Episode 71

Ian stretched his hand out the window. The humid breeze was gradually drying, carrying a sharp chill. The hot, intense summer was fading, and autumn was just about to arrive.

Knock, knock.

“Master, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Breakfast is ready.”

Since the imperial decree appointing Ian’s noble title had arrived, his position had become undeniably secure. His daily life hadn’t changed drastically, but in small ways, he could feel the weight of his newfound status.

For example, the way they addressed him now—“Master.”

“How amusing,” he thought.

Not long ago, he was someone born into a duke’s family who had risen to the emperor’s throne. Now, even the title of viscount felt like a mountain he had climbed.

Ian sat opposite Romandro as the servants prepared the meal.

“Good morning, Lord Romandro.”

“Ah, Sir Ian. Did you sleep well?”

“Thanks to you. Could I have some lukewarm water?”

“Of course, Master.”

While the servants bustled about, Romandro began eating some gulla seeds from a small plate and spoke.

“Also, Ian, there’s something we need to settle.”

“What is it?”

“The subsidy we received from the palace.”

“Oh.”

It was about 3,000 gold nips—a decent sum. But with the expenses for restoring the estate and purchasing gulla, much had already been spent. More costs were sure to come.

“Isn’t it customary to return any leftover funds?”

“That’s true, but it’s just a custom.”

Romandro meant that, at his discretion, he could handle the money freely. He planned to process the accounts and put the remainder directly into Ian’s pocket.

Ian raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“If you’re willing to do that, I’m grateful.”

“No, I’ve thought it over. It seems right. You’ve done a great service. If you hadn’t discovered the gulla, that 3,000 nips would have been a one-time loss. I trust you’ll put it to better use.”

“Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

“Also, thank you for arranging the trip up north this winter. Hmm.”

“You mentioned a honeymoon?”

“I heard recently—they’re expecting a child.”

Ian clapped his hands in surprise. The servants, overhearing the news as they moved the dishes, offered their congratulations.

“Congratulations, Lord Romandro.”

“You’re going to be a father! Congratulations.”

“When’s the baby due?”

“Next summer, they expect.”

“Wow, congratulations!”

Romandro smiled shyly, stroking his beard. The genuine warmth lighting up his face made Ian wonder if this was what true happiness looked like.

“Are the subsidy and the ledger in your office?”

“Yes. I’ll hand them over right after breakfast.”

“Understood.”

Ian nodded, mentally tallying the finances. If his estimates were correct, about 1,200 gold nips remained. The Bratz estate’s valuables had been confiscated by the investigation team, so that was likely all there was.

“What about Kakan and Nersarn?”

“They went out to the border observation post yesterday and haven’t returned yet. They said they were checking the constellations… I don’t know the details.”

Ian immediately caught their intent. The tutor who studied the great desert had insisted on visiting that place. Though he wasn’t sure, it seemed they had their own scholarly method of understanding the desert through celestial observation.

“Alright. Tell them I want to see them briefly when they return.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ian, there’s a letter from Merelrof. Should I wait until you finish breakfast before delivering it?”

So many messages first thing in the morning. Ian paused, knife in hand, about to cut a boiled gulla in half. Romandro did the same, opening his mouth to eat but stopping abruptly.

“No, bring it here.”

At Ian’s command, the door opened again. A well-dressed servant bowed politely.

“Greetings. I bring congratulations on the inauguration of Viscount Merelrof and his lady.”

“Oh? No other messages? The order seems odd.”

Ian was referring to the protest letter about the assassination attempt that had been sent first. Why had they ignored that and sent congratulations instead?

The servant looked uncomfortable, searching for words. Ian waved him off and held out his hand. A luxurious letter was placed on it.

“Once again, sincere congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“And there is a gift from the lady.”

Ian eyed the box behind the servant suspiciously. The lady had always seemed peculiar, so he had no idea what kind of gift she might have sent.

But the moment the servant opened the lid—

Ian stood up without realizing it.

“It’s a recording device from a foreign land.”

“A recording device?”

Romandro asked, surprised. Ian approached slowly, examining the machine carefully.

Inside a small wooden box were intricate gears. Below was a slot for paper, and on the side, a crank handle for operation.

“What is this? What’s it for?”

“Actually, its use is unknown, and its name is…”

Ian muttered under his breath.

“Dripper.”

“Y-yes, that’s right. It’s called a Dripper.”

“Oh, Sir Ian, you know this?”

Of course.

The Dripper was a kind of automatic recording device. Turning the crank at set intervals would automatically mark dots on paper. Though it seemed useless, it was a pioneering invention that laid the groundwork for future automated machinery.

It had been part of a massive national project continuing until just before Ian’s death, one of the revolutionary technologies expected to bring great social change.

“You truly are knowledgeable! There’s nothing you don’t know!”

Ian lightly brushed off the awkward flattery.

“Did Lady Merelrof send this?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say about it?”

“She said it would be helpful to you, that it’s valuable but you shouldn’t feel burdened by it.”

The servant swallowed nervously.

In truth, when they first took it out of storage, it was so dusty that half a dozen people struggled to clean it. To the Merelrof household, it was just a useless heap of scrap metal no one cared about.

‘Did she send it just to feed water to the machine?’

Ian wondered what meaning there could be in a device that only made dots at regular intervals and couldn’t even be used for anything else.

But judging by Ian’s reaction, something unusual was unfolding.

“Hah!”

Ian let out a dry laugh.

…Or maybe it really was just a water feeder?

He had no idea. The servant bowed deeply, eyes lowered, fearing a backlash.

Ian stared at the machine with dry eyes, then paced around it, letting out a subtle sigh.

“Sir Ian, please sit. Let’s think this over while seated.”

Romandro, unable to bear it, stood and tried to comfort Ian, assuming he found the gift insulting.

Anyone could see why. The Dripper’s design, from over a hundred years ago, was crude, its function simple, and it had no intelligence whatsoever.

Even the current emperor probably wouldn’t recognize its value.

“Do you know this Dripper came from the Rajasan region?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Wait a moment. I need to write a reply to my wife.”

Ian muttered something and folded his napkin, signaling he was done eating. Romandro looked between the machine and Ian, bewildered. They were about to start serious gulla work at Merelrof, and this kind of provocation and response wasn’t part of the plan.

“What will you write?”

“I’ll say we received the gift well, that it seems useful as you said, and that I’d like to meet her sometime.”

Romandro rubbed his chin, groaning. To him, it looked like a sharp exchange of attacks, but in reality, it wasn’t.

‘What on earth is going on?’

Ian traced the cracked wood grain with his fingertips, as if weighing the Dripper’s value and future.

‘I need to find out.’

Whether Lady Merelrof truly sent a worthless gift or if she understood the Dripper’s significance.

Ian signaled to Hena.

“I’m finishing my meal. Keep this safe. No one is to touch it.”

“Yes, yes. Understood.”

“Romandro, please finish your meal. I’ll write the reply and then go on a brief inspection.”

“Ah, yes. Very well.”

Ian left the dining room, and a few hours later, after receiving the reply, Merelrof’s servant departed Bratz. Ian’s inspection began shortly after.

“Viscount, the weather is very nice today.”

“Yes. It’s getting cooler day by day.”

He was checking the gulla sprouts, which were growing rapidly. Unlike the falling autumn leaves, the estate was full of fresh green leaves.

“Today, we plan to harvest the gulla.”

“Already?”

“Neighbor Megan started sorting seeds yesterday. The gulla here suits the soil well and grows fast. It seems to grow a handspan overnight.”

“That’s good news.”

With the estate’s granaries filling up, hunger was disappearing. Smoke rose from chimneys every hour, and children ran around with pockets full of steamed gulla.

“Sir! Sir! The pig is definitely pregnant!”

“Is that so? I heard it’s been groaning since morning.”

Squeeeek!

The livestock were no different. They quickly grew fat and bore young. At this rate, come winter, no one would die, and no one would have to face the new year shivering in the cold.

“Ah, Lord Kakantir.”

In the distance, the group of Cheollyeo tribe members returning from their outing came into view. Kusile slowed his pace and fell in step beside Ian.

“You’re out again today, I see.”

“Perfect timing. I have something to report.”

“Same here. Let’s take a walk.”

Their subordinates gradually herded Kusile along behind the two as they walked ahead. Berik did the same, teasing a close warrior friend as he tugged on the reins.

“I’ll be heading back to Cheollyeo tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? That’s sudden.”

“No need to worry—I’m leaving Nersarn behind.”

“Is something wrong in Cheollyeo?”

“Not exactly. I consulted the stars, and tomorrow seems like the right time.”

Once Kakantir left, more than half the warriors would follow. But the territory had developed enough self-sufficiency, and aside from gulla cultivation, there wasn’t much labor needed, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

“In that case, I should prepare to see you off.”

As the leader of an allied tribe, it was only proper to show respect. Besides, there was a reward to be given to Cheollyeo under the pretense of a gratuity.

“So, what did you want to say?”

“Oh, earlier, Merelrof’s steward came to the mansion. I think it’s time to start some behind-the-scenes work.”

“Ah, yes.”

Ian’s mention of behind-the-scenes work referred to maneuvering things so that Merelrof would have no choice but to buy gulla. Kakantir stopped walking at Ian’s words.

“The only leverage Merelrof has is the trade caravan that arrives during the cold season. If we handle just that, things should become easier.”

“Hmm. Those are the ones coming from the Hwan Kingdom, right? I’ve never been to the mountain region, so the geography is a disadvantage. Not impossible, but challenging.”

They didn’t know the caravan’s size, but it surely had a sizable mercenary escort. Forcing the issue with brute force wouldn’t be efficient.

“No, no fighting. We can’t let it be known that Cheollyeo is involved. If things go wrong, it could give Merelrof an excuse to retaliate.”

From Merelrof’s perspective, responsible for the caravan’s safety, any threat from Cheollyeo would naturally provoke a counterattack. That would put Ian, allied with the Cheollyeo tribe, in a difficult position.

“Do you have a plan in mind?”

Ian smiled and nodded at Kakantir’s question, his eyes sparkling with the usual confident gleam.