Episode 4

“It’s been an honor meeting you today, Lord Ian.”

At the front gate, the carriage that Mollin had arrived in waited patiently. The elderly man doffed his hat in greeting, and a servant promptly brought over his cane. Ian placed a hand over his chest in return, showing his respect.

“Despite the breach of protocol, your kind words will surely bring great joy to my father.”

His movements were formal and graceful—perfectly composed, like a tutor in royal etiquette overseeing a noble’s conduct. Mollin smiled again, looking down into the child’s eyes. His deep green irises were as clear and bright as glass beads.

“Lord Ian, you truly care for the Count.”

Was he sincere? No.

It was a question disguised as praise—ambiguous, perhaps mocking, or maybe just probing. Mollin’s gaze expected a response, but Ian had no intention of feeding the old man’s ego.

“Please travel safely.”

With a faint, ambiguous smile, Ian offered the bare minimum of courtesy.

Not knowing the true meaning behind the words, he could only respond in kind. Mollin seemed even more intrigued by Ian’s attitude.

“Then, I shall see you next week.”

The formal induction process wouldn’t be completed in a single day.

It would take four sessions, spaced a week apart—about a month of these meetings with Mollin. Only after that would a report be sent to the capital, and then a courier would take another two weeks to deliver the response.

In any case, barring unforeseen events, Ian had at least two months to prepare. He exhaled in relief, confirming the time he’d been granted. His instincts for swift, precise action were well ingrained.

“Very well. Farewell.”

The coachman opened the door for Mollin. The old man locked eyes with Ian through the small window until the carriage disappeared from sight.

Only then did the full view of the Bratz Count’s estate come into focus.

“For a border count, it’s quite old-fashioned.”

“Lord Ian, shall I escort you to your room?”

“No, I think I should return to the parlor.”

A servant standing behind asked cautiously, but Ian shook his head. He needed to check on Chel’s situation.

He still hadn’t fully grasped the circumstances and couldn’t predict what his own strength might bring about.

So he had to see for himself.

He needed to see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears.

“You may go ahead.”

“Yes, understood. But, Lord Ian—”

Ian turned at the servant’s call. The hesitant face looked familiar—the same child who had endured Chel’s tantrum in the parlor.

“Is your hand all right?”

The servant held up a slightly swollen back of his hand and bowed. It wasn’t properly treated, but the heat seemed to have subsided.

“…Thank you.”

“No need.”

As if it were no great kindness.

Once the servant rounded the corner and disappeared, Ian looked down at his own hand. There was something he needed to confirm.

“I can feel the magic.”

They said magic resonated with the soul, not the body. Even in this unfamiliar vessel, he could still summon power. It was disorienting, since he had no prior experience with this body…

“But at least that’s a relief.”

Though it couldn’t compare to his original form, with training, he could wield magic much more easily. Even in the worst case, as long as he had magic, he would be safe.

Knock knock.

Ian reached the parlor and knocked on the door just as he was about to enter.

Inside, instead of the Count’s family, he heard the chatter of unfamiliar servants. They were probably cleaning the messy floor.

“Oh dear. What on earth happened?”

“Tell me about it. Seventeen years old and acting like this.”

“Shh, be quiet. The lady told us not to say a word. She said it’s a matter of honor, so be careful.”

“I’d believe it more if Lord Ian had made the mistake. Last time, the young Viscount fainted after having his hair pulled. When I heard it was pee, I thought maybe this time he got his hair pulled again!”

Laughter rang out clearly among the servants. Ian hid his presence at the door and listened. It sounded like they’d been holding him down like a rat. Tsk tsk.

“But when I saw him leaving the garden today, I was really surprised. His posture was so proper, he looked even more elegant than the lady.”

“He was just on his best behavior because there were guests. Otherwise, would the Count have let it slide? No way. Judging by how shiny his hair is, there’s definitely some noble blood mixed in.”

“But his mother isn’t a courtesan, right? Why say noble blood?”

“Exactly. If you think about it, it’s the Count’s fault. Why would he touch a well-off woman?”

“Well-off? Living off sucking his thumb?”

Creak.

Ian knew it was no use listening any longer and opened the door. The servants, caught mid-gossip, froze.

“…Um, Lord Ian?”

“Where are my parents and brother?”

Should he demand an explanation or not?

Though the servants were polite and respectful, everyone knew Ian’s lowly origins—and that he was soon to be sold to the Cheonryeo tribe.

“Should I ask again?”

“Ah! I’m sorry! The lady and young Master Chel have returned to their rooms, and the Count went to the front gate with the butler.”

If he went to the front gate, it was probably to see Mollin off, albeit belatedly. Things had been too chaotic—sending only Mollin and Ian after the grown son’s mistake.

They were clearly worried about what kind of trouble the sly old man might cause.

“The paths have crossed.”

“I understand.”

Ian closed the door calmly. The servants sighed in relief and scolded a woman.

“Oh, really! Bella! Your mouth is your problem.”

“Pfft. So what? She’s just a girl who’ll be sold in a couple of months.”

“You don’t watch your tongue? Want to get scolded?”

The Count was particularly sensitive about this. They were in the middle of a major identity cover-up for Ian to secure peace.

Even if the Imperial Palace didn’t care much, if the Cheonryeo tribe found out, who knew what trouble it would cause? That was why all the household staff treated Ian with such care.

“Father.”

Ian spotted Count Derga returning from the far end of the corridor. His face was deeply furrowed as he approached.

“Has Lord Mollin left?”

“Yes. I saw the carriage depart.”

“What did you talk about on the way?”

“Nothing special. Just some casual conversation. He mentioned young Master Chel’s mistake briefly, but it was just a worried concern.”

At the mention of Chel, Derga frowned even more, clearly frustrated. Ian took note of the reaction. It was obvious Chel had kept quiet about the golden eyes.

“…Prepare the carriage.”

The Count, feeling the pressure rising, ordered the butler. Then he took a jade pipe to his lips and exhaled a harsh plume of tobacco smoke, regardless of the child’s presence.

Suddenly, he asked,

“How did you know about Viscount Phyurn?”

It was a question that had come up during lunch. After all, it was surprising that a lowly illegitimate child knew of a scholar in the capital that even Derga himself hadn’t heard of. Ian made up a vague answer without hesitation.

“I overheard someone in the household mention it.”

“Whose words?”

“I don’t know the name.”

He was a newcomer to the estate, after all.

The excuse seemed plausible enough, and Derga filled in the blanks himself.

“Chel’s tutor, perhaps? I heard he graduated from Bariel University.”

It wasn’t a critical detail.

Derga lowered his voice deliberately.

“Don’t make mistakes next week. If you spill finger bowl water again, I’ll dunk your head in the mop bucket.”

Ian guessed this was a reprimand for a mistake made before he fully possessed the body. He nodded without comment. Derga held the smoke in his mouth and studied Ian silently.

“Hmm.”

He definitely resembled his mother—his face was worth looking at. When he first arrived, he was snotty and cried all day, so there was no chance to see him properly. Ian hadn’t even wanted to.

“Why do you look like that?”

If his background was properly sorted, he’d be a welcome match for the Cheonryeo tribe. And he was only sixteen. He might even marry into the chieftain’s family. Though no one knew what would happen once he crossed the border.

Either way, if handled well, it could help formalize the alliance.

“Forget your brother’s mistake today.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was embarrassing enough for the household staff, but if the Cheonryeo tribe found out? The dignity of the next border count would be ruined. As Derga nearly finished his cigarette, the butler appeared with a coat.

“Count, everything is ready.”

“Go.”

And with that, the Count turned away coldly.

Ian watched from the window as he climbed into the carriage. The servants didn’t even see him off, confirming it was a secretive departure.

“Tch.”

What a worthless man. Ian wiped the thoughts from his mind and turned away. First, he needed to map out the entire estate in his head. Or meet with Chel and get things under control.

As he wandered through the vast mansion, he eventually reached the central kitchen. The servants and their families were gathered in small groups, eating leftovers from the backyard.

“Lord Ian?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing much. Just out for a walk.”

How strange. Usually, he wouldn’t step outside even if the house was on fire. As the servants picked at the scraps, Ian frowned faintly.

“They’re not livestock. Why are they eating leftovers…?”

In Bariel, this would never happen. Except in the poorest slums, who would eat discarded food?

Apart from the overall improvement in living standards, ever since the outbreak of the saliva-transmitted plague, this habit had become taboo even in the slums.

Yet, at the Bratz Count’s estate, it seemed perfectly normal—no hesitation at all.

“Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

“Hey! How dare you speak so rudely to the young master!”

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s alright.”

The homeland of the Cheollyeo tribe lay in the heart of the scorching desert.

The Bratz domain, being the closest territory, was also affected, making the land comparatively barren. Farmland was scarce.

And yet, because it was a border region, how many soldiers were stationed there? The balance between supply and demand had long been broken, so the lower ranks were always starving.

“Then please, eat up.”

“Yes, thank you. Please, go ahead.”

Ian stepped aside to let them eat comfortably. But the more he thought about it, the more something felt off. A sense of disconnect, perhaps? Given the vast temporal gap between Emperor Ian’s era and this time, it was understandable, but even so, something seemed missing.

‘What is it? What feels empty…?’

“Um, Ian-nim.”

At that moment, someone called to him from behind. It was a girl his age with braided black hair—one of the household members who had been eating earlier.

“What is it?”

“Well, I’m planning to go to the market in an hour.”

…Why was she telling him this? Ian smiled kindly and racked his brain.

What could it be? Could it be that Ian was also responsible for the market errands? Even adults found restocking the estate’s groceries difficult.

“Um, is there a message you want me to pass on to your mother…?”

“Oh.”

The girl fiddled with her fingers, and Ian caught her meaning. She must have been delivering greetings to his birth mother every time she went out. Since she couldn’t read or write, she had to rely on word of mouth.

‘So that means I’m not allowed to leave the estate.’

He was a precious bargaining chip for peace. Until the Cheollyeo tribe arrived, he probably wouldn’t be able to step outside the Bratz estate on his own. With just a single sentence, the girl reminded Ian of the shackles binding his feet.