Chapter 412

Ian washed his stained hands clean with water.

The sudden death of the Crown Prince. As a minister, it was disrespectful to appear in such untidy attire, but given the wartime circumstances, it was understandable.

The messenger from Bariel recognized Ian. Instead of bowing his head, he gave a subtle nod. Carrying the Empire’s solemn message, it was only natural not to bow lightly to anyone.

Ian slowly bent at the waist, showing proper respect. Hale supported him from the side, and the mages watched anxiously. Only Efdiram and her followers looked on with mere curiosity, resting their chins as they gazed downward.

Snap.

“The Crown Prince has passed suddenly. I was ordered to deliver this directly to Minister Ian Hielo. State your name and affiliation.”

“I am Ian Hielo, Marquis and Minister of Magic. You have found the right person. I will bear His Highness’s command with the utmost gravity and fulfill his will.”

The messenger handed Ian a heavy sealed envelope, bound tightly with a wax seal and golden thread, making it impossible to see what was inside.

Having done his duty, the messenger finally returned to his official role and saluted Ian.

“Thank you for your efforts.”

“Is everything alright in Bariel?”

“Yes. The news that the Ministry of Magic was empty caused some unrest throughout the Imperial Capital, but it was overshadowed by the war. Bariel remains peaceful under your protection, and His Highness the Crown Prince is steady and unshaken. He also sends his personal encouragement to all. Please return safely.”

“And Romandro? Do you know him?”

“Yes. He’s been holding down the Ministry alone, handling all the work. He said he wishes you’d hurry back. The child is due soon, but he can’t even take parental leave.”

When a mage interjected with a question, the messenger replied with a light joke. The mages laughed, releasing a collective sigh of relief.

“He’ll be back soon. With King Burgos captured, the war is practically over.”

“Yes. You came on horseback, right? If you flew, we might have arrived first.”

“Should we buy some wine for Romandro? He’s been through a lot.”

“What? King Burgos captured? What are you saying?”

The messenger startled, instinctively placing a hand at his waist to jot down additional notes for his report.

Not just any news—an end to the war. The messenger realized he had arrived at the perfect moment. There was no need to send anyone else; he could return with this information himself.

The mages, proud, gathered around Ian, each chiming in.

“Ian captured King Damon alive during battle. There’s still room for negotiation with Luswena and the northern reinforcements, but with Damon caught, what choice is there? Right?”

One mage shouted up at Efdiram, who smiled brightly and gave a cheeky middle finger.

The messenger looked back and forth between the mage and Efdiram, puzzled. Who was this author? Surely not a Clifford.

“That’s the Burgos reinforcements I just mentioned. They’re from the north—the Atan tribe.”

“Ah, the Atan?”

“They have several commanders and a large number of northern minorities mobilized. I’m not telling you to worry, just stating facts. You just need to go up and deliver the victory news. Lucky you—what an honor.”

“Yes! There’s no greater honor. Truly, thank you all for your hard work.”

“The hard work isn’t ours. It’s our Ian here.”

Ta-da. The mages slowly gathered behind Ian, as if it were his turn to respond.

Ian smiled, fingers lightly tracing the tightly bound golden thread.

“What are you saying? Many have shed blood and tears. Messenger, you must leave immediately. I would offer you a meal if I could, but the whole of Bariel awaits this news. If you want to deliver the good news early, you must endure the hardship.”

“I was about to leave right after speaking. Don’t worry.”

“Then go. Give His Highness my regards.”

Snap!

The messenger smiled broadly and saluted, and the mages responded in unison with sharp hand gestures.

Ian slowly ascended the stairs, still holding the envelope. Hale tried to support him but was gently pushed away.

“Everyone, stay away from the windows. I will read His Highness’s urgent letter. Keep your eyes and ears away. I want to be alone.”

“As you command, Minister Ian.”

Efdiram glanced back at Ian as he passed. So, what about my proposal?

“Hey, Minister of Magic. You haven’t forgotten we were talking, right? Will you keep the secret about Idgal and Damon just between us, or will you hand over that bastard Beric?”

The messenger perked up at the mention. What was this about? A secret involving Idgal and Damon? Handing over Beric? Beric—the palace guard who pilfered the royal kitchen?

The messenger’s grip on the reins loosened. He wanted to hear more before leaving, but the Clifford soldier dragged the conversation on mercilessly, oblivious.

Neigh!

“I’ll go this way.”

“Ah, yes, yes. Let’s go.”

“Please be careful. Bariel truly appreciates Clifford’s support, and I hope this sentiment reaches your esteemed leader.”

Screech!

As the gate opened, the messenger finally saw the Burgos camp flying a white flag. Having ridden all night and taken a detour to avoid the main gate, he had no idea of the situation. He glanced once at the fluttering flag, then kicked his horse’s side with vigor.

“Chief Efdiram.”

Meanwhile, Ian gripped the door handle and called to Efdiram. Climbing the stairs had taken its toll; sweat dotted the back of his neck.

“I’m not obliged to accept your proposal just because you made it. I reject both conditions.”

“You reject? Really? Isn’t that a bit disappointing? If you just accept, I’ll handle things well. I’ll talk to my people, settle the north, and, well, make sure the red-headed brat gets fed regularly.”

Ian chuckled softly. Even he didn’t know all the details of this secret. But how could a mere northern chief dare to handle it? Especially the cost of feeding Beric.

Efdiram popped a new chew into her mouth and appraised Ian from head to toe. He looked barely able to stand, as if one cut would split him in two. How could he show no fear or hesitation?

To say they couldn’t share a future just a few steps apart from the Atan chief—did he not sense death?

“Efdiram. Quietly eat and leave. My first duty is to receive His Highness’s command. After that, I will speak with you again. But nothing will change. Your proposals are all unacceptable.”

She was much like Beric in mindset. Being blunt like this was probably more effective. Sure enough, Efdiram spat out her chew and scowled.

“You’re unlucky.”

“Oh, consider it an honor. You’re the first to say that to my face.”

“Honor my ass. Bring me some meat. I’ll chew on that and think it over again. Since the noble Minister of Bariel says all my proposals are no good, I have nothing left to say. Damn it.”

If you can think it over, then do. Ian shrugged and entered the room. Beric, hanging on the stair railing, shouted after him.

“I’m not for sale!”

“Oh, congratulations, Beric.”

“Ian says he won’t hand me over!”

Hale shot a warning glance, then flicked her fingers at Efdiram.

“Did you not hear Minister Ian’s order? No noise while he reads His Highness’s letter. Chief Efdiram, come down.”

“I’m coming without being told. I’m starving, so set the table! I’m still a guest here!”

“Shh! Quiet down!”

“Hey! You’re the noisy one!”

Click.

Ian locked the door and slowly untied the string. The seal was surely His Highness’s own handiwork—beautifully stamped. Ian smiled faintly as he opened the envelope.

Slide.

Inside was a thick sheet of paper with a note, handwritten by the Crown Prince himself. When did he develop such a mature handwriting? It bore a subtle refinement compared to the script Ian had seen during the appointment ceremony.

Ian,

Are you well? Thanks to you and the mages being on campaign, Bariel remains as it always is. I have so much to say, but your time in wartime is limited, so I’ll keep this brief. Please return safely so we can meet again. I’ve grown a little now, so it will be a good sight. I no longer look down, and you no longer need to look up. If you don’t believe me, come back early and see for yourself.

Ian smiled softly. Though he had only read the words, the Crown Prince’s voice echoed in his ears. Truly remarkable.

The back page was just as densely written. If this was the shortened version, there would be much to discuss upon his return.

—Timothy, who was once an envoy from Burgos, has naturalized and is currently residing in the palace. I trust you already know this. When Timothy crossed the border, he handed over to me the documents he had kept during his envoy mission—copies written in Burgos language, translated into Bariel’s common tongue. Roberside appeared in my dreams after a long time and insisted I deliver this to you personally.

Roberside sent this to Ian? The unexpected news made Ian frown.

Roberside was no mere illusion or figment of imagination. He was the one who stood by the future crown prince’s side within the demon-infested imperial palace, a guardian who foresaw both great and small futures. Yet, the tone of the letter was oddly negative, as if warning that trouble would arise if Ian didn’t receive it.

“To be honest, I still don’t fully understand what all this means. But Ian, I believe you will. You’ve always shown me the way forward.”

Rustle.

Ian carefully flipped through the pages, reading the text. It was a mix of what amounted to palace diaries—detailed accounts that hinted at Burgos’s political climate and internal affairs. Ian wondered why Roberside had revealed this to Jin; nothing particularly stood out.

Then, as Ian reached the final page, one word caught his eye.

‘Rutherford.’

The name Rutherford was deeply entwined with Idgal, and by extension, with Ian himself.

“…By King Damon’s orders, Gilberto and Longel were handed over to Rutherford.”

Gilberto and Longel? Were those people? Ian flipped back to confirm if they were nobles.

“…There have been claimants asserting they are sons of the late king—Gilberto and Longel. King Damon had them arrested and imprisoned, but he did not impose harsh punishment on those who defamed the late king or queen’s honor.”

Damon, after his return, had ‘created’ more siblings. Yet he handed them over to Rutherford? Why?

“Rutherford’s side demanded tens of kilograms of gold and silver, but the king granted it without question. As a result, the tax rates for local nobles rose by fifty percent.”

“King Damon unveiled a new magical sealing stone called Idgal to the palace’s high officials. It was said to have been acquired through Rutherford, but its effects remain unknown. The king declared it would bring a new future to Burgos.”

Rustle.

Ian suddenly recalled King Damon, who had longed for a third life. Could Rutherford be connected to the return? Or perhaps even the source that enabled it?

He thought of the binding magic that had been placed on him and sprang to his feet.

“If that’s the case…”

Could his current existence—once believed to be the will of the gods and the intent of Naum—actually be part of Rutherford’s design?

Gathering the documents together, Ian flung open the door.

“Bring Damon to me!”