Chapter 332

Emperor Ian lay slouched on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the endlessly roaring fireplace. The pale glow warmed his fair skin, and even his usually cool, sharp eyes seemed to soften in the flickering light.

That night marked his first return from war, bearing news of victory. Outside, the city of Bariel celebrated boisterously, but Ian’s study remained silent and still.

“Your Majesty.”

Ian turned his head weakly. Naum stood leaning against the doorframe, a report and a box tucked under his arm—clearly more business waiting to be dealt with.

Yet, strangely, Ian couldn’t bring himself to move. He should rise and attend to his desk, but he felt utterly drained.

No, more precisely, he lacked the will. As emperor, under the banner of war, Ian had taken lives.

“Are you alright?”

“What’s there to be alright about? Is it a report?”

Naum approached slowly and knelt before him. Their eyes met, and the firelight made the emperor’s pupils flicker.

Was it the flames? Or the guilt burning within the young emperor’s heart? Naum gently smoothed the strands of Ian’s hair that had fallen over the sofa, offering quiet comfort.

“You did well, Your Majesty. All of Bariel breathes easier and rejoices. To gain what we desire, there must be a price to pay, isn’t that so?”

“…Yes. That’s why I did it. I ordered them killed, burned, discarded.”

The screams of the enemy still echoed in the boy emperor’s ears. He had cut through those begging for mercy, pushed forward past his own allies who tried to block his path—a chaotic charge for his own sake. Naum tilted his head with sympathy, soothing him gently.

“Don’t worry. It will dull over time.”

“That dullness frightens me as well.”

“But if not, Your Majesty will be the one to suffer.”

Naum grasped Ian’s right wrist. Beneath the sleeve he had rashly rolled up was a long, shallow cut. Not severe, but not something to ignore. When Naum frowned, Ian smiled wryly and offered an excuse.

“While the enemy leader’s head fell, I did not shed a single drop of blood. Isn’t that Bariel’s pride?”

“Pride, yes—but it’s a pain that eats away at you. Don’t become numb to it. If it hurts, say it hurts. If it’s hard, say it’s hard. Don’t keep it bottled up inside.”

Naum pulled ointment and bandages from the box. Having fought alongside Ian, he knew everything.

Ian let him tend to the wound but kept staring into the fire—no different from the flames that had raged on the battlefield.

“…The emperor’s tears fill the world, and his sighs bring it to ruin.”

“If Your Majesty collapses, the world collapses with you. As for me…”

Ian wanted to say that he pitied how young the emperor was when he ascended, that’s why he had tried to hold him back then.

The path of the emperor was lonely and harsh enough. How could anyone, especially someone so unreliable, bear that weight? Perhaps they could—at the cost of their own life.

“I am, Your Majesty, the Minister of Magic.”

“I know. And I am the emperor.”

Naum was Ian’s only pillar, but he was also the Minister of Magic. Their bond was not purely friendship; political interests inevitably intertwined.

How wonderful it would be if Ian had a true friend without any ulterior motives. Naum disinfected the wound and said,

“If it’s hard to let go, just try saying it. That alone will help. ‘It hurts.’”

“Such a bland phrase.”

“Try it. ‘It hurts,’ or ‘My heart is uneasy.’”

“…Naum.”

“Or this one works too: ‘It’s hard.’”

Ian propped his chin on his hand and smiled faintly. The crackling of the wood strangely soothed him. He closed his eyes drowsily and muttered. Naum’s bandaging was clumsy at best.

“Naum. It hurts. Be gentle.”

---

Ian opened his eyes. The ceiling above was decorated with exotic patterns, but his mind was foggy.

Just moments ago, he had been talking with Naum. Where was this place? Why did a sharp, medicinal scent fill the air? He tried to move his hand, but a twisting, tearing pain shot through his muscles.

“Ah…!”

A groan escaped him involuntarily. The pain snapped him back to reality. Then, a child’s head came into view.

One, two, three.

“He’s awake.”

“He’s awake!”

“He’s up!”

Their orange hair and narrow eyes marked them unmistakably as Noah’s siblings. The children leaned over Ian’s bed, chattering excitedly.

“It’s amazing. He bled so much and still didn’t die.”

“He’s a mage. Of course.”

“Do mages never die? Do they live forever?”

Ian wanted to say something, but he had no strength. Just as he was about to close his eyes in surrender, the children dashed out. They seemed determined not to lose him now that he was awake.

“Minister Bariel is awake!”

“He’s up!”

“Mages, come quick!”

The children’s clear voices rang out, followed by the pounding of feet down the hall. Sure enough, the door burst open and a crowd poured in—half palace guards, half mages.

“Ian! Are you alright? Stay with us!”

“Can you hear me? How are you feeling?”

“Step aside, please. We’ll administer a sedative. Now that he’s conscious, the pain will be unbearable. Hey!”

“Ian, you recognize me, right? Please say something.”

“I think it’s better to give him more mana than sedatives. Anyone free? Otric?”

“I’ll do it. Everyone, help me.”

“Iaaaan!”

Crash!

Beric slammed into the door, unable to slow his charge. Pushing people aside, he rushed to Ian’s bedside. The doctors shouted for space, but neither he nor the mages would budge.

“Ian, how’s your body feeling?”

Beric whispered, his face more haggard than Ian had ever seen. The mages around him looked just as drained—having poured all their mana into saving Ian.

Ian must look even worse lying there. He smiled faintly, about to say he was fine out of habit.

“Try saying it. ‘It hurts,’ or ‘My heart is uneasy.’”

The memory of Naum stopped him.

Ian studied his comrades quietly, then sighed deeply. With a small but sincere voice, he answered,

“…It hurts.”

“See? It hurts, right? You bled an insane amount. What on earth happened?”

“Sorry, everyone. The plan went awry.”

He had no idea how much time had passed. If all had gone well, he would have returned to Bariel long ago. The mages frowned, as if to say, “Don’t say unnecessary things.”

“Don’t say that. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

“Was it really that bad?”

“The carpet in the reception room was soaked, and the blood even spilled outside. We truly…”

“Ian, don’t get distracted. By the way, Ian, do you know what caused this?”

The Clifford faction insisted it had nothing to do with them, but until Ian confirmed it himself, tensions remained high.

“Ah, yes.”

Ian slowly raised his hand to his chest. Just as he was about to perform the contract magic, a stabbing pain had surged through his hand. It spread, infecting other organs.

He thought for a moment, then nodded.

“It was a personal mistake.”

“What? Ian?”

The mages were stunned by his answer. Ian himself had made a mistake in casting magic, causing this condition?

Unbelievable. He had never once erred in execution—not even a slip in spelling. They exchanged awkward glances.

“Doesn’t it seem like Ian is reluctant to talk about it?”

“Yeah. It can’t be true.”

“Let’s drop it for now.”

While they whispered, Ian closed his eyes and recalled Melania’s words—the vow the illegitimate Ian had made with Rutherford. So that was why it couldn’t be undone.

He hadn’t expected it at all. The illegitimate Ian had been very young then, and not skilled enough as a mage to perform contract magic. So he hadn’t even considered the possibility…

“Cunning and strange.”

Contract magic can be made doubly binding regardless of the other party. That it was impossible here meant the first contract Ian made forbade it.

A scheme that completely shackled the illegitimate Ian, including the creation of Idgal. The only option was to pursue Rutherford quickly and uncover the truth—what vow was made, what was wagered, and what promises were exchanged.

“Ian.”

When Ian remained silent, Beric called out worriedly. Outside the door, Noah’s siblings peeked in. Ian smiled and patted Beric’s head.

“Now that I’m awake, recovery is just a matter of time. By the way, how long have I been lying here? Any messages from Bariel?”

“Over a week.”

Berrick lay face down on the bed, grumbling to himself. Considering the severity of the bleeding, it was truly fortunate that Ian had woken up after just a week. Yet Ian seemed surprised that so much time had passed.

“Over a week already?”

“I sent a magical pigeon the day after you collapsed. It’s about time for a reply, but nothing yet.”

The mages silently confirmed this. Could the magical pigeon’s power have been disrupted crossing the border? It was time for a response from the royal palace, but the silence was unsettling.

Knock, knock.

Footsteps approached.

Turning around, they saw King Clefford and Prince Noah standing there. Unlike the doctors who bowed deeply, the mages simply nodded lightly in greeting.

“Sir Ian, it’s a relief to see you conscious again.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I imagine this was quite a shock.”

“Indeed. Magic is a double-edged sword, as they say, but I never expected to witness it firsthand. Ha ha. How are you feeling now?”

“Better, thanks to everyone.”

Just then, the children came running over, clambering onto the king’s waist to get a look at Ian. Noah sighed and glanced around at the mages. Their calm demeanor gave a sense of the palace’s atmosphere.

“Have you been informed about the situation?”

“No, not yet.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, clearly confused. Noah crossed his arms, as if urging him to understand.

“We tortured a man named Filic.”

“…Excuse me?”

“We know well what mages are, but the situation was serious. Clefford needed to know the full truth. This was done with the mages’ consent, so don’t hold us responsible. And no, Filic is not dead.”

At the mention of torture, the king gently covered the children’s ears. When Ian looked at the mages, they avoided his gaze and offered excuses.

“It’s all because of that bastard Filic.”

“He wouldn’t listen to words, so we had no choice.”

“We’re sorry, Sir Ian. But there’s been no word from Bariel, and from our side…”

Ian pressed his palm to his forehead and sighed softly.

“I see. It happened while I was away. If it was your decision, I respect that. But for now—”

Setting aside the Filic issue, the lack of any reply from Bariel was troubling. Shouldn’t there have been some kind of response?

“What kind of magic stone did you use for the pigeon sent to the royal palace?”

“How do you mean?”

The pigeon’s ability to find its way over long distances was thanks to the magic stone. The one attached to the pigeon and the one at the destination reacted like magnets, guiding it along the path.

Since this was sent from the palace to the royal court, there must have been a standard stone used. Ian furrowed his brow and answered carefully.

“There’s been an abnormal magical reaction at the Clefford border. I wonder if that’s causing problems with the pigeon.”

Everyone’s mouths dropped open at the unexpected answer. The last message Ian sent was from within the border, from Bariel’s territory.

If that’s the case, then the royal court must be searching for Ian and the mages right now…

“They must be flipping out. Do you think the soldiers are on their way?”

Berrick sniffled and muttered under his breath.