Episode 60

As he grew older, the Emperor found himself craving freshness more and more. Remodeling his bedroom was part of that desire. One wall had been replaced with glass, allowing him to gaze upon the evergreen garden all year round. Sometimes, he would sit so still it seemed as if he had passed away right there. Marib felt that way now.

“Father?”

The Emperor turned his head with a gentle smile at his son’s voice. Deep wrinkles carved into his face only added to the kindness radiating from him.

“Did you call me?”

“Yes, Marib. You seem busier than ever these days.”

“As always. It’s summer, after all.”

Marib sat down naturally before his father. This was a private moment, a personal summons. Watching the Emperor’s expression carefully, he asked, “Is something the matter?”

“No… It’s just been too long since I last saw your face.”

“That’s sudden.”

“Marib.”

“Yes, Father?”

“Is there anything going on with Gale?”

It was an open secret that the Emperor cared deeply for Gale. Marib knew this, but the Emperor never mentioned Gale’s name in front of him—a deliberate choice for the sake of succession and family.

“No, nothing at all. Why do you ask?”

“I had a dream last night. Carolina appeared.”

Unlike Marib, who was the Queen’s legitimate son, Gale was the child of the first concubine. She was rumored to be from some obscure noble family, but had risen through the ranks on the strength of her beauty alone.

“Someone who never appears in my dreams showed up….”

The Emperor’s voice was thick with emotion. Marib swallowed a sigh inwardly. He wished he had used work as an excuse not to come. The Emperor averted his gaze, hiding his expression as best he could.

A lone peach tree stood quietly in the distance.

“She handed me a peach. Then, tearfully, she asked me to call for Gale.”

“Father.”

“If there’s no problem, then that’s enough.”

The Emperor tapped Marib’s hand lightly, ending the conversation abruptly. Even with his kind smile, the Emperor’s proud manner of communication remained unchanged. Marib nodded and left his father’s bedroom.

Creak.

“Prince Marib?”

When Marib didn’t move after stepping outside, his aide called out in confusion. The prince approached the line of servants.

“Is everything in order with His Majesty’s bedroom?”

“Yes? Yes, Prince Marib.”

“Then why does His Majesty’s sleep seem so troubled?”

“Pardon?”

The servant seemed to hear this for the first time. Just as he was about to ask back, Marib struck his cheek in an instant.

Smack!

“If I hear such talk again, I will have the heads of everyone responsible.”

“I—I will remember.”

Though neither father nor son realized it, they were cut from the same cloth—warm as spring one moment, then suddenly chilling without warning. The servants exhaled in relief once Marib’s shadow disappeared.

“Is today’s schedule finished?”

“Yes, Your Highness. But you should go to the study, not the bedroom.”

“Schedule’s done, you say?”

Marib frowned, and the aide quickly added, “A dispatch arrived from Romandro.”

“I’ll check it tomorrow. I’m tired today.”

“But the report is rather shocking…”

Marib knew well how his superior must have felt after dealing with the Emperor. But among the group accompanying him was Morin. This meant Gale would find out too, not just Marib.

“Keep it brief.”

He meant to hear it first, then decide. The aide summarized the report concisely, as requested.

“Ian, the illegitimate son of Derga, has rebuilt and taken control of Bratz with the Cheonryeo tribe. Commander Erica has left the territory.”

“…What?”

“And that man is a magic user.”

Marib stopped walking and looked back at the aide. The aide’s expression pleaded innocence—no lies in the report.

“This is a disaster.”

“Indeed.”

“Let’s go to the study.”

“Yes, I’ll prepare.”

Marib clenched his jaw and tied his hair back in a single knot. The full moon hung high that night.

---

The day after the full moon.

In the back alleys of the Merelrof territory tavern, strange news spread easily.

“What? They’ll pay you in gold coins if you bring Gula to Bratz?”

“Hey, keep it down! Who knows who might be listening.”

“Why on earth? What do they want with weeds?”

“Who knows? Those barbarians are impossible to understand. Even Logan from the Red Brick House brought six sacks and got two gold coins.”

“There’s a deadline, but the nearby forests are already picked clean. You’ll have to go deep to gather more.”

“Unbelievable. I never thought I’d hear of someone paying for weeds. Crazy.”

“Who cares? It’s good for us. My wife’s been nagging for meat lately.”

Though everyone hushed their voices to keep the Gula gathering secret, hardly any of the lower-class Merelrof residents were unaware. The same went for the people of Bratz.

“What? Gula?”

“There’s a notice. One gold coin for every three sacks.”

“Isn’t that a waste of money?”

“They won’t say why!”

Despite their confusion, they fulfilled Ian’s request thoroughly. They roamed the mountains and fields, stuffing the Gula they usually trampled underfoot into sacks and hauling them to the manor. Day by day, the piles of Gula seeds in the warehouse grew so high they nearly touched the ceiling.

“How many sacks now?”

“Forty-nine.”

“Faster than expected.”

Ian watched with satisfaction as he moved on. In the restricted garden behind the manor, research on cultivating Gula was underway. Though it grew well in all harsh conditions except cold, there had to be an optimal way to cultivate it.

Since Ian had never grown it himself, research was the only option.

“There’s almost no difference in growth speed between those watered heavily and those not. We might need to try different soil.”

“Then we should bring some dirt from the riverbank over there.”

“Ian! Look! The sprouts have already come up!”

Hana and Romandro’s men, dirt-covered, stood and reported to Ian. The sprouts were tiny, barely the size of a finger joint. Ian smiled and patted Hana’s shoulder.

“Good work.”

“Oh, Romandro ate some Gula again earlier. Ian, you should say something.”

“Again? I told him clearly yesterday.”

“He must have thought no one would see.”

Since that day, Romandro had been snatching Gula at every meal. Ian had to ask him to restrain himself. One seed could produce more than ten new Gula plants… Ian was almost ready to tell him to just eat meat instead.

“Alright. I’ll talk to him again.”

Ian said this and left the garden. He planned to grow as much Gula as possible before winter. It would probably be the most abundant year-end the people of Bratz had ever seen.

“What are you thinking about?”

Beric, who had been following behind, walked ahead and asked Ian. Before Ian could answer, Beric snapped his fingers and answered for him.

“Let me guess. You were thinking about the old man? It’s been so quiet all of a sudden. Too quiet.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right.”

Ian briefly wondered who the old man was, then realized he meant Morin.

“They said he’s not coming out?”

“Two of his men are running around here and there, but it’s been a while since anyone saw the old man. They say he’s eating well, though.”

They had attached a magic stone brooch to the bed in their room. Ian had planned to retrieve it during cleaning, but since the room was never empty, he kept postponing it. It was about time to get it back.

“Tell Romandro that we’ll all eat together today.”

“All together? What if someone refuses?”

“Say it’s mandatory because we’ll hold a meeting. And retrieve the magic stone while we’re at it.”

Beric nodded and stepped back.

They might have heard the rumors about Gula. Even if they knew, Ian needed to officially inform the palace envoys—specifically Morin’s group—of the plan. It seemed Romandro and Morin were each writing their own reports.

Knock, knock.

“Ian, you’re in.”

“Welcome, Ian.”

It was just before lunch, so everyone gathered quickly. Unlike Romandro, who stood to greet him lightly, Morin’s group held their heads high, clearly displeased.

“The sun is bright today.”

“What’s this about?”

“Nothing much. It’s just been a while since I saw our guests’ faces. I wanted to check if there were any inconveniences, and also to share some news.”

By calling Morin’s group “guests,” Ian made their positions clear. This was his domain.

Mac muttered sarcastically under his breath.

“You look busy. Sure.”

“Oh, did Romandro tell you?”

At Ian’s question, Mac and Dorgor’s faces twisted. If Romandro considered them equals, he would have shared the discovery of Gula.

But they were treated like unwelcome visitors, hearing nothing. Ian’s silence order was for the household, not Romandro.

“Ahem. Not yet.”

“Oh, excuse me.”

Romandro winked his left eye and coughed awkwardly. Just as Mac was about to say something, the dining room door opened and food was brought in.

“Since the report needs to be presented to Lord Mollin at the center, I wanted to bring it up. It’s nothing grand, really. I’ve discovered a new crop to get us through the winter.”

Nothing grand, he said. Beric, who had been listening quietly from the corner, stifled a chuckle. He could clearly picture Bariel going on and on with Romandro about the great famine. While Ian was talking with the three men, Beric gave a subtle nod to the servants nearby.

“A crop? You’re not talking about Gula, are you?”

“So you’ve heard.”

“Of course. There’s no way I wouldn’t. The rumor’s everywhere that the estate is paying good money for the most worthless weed in the world. People even come from Merellof for it—anyone in Bratz, even the deaf, knows about it.”

Mack’s voice rose a little, sounding a bit excited. But when Lord Mollin shot him a warning glance, he bit his lip and fell silent.

“Then, do you know why?”

Before Mack could answer, D’Gor cut in. His tone was low and measured, though he couldn’t quite hide his hostility.

“Know what?”

“Why people in Bratz are paying for a weed.”

“I’m curious. What are they saying?”

“That Ian plans to sell the estate, drained of subsidies, to the Chenryo tribe.”

“Oh? That’s a new one.”

Ian smiled lightly. It wasn’t entirely without merit. If the advisors and the palace’s influence were pushed out and Bratz collapsed, the biggest beneficiary would be the Chenryo tribe.

“But if that were the plan, he’d have shown his hand the moment the lords arrived. Why would he let the food supplies rot?”

“What did you say? Rot?”

“Mack, lower your voice.”

“And he wouldn’t be working so hard to rebuild either. Whoever’s spreading these baseless rumors should be told they’re insulting both their allies and me—and will be severely punished.”

Ian fixed Mack and D’Gor with a steady gaze. The peasants struggling just to survive might have questions, but they wouldn’t be rebellious. For one, the Chenryo tribe and Ian had a fairly good relationship, and more importantly, the estate’s ruin wouldn’t mean their own.

So what’s changed just because Derga died?

It was clear the rumors were coming from Mack and D’Gor. At Ian’s warning, Mollin, who had been silent, finally spoke.

“…Do you even understand how people see Gula?”

Because it’s poisonous, common folk pull it out whenever they see it. Maybe that’s why, in the city, Gula only grows in filthy places—where garbage piles up or in neglected sewers.

“I know that well enough, but since Lord Romandro enjoys eating it, I’m sure everyone else will like it too.”

He added a faint smile, tinged with regret.

“But, Lord Mollin, don’t you remember? We’ve talked about this before.”