Episode 30

Ian stared down at the crimson flower inside the tent. Beric was still snoring away, fast asleep, while outside the noise continued unabated.

To sum up the situation roughly: Winchen’s illness required a plant called ‘Silask,’ and several expeditions had been sent out to find it. But none had ever returned.

‘And this is supposed to be it?’

Silask—the mysterious potted plant no one in the Bratz household had known about. Ian lightly brushed the petals and frowned. How on earth had he, a mere illegitimate son, managed to get his hands on this in his lifetime?

‘He definitely said he grew it himself. If only Philia were here—I could ask her.’

Could it be a rare remedy found only in the hidden corners of the red-light district? Like Gula, perhaps. If someone could just rediscover it, it might spark a new leap forward for humanity.

The thought made Ian’s heart race.

“Hmm.”

At that moment, Beric stirred. His face was swollen from the meat and alcohol he’d consumed the day before. Ian quickly tossed him a towel, signaling him to get ready, and Beric, still half-asleep, stumbled out of the tent.

“Ah, a stranger.”

“Shh, a stranger.”

“I heard you went to the banquet last night?”

“Hey! Did you have good dreams? What went into your stomach was top quality!”

Pushing through the murmuring crowd, Ian sought out a familiar spot—the tent of Winchen, where he had gone upon arrival yesterday. The scent of the red leaves was even stronger now. Nersarn spotted Ian and tilted his head in puzzlement.

“What brings you here?”

“Good morning. Following the commotion led me here.”

“This is none of your concern. Stay in the tent until the message from Kakantir arrives.”

From now on, Ian would have to earn his keep here. Given his position, he’d likely be tasked with teaching Bariel language and culture to the higher-ups.

As for Beric—well, who knew? Whether he’d be treated like a slave, as Su said, or recognized as Ian’s aide, was uncertain.

“Chief Winchen’s condition seems quite critical.”

“Ian Bratz, you talk too much.”

The moment Ian mentioned Chief Winchen’s name, the surrounding crowd fell silent. Some clicked their tongues in disbelief; others shot him angry glares. If he weren’t dealing with Nersarn, things might have escalated immediately.

“It’s noisy everywhere this morning. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Sorry, but you—”

“I’ve heard it called Silask, a flower that never withers once it blooms. Is it true that with just that, Chief Winchen’s health can be restored?”

Nersarn hadn’t known Ian long, but he knew he wasn’t one to lose his composure so easily. Ian glanced around quietly and whispered:

“I have something to discuss. Please allow me to meet with the chief.”

That was enough attention for now. If what he had really was Silask, the credit would quietly spread among them like the wind. Since he needed to win their favor, a little spotlight was necessary.

With a soft creak—

Nersarn led Ian not to Winchen’s tent but to the adjacent barracks, where Kakantir and other leaders were discussing the expedition.

“But he just had a son.”

“The fifth, actually. He has four grown children, so the family is secure.”

“And he’s particularly skilled with a bow…”

“Kakantir.”

At Nersarn’s call, Kakantir turned his head, still chewing on a red leaf.

“What is it?”

“Ian Bratz says he has something to say about Silask.”

“More precisely, he wishes to inquire.”

“…Sit.”

Ian took a seat amid the thick smoke. The elderly men sitting beside him watched with varied expressions.

“Please explain what the plant Silask is. I have a theory and want to confirm if it’s correct.”

“A theory? Ah, you don’t know Silask?”

Ian remained silent.

Kakantir exhaled smoke lightly and gestured to a physician nearby. The man pulled out a sheet of paper from his robe—part of a botanical record written in an unknown language.

“Silask is the name given to the illness that befalls those who directly receive the will of the gods, like Chief Winchen. They carry that divine energy all their lives but eventually weaken and shatter.”

The physician continued.

“Records say that long ago, merchants from the southern lands were saved by the Chonryeo in the desert and obtained Silask seeds… but nowadays, it’s nearly impossible to find.”

Ian couldn’t gauge how long ago “long ago” was. No one in the Chonryeo tribe knew Winchen’s youth.

As she endured for so long, records about Silask faded, and only now had they begun to uncover clues.

Ian offered a measured consolation.

“Perhaps it’s because few in Bariel serve the gods directly.”

He almost slipped and said “gypsies.” To them, Winchen was important, but in the Bariel Empire, she was just an old gypsy—one of many con artists, albeit a skilled one.

Also, gypsies wandered their whole lives, so no one really knew how their final days went. It was safe to say no one cared.

The physician furrowed his brow.

“Silask has long since vanished, and well… as you see now.”

“Is Silask the red flower that never withers once it blooms?”

“If the records are accurate.”

This time Kakantir frowned deeply.

“I can smell Silask’s scent on you.”

This was a dead giveaway.

Ian smiled and nodded.

“Actually, I’ve seen a flower in the Bratz domain that I believe to be Silask. It was red, and once it bloomed, it never withered.”

Even the sun sets once a day, yet this flower never faded. It had to be something extraordinary. Kakantir pressed him.

“Is that true?”

“I was surprised too. That’s why I came here as soon as I heard about Silask.”

Now, what to do? If the timing was right, he could lure them to Bratz.

While the emperor’s central army was ravaging Bratz, if he came backed by the Chonryeo’s power, he might not only save lives but even secure the territory.

But…

‘The problem is whether Winchen can hold on that long.’

She was so weak she’d bolted from the banquet. It wouldn’t be surprising if she died any moment.

“Tell me more.”

“First, I have a request.”

Then, he’d have to use another approach.

Kakantir’s displeasure was clear. Negotiating over the chief’s life was a bold move.

“A request? If Winchen dies before that, your head will roll too.”

“Treat me not as a negotiator, but as a guest of the Bariel Empire.”

Without the emperor’s order, he couldn’t call himself an envoy or representative, but the meaning was the same: he demanded guaranteed safety and respect.

“Bratz is a vital piece of the great Bariel. The palace knows of Bratz’s peace talks, and my presence here is, in a way, the palace’s will.”

Ian’s words flowed smoothly, like honey. Kakantir’s lips twitched into a faint smile. The look said, “Is that so?”

“Is that right? Then let me ask you—if your head falls now, will the palace send troops here? If your claim is true, they should.”

“I don’t know if they’ll send troops, but it will certainly cause trouble. I carry the palace’s spirit within me, passed down through generations.”

Bang!

Before he could finish, an old man slammed his hand on the table. It was their language, so Ian couldn’t understand, but it sounded like something about a serpent’s tongue…

The others remained silent, clearly doubting Ian’s words.

“The palace’s spirit?”

Was Ian claiming to be descended from the palace bloodline? That Derga was his father?

“I can’t say more. What I can confirm is that my body is inherited from Derga Bratz, and my spirit is that of the palace. I don’t think this is something the chief would easily accept.”

“Fine. Fine. It’s because of people like you that the gods sent Winchen. Hey!”

Kakantir shouted, and two warriors grabbed Ian’s arms. Beric, waiting outside, was startled and tried to rush in, but Ian raised a hand to stop him.

‘Enough.’

They were taking Ian to see Winchen. He gave Beric a look to wait, then entered the chief’s tent again.

“Winchen.”

“Ah…”

Her breath was shallow, but she seemed conscious. Attendants slowly helped her sit up, her cloudy eyes fixed on the sky.

“This man says he knows about Silask.”

“More precisely, he says he has a theory.”

“…A theory? Is it true?”

Saliva dribbled from Winchen’s mouth. Instead of speaking, she nodded. The attendants burst into joyful cheers, and Nersarn’s face brightened as if a ray of hope had appeared.

“And he also says his spirit is that of the Bariel palace.”

Does she have any objections this time?

Kakantir looked down at Ian, trailing off mid-sentence. If Winchen shook her head here, the plan was to cut off Ian’s leg. He had to make sure the bleeding was controlled—he needed to hear about Silask.

“Ah…”

At that moment, Winchen took a deep breath. Her body trembled, and she closed her eyes. She never closed her eyes when trying to detect lies.

“…!”

Then, silence fell over everyone. Winchen placed her withered hands—dry as twigs—over her chest in a gesture of respect. She bowed forward as deeply as she could. To any onlooker, it was a greeting reserved for someone of great honor.

“Winchen?”

“Ugh…”

And just like that, the chieftain collapsed sideways. A healer rushed over to check her pulse, while attendants hurried off to fetch warm water. Ian watched her quietly and murmured,

“Silask is in my tent.”

Kakan froze in surprise. When the chieftain didn’t give an order, Nersarn, who had been listening, dashed outside and shouted,

“To the stranger’s tent! Find the Red Flower!”

“Huh? Wait, why?”

“Hurry! Time is running out!”

“Ian! What’s going on? What do we do? Should we grab it and run?”

Beric shouted anxiously. Ian smiled faintly.

“It’s settled. This is my first gift to them—as a guest of Bariel.”

Ian spoke to Beric with a dignified tone. The tent filled with the scent of gurot leaves—Winchen’s tent. For the first time, Ian stood on equal footing with Kakan.