, there was no need for farewells.

Their carriage was probably still racing across the fields. The round trip took a month. By the time Ian returned from the desert, they would be back as well.

“Hmm. Your mother, huh.”

Derga stroked his beard thoughtfully. He was probably relaying a message disguised as a request from her to smuggle some gourd leaves. Lady Mary’s eyes narrowed sharply, but Derga paid no mind.

“Alright. I suppose you can see her once around then.”

“Thank you.”

Did Ian still not know? That his mother, Filia, had vanished without a trace? Rumors swirled—some said she ran off with the stable hand next door, others whispered she’d been sold off quietly to pay gambling debts.

“Count, the carriage is ready.”

As the meal was winding down, the butler’s announcement came.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, the Count stood.

“Let’s go.”

Derga led the way as everyone stepped outside the main building. A small group of armed soldiers stood at attention, with knights standing proudly before them. It was the first time Ian had seen such a sight here.

“One, two, three… ten in total.”

Then it happened.

The servants, including Hana, ran toward Ian with tears in their eyes. They clutched his hands tightly, unable to hide their sorrow.

“Please, please come back alive.”

“I’ll cook something delicious for your birthday.”

“Ian-nim, please be careful.”

In just a few months, Ian had formed deeper bonds with these people than with the Derga family. Ian only smiled gently, offering no words in return. When Hana broke down sobbing, the Count struck his cane sharply.

“Crying on such a joyous day! Butler!”

“I apologize, Count. I will warn them.”

“Now, depart at once!”

But since most of the servants surrounded Ian, no one was singled out for punishment. Ian squeezed Hana’s hand firmly.

“Thank you for everything, Hana.”

“Master! sniff…”

“Until we meet again.”

“Until we meet again.” Hana wiped her tears with her palm, holding onto hope for the future. Derga’s cold glare made Ian board the carriage without delay. Derga grumbled repeatedly, clearly displeased with the mansion’s mood.

“Move!”

With the crack of the driver’s whip, the estate faded behind them. Through the small window, the Bratz estate passed by in a blur. Ian glanced at Derga, who surely carried the seal within his grasp.

‘The aide still hasn’t woken up, right?’

It had been over a week since he slipped into unconsciousness. The chances of him waking were slim. Even if he did, Ian would be in the desert by then.

---

Clack, clack, clack!

After a few hours of travel, the once lush land turned barren. They had reached the edge of the great desert.

“We’ve arrived, Count.”

The driver’s voice was carried roughly by the wind as the door opened. Blue skies and golden sand dunes stretched out before them. In the distance stood dozens of Kusile horses—and their owners, the Cheonryeo tribe.

“There…”

Two massive rocks marked the border. Derga and his party passed between them and approached the Cheonryeo.

‘We’ve crossed the border.’

Ian tried hard to hide his excitement. Had he ever crossed a border for anything other than war? It was a rare moment.

Nearby stood a small shrine made of white stone. Bare, without decoration—just a space that existed on its own. The marks of time carved by wind and sand were evident.

“Welcome, friends.”

The voice was low but powerful. No one said he was the chieftain, but Ian instinctively knew. The aura of absolute power was as grand and weighty as nature itself.

“I am Kakantir, chieftain of the Cheonryeo of the great desert.”

“I am Derga Bratz, Count of the Bariel Empire.”

They slowly clasped hands. Their wives and children followed suit, exchanging formal greetings. The key figures sat around the shrine’s table, while their soldiers stood under the sun, watching each other carefully.

“First, I express gratitude for your goodwill.”

“This is a promise that your hardships are ours as well. Please, do not worry.”

The exchange was formal, with Derga’s words flowing smoothly as if oiled. Kakantir’s gaze landed on Ian.

“This must be Bratz’s gift.”

“It is an honor to meet you.”

“…The treaty.”

Derga hurriedly gave the order. Identical parchment scrolls lay on the table, detailing forbidden clauses, trade goods, and Ian’s status.

‘If the Cheonryeo receive Bratz’s token of peace, they will respond within three years with their own token… From the moment the peace treaty is signed, neither side shall trespass into the other’s territory…’

The document stretched over a dozen pages. Derga carefully reviewed it and nodded.

“Confirmed. While the seal is melting, please verify.”

“Very well. However…”

Bratz had prepared a blood potion—the most reliable way they knew to confirm kinship. It might not mean much to the Cheonryeo.

“Chief Winchen is unwell and could not accompany us. We will conduct our verification upon return.”

“As you wish. The certificate of enrollment has yet to arrive from the palace, but once received, we will send someone immediately.”

Derga dropped a drop of his blood into the potion. Ian did the same. The clear liquid soon turned blue. The Bratz side looked expectantly, but the Cheonryeo remained indifferent.

“Next, we will verify handwriting.”

Ian picked up the pen before him and clumsily copied the contents of the letter he had sent. His handwriting was far from neat for such a formal occasion.

“Is this acceptable?”

“Nersarn.”

The chieftain nodded and called his younger brother, who stepped forward with a dagger. Without hesitation, he sliced his palm, drawing blood.

Swish!

Drops of blood fell from the blade. Kakantir wrote his name in blood, sealing the oath. Derga’s face turned pale watching this.

‘Savages, really.’

Instead of using a seal, they bled for the document!

The Count stamped the papers and waited for the wax to dry. They exchanged documents and shook hands again.

“Eternal glory to Bratz.”

“Demosha, Gurun Tu. (Happiness under the blessing of the gods.)”

Wishing each other luck, the simple treaty ceremony concluded. As everyone left the shrine safely, the soldiers relaxed their guard.

“Well then.”

Ian looked at Derga. They would return by carriage, but Ian had to cross the desert with the Cheonryeo. Derga gave Ian a showy embrace before they parted ways.

“Ian. Take care of yourself.”

“Yes, Father.”

Though the hand gripping his shoulder was rough and forceful, Ian matched the gesture with a casual nod. The Derga group turned without hesitation and headed back toward the border rock.

“Ian.”

It was Su. She stood with her arms crossed, looking down at the remaining supplies. Kakanthir, Nersarn, and a few warriors were gathered nearby, discussing something as they scanned the sky.

“Is this really all we have?”

“Why? Do you think it’s not enough?”

“No, it’s not that…”

“Just kidding. Not everyone’s here yet. Oh, look—here they come.”

Before Ian could finish, someone was running back along the path the Derga had taken.

Through the swirling, dusty sandstorm, a flash of red hair appeared. The man had dismounted and was sprinting across the sinking desert sands. When his horse tried to follow, he kicked it back, sending it away.

“Right on time.”

“Ian! Are you ready to leave?”

At Nersarn’s shout, Su quickly gathered Ian’s gear. What two soldiers had been carrying together, she lifted easily on her own.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

“Chief, this is the one I told you about. We’ll use him as our slave!”

Su ground her teeth as she spoke to the chief. He chuckled softly and ruffled her hair before turning his gaze to Ian. Rumor had it the chief was brutal and savage…

But Ian thought otherwise.

‘Not quite as bad as I expected.’

He seemed more like a reliable leader of a small tribe than a monster born from the Bratz territory. Well, Ian would have to get closer to know for sure.

“We need to move quickly. Get your gear ready. If we’re careless, we’ll run into a sandstorm.”

From here, it would take several more days to reach the Great Desert and their camp. A sandstorm could cause serious losses or delay their journey.

“Iaaaan!”

From afar, Beric’s voice called out. Kakanthir handed over two Kusile horses to Ian without a word and turned away.