Episode 34

Erika, the head of the imperial investigation team, surveyed her office, now a chaotic mess of scattered papers. Every drawer had been upended and emptied—no wonder it looked like this. In the adjoining room, her subordinates gathered, carefully drying ink-stained sheets.

“Can these be restored?”

“We need to identify the type of ink used first. Still, it’s a relief we managed to salvage about half.”

“The rest is fine!”

“That bastard moves fast.”

The “bastard” wasn’t the decapitated servant lying in the corner. It was Dergah, who had ordered the destruction of documents in that brief window.

Though his guilt wasn’t yet confirmed and he still held his countship, they paid no mind. The woman before them—Erika Verti—was destined to become the next lord of this domain.

“What about the tax reports submitted to the central government?”

“Here they are.”

“Philip and Sarien will calculate production and the peasants’ tax rates. The rest—extract the mining and trade records. Three years’ worth should suffice. Can you get it done within a week?”

Her subordinates smiled faintly. Erika’s question wasn’t a question—it was an order. They had one week to deliver.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good. Delix, you’re in charge of the annex. Move out!”

“Let’s go! Time to dig up some tax evasion!”

“Yaaah!”

They shouted with fierce determination, ready to uncover any evidence of fraud. If they succeeded, this land would be theirs! Their leader would become a noble, and all of them would secure positions in the central government. This was the starting point of their long-awaited rise—right here, in Dergah’s office.

‘Damn it.’

Meanwhile, Dergah sat confined in Ian’s former room in the annex. Aside from a few servants drafted to assist the investigation team, no one was allowed to leave. He tugged at his beard, muttering curses under his breath.

Mary and Chel still hadn’t returned to the mansion.

“Count, what will happen now?”

“What do you mean, what will happen?! Shut your mouth!”

The butler flinched at the furious shout but dared not respond. His life hung by a thread, depending on the count’s mood. He paced the room, trying to clear his tangled thoughts.

‘This investigation team was sent by the emperor himself. But it was Molin who tipped them off. If my head falls here, it means the Second Prince benefits. Then…’

Dergah rifled through the desk, pulling out parchment and a pen. After gathering his thoughts, he began writing without pause—no time to correct mistakes. Every second was a desperate race.

Scratch, scratch.

“Butler, you have two tasks.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send these letters. One to the Chonryeo tribe, the other to the First Prince at the capital. After that, contact Deo and order the troops to prepare. Fully armed and ready to march at a moment’s notice.”

The letter to the Chonryeo tribe requested military support and the beheading of Ian. The central reinforcements were on their way, but they needed to suppress the threat by force before they arrived.

This was outright treason.

The letter to the First Prince was meant to offset that. If he learned this was part of the Second Prince’s scheme, he would surely act—whether to check or obstruct. Either way, it was an opportunity for Dergah.

Unable to seal the letter, he slipped a ring inside instead.

‘Alright. First, survive. Then prepare for the future. That’s all I need…’

As he steeled himself, the butler blurted out in disbelief.

“You want me to leave here? How?”

“The investigation team isn’t guarding the windows, is it?” Dergah nodded toward the window. The butler’s face went pale, and he shook his head, refusing.

“Count! I’m already fifty years old.”

“So what? You want to die here? Fifty will be your last age.”

“If you put it that way…”

Tears welled up as the butler reluctantly peered down from the third floor. A fall would be fatal—or at best, leave him broken.

Dergah tore down the curtains and tossed them to the butler.

“Make a rope.”

Damn it. Couldn’t he at least help with this? Swallowing his frustration, the butler tied the curtains tightly, as if his life depended on it.

---

A lone horse cut across the desert at dawn. Perhaps from running day and night through the sandstorm, steam rose from its hide.

A Chonryeo warrior on patrol spotted the rider—and recognized the flag he waved: Bratz’s banner.

“Message! A message from Bratz!”

“Sound the buffalo horn!”

“The buffalo horn! Sound it!”

Buuuu— buuuu—

The tribe, preparing for a peaceful day, all looked skyward. The horn signaled the arrival of an outsider. Ian heard it too—a signal that the time had come. The Bratz knight panted as he knocked on the outer wall.

“I bring a message from Bratz! It’s urgent!”

Hiiing!

At that moment, the horse collapsed sideways, exhausted from the relentless ride. The tribe brought water and poured it over the animal, while warriors guided the knight inside, as if they had been expecting him.

“Message from Count Dergah?”

As the tent was raised, a half-naked Kakantir sat up from his bed. The knight suddenly realized he hadn’t introduced himself at the entrance—he’d only said “message,” yet was allowed in without question, as if they already knew.

“Did you faint standing up?”

The knight stood dazed. Kakantir’s voice was sharp with irritation.

“Sorry, sir. I am Bell, a knight of the Bratz domain. The count urgently requested aid.”

The knight snapped to attention and handed over the crumpled letter. Kakantir smirked at the crude handwriting—clearly, it had been written in haste.

“Let’s see… Due to a misunderstanding with the capital, you’re in danger. We are allies and cannot ignore each other’s hardships. As a friend, I ask you to lend the strength of the Chonryeo and fight alongside us. Also, I entrust my son Ian Bratz to you…”

—“Please behead him. If it stains their honor, I will send a knight in my place.”

Kakantir hummed a tune and nodded.

“What misunderstanding with the capital?”

“The count is under investigation for treason. It’s a false charge, but armed conflict is imminent.”

“Do you have proof it’s false? If it’s true, siding with you would put us at odds with the imperial palace.”

“The proof is Ian Bratz himself. The count swears his son’s death will prove his innocence.”

“Ha ha ha!”

The sudden laughter stopped the knight’s panting. He looked confused. Kakantir leaned back lazily, chewing on a leaf.

A cunning and sly man.

They say it’s like picking one’s nose without touching it—he kills Ian, then uses that to his advantage. Dergah’s role here was clear.

‘A tool. Nothing more, nothing less.’

“Chief?”

“Well, I’m still waking up.”

“…He’s also sent a letter to the palace. Just fifteen days—until reinforcements arrive. We are allies, aren’t we? I’ve heard a warrior’s loyalty is like a sacred vow, unshakable.”

Kakantir exhaled smoke in agreement and motioned to wait. Bare-chested, he began drafting a reply.

“Exactly. And we are warriors among warriors. Deliver this reply to your master. We will follow soon.”

“Thank you!”

Kakantir wrapped the letter tightly with leather straps to prevent the knight from peeking. The knight glanced outside cautiously.

“What will happen to Ian Bratz…?”

Kakantir remained silent. The tension grew until the knight swallowed hard, expecting an immediate answer. When none came, his anxiety deepened.

“Oh, that. As the count guessed, it’s a token of peace. Ian has been with us in Chonryeo all this time. We don’t want to stain our hands with his blood.”

“…I understand.”

“Then handle it as you see fit. Is anyone outside?”

“Did you call, Kakant?”

“Take Ian and the others with you.”

The knight felt uneasy but was too exhausted to notice the difference between Ian and “Sir Ian.”

Kakantir and his men led the way to Ian’s tent. A nod opened the flap.

“Sir Ian, awake?”

“Kakant.”

His golden hair still gleamed, green eyes bright, and his slightly tanned skin made him look healthier.

The knight rested his hand on his sword’s hilt.

“The others want to kill you.”

“As expected.”

But then he hesitated. The chief’s words defied the knight’s expectations. He thought they’d order Ian dragged out immediately.

The knight looked at Kakantir in confusion, but he kept his gaze fixed on Ian and Beric beside him.

“Didn’t we promise to teach your red-haired subordinate everything about being a warrior?”

“Ah, yes.”

“A warrior is one who walks the path of death and survives. When we spar, there are limits—unless there’s hostility.”

Combat power needed a spark to ignite. To ascend to a higher level, everything had to be burned away.

And that included life and death.

“The conditions are perfect. There’s clear hostility, and above all, since he’s a knight of Derga, his skills must be recognized even in Bariel.”

To Kakanthir, it seemed laughable, but it was true. Being granted a knighthood meant you were officially acknowledged to some extent. It meant surviving battles against all kinds of monsters and proving yourself in wars against foreign forces.

“Chief, what exactly is this…?”

“You want to kill Ian, so I’m personally laying out the stage for you.”

There was something the knight didn’t know. Despite that, they treated him like a fool. Gripped by an inexplicable sense of humiliation, he clenched the sword’s hilt tightly and glared at Ian.

His nape was fully exposed—perfect for a clean cut.

“Hah. I see. Then, excuse me.”

The knight let out a short, bitter laugh and lunged at Ian. There was no time to waste. With Derga detained, he had to return quickly to assist his master.

Clang!

At that moment, Beric swung his sword and deflected the knight’s blade. Sparks flew like a fleeting illusion as Beric lowered his stance, ready to defend.

“Ah.”

Ian blinked, scratched his cheek, and looked up at the knight. Then his gaze slowly shifted toward Beric. Even from behind, his face was clear—an expression that screamed he was itching for a fight.

“…If you want to kill me, you’ll have to get through Beric first.”

“……?!”

Though they had trained rolling in the sand dunes with the Cheollyeo tribe, they weren’t sure if they could handle a knight. Many of the palace knights were magic swordsmen like Beric.

The author didn’t know either. Who knew what abilities they might have.

“This should be interesting. Well then, I’m counting on you.”