Chapter 411

Ian wiped the sweat from his brow and brought a cool sip of water to his lips. His strength had drained so completely that even swallowing felt like a struggle, but just the chill of the water was a small comfort.

He glanced down at his hands, still stained despite the servants’ efforts to clean them with damp cloths. Here and there, traces of the enemy’s blood clung stubbornly.

“…”

And then there was the magic—so fierce it had nearly drowned out those deaths.

Ian covered his eyes with his arm and let out a weary sigh. The path he was walking felt rough and dizzying. What exactly was the god watching? How far had he unknowingly come, and what kind of road lay ahead?

His thoughts drifted to the annex where he had spent time with Naum. On days like this, it would be nice to sit by the large window and read a book. With someone comfortable, like the air itself, simply being together.

“Iaaan!”

Crash! Bang!

Even from the far end of the hallway, Ian recognized the voice instantly. Beric. The young man came tumbling in, flung open the door, and dashed toward the bed.

Ian barely turned his head to look at him. Despite the commotion, there was no tension—just the usual, familiar energy.

“What is it?”

“They’re here. Weird ones.”

“The Atan tribe?”

“Yeah. The curly-haired chief is on his way up.”

Did Beric realize that he himself was included among those “weird ones”? Ian raised an eyebrow and asked.

“Beric, when you faced off against Efdiram, did you sense anything unusual?”

The Atan tribe was a race that awakened and manifested powers. Thanks to Jarrett’s investigation, it was almost certain that Beric was Atan, even if he hadn’t realized it himself. That was both a problem and a relief.

Beric crossed his arms and snorted.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What did you feel?”

“A little overwhelming, but manageable.”

“…”

“I just wish I had a bit more muscle.”

Ian narrowed his eyes and smiled. What had he been expecting?

Footsteps echoed behind the door Beric had burst through—countless steps overlapping. It seemed the mages were both escorting and keeping watch over Efdiram.

“Well? Still alive?”

Efdiram gave a casual salute as soon as he saw Ian and pulled up a chair. The mages behind him scowled in displeasure.

‘Annoying.’

Everyone seemed to share that sentiment.

Ian gave a subtle nod, silently asking what was going on, but Hale just scratched his nose awkwardly. The mages of the Bariel Empire couldn’t possibly be unaware of the “Chuswae” magic, and Efdiram had taken all their sarcastic remarks without flinching. They wanted to argue but couldn’t, so their expressions betrayed their frustration.

Efdiram chuckled and gestured toward the mages.

“Well, you’ll be around for a while. What use are these kids, all so clueless? Right, Minister Ian Hielo?”

“Who’s the one with you?”

“Oh, that’s my crew. The one who handles my messes. Want to know his name? Or is this how the Empire greets people?”

Efdiram glanced at Ian’s palm, clearly intrigued. So many questions swirled in his mind: Why had the Empire’s Minister of Magic used the Chuswae spell? Why had the artifact been Idgal’s? And why was Damon the one holding it?

But Efdiram didn’t expect an Empire official to hand over information so easily. Even if his curiosity was genuine, people from that side were never straightforward.

Ian shook his head lightly and extended his hand.

“This is how the Empire greets.”

“Oh, we do this too.”

“Have all your people entered the barrier?”

“No. Why would we trust them? Our folks are still outside.”

Efdiram leaned back in his chair. It was a natural choice to protect himself and his subordinates.

“Maybe we could talk over a meal?”

“I’ll bring the food myself. Judging by your condition, you probably can’t even stand. Besides, I’m picky about eating with strangers—I get sick.”

“Ha! What a joke.”

“Who said that?”

One of the mages snapped reflexively, and Efdiram spun around just as quickly. Ian took the moment to calmly sip his water.

Handling these people was easy. Their purpose was clear, so there was no division. On the surface, they seemed blindly loyal, leaving no cracks—but that very rigidity was their weakness. In other words, they could flexibly choose any path to achieve their goal.

Ian just needed to offer them a better option than Damon had.

He began.

“You saw King Damon captured, right?”

“Yeah. I have good eyesight.”

“Officially, Burgos has been defeated. There are still the northern minorities, including Luswena and your people, but that’s an unchanging fact. I don’t know what deal you made with Damon, but it’s been broken and can’t be fulfilled. You’d do well to recognize that first.”

“You don’t know what deal I made with Damon? Don’t try to probe me—I don’t like that.”

They planned to tear open a rift to unleash a flood of monsters, and the Atan tribe would cooperate, feasting on plenty of delicious blood.

It was obvious. The Atan, not being materialistic, valued primal satisfaction—whether psychological or physical fullness.

Ian continued, feigning ignorance.

“If you naturally break the contract with Burgos and return north, I won’t demand payment for your involvement. Furthermore, Bariel will strengthen its northern control through Burgos, and when that happens, you’ll be granted territory to roam freely. But you must keep your boundaries.”

“So you want to cage us like livestock?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“If you fence us in and say ‘live here,’ that’s exactly what livestock are.”

“Humans build fences around their boundaries and live their lives within them. Even if you’re Atan, you’re still human. It’s a natural way.”

Efdiram nodded silently, lost in thought. The mages focused on the back of his head, then a playful voice broke the silence.

“Alright, okay. Sounds good. If you keep rampaging, it might stir the rift and the remnants of Burgos might move unpredictably. It’s better for both of us if you go. And losing our people in the process? Ah, that would be too sad.”

They understood perfectly the influence the Atan could have in the current situation. Not strong enough to turn the tide, but enough to throw sand in the gears of a victory.

Especially the Empire’s Defense Department wanted a clean, perfect win. This was the Crown Prince’s first campaign appointment, and the outcome would determine the palace’s standing. Ian, as Bariel’s minister and a supporter of Jin, wanted that too.

“Right. Sad, isn’t it? Besides your ancestral lands in the north, do you want anything else?”

According to history, the Atan’s rise would be short-lived due to the flood of great monsters.

At the very least, Ian wanted to prepare some safeguards to minimize damage. The Atan were not easy to meet or negotiate with, so this was a rare opportunity.

“I do! Let’s have some meat.”

“Well, that’s humanitarian. Klipoford will provide plenty.”

One of Klipoford’s servants flinched and backed out of the room to inform Prince Noah. Beric barely managed to eat one day’s worth, so feeding the entire Atan tribe? The next year’s livestock was probably doomed.

The mages clicked their tongues, glaring daggers at Efdiram’s back. They wanted to starve him for this!

“And just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You’re the minister, so you know, right? The Chuswae magic. Why did it activate through that artifact at that exact moment? I’m so curious I can’t even eat.”

Efdiram grinned and looked back at the mages. See? You’re dying to know, aren’t you? Even if you never find out, I know—and I’m going to enjoy teasing you.

The mages swarmed forward, each shouting:

“Minister Ian, don’t say a word!”

“Yes. It’d be better if we joined forces and wiped out those Atan bastards. That’d be good for Klipoford’s cattle too.”

“You keep staring like that—do you think this is a playground? Did the Atan chief come to play?”

“Minister Ian, there’s no reason to share information. You’d be better off defeating someone like Beric and resting. We’ll handle the cleanup.”

“What? Someone like Beric? What’s that supposed to mean?”

The mages’ fierce protests escalated, and Beric jumped in, turning the room into chaos. Ian sighed quietly.

Idgal. And Damon. Both words that didn’t belong with the Minister of Magic, Ian. Any connection, even the slightest, would be a problem. And now they wanted him to keep it secret? The mages were too cautious to speak freely.

“Hey, if you’re jealous, just say so, you blockheads.”

“Wha—what?”

Efdiram snapped his fingers and called out one of the mages who had insulted Beric earlier.

“Come out, you who called Beric a bastard.”

“Yeah! That’s something I can’t stand either. You’re comparing me to that curly-headed idiot? And you still say we’re family?”

“Why would we be family? You’re with the Imperial Guard. We’re with the Magic Department. We don’t share the same table. Different jobs, different masters.”

“But Ian’s the one who feeds me, right? Who feeds you guys?”

“W-well, Ian does.”

“So what’s the difference?”

As Beric lunged at the wizard, grabbing him by the collar, Efdiram started clapping enthusiastically.

Ah, so that’s what’s been bugging me all along. Beric and the wizard both scowled and glared at her, but Efdiram just winked and added casually, “Or hey, maybe Beric here should just come with me.”

“What? You want me to?”

“What? You want him?”

Efdiram popped her gum, spat it on the floor, and shrugged.

“Seriously, you all don’t know? Or are you just pretending not to? Beric’s an Atan. His head’s still soft, he doesn’t even know what he is yet. I’ll take him and train him right. And if I get bored, I can use him to sharpen my blade.”

“You use blades… on people?”

“Maybe not. But I think Beric would make a good one.”

Efdiram burst out laughing, and the wizards shuffled forward, forming a barrier in front of Beric. They thought she was crazy before, but now it was clear she’d completely lost it.

“B-but Beric’s kind of useless.”

“Exactly. He looks tough, but he’s actually a handful. If you take him, he’ll just eat up all your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t take him either.”

“Isn’t that right, Ian? The kid’s a troublemaker, but you can’t just send him away. He’s got a good heart. Dumb, but good.”

No way they were letting Beric go. Just moments ago, these wizards were drawing lines between their ‘tables,’ but now they were tiptoeing around Ian, defending Beric. Beric poked his head through the crowd.

“Alright! Ian! I’ll eat less from now on!”

“How much less?”

“…I guess we’ll see when the time comes. But I don’t want to go! Try selling me off, and I’ll really bite.”

Efdiram gave Ian a pointed look, as if daring her to choose. Just as Ian was about to say something—

Tap, tap, tap!

“Um, Ian!”

A servant who had gone to deliver a message to Prince Noah hurried back, out of breath.

“There’s an urgent message from Bariel. It was sent personally by His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince. He insists that you receive it yourself…”