Episode 33
The necklace seemed to hold the sunlight within it. Ian could only describe it as “amber-colored”—nothing else could capture its essence. Even Ian, who had spent his life surrounded by treasures, had never seen a gem like this before.
“Ian. What on earth is this?”
Why would a bastard born in a red-light district be raising Silask—and why would something like this be kept inside? No, to be fair, Ian might not have known from the start.
“Regardless of status, the behavior doesn’t add up. Knowing Mother Philia’s struggles, if she’d realized its value, she would have sold it to help the family.”
And above all, the necklace had been hidden in the dirt. Whoever planted Silask must have buried it there.
“Did someone ask them to take care of it? To keep it safe?”
That was the only plausible guess for now. It made some sense—treated with care, but not important enough to bring along when entering the Bratz estate.
Clink.
“I just don’t get it. Truly.”
The most puzzling thing upon waking was the presence of Ian’s squire. This little kid was always the one to throw him into confusion.
“What don’t you understand?”
“Is it all broken?”
“Who said it’s broken? It’s neck and neck!”
“Uh-huh. Right.”
Ian put on the necklace and replied. Whatever it was, now that he’d found it, he had no intention of ever taking it off. The Chonryeo tribesman who had brought the flowerpot added,
“Also, after resting, you were told to come see the chief.”
“Is that so? Then let’s go now. Since it’s all broken.”
“It’s not broken! I’m not broken!”
“Brush the sand off your mouth before you speak, Beric.”
Ian chuckled and stepped out of the tent. Since Winchen had regained consciousness, Ian’s words were likely to be tested for truth. More importantly, they needed to finalize the priority negotiation details between the Chonryeo tribe and Ian.
“…?”
“Uh-oh!”
Ian paused as he stepped out—the Chonryeo were gathered at the entrance. Beric, following behind, peeked around cautiously.
After an awkward silence, they set down what they were holding: soft Kusile covers, sturdy baskets, and other items to make life more comfortable.
“What is all this?”
“…Things needed to survive in the desert. We brought them. Compared to what Chief Winchen gave, it’s nothing, but the Chonryeo warriors never forget kindness or enmity until death.”
Perhaps by order, they addressed Ian with honorifics for the first time. He smiled warmly and nodded.
“Thank you. I’ll put them to good use.”
“Th-then…”
They scattered awkwardly, embarrassed, and Ian couldn’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Aren’t they adorable? Even those who see the world as savage have their own kindness. After all, they’re human too.”
“A saint you are.”
“Beric, organize these until I return.”
Damn it! Ian called off the saint comment and left Beric fussing behind as he headed to Winchen’s tent. Inside, the old man lay much as he had on the first day.
Swish!
“Ian, welcome back.”
Kakantir knelt nearby, whispering something. Seeing this, the old man’s stature was undeniable—the leader of the tribe, unhesitatingly kneeling before him.
“Chief Winchen, I’m truly glad you’re recovering.”
The old man smiled faintly, gazing toward the entrance. The smile of a sage who had stood at death’s door brought peace just by looking at it.
“I called you here to conclude our previous conversation.”
“Very well. Everything I told Chief Kakantir is true, and I swear it by the heavens. Of course, there are still things I haven’t shared, but they have nothing to do with the Chonryeo tribe.”
Ian smiled confidently, taking the lead. Kakantir returned a satisfied expression. Winchen clasped his hands and bowed again.
“The gods…”
His voice was strained, barely audible. His condition was poor; Ian thought he might never speak again. The attendants leaned in, eager not to miss a word.
“…command you to change everything about yourself.”
“Huh?”
“…Even if it means your very existence.”
Ian’s eyes widened as he looked to Kakantir. Winchen was delivering a divine oracle. It was unheard of to receive the gods’ words outside a temple, but Kakantir nodded as if accustomed.
“Empire folk wouldn’t understand. You believe the will of the gods can only be grasped within a holy temple.”
“That’s true. Only those who interpret the temple’s texts can convey the gods’ will.”
If the Vatican heard this, they’d probably call it heresy. Ian bowed respectfully, grateful to receive the divine message.
“But the message isn’t exactly pleasant.”
“Impossible. Every word from the gods carries meaning.”
Ian immediately disagreed. Just because humans don’t understand doesn’t mean the truth disappears. Kakantir realized he was growing fond of this blonde outsider. A warrior who had everything.
‘Bold, courageous, and calm as a deep-flowing river.’
“I heard your brothers brought you gifts.”
“Thankfully, I received them well.”
“Now, we’ll negotiate the details of the priority rights, but if there’s anything special you need, say so.”
It was a polite way of saying they wouldn’t budge on even the smallest point during negotiations—but also a friendly offer. Ian thought for a moment before answering.
“The Chonryeo are a warrior tribe, right?”
“Indeed. They rule the great desert.”
“I want you to teach everything about being a warrior to the redhead I brought. He thinks he’s the strongest in the world but still has much to learn.”
“Beric, was it?”
A leader’s care for his subordinates was a virtue. It wasn’t difficult, so Kakantir agreed readily.
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Thank you.”
“Bring the paper.”
Swish!
At Kakantir’s call, attendants brought paper and brushes from outside. They began drafting a sincere contract, with Winchen present.
Bang! Bang bang! Crash!
Sudden noise made Derga’s pen slip off the track. He was almost done but now had to start over.
“Count! Count!”
“Who’s making all that racket?”
Flash!
Derga reflexively threw an ink bottle as the door opened. It wasn’t like the sky was splitting—what was with this? He was already stressed over tax calculations!
The servant hit by the bottle scrambled to wipe his pants.
“S-sorry, but you need to come out immediately. People from the capital have arrived.”
The death certificate was expected, so this wasn’t surprising. But the servant’s behavior seemed off. Derga hid behind the curtain, peeking outside.
“…?!”
If it were just document delivery, there’d be two people. But the driveway was filled with carriages, and at the front fluttered a familiar banner.
“The Imperial Inspection Team?”
“The steward is greeting the guests for now, but…”
Something felt wrong. Derga gathered the papers on his desk and shouted,
“Move all these documents to the aide’s office immediately! Lock the door and wait inside. There are plenty of ink bottles in the left cabinet. If things go south, dump them all out. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir! I understand.”
“Damn it!”
Derga gave strict orders and headed downstairs. The servants gathered nervously at the main entrance.
“M-master, what is this…?”
“Out of the way!”
He straightened his clothes and stepped forward. The steward retreated with a troubled look, and Derga faced the head of the Imperial Inspection Team.
“Are you Count Derga Bratz?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what this is about.”
“I’m Erika Verti, head of the Imperial Inspection Team sent by the palace. This is a permit personally stamped by the Emperor. We’re here to investigate charges of tax evasion and treason, and we swear to conduct a sincere and truthful process.”
Tax evasion and treason.
Hearing the reason, Derga felt his heart drop. How did they find out? How? But he responded brazenly and confidently.
“This is outrageous. I’m defending the border from those barbarians for Bariel’s sake! And you accuse me of tax evasion and treason? Ridiculous!”
He denied it for now, until the charges were certain. As a count, this was his domain. Though dozens of carriages had arrived, he still held the upper hand in force.
Erika, as if accustomed, pulled out another document.
“Is this the Bratz family seal?”
A tiger and laurel wreath. The seal was clearly stamped over a hastily scrawled message.
—I report the Bratz family for tax evasion. Emperor, please investigate without a shred of doubt.
Derga reached for the letter, but Erika firmly held out her hand. A sealed denunciation meant they could search the estate immediately.
“We will manage the estate for the time being. All residents, including the count, must follow the deputy chief’s orders. Infantry will arrive soon, so please clear the gardens for them.”
More reinforcements were on the way—a warning not to act rashly. At Erika’s signal, her men drew swords and surged into the estate.
Bang bang! Bang!
“Ahhh!”
“W-wait a moment!”
“Everyone, shut up and follow me!”
“M-Master! Master!”
“There! The one heading up the stairs!”
“Aaaah!”
They couldn’t bring themselves to tie up the noble count, so they subdued his servants—their hands and feet—first. Erika strode in, stomping on the carpet with her boots.
“This mansion is quite impressive.”
“You…”
“Master Chel and Lady Mary will be home soon. There’s no need to worry. Just follow orders and stay put. Sweep from the top floor down!”
At Erika’s shout, Dergar’s mind went blank. They knew the office was at the very top? That information wasn’t in the tip-off. So it wasn’t just a paper trail.
‘Molin!’
That bastard—I fed him, treated him well! And this is how he repays me…! Dergar’s face flushed as if blood was boiling. Erika gave a faint smile as she passed him by, and all that could be heard were the servants’ screams.
“Count!”
The one running upstairs was apparently the butler. He was dragged back down, but Dergar remained frozen in thought.
‘How did Molin manage to stamp the seal? Is he connected to the aide after all? But that guy still hasn’t woken up. He’s under surveillance…’
Dergar let out a bitter laugh. If he had to name someone close to Molin in Bratz…
“Yiaaaan!”
The sudden, guttural scream made the soldiers glance over, but no one intervened. He looked like he might collapse from a stroke at any moment. If he was going to die anyway, dying sooner wouldn’t be such a bad choice.