Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 10

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 10. The Brooch
“What do you mean by a request?”
“It has been a week since I arrived here, yet I have been unable to venture anywhere beyond trips to and from the manor.”
So? Count Derga answered without realizing it, his expression speaking volumes. But everyone could anticipate what would come next. Ian bit his lower lip gently and swallowed his delight.
“Therefore, if you would permit it, I would like to ask young master Ian to show us around the estate. I understand that the Count and his wife are quite busy, so I dare not impose upon them. Haha.”
Mac and Dgor, who had been listening quietly beside him, chimed in. The timing was natural yet perfectly orchestrated.
“That’s an excellent idea! Why not join us for lunch as well? Sharing both knowledge and food would be most enjoyable. Wouldn’t you agree, Dgor?”
“Well…”
Mrs. Mary considered interjecting but ultimately held her tongue. The prospect of escorting three unfamiliar men was simply too burdensome. Dgor responded as though he hadn’t heard her words.
“Of course. Besides, hasn’t young master Ian lived outside these walls until recently? Surely he knows many interesting things we are unaware of.”
Dgor’s “we” referred to the House of Bratz, excluding these outsiders. The implication was clear—do you commoners know the back alleys? Only Ian can do this, so don’t even think of interfering.
“Ahem.”
Count Derga appeared deeply flustered. He couldn’t even swallow the wine in his mouth, his eyes darting about. He was searching for a pretext to refuse.
But what reason could there be to keep a grown boy confined indoors? Moreover, they had added the perfectly respectable purpose of an intellectual discussion.
“Frequent visits to the manor would be improper as guests. If you would permit it, we would be delighted to host you at our residence. Our hired coachman is quite kind.”
Mollin drove the final nail. Ian, who had been quietly observing the situation, opened his mouth. If they were pulling from the front, he had no choice but to push from behind.
“Mollin, where is your residence?”
“Near Portro Area 3 Park.”
“Ah. Portloga?”
“You seem quite familiar with it.”
“I grew up here, after all.”
It was an answer open to interpretation. Even if the illegitimate Ian had truly grown up there, the Emperor Ian had no sense of what kind of district Portloga was. He could only bluff because Mollin had specifically mentioned the park.
“Then all the better. A leisurely stroll through the park while contemplating would be delightful. The weather has been quite warm lately, hasn’t it? I noticed there seemed to be pleasure boats on the small lake, but being an old man, I couldn’t bring myself to board one. If young master Ian would assist me, I might find the courage to try.”
Mollin chuckled, raising his eyebrows.
‘These men have their own hidden agenda.’
Ian studied the Count’s expression. Count Derga wore an awkward smile, but his face remained rigid. He already lacked grounds for refusal, and plausible reasons kept emerging.
“Count?”
“Ian. Your wishes are what matter most.”
In the end, the Count played his final card. He had transferred the decision to Ian. His mouth smiled benevolently, but his eyes were cold as ice. The silent pressure was unmistakable—conduct yourself wisely.
‘How amusing.’
The Marquis, a borderlands noble, and Mollin, a central administrator, were locked in a battle of wills over a single boy. Such scenes were not uncommon in the Imperial Palace, but viewing it from below rather than above gave it a different flavor.
“Well…”
Ian placed his words upon the taut string. Naturally, going outside would be advantageous, but shaking things up before the outcome was decided didn’t seem like a bad idea either.
“If my guidance proves inadequate, wouldn’t I merely become a hindrance? Being still young, I’m uncertain whether I could satisfy the gentlemen.”
Mollin and his companions’ faces stiffened slightly at this unexpected response. Count Derga hid his smile behind his wine glass and nodded.
“However, an opportunity to glimpse the insights of visitors from the capital is rare indeed. If it were a lunch combining intellectual discourse rather than mere guidance…”
Ian glanced at Count Derga. His jaw, grinding as though savoring wine, had become rigid. Then Dgor naturally interjected.
“Count. If our inadequacy is the cause of your hesitation, we apologize for our presumption.”
His skill at seizing conversational control was masterful. His rhetoric was remarkably adept—elevating each other’s conduct while drawing out affirmative responses.
Count Derga’s answer to that question was already determined.
“…That couldn’t possibly be. It’s entirely inappropriate.”
“Then I’m relieved. When would be convenient for you?”
“You should ask Ian about that. Ian?”
As attention shifted back to me, Mollin stepped forward with refined grace.
“Since the Count is granting us this ‘permission,’ it would be best if the Count himself chose the date. After all, everything in House of Bratz is conducted by the Count.”
Such eloquent rhetoric that even Emperor Ian found himself impressed. True to someone working in the Central Office, he was remarkably sharp. Count Derga, that arrogant borderland noble, could never match them in words.
‘What’s their true intention?’
At first, I thought it was merely Mollin’s minor check on me. The more frequently we met and conversed, the easier it would be to find flaws in the bastard.
But watching the three of them thrust and parry like this, it was clear they had another purpose. They were expending far too much effort for a mere secondary opportunity. Had Derga noticed?
‘He’s noticed.’
His hand smoothing his beard moved cautiously. And those eyes rolling about—what of them? Since there was no legitimate reason to refuse, he would cooperate to discern their true intentions.
“Then how about lunch tomorrow?”
Derga directed the question at Mollin, but his gaze remained fixed on me. He had apparently completed his mental calculations, for a languid smile played across his lips. The stern expression from moments before had vanished entirely.
“Ah. Thank you, Count.”
“In return, I have a request as well.”
With that, he turned to look at Chel. All eyes followed Derga’s gaze to the boy. Chel, who had been about to pop a steak into his mouth, froze mid-motion.
“Since these are clearly distinguished individuals from the Central Office, as Ian mentioned, I have no doubt they would make excellent instructors. Therefore, I would appreciate it if Chel could join them and share in their knowledge.”
It was bothersome, but not an unreasonable request.
Mac, Dgor, and Mollin exchanged signals with practiced efficiency. Their communication consisted of nothing more than a meeting of eyes, so no one noticed.
“But Father, I have school—”
“Excellent. Young Master Chel is remarkably intelligent, so I look forward to a most stimulating lunch discussion.”
“Thank you for saying so.”
Before Chel could protest further, the adults had already reached their conclusion. Chel shot me a resentful glance. As if things weren’t awkward enough, now they wanted him to stick with me all day? And outside the manor at that?
“Shall I bring out dessert then?”
“Yes. That was an excellent meal.”
I nodded in agreement. A satisfied smile lingered at the corners of my mouth. A dinner where I had obtained everything I sought. I would have felt full even without eating.
“Today’s meal was an honor, Count Derga.”
“Let us meet again next week.”
“Ian. I’ll send a carriage to match tomorrow’s lunch time.”
The conversation that followed was utterly devoid of substance—mere pleasantries. There were no more of the customary laughter and pleasantries exchanged earlier. Everyone had entered a lull, their interest in conversation exhausted. Mollin and his party left half their dessert uneaten and rose to depart.
“Yes. Please take care on your way.”
“Madam. Until we meet again.”
The three guests left a parting kiss on Mrs. Mary’s hand before boarding their carriage and disappearing. The dining area was being cleared when I was about to head inside as well. That’s when Derga called out to his two sons.
“Chel. Ian.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You must report to me everything they discuss afterward, without missing a single word. You need to keep your wits sharp.”
It was a perfectly natural instruction. As Chel and I nodded simultaneously, Derga fixed me with a cold gaze.
“And you—come to my office.”
Mrs. Mary and Chel turned back in confusion, but that was all. They disappeared down the corridor to their respective rooms, and I followed Derga’s retreating figure toward the office.
Creak.
The office looked much the same as it had a few days ago. There seemed to be more documents scattered about, though I couldn’t be certain. Count Derga didn’t bother inviting me to sit. Instead, he rummaged through a drawer and retrieved something.
Click.
“Mm.”
What he pulled out was a small brooch. A tiger and laurel seal adorned with a crimson jewel—unmistakably the emblem of House of Bratz.
“Wear this when you leave tomorrow.”
Unlike when my mother had tossed her purse, Count Derga stepped forward himself and fastened the brooch to my chest. I immediately understood what it was.
‘A mana stone capable of recording and location tracking.’
In the era where I once lived, such things were used frequently. But a hundred years ago in the Borderlands, they would have been difficult to obtain. This was surely an heirloom item the family used discreetly when there were threats to their safety.
Count Derga lightly brushed my chest and issued a warning.
“You must not lose it under any circumstances. Not a single scratch. It is worth dozens of times more than your worthless body.”
“…I shall bear that in mind.”
Two children’s words had their limits. Much less against three seasoned men from the Central Office. Could they not handle one simpleton like Chel? They would certainly isolate Chel and approach me.
“I will assign someone to accompany you as well. Do not be foolish enough to cause trouble. Come straight to my office when you return.”
But was I truly on Count Derga’s side? He was the one holding my mother’s lifeline, threatening to sell me beyond the Border. I had no choice but to accept this precious mana stone brooch from the family.
“Yes, Father.”
Yet as I looked at the mana stone fastened to my chest, I clicked my tongue. His attitude suggested he was certain I could not tamper with it. How absurd—attaching something utterly useless and then feeling reassured. It was laughable.
Creak.
I bowed respectfully and left, returning to my room to examine the brooch closely. When I channeled mana into it, it quickly became saturated. This meant its capacity was limited.
Zing. Ziiing.
‘The lowest of the low-grade.’
At this level, I could control it if I set my mind to it.
‘The location tracking uses a mana stone of the same type, so that doesn’t matter.’
Count Derga was probably staring at a compass in his office right now. It was made from a mana stone identical to the brooch, not a magnetic needle, and could track the target’s position through directional changes and light intensity.
‘If I can just handle the recording…’
As I concentrated again and channeled mana through it, the jewel glowed a deeper crimson. My golden eyes curved softly with satisfaction.
“Oh.”
Then suddenly, I nearly forgot. Wasn’t one of my reasons for going outside to meet my biological mother? I rang the bell and summoned a servant.
Ding!
“You called for me, Young Master?”
“Bring me a snack.”
We had just finished lunch. A snack now?
The servant bowed, hiding his surprised expression. But I hummed contentedly to myself, gazing out the window. I wasn’t waiting for the snack itself—I was waiting for the person who would bring it.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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