Chapter 72
Meanwhile, as soon as Chielonia returned from her mission to deliver the imperial decree, the first place she sought out was the office of the Second Prince, Gale. Despite the sunlight pouring in through the large windows, there was an inexplicable chill that always seemed to linger in his chamber.
“Did Ian just lock Morin and the others in the underground prison?”
“That’s correct. There was no sign of torture—just confinement and neglect without any special treatment.”
Gale crossed his arms and lightly tapped his fingertips together—a habit he only showed when deep in thought. His sharp eyes, a spitting image of their mother’s, shifted toward Wesley, who was reading the report behind Chielonia.
“He seemed well-versed in palace etiquette?”
“Yes. The moment I mentioned Your Highness, his expression changed instantly. Even Romandrozo, the advisor, seemed unaware of this.”
At that moment, Wesley, who had been pacing while reading the documents, suddenly turned her head sharply. Her beautiful black hair and crimson lips were as flawless as ever.
“It’s certain. He must have had some connection to Marib.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Wesley.”
“Otherwise, it just doesn’t add up. A girl who grew up in a brothel, barely educated, crossing the desert—she could only have learned the basics. And yet, she knows palace etiquette?”
Wesley’s argument was sound from start to finish.
“From the start, it was clear Marib recommended Ian as lord. How many people do you think brought money to curry favor with Marib? Yet, Ian was the one chosen over all those others.”
“Isn’t he a magic user?”
“Even so, this is extreme.”
Marib was the empire’s recognized heir to the throne. To win his favor, countless sycophants lined up to offer bribes. Especially since the appointment of a lord was a chance for social mobility, Marib could have easily handed the position to someone far more influential if he wished.
“The nature of the territory plays a big part, too. It’s so unique that there are many restrictions.”
Wesley tossed the report forward toward Chielonia, who cautiously supported the conversation. Though there was a significant age gap, Wesley was the Minister of Magic, while Chielonia was just one of many administrators—there was a clear difference in rank.
“Well done. You may leave now.”
“…Thank you.”
Chielonia bowed politely and exited Gale’s office. Wesley muttered with a cigarette between her lips.
“Should we just kill Ian?”
Gale chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. The fact that it wasn’t a joke made it all the more unsettling.
“How?”
“At the New Year’s lord appointment ceremony, he’ll come up as part of the Ministry of Magic. There will be plenty of opportunities and ways.”
A cloud of smoke filled the room as Wesley exhaled. Gale took the cigarette from her mouth. She continued, a hint of irritation in her voice.
“I don’t like how he suddenly appears out of nowhere to interfere. If he can’t repay the 10,000 nips tribute, he’ll become a Ministry slave anyway. I’d rather cut him down before that happens.”
Wesley whispered as she wrapped her arms around Gale’s neck, flashing a dangerously seductive smile. But Gale turned his head away without moving.
“No matter how I think about it, you don’t suit being Minister of Magic.”
“Me?”
Gale meant it literally, but Wesley seemed to misunderstand—she took it as meaning she was more suited to be Gale’s empress than the Minister of Magic.
“If His Highness Gale says so, then so it must be.”
Gale gave a bitter smile, staring out the window. Wesley was perfect as a woman, but as a political partner, she was hopeless. How could the Minister of Magic so casually suggest killing Ian?
Especially now, when the number of magicians was dwindling.
If she truly cared about the revival and advancement of magic, she would try to persuade Gale to find another way, even if he insisted on killing Ian.
“Gale, look at me.”
Did this beautiful woman not realize that the empress was also the emperor’s political partner? Even if Gale pushed Marib aside and took the throne, there was no guarantee Wesley would remain by his side.
Gale shrugged off her tempting touch and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To see my brother.”
“You mean His Highness Marib?”
Gale fastened his cufflinks and stared at Wesley.
Again. That look, as if testing me. Wesley maintained her smile, hiding her true feelings.
“Why didn’t Ian kill Morin?”
“…Because he’s a palace administrator. If things went wrong, it would be troublesome if our side had to send another investigation team. How long has it been since Captain Erika and that big group arrived?”
“Hmm. I see.”
Gale didn’t ask further. He judged that Wesley’s understanding of the situation ended there—no second chances, no shared opinions.
Wesley followed him out.
“Or why else?”
“Why else? I asked because I don’t know.”
With a quick peck, Gale bid Wesley farewell and turned away without hesitation. His subordinates followed like shadows, while Wesley stood there, stunned.
She was also the publicly praised head of the Ministry of Magic. Born a commoner, she had seized both wealth and power, leaving her name in history. Yet, in front of Gale, she always felt small.
“Damn…”
She muttered a curse, but it dissipated before reaching Gale’s feet or even his attendants. An invisible aura swirled chaotically around her.
Clatter, clatter!
“Your Highness, where shall we take you?”
“To Marib’s palace.”
“Understood.”
Gale replied briefly, and his men hurried ahead to clear the path, ensuring he didn’t stop.
‘Ian is keeping Morin alive because of Marib.’
Half of Wesley’s words were true.
With the Chillyo tribe involved, Morin’s death would escalate the matter’s importance at the center. It could even warrant sending regular troops instead of an investigation team.
That’s why the decision was handed over to Marib. It was a choice that showed a perfect understanding of the power dynamics between Marib and Gale and the direction they intended to take.
In any case, Morin’s life was in Marib’s hands, and Gale valued that life greatly. Few in the administration had been recruited, and experienced veterans like Morin were rare.
The carriage jolted forward with the horses’ sharp neighs. Gale, lost in thought as he gazed at the sky, opened the window and gave an order.
“…Wait. Change course.”
“What?”
“Not to Marib, but to Father.”
“To His Majesty the Emperor’s palace?”
“Yes. Hurry.”
The horses slowly turned back the way they came, their heads now fixed toward the emperor’s residence in the east instead of Marib’s palace in the north.
The mansion was bustling from dawn.
It was the day that Kakantir and fifty-five warriors were returning to the Great Desert. Though the distance was close enough to visit anytime, it wasn’t easy, so everyone hid their sadness poorly.
“When will we see each other again after this?”
“Thank you for everything.”
“Here, take this…”
“We packed dried meat and water. Please travel safely.”
“Kakant! What should we offer as the Kusile seal?”
The front gate was as chaotic as a marketplace. Ian was hurrying to prepare for the trip to the borderlands. As he checked gifts, rewards, and food one last time, he noticed Haena in the corner, her eyes unusually red.
“…Take care.”
“I’ll come back.”
Their fingertips lightly touched, dripping with unspoken affection. Ian instinctively turned his head away, pretending not to notice.
Seeing this, Beric scratched his ear.
“What are you staring at?”
“Ian, come here.”
“Hey, look at that! Ha—!”
“Beric! Shut up, you insensitive fool!”
Smack!
Romandrozo struck Beric’s head. Ian glared as if warning him. Beric rubbed the back of his head, mumbling in frustration.
“My head’s a punching bag, damn it.”
“Seems like you grew attached to more people than you thought.”
“Even fleeting moments create bonds. The Chillyo don’t just pass through seasons, do they?”
Coming in the heat of summer and leaving in autumn—a bond formed.
Ian nodded thoughtfully. It wasn’t a bad thing. To strengthen the alliance with the Chillyo tribe or achieve cultural integration, marriage was the best option.
‘…Maybe that was too political a judgment.’
Ian restrained himself as he watched Haena quietly sobbing.
“Ian, your choices will change someone’s life. Listen not just with your eyes but with your heart. Don’t just review the proposals—feel them.”
Suddenly, the advice Naum gave before his regression came to mind. Naum, the wizard who was Ian’s only friend and mentor, had stayed by the doomed emperor’s side until the end. Ian clenched his jaw and turned away.
“Ian, preparations are complete.”
“All right. Let’s depart.”
“Open the gates!”
“Let’s return! To our Great Desert!”
“Waaah!”
“Take care, everyone!”
The Chillyo remaining at the mansion laughed heartily and waved. Among them was Nersarn. Kakantir stepped out of the mansion with a dignified posture. The locals who had heard the news came out to see them off.
“Thank you! Take care on your way!”
“Really, thank you so much for everything!”
“We wouldn’t have made it without you, truly!”
Whoosh!
Wildflowers and fallen leaves swirled all around, carried by the wind. Even the rows of gulas swaying in unison made for a breathtaking sight.
Kakantir ran up to the front, quietly accepting a bouquet from a child. It was the same child who had fallen and cried at his feet when he first arrived in Bratz. The brief encounter had stayed with the child.
“Th-thank you.”
The child’s hands trembled as Kakantir took the flowers. He was about to leave, but then hesitated and turned back.
“Demosha.”
He didn’t bother to look closely at the child’s face. Kusile stirred again. The border wasn’t far now.
And soon, the real farewell came.
“This is as far as I go, Lord Ian.”
“Kakantir, thank you for all your hard work.”
This was the place where Ian had been sold off as a peace offering. Two massive rocks marking the border, and a small, abandoned shrine.
“We’ll start on the Mereloff matter as soon as we return to Cheollyeo.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Go to the capital and do well. If not, today will be our last.”
“I’ll do my best. Here—this is for the gulas and the bounty.”
Kakantir glanced at Ian briefly, then took only the gulas’ seeds. The bouquet he held in his right hand swayed proudly.
“Not enough hands. This will do.”
“Ah.”
“Let’s go! To Cheollyeo!”
“Demosha!”
“Demosha! Farewell!”
The warriors’ chants echoed as Beric shouted loudly too. They charged off into the desert, disappearing like the wind—faster than the sand, lighter than the breeze. Ian and Beric watched their backs for a long while.
“…Let’s head back too.”
“Alright. What should we do when we get there?”
“What else?”
Ian smiled, and Beric laughed as he took the reins.
There was only one thing to do. Cultivate the gulas, and then…
‘Start the Mereloff brewing.’