Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor

Chapter 7

Ian-nim, you need to focus.

Ian turned his head at the words of his private tutor.

The guest room in the western annex. Unlike before, a clear breeze was now coming in through the windows opened on all sides. Looking at his indifferent student, the tutor sighed and doodled with his pen.

Lets try again. Lets suppose that a hundred farmers paid five sacks of grain each as a tax. If half of it is sent to the capital, and again half of the remaining is distributed to the mansions servants, how many sacks would be left in the end?

Ian let out a light yawn and looked away. The afternoon study hours, lasting a couple of hours, were utterly unbearable.

I dont know.

At first, he pretended to calculate, counting on his fingers, to make it seem less strange if he suddenly switched his attitude.

But its annoying to keep doing that. Ian decided to completely feign ignorance.

Try to do the calculation.

Hmm. Wouldnt it be 100 sacks?

Moreover, his stupidity seemed to bring unexpected benefits. The tutor and the butler often chatted about Ians education process, sometimes leaking information about the affairs of the house.

Well end the math lesson here. Next is literature. We read Fate of Destiny last time, didnt we?

The tutor was a man lacking enthusiasm. Whether Ian understood or not, he just went through his given tasks rigidly and collected his salary.

It was fortunate for Ian. When he claimed not to know, the tutor gave up neatly, so there was no need to pretend to study frantically.

Knock knock.

Come in.

Excuse me.

The butler came in with some snacks. The fact that the butler himself brought them, rather than a servant, likely reflected an intention to observe the childs learning attitude.

How far have you progressed?

Were about to wrap up with literature.

I see. It seems youre finishing up early today.

Young master Ian has been very cooperative.

Humph. How amusing.

Ian nibbled at his snack while looking at a book, half of which was pictures. The butler showed his palm to the tutor and wrote something quickly. It was not visible from Ians position.

Then. Carry on.

Yes. Butler-nim.

Thump.

The tutor read out a few characters, wrote them on parchment, and asked Ian to copy them.

In this way, the boring afternoon study time ended. As the wall clock chimed, the tutor rose, packing up his books.

Ill see you out, Teacher.

No, its okay. Im busy today. Young masterIan, you should continue practicing your writing.

Ian used to greet and see off the tutor, learning how to walk, greet, and practice social etiquette.

But on days like today, when the tutor refused, it meant he was meeting someone in the house.

Okay. Then, Ill see you next time. Without any further reply, Ian simply nodded.

The tutor, now wearing his coat, left the room with a smile.

Is he going to meet the butler?

Sometimes the man also met the count or countess. But since moving to the annex, there had been more servants around, so he couldnt follow him.

Having let go of the regret, Ian casually cleaned up the parchment and stretched out his body. The benefit of having a larger room was that even if he didnt go outside, he could still exercise.

Physical strength is magic.

He used magic to build strength, and that strength stored magic again. This was why even the elderly wizards called Grand Magicians stayed vigorous.

Young master Ian.

Knock knock.

And that night.

After finishing his evening meal, Ian was called by the butler.

His Lordship has requested your presence in his office.

Finally, the time had come.

Count Derghas office was on the top floor of the mansion, an entire level that Ian had never ventured to before. Puzzled yet calm, Ian followed the butler.

Your Lordship, young master Ian has arrived.

A few knocks on the heavy door handle were responded with permission from within.

Enter.

Creak.

Unlike Ians old room, which only had a single luminescent stone for lighting, the office was as bright as day. The glow was coming from various magic lanterns that were densely arranged throughout the room.

Yet the atmosphere remained somber, presumably due to the presence of Count Dergha.

Did you summon me?

Ian asked politely, but Dergha gave no response. His working environment might seem peaceful compared to the peasants who toil in the fields day and night, but a Count is busy in his own way.

You are aware of the banquet happening the day after tomorrow?

Yes, of course.

Dergha mumbled without lifting his gaze from the documents.

It seems that other aides from the central will also participate this time.

The first meal must have left quite an impression. Seeing a country boy, moreover an adopted child, discussing the philosophy of Fuhlen must have piqued his interest.

Youll need to be more alert than last time.

Ill keep that in mind.

Is this all he summoned me for?

Dergha, who didnt say much even when he changed rooms, remained silent. Ian patiently awaited further instructions. As the sound of the pen scraping against parchment continued, the Count finally opened his closed lips again.

The Heavenly Tribe has requested a handwritten letter from you.

Ian knew that they had offered Derghas second son as a condition of their alliance. Along with the offer, they also enclosed a potion that reacts only to direct family members, so there was no need to question his lineage.

Of course, they must not know hes an adopted child from a peasant background. Anyway.

My handwritten letter?

It seemed they wanted some sort of security measure.

Could Dergha have replaced his son at the last minute due to pity? Given the Heavenly Tribes emphasis on familial bonds, it was a plausible concern.

It seems theyve brought this nuisance upon themselves in a rather barbaric manner. Tsk tsk. Theyre going to use the homogeneity potion again at the treaty ceremony.

Unlike the Bariel Empire, the Heavenly Tribe does not have mages. To them, mages are unnatural beings who defy nature, right from their very bloodline.

Well, I see no reason to refuse.

They plan to receive the handwritten letter and later cross-verify the handwriting. They want to confirm that Ian is indeed Derghas adopted son and the designated subject they had agreed upon.

Write letters regularly and send them. The private tutor will guide you, so all you have to do is write them down. Youre not so incompetent that you cant do even that.

Ill make sure not to make any mistakes.

Creak.

At that moment. The small door leading to the office opened. The administrative officer entered, searching for Dergha with a frantic expression.

Count-nim. The calculations just dont add up no matter how much I try.

He was holding a large pile of documents. Seeing him about to collapse under the weight, the Count waved his hand dismissively.

Thats enough. Ill handle it.

He gave Ian a look that meant wait for a moment.

Although the documents he was working on were still spread out on his desk, the Count didnt seem worried. Ian was almost illiterate, and even if he could read, he could only comprehend the syllables.

Wait.

The Count ordered as he stepped into the administrative officers office. Ian, who had been courteously smiling, suddenly changed his expression.

Lets see. What could be so urgent?

It was early spring. Conscientious lords tend to look after their territory even when the ground is frozen, but Dergha didnt seem like that kind of person. Hadnt he enjoyed strolling through back alleys until the day he met Molrin?

Rustle.

Ian quickly skimmed through the documents, making sure not to disrupt their order. His skill of leafing through the papers was exceptionally smooth.

Hmm?

Ian furrowed his brows as if he had expected this.

As he suspected, Dergha possessed far more soldiers than he could handle.

The size of the Bratz domain would optimally sustain around 300 soldiers without straining its resources. However, considering the food ration expenditures, numbers ranging from 2,000 to 3,000 were possible.

Its impressive they havent collapsed yet.

Furthermore, the taxes imposed on the domains residents were more than twice the capitals recommended ratio. Considering the historical fact that the Tianle tribe drove the Bratz to extinction, it almost seemed reasonable.

The situation was on the edge of collapse, even without any intervention. Ian gave a disbelieving glare at his small office.

What was the author thinking to manage the domain in such a way? A family that has been handed down for generations, and they were far from impressive.

Is there another source of income?

He wasnt sure how long theyd been operating like this, but relying on taxes alone seemed to be quite tight.

There wont be much on the Bratz side.

As far as he knew, the Bratz domain bordered the Heavenly tribes land. The land wasnt particularly fertile, and there was no sea either. There were no significant resources to note.

If that was the case, the ancestors wouldnt have divided the domain among other nobles.

The previous emperor distributed the domain to the nobles who had helped defeat the Heavenly tribe. If there were important resources, the palace would not have done so.

Click.

At that moment, the door opened without warning.

Ian, who was leaning on the counts desk, instinctively held his breath and released his magical power.

Pssst. Fffzzz.

Hm?

Simultaneously, all the lanterns in the room went out.

The office of the chamberlain was no different.

With the moon hidden behind the clouds, the surroundings were instantly engulfed in darkness.

Count-nim? Are you alright?

It hasnt been long since the magic lantern was replaced, right?

Just a moment. Ill light a candle, ugh!

Thud!

The chamberlain had run into something.

Before the moon came out, Ian moved stealthily to the center of the room, hiding his presence. Dergha was groping in the dark, trying to find his desk.

Ian. Respond.

Yes. Father.

Ians voice echoed gently in the darkness. Judging by the sound, he seemed to be standing near the sofa.

Is there anyone else out there?!

The chamberlain, who had been searching for a candle, continued to stumble, and the darkness showed no signs of lifting. Annoyed, Dergha shouted.

Psst. Fffzzz.

Then, the lanterns were lit again. Ian, who had been holding his breath, had retracted his magic.

Dergha made eye contact with Ian, who stood calmly. His absinthe-colored eyes were clear.

Are you alright?

The Count looked down at his hand, which was still supporting him on the desk. The documents were slightly scattered, but it was dismissible as his own doing in the dark. He opened the drawer without suspicion.

Here. Come and get this.

What is it?

It was a small pouch, manually knitted. Dergha threw it lightly as if it were nothing special, and it fell precisely at Ians feet.

Its from your mother.

The small pouch was scattered on the floor.

Ian picked it up slowly.

Always remember your position and be mindful of your actions by looking at that.

When the news about Ian, who was told through Hannah, stopped abruptly, his mother attempted suicide. If she couldnt meet him alive, she wanted to meet him in death.

Forced by her sudden act, the Count reluctantly agreed to deliver letters and gifts as a compromise. If she died, it would be as good as Ian being unchained.

It was a fact that Hannah told him everything that happened, through the coachman. He had been generous with the errands, so there was likely no falsehood in her words.

Thats it. You may leave, Dergha waved his hand.

Holding the old pouch, Ian quietly exited the office. As he leaned against the dark hallway and untied the pouch, miscellaneous items poured out.

Clang!

Five gold coins. Dried flowers. A very small letter.

One gold coin was equivalent to what a commoner could earn in a month. Ian calmly unfolded the letter. The handwriting was neat, clearly someone had been asked to transcribe.

But would it contain his mothers sincerity from beginning to end?

No. There might be hidden intentions from Dergha. Like swapping the letter.

Ian fiddled with the gold coins, then began to read the letter.