Episode 32

“To send off a child who hasn’t even been officially recognized? This is outright deception!”

“Exactly! How could they stab us in the back like this?”

Ian sat back leisurely, watching the elders vent their anger. He seemed almost incredulous that he had been treated this way at a formal peace negotiation.

“Let me emphasize once more: I am indeed my father’s son. That much is clear.”

“Then who is your birth mother?”

“Well… that’s a story for you to interpret as you will.”

Ian gave a wry smile at Kakhantir’s question. The situation was already tense enough; there was no need to bring up that his mother came from the red-light district. It wasn’t important.

“I feel like breaking someone’s neck right now.”

“But Chief, you are the leader of the Cheollyeo tribe. Surely you will make a wise decision.”

Kakhantir let out a bitter laugh and growled under his breath. Since he had declared Ian a guest of the Empire, killing him outright was off the table. This was a matter of principle.

‘But can I really strike at Bratz? No. Especially now that the central army is on its way, that would be reckless.’

“You there.”

Kakhantir, clearly baffled, rolled a leaf of gulut and chewed it. The formal title of “Lord” had long since slipped from his lips—whether intentional or not. Still, the fact that Ian’s head was still on his shoulders was proof of some respect.

“Keep babbling if you want. Anything else to say?”

“If the chief has any requests, I’m sure there are.”

Murmurs from the elders behind grew louder. Ian smiled brightly and continued.

“Ah, I thought so. More specifically, how do you see things unfolding?”

“I hope it’s interesting enough to clear the noise from my head in one go.”

Kakhantir’s gaze fixed relentlessly on the back of Ian’s neck. He seemed to be struggling to suppress an impulse.

“Let’s suppose, with the help of the Cheollyeo tribe, I become the Lord of Bratz. I will make Bratz the finest territory in Bariel.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the only way someone from the frontier like me can stand firm.”

“And then?”

“Once I’ve built enough power, I’ll head to the center—specifically, the Imperial Palace.”

Kakhantir’s brown eyes gleamed with disbelief. What was this little upstart saying? He planned to go to the heart of the Empire? That meant willingly stepping into the lion’s den.

Regardless of what he intended to do there, did he not understand how a lord’s absence would lead to the ruin of his lands? Either internal corruption would rot it from within, or external invasion would tear it apart.

“All of this is why I, who haven’t even been officially recognized, didn’t run away and crossed the desert. Kakhantir, it’s time for us to change.”

True alliance and peace.

Not just exchanging goods or numbers on paper, but a relationship where a lord could rely on his allies’ backs. It meant seeing the Cheollyeo not as barbaric border tribes, but as true friends.

“I don’t know if it’s interesting, but the nonsense in my head has definitely cleared.”

“That’s a relief.”

As Kakhantir rolled another gulut leaf, Nersarn raised his hand.

“Lord Ian, there’s one thing we need to clarify.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“When the central army arrives, will Derga have enough time? Enough to send a message, I mean.”

Wow. Ian felt like applauding. Kakhantir had a sharp mind indeed, worthy of a chief’s strategist. He had brought up a point no one else had considered.

“Probably, yes. There will be an investigation. That should take about two weeks. The central forces are coming with certainty.”

“That makes things even more complicated.”

“Nersarn, what do you mean?”

Kakhantir and the other elders looked puzzled.

“A rat trapped in a corner bites the cat. If there’s no chance to escape, Derga’s only option is beheading—complete annihilation. He might raise an army to resist. And…”

“He’ll ask the Cheollyeo for help.”

They had just signed a peace treaty a few days ago, after all. Kakhantir finally nodded in understanding.

“We cannot refuse.”

“Exactly. Especially right after a peace agreement.”

Before ideology, this was a political no-go. Breaking the treaty without cause would be tantamount to declaring the Cheollyeo barbarians themselves.

It could give the Empire an excuse to strike. Kakhantir found the whole situation distasteful. Either way, they were being played by the Empire.

“The peace treaty is the problem. Because of it, our position is difficult. We need to resolve this first. Is there no way?”

Nersarn shook his head.

“It won’t be easy.”

“Why not? They deceived us. They sent a child who wasn’t even officially recognized.”

“Kakhan, though not officially recognized, Ian is still Derga’s son.”

“That’s right. A valid point.”

Ian nodded in agreement with Nersarn.

“Besides, before the peace treaty, my father revealed I was a bastard. And since they don’t know I conspired with the center to delay my recognition, any objections from our side will be useless.”

“Sounds like you’re asking to be killed. Keep talking then.”

“I have a plan.”

Ian’s declaration silenced the room. Even Kakhantir closed his mouth, waiting for what came next.

“All history is built on justification. And all justification comes from people. I will create that justification.”

“What do you mean?”

“A reason to break the peace treaty. And a reason to refuse aid if Derga asks for help.”

Ian picked up a gulut leaf from the edge of the table. His eyes blazed as if to say, “This is the answer.”

“My father secretly instructed me: when I return briefly to Bratz for my birthday next year, smuggle in gulut leaves.”

“By the gods. Ha ha!”

Kakhantir burst out laughing at Ian’s quick-witted response. He had said he’d made up his mind before crossing the desert, and it seemed he wasn’t lying.

“It’s not just anyone—your lord father ordered the smuggling. And of a strictly forbidden item, gulut leaves, through the very symbol of peace, the treaty. Isn’t that enough?”

“Indeed. A betrayal so deep it’s unforgivable. Enough and then some. Evidence?”

“Unfortunately, nothing visible right now. But we can verify it through Lord Winchen.”

With this, they could strongly protest the recognition issue as well. Protest? No, they could unilaterally break the treaty without the other side having any grounds to object.

“Of course, I never intended to do that.”

“What you said today is a vow not just to Lord Winchen, but to the gods themselves.”

“If you wish, I will swear it.”

“This is maddening. What on earth is going on in Bratz…”

You can’t hide a rotten lineage. Derga’s court was full of fools like Chel. Ian’s handwritten letter only confirmed that suspicion.

But look at the scene now. A foreigner with blond hair and green eyes was leading the Cheollyeo leaders.

“…Is that all you want? A statement of support from the Cheollyeo tribe?”

“That’s enough. I’ll handle the rest.”

No matter how you look at it, this was a deal with no obvious flaws. In fact, it might even be advantageous. In the worst case, Ian would lose his life, but the Cheollyeo could simply retreat to the desert. If the center invaded, they could fight as they always had—with the desert at their backs.

He tapped the table and added one last thing.

“We have no intention of shedding blood for you.”

“Nor do I wish that.”

“Are you not afraid of death?”

“Not at all.”

Ian’s bold attitude piqued Kakhantir’s pure curiosity. The young man’s spirit overshadowed even the fiercest Cheollyeo warriors.

“I’ve died once and come back.”

“An admirable resolve.”

Though not a metaphor, Kakhantir didn’t realize the truth. How could he? That Ian was living a second life, blessed by the gods.

And Ian still had a hidden card.

He was a magic user.

“I’ll put down on paper everything the Cheollyeo want, including tracking Silask.”

“We have plenty of time. It will be enjoyable to coordinate.”

Ian smiled warmly and expressed his gratitude. Then he glanced at the council members still standing there, stunned.

“Would anyone like some medicine?”

“Huh? Ah! Yes, yes! I’ll take some! I must!”

Startled, one council member grabbed a pot and stood up. They planned to try a single dose first and observe the effects. How to use the rest could be decided later.

Whether to cultivate it for future generations or offer it to Winchen depending on the state of aggression.

“Well then, I’ll be going.”

Ian headed toward the tent’s entrance. Kakhantir caught him, half-expecting nothing, and asked.

“Lord Ian, is your desire to go to the center connected to the Emperor’s mind?”

From Kakhantir’s perspective, it was a genuine question. His father was a frontier noble, but his spirit was tied to the palace? Since Ian avoided mentioning his mother, there must be a clue there. Ian sensed Kakhantir wasn’t expecting an answer and just smiled.

Outside, the clan had gathered, ears perked.

“He’s out!”

“I heard loud voices inside. He’s not dead.”

“Wow, it’s true.”

As Ian and Beric stepped forward, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Among them was a familiar face—Su. Ian approached her with a request.

“Su.”

“Huh? Oh, yes.”

“If you have time, could you help us?”

“With what…?”

Her eyes flickered with surprise but soon shone like stars at Ian’s words.

“Beric’s training.”

---

“Idiot! Slowpoke!”

“Shut up, will you?”

“Even desert ants are faster than you!”

“Wow, if you get caught doing that, you’re gonna end up with a nosebleed for sure!”

Swish!

Ian sat in the shade, eating fruit as he watched the sand swirl in the wind. The marks in the dust were from Beric’s kicks and movements. They’d been running under the blazing sun for two hours straight, yet neither showed any sign of tiring.

“Beric! You okay?”

“Okay with what?”

“…Never mind.”

“Don’t talk to me! Damn it!”

Swish!

He really was quick to pick things up. After just a few days, he’d already adapted to the heat. And given the environment, the sand only made their training tougher.

“Beric, you’re seriously amazing.”

“My feet keep sinking in!”

“Oh yeah? Mine don’t. How much extra leg fat do you have that only you sink?”

“That’s muscle! Damn it!”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Sssht! Sssht!

While the two kept trading barbs, Ian just nibbled on the sweet, refreshing fruit. He’d planned to carefully win over the Cheonryeo tribe over time, but thanks to Silask, things had wrapped up quickly and smoothly.

Until it was time to head back to Bratz, all Ian had to do was enjoy the vast desert. Ah! How long had it been since he’d had a chance to truly rest? It felt like a gift from the gods themselves.

“Ian-nim.”

At that moment, someone from the tribe approached, carrying a tray with fresh wine and Ian’s flowerpot.

“Winchen-nim has finally opened his eyes.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Winchen had fainted in front of Ian. After slowly giving him some Silask master’s water, the recovery was slow but steady. His heartbeat stabilized, the seizures stopped, and color returned to his face.

“That’s a relief.”

“…Thank you.”

The unnamed tribesman bowed carefully, gratitude clear in the air. The whole village seemed to be buzzing with excitement—this was bigger than any festival. Ian simply responded with a sip from his cup.

“They say they’ll hold a formal welcome feast for you soon, Ian-nim.”

“Really? Feels like I’m already at one.”

“…Anyway, thank you so much. Everyone is truly grateful to you.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Oh, and one more thing. We found this when we moved the soil from the flowerpot.”

He set down the pot. Inside the empty container lay a necklace—silver chain with an amber-colored gem.

“This is yours, right? Were you hiding it?”