Chapter 69

A grand carriage rolled confidently through the gates of the manor. It was similar to when the investigation team had stormed in before, but unmistakably different this time. Even a blind person from afar could tell it carried good news.

Curious, the villagers trailed behind the carriage along the road.

“What’s this? Another carriage from the capital?”

“No way! Could the investigation team have come back?”

“The flags are different this time. And doesn’t that carriage look way too fancy? I wonder what’s going on.”

“Carriages are always expensive, you fool.”

“Hey, it’s heading up to the manor!”

All the servants working inside rushed outside, and Ian dusted himself off as he made his way to the front gate.

Squeeeak.

Behind the massive, ornate carriage stretched a long procession. Palace soldiers stood at attention, their ceremonial swords gleaming. Their imposing presence silenced the crowd’s whispers.

An elderly woman stepped down from the carriage.

“Ah, it’s Administrator Chiellonia.”

Romandro recognized her immediately—she seemed to hold a position similar to Molin’s. Despite her deep wrinkles, her sharp eyes shone brightly. With graceful poise, she scanned the area and quickly spotted Ian.

“Are you Ian?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I bring a message from His Majesty the Emperor. Everyone, kneel.”

Ian lowered himself cautiously to one knee, and soon everyone in the manor followed suit. The woman’s dignified, steady voice began to read aloud the letter.

—The recommendation from Prince Marib Verosion, the First Prince, and Advisor Romandro has been approved by the council. In recognition of your outstanding service in rebuilding the territory and defending its borders, Ian is hereby appointed the new Count of the former Bratz territory. However…

At the mention of his appointment as lord, the servants instinctively lifted their heads, unaware of the protocol. The crowd outside did the same, straining to catch every word from the palace.

—Your status as the illegitimate son of Derga Bratz will remain an indelible mark under any circumstances. Therefore, we propose a conditional appointment. If you agree to remit to the palace the taxes Derga Bratz neglected to pay, along with the opportunity cost for improving your treatment, your new family’s honor will be secured for generations.

‘Hmm.’

Ian raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. In other words, it was a term-limited lordship. If he paid the tribute, he could keep his title without issue; if he failed, everything would fall under the palace’s control.

His status, and all the territory’s assets.

“That concludes His Majesty the Emperor’s message. There will be a formal investiture ceremony at the palace at year’s end. If you agree, please come to the capital on the appointed day.”

The investiture ceremony would grant him a new family name and officially declare his family’s seal. Ian nodded lightly.

“Was there any mention of the tribute period?”

“It will be one year from the date of the ceremony, with a total repayment of 10,000 gold coins.”

“Ugh!”

An unknown servant gasped. None of them had ever heard of such a sum before—how could they possibly raise that? And that was on top of the usual taxes.

Chiellonia rolled up the letter and handed it to Ian.

“You do have the right to refuse.”

“That’s out of the question. It’s the Emperor’s command, after all.”

It really was out of the question. The letter mentioned “opportunity cost for improving treatment,” which likely meant reducing Ian, a magic user, to a slave bound to the palace. Refusing the appointment would be tantamount to begging to be enslaved. Even if he fled to the Great Desert, the palace could hunt him down without fail.

“I accept this with the utmost honor.”

“The investiture will be held alongside the New Year’s celebration. We will provide further details, so please prepare your family’s emblem for the announcement.”

Since the family name was bestowed by the Emperor, Ian had no choice in the matter.

“Understood.”

“Congratulations, Lord Ian.”

Though not formally declared yet, the Emperor’s will had reached him. Chiellonia bowed lightly in congratulations.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, one more thing.”

She hesitated briefly before continuing.

“Yes?”

“Is Lord Molin safe?”

They were both from the same administrative branch and roughly the same age—surely longtime comrades. Romandro’s report mentioned friction between Ian and Molin, but there was no word on Molin’s current status, which was worrisome.

“He’s safe, of course.”

“From now on, I bring not the Emperor’s command, but that of His Highness Prince Gale, the Second Prince.”

Chiellonia stepped forward from the carriage and pulled out another letter.

—Secure the safety of Molin, Mac, and D’Gor, and return with them.

Chiellonia straightened her posture and gestured sharply, urging Ian to comply. Ian crossed his arms and stared back.

“What are you doing?”

“That’s what I want to ask you. What are you doing?”

Her eyebrows twitched in surprise. She should have been bowing deeply, ready to obey, yet Ian was questioning her? What he said next even shocked Romandro.

“The Emperor is like the sun. Just as the sun never stops moving, the carriage must never halt unnecessarily. And just as there is only one sun in the sky, only the Emperor’s command should be delivered. I’m sure the Administrator knows this.”

“…!”

No additions or alterations could be made to the Emperor’s orders. They had to be delivered purely, without any branches or side notes. This was an ancient palace protocol. So why was she adding Prince Gale’s orders?

“This is highly disrespectful. Administrator, you know well that if the Emperor learns of this, you could be dismissed.”

Romandro glanced nervously at Ian.

“Is that true, Ian?”

“It’s basic protocol. Didn’t you know, Romandro?”

“You’d have to have received the Emperor’s orders directly…”

Usually, the Emperor’s commands were finalized at the council, and it was rare for them to be delivered so far afield. Ian knew this because he had once been Emperor himself—a kind of unspoken rule.

Chiellonia’s face stiffened.

‘How could a lowborn illegitimate son from the frontier know this…?’

Even many nobles wouldn’t know unless they cared. She hadn’t expected him to retort like this. She hesitated, searching for words, but Ian cut her off.

“This is a grave disrespect to His Majesty the Emperor and Prince Marib, Administrator Chiellonia. I can confirm that Molin and his party are safe, but nothing beyond that.”

Protocol aside, Molin and his group were loyal agents of the enemy. They could turn on him at any moment.

‘Is the entire administration, including the Magic Department, aligned with Prince Gale? Or is it just Molin and Chiellonia? Either way, sorry, but I won’t hand those three over.’

Ian’s expression was resolute as he gauged Chiellonia’s reaction. Gale seemed to be trying to take responsibility and rescue them, but until Marib’s orders came, no one could interfere.

“Lord Ian, this is a special case.”

“Special? What kind? And just so you know, everyone here is listening. Choose your words carefully.”

Lies only breed more lies. Ian nodded, inviting her to speak. She bit her lower lip and forced a smile.

“…First, we will verify the safety of Molin and his party. This will be reported to the palace.”

“Very well. I will guide you. Beric!”

“Understood!”

“The carriage has been standing for a while; we should hurry, Administrator Chiellonia.”

Ignoring Ian, Chiellonia strode into the main building. As Ian followed, he caught the eyes of the servants lined up, all staring at him. Their eyes sparkled like stars. Quietly, as if ventriloquizing, they bit their lips and whispered.

“Congratulations, Lord Ian!”

“Goodness, you’ve become a noble! I can’t believe it…”

“Ian is going to receive the title of Count!”

“A count? That’s above a baron, isn’t it?”

They all celebrated Ian’s rise in status as one. It meant their homeland, Bratz, would be restored, and their jobs at the manor would be more secure.

Ian smiled in thanks and followed Chiellonia down to the underground prison.

“This way.”

Beric led the way, and Chiellonia quickened her pace. Ian stopped her with a word.

“Don’t speak recklessly.”

“What?”

“Molin is accused of conspiring with outsiders to kill me. Now that I’m appointed lord, I have the authority to detain him for my own safety.”

It was a veiled threat: any foolish move, and they’d end up dead. Chiellonia felt the situation slipping from her carefully laid plans over the past two weeks.

‘I’ve been feeling like I’m being stopped from the start…’

At times like this, the best tactic was to say as little as possible. Chiellonia stared straight ahead in silence. Ian glanced her over, then ordered the Celestial Guards.

“Open the door.”

Squeak.

The door creaked open, releasing a musty, moldy stench. Despite daily cleaning, the lack of windows made it unavoidable.

“Molin!”

“…Chiellonia?”

“Administrator Chiellonia!”

“What brings you here? No, more importantly, please let us out! That good-for-nothing locked us up…”

Mack shouted, but fell silent when he saw Cielonia’s attire. It wasn’t the usual formal dress worn for casual occasions—it was the official ceremonial garb reserved for delivering royal orders. And at this time, there could only be one such order.

“Could it be… that Ian has been granted the lordship?”

Mack’s stunned question was met with silence. Morlin sat down, gently rubbing his eyelids. From their perspective, this was the absolute worst-case scenario. Nothing was getting resolved; everything just kept spiraling.

“How is Lord Gale holding up?”

“Hahaha.”

At Morlin’s question, Ian, who had been listening nearby, suddenly burst out laughing. His laugh was so clear and bright that Cielonia could only look on, bewildered.

“Look at him—eating well, sleeping well, taking care of business. Aside from the lack of windows, it’s not so bad. Where else could an assassination mastermind get such royal treatment?”

Cielonia couldn’t argue with Ian’s words. Though they looked disheveled, there was no sign of torture or abuse. The cell was surprisingly spacious and fully furnished—hardly what one would expect from a prison.

“If you have anything to say, speak now. And Sir Mack, as you’ve already guessed, from this moment on I am Viscount Ian. Address me properly.”

There was a big difference between being born into a noble family and inheriting a noble title. Ian was now officially responsible for the territory, and this was a clear warning to show him the respect he was due—or risk being charged with insult.

“Viscount Ian… I would like a moment to speak with you.”

Cielonia, who had been watching the situation unfold, stepped in with a plea. But Ian’s answer was already decided.

“Oh, I must refuse.”