Episode 56
They weren’t ignorant of magic like Beric. These were people who worked closely with the Magic Department in the capital, handling state affairs. There was no way they didn’t understand the meaning behind that sudden gleam in his eyes.
Molin and his group stared at Ian with slightly parted lips, the silence broken only by Romandro’s hiccup.
“Hic So, you’re saying that you…”
“They call me a magic wielder,” Ian said.
“When did this happen…?”
“I don’t know. It’s a power that’s been with me naturally for a very long time.”
This was a disaster. Molin pressed his dry, twig-like fingers to his forehead. What he had seen before wasn’t an illusion after all. Mac and D’Gor, equally stunned, covered their mouths in disbelief.
“Right now, I can only sense and release the flow of magic, but someday, I want to become a true force for Bariel.”
“Of course! Naturally! Well, I never thought I’d see a magic wielder outside the Magic Department! Ha ha!”
And that magic wielder was the illegitimate son of a count who had been executed!
Romandro instinctively realized that Ian was at the center of everything—the accusations, the punishments, and his actions since arriving at the estate. For someone so young, he seemed extraordinary, and now it was clear why.
“May I shake your hand?”
“Pardon? Ha ha, it’s an honor.”
It was a trivial superstition—that meeting a magic wielder before they officially earned the title of mage would bring good luck. Romandro and Ian shook hands again, and with each passing moment, Molin’s expression grew more sour.
‘What am I going to do now?’
Ian’s humble origins no longer mattered. Given how Kacantir looked, it was obvious he already knew.
‘Judging by how openly he’s showing off in front of Romandro…’
It was clear Ian had no intention of returning to the Great Desert. He seemed set on staying in Bariel, and now that everyone knew he was a magic wielder, Ian held all the cards.
Look at Romandro’s flushed, beaming face.
“Let’s discuss the details over dinner. You must be tired from your journey. It’s best to rest first.”
“Ah, would that be alright?”
“I’ll prepare rooms for your men.”
“Thank you. Riding in a carriage for two weeks straight isn’t easy.”
After getting a general sense of the situation, Romandro stretched his stiff body. They could take their time discussing the schedule and the fate of the illegitimate son later.
Though, really, what was there to discuss? He’d likely be updated on the reconstruction efforts instead.
“Could you come with me for a moment?”
Just as they were about to leave, Molin muttered quietly. Ian glanced at Kacantir and sat back down.
“Romandro, we’ll see you at dinner.”
“Ah, yes. Of course…”
“This way…”
Creak.
Only Molin’s group remained in the parlor. Silence hung heavy. Molin wished Ian would explain himself and show some goodwill, but Ian gave no sign of doing so. Unable to hold back, Mac spoke up.
“What are you doing?”
“Doing what?”
“What do you mean, ‘doing what’? I’m asking why you’re making things so complicated.”
“What’s so complicated? I gave you a letter of betrayal, and in return, you granted me freedom. We never agreed on anything beyond that.”
Clatter.
Molin slammed his teacup down and retorted.
“Didn’t I ask you back then if you knew anything about magic? You said you didn’t. Now it seems you’re after the Bratz estate. If you’d been honest then, none of this would have gotten so tangled.”
If they’d known Ian was a magic wielder, they would’ve tried to install him as a puppet lord instead of Erika. Though illegitimate, he had earned his freedom, and more importantly, despite his low birth, his abilities were rare. They could have paved a path for him.
“Am I obligated to be honest?”
Ian, who had been quietly listening, shot back. It might have sounded arrogant, but it was a question born of pure curiosity.
“My choice back then was the best I could make. Now, no matter what Lord Molin says, it doesn’t concern me.”
Besides, these people followed Prince Gale II. They were scheming to seize the borderlands through rebellion, but Ian, who had led Bariel with the legitimate bloodline, would never side with them.
They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t grasp what it meant to plot treason. But Ian didn’t expect them to.
“What do you want?”
“I’m asking you. What do you want?”
The conversation began to unravel. Two parties each believing they held the upper hand, trying to find common ground.
“…I mean, no. We want to make Captain Erika the lord. If you truly can’t give up the position, then let’s find a compromise—”
“Appointing a lord is the emperor’s prerogative. How can you speak so disrespectfully? Besides, it would be better to find someone else. Captain Erika’s reputation in the estate is quite poor.”
Knock knock.
“Ian, a letter has arrived from Merellof.”
“Alright. I’ll be right there.”
Ian decided the conversation with Molin was pointless and stood without hesitation at the servant’s call.
“You three must be tired. Please rest. But since you’re from the palace, I’ll make sure everything is prepared properly.”
Creak, slam!
Molin’s group exchanged incredulous laughs as they watched the door close behind him. Yet no one could suggest a way to turn the situation around. Ian’s offense and defense were rock solid.
—To His Highness Prince Marib, this is Romandro.
I have just arrived and surveyed the estate. Surprisingly, its condition is good. There are still houses to rebuild, but few sleep on the roads, and the people smile often.
However, something unexpected: instead of Captain Erika, Ian, the illegitimate son of Derga, is stationed here with the Chilly Tribe. I was taken aback but found him friendly to the palace and genuinely committed to reconstruction. I will attach a detailed report separately.
Overall progress is satisfactory. Additionally, I must note that Ian is a magic wielder. Molin insists he should be reduced to slavery under the law, but that is utterly unreasonable. I will prioritize—
Knock knock.
Romandro paused mid-sentence as a servant appeared, the scent of food wafting in.
“Dinner is ready.”
“Very well. I’ll come down.”
Romandro descended to the dining room below. The neatly arranged dishes arrived on silver trays. He surveyed them first with his eyes: fresh vegetables and fruits were scarce; mostly preserved cuts of meat.
‘Supply lines haven’t normalized yet.’
It was the blazing heat of summer. The labor of the estate’s people was needed, but many had died, and the survivors stared helplessly at ruined fields. Moreover, with the central army and survey teams stationed here, stored food must have been quickly depleted.
“Does everyone in the manor eat like this?”
“Ah… Is there something you prefer? The advisor’s men were served the same.”
“Just curious. And Ian?”
“He ate earlier. A letter came from a neighboring estate.”
Judging by the response, this was the usual fare. Romandro picked up his fork to stave off hunger. If things were worse, they might have eaten on the floor. Such was the reality where war’s bloodshed had reached. Yet here he was, enjoying a warm dinner at a table!
‘Lucky. Hmm. Good!’
Just as he was finishing, Ian entered the room.
“Romandro, is the meal to your liking?”
“Oh, welcome. How is Lord Molin?”
“He’s eating in his room as well.”
Romandro feigned ignorance of the thick documents Ian carried. Ian smiled and sat nearby. Servants quickly cleared the empty dishes.
“Please refer to these as you proceed.”
“Let me see. Hmm. Maps and status reports.”
“We’ve compiled detailed lists of repairs and regional information.”
The advisor scanned the map and asked, “You said a letter came from a neighboring estate?”
“During the height of the fighting, we kept the outer gates firmly closed to avoid entanglements. But now, we’re exchanging letters little by little.”
“More than anything, we should secure crops that can be harvested before winter. What’s the status of food supplies?”
“The central support troops consumed a lot. We’re emptying the manor’s stores, but soon they’ll be completely depleted.”
Ian handed over another document.
“Therefore, I propose that this winter’s central tax collection be reduced to about 30% of the usual yield.”
“As I said, my goal is to keep it equal to the usual yield.”
Romandro was a bit surprised. Though he was managing the manor’s affairs, he hadn’t expected Ian to discuss taxes with such a practical mindset. At only sixteen, the illegitimate son of a borderland estate grasped concepts beyond his years.
“Based on the property declarations from the estate’s people, this year’s yield is about half of last year’s. Also, the manor must pay wages to a few servants and compensation to the Chilly Tribe. Calculations show 30% is appropriate.”
Ian explained as he flipped to the next page. The decision was backed by clear evidence—dozens of lines of text and formulas confirmed it.
“But you won’t adjust your target?”
“That’s unfortunate. If the central government waived taxes just this year, we could manage up to 50%…”
“Did you calculate all this yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the illegitimate son of a commoner, aren’t you?”
“Before crossing the Great Desert, there was a designated teacher assigned to oversee the peace negotiations.”
Still… this was—
Good enough to be put straight to work without any issues. Romandro couldn’t help but admire the thoroughness as he continued to scrutinize the documents. He took a sip of the wine his attendant had poured.
“…It can’t be helped. There’s a backup plan. I brought a letter from Merelrof. Please have a look.”
“Hm?”
Taking the letter, Romandro couldn’t suppress a chuckle. It outlined a way to procure food supplies from a neighboring territory.
Romandro’s lips twitched in approval at Ian’s swift and decisive handling. If things went well, they might even see the first snow of Bariel this year from the capital.
“I asked Count Merelrof to sell us food, and he replied that he would send a list of available items and prices. Essential staples like wheat and corn are in short supply on their end as well, so prices are expected to be a bit higher than usual…”
Romandro found himself nodding unconsciously as Ian explained.
“…In any case, we need to trade with them. Our estate funds are nearly depleted, so we can only afford enough supplies to last the villagers about a week.”
“Ah, don’t worry about that.”
The advisor had come down from the central government to help stabilize public sentiment. While he couldn’t adjust taxes for fairness, he had brought support funds with him. He tapped the table decisively.
“We can cover up to two months. That should be enough to get things back to normal by winter, right?”
“Do you know how much that amount is…?”
Ian asked, but Romandro only took another sip of wine. A silent refusal to disclose the figure. Given that this was the only real leverage Romandro held, it was understandable.
“Then I’ll convey our intentions to Merelrof.”
“Do that.”
“Let me just organize things for a moment…”
Ian signaled to his attendant and stepped out of the dining room. Turning down the corridor, he found Kakhantir, Nersarn, and their men waiting. Beric was there as well.
Ian spoke first.
“We have a problem.”