Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 16

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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 16. The Mage Knight
The atmosphere in the Training Ground felt subtly off. On the surface, heat shimmered from every corner just as it had the day before, but everyone’s attention had unconsciously converged on a single point.
The young masters of the family they served.
“You must properly warm up your body. Otherwise, the risk of injury increases.”
“Ugh. Like this?”
The young masters’ physical conditioning had fallen to Deo’s responsibility. He was the only one still shirking duties under the pretense of injury, and more importantly, regardless of his temperament, his skills were excellent—which was why Count Derga entrusted him with the task. His duties included monitoring Ian and, if necessary, carrying out immediate punishment.
“Brother. Stretch your arm further back.”
“Ah, I can’t. It hurts too much.”
Yet Ian appeared to assist Chel with utmost sincerity. As long as Deo was present, wouldn’t every action reach Count Derga’s ears? Inviting misunderstanding was foolish, and inviting carelessness was unwise.
“We’ll start with basic conditioning, but you cannot give up midway. After running for about an hour, I’ll assess your wooden sword stance.”
Chel, whose nose bridge had grown damp with sweat, twisted his mouth into a grimace of despair. As time passed, the sun would only grow hotter. Deo checked his timepiece while observing the expressions of both boys.
‘If I handle them roughly, they’ll quit this within days.’
Troublesome as it was, from a long-term perspective, neither should set foot in the Training Ground. Ian would be sold to the Cheonryo Tribe anyway, but especially Chel. As days passed, wouldn’t that boy increasingly attend to Count Bratz’s side? If command authority over private soldiers were transferred to him, it would be like having his rice bowl stolen.
“By the way, where are the knights?”
Ian asked as he slowly warmed up his body. He’d wondered about it yesterday too, but most of those training here gave off a rough, crude impression. He saw no one bearing the refined atmosphere characteristic of knights.
‘It’s natural enough, given that Deo himself isn’t a knight.’
Deo seemed to lack a title. All the household servants called him differently, each using their own terms. Among the numerous titles, he’d never heard the word “knight,” nor had he ever seen him bearing the family’s coat of arms.
“Those noble-born types train separately in their own exclusive Training Ground. This place is just full of men who picked up a sword after swinging a pickaxe. Why? Do you want lessons from a knight?”
Deo tapped the ground with a stick and laughed. His teeth looked particularly dark today. His manner of speech was crude and rough, like someone hoping to pick a fight.
“Very well. Doesn’t each person have a teacher suited to them?”
Ian had tactfully implied that Deo was exactly the right level for a beginner. But either he didn’t understand that far, or he simply turned away, scratching his ear dismissively.
“Now then. Let’s begin running.”
No estate existed without knights. In any territory, knights were the elite among elites. The Bratz Estate was no exception. They were clearly performing duties in secret, providing protection and carrying out orders.
Thud!
‘Being in the Borderlands, at most there would be ten.’
Due to the Imperial Palace’s policy of restraining the nobility, the number of knights a noble could retain was fixed. Those commonly recognized as knights were individuals certified by skill and experience. Battles with large and small monsters, wars with foreign nations, and more—their capabilities were incomparable to common swordsmen of peasant origin.
‘Their skills seem quite impressive.’
In the Borderlands, facing the Cheonryo Tribe no less. And despite having spent nearly two weeks here, I’d never sensed their presence even once. It meant they were thoroughly Count Derga’s shadow.
“Keep running!”
“Huff… huff…”
Chel dragged his feet, drooling. This was only the second lap. Ian moved ahead, breathing steadily and evenly.
Deo, trudging along, cast a sidelong glance at Ian.
‘The brat even knows how to control his breathing.’
While his stamina couldn’t be called exceptional, he clearly understood how to move his body efficiently. Unlike Chel, who fell further behind with each passing moment, Ian consistently kept pace behind Deo.
And on the opposite side.
Two boys engaged in a duel with swords.
“Aaaagh!”
“Berik, you madman, no!”
Clang! Clang!
The boy swinging his sword relentlessly was Berik. His opponent retreated, but this wasn’t a retreat born from overwhelming strength—it was simply the natural reaction to being pressed hard.
Berik’s expression darkened when he realized what had happened.
“Damn it!”
Something was wrong. Just last night, hadn’t his body felt impossibly light, as though it might float away? Now, after sleeping, the sensation had faded like the effects of a drug he’d never even taken. Desperately, Berik thrust his sword again and again, grasping at the strange feeling that was slipping away.
“Hey! Take it easy!”
Clang!
His sparring partner, unable to contain his frustration, shouted. At the same moment, their clashing blades spun through the air in a wide arc. Only then did Berik stop, catching his breath, while his partner spat in annoyance.
“That’s why I said I didn’t want to do this!”
“You’re the one who lost the wager this morning, Meirel.”
No one wanted to spar with Berik. He never held back. Several trainees bore injuries from the intensity of his attacks, which resembled actual combat.
His comrades snickered at Meirel’s expense, and he muttered curses as he headed toward the Rest Area. Left alone, Berik picked up the wooden sword that had fallen.
“Berik.”
A voice he’d grown accustomed to. He turned to look at Ian with his crimson eyes. Ian stood there drenched in sweat, smiling brightly.
“What is it?”
“You’re not telling me to leave anymore.”
“…When did I ever say that?”
“It seems that blow really did scramble your wits. You don’t even remember what you said.”
He’d learned the truth just moments ago—that it was the illegitimate son Ian who had poured water on him that day. The young masters of the household had been coming to the Training Ground, and everyone had been gossiping about it, so he’d picked up the information without meaning to.
Ian smiled and patted his shoulder lightly.
“It’s fine. In the blazing sun, everyone goes blind.”
Berik had no desire to respond. His attitude was simple: criticize if you must. What could a young illegitimate son possibly do, anyway? As he slowly dragged his sword toward the shade, Ian followed.
Berik turned around, frowning.
“It will take some time before your brother Chel arrives. I thought we’d walk slowly and rest.”
Behind them, Deo was dragging Chel roughly along. Chel kept saying he couldn’t go any further, collapsing repeatedly, and Deo was busy picking him up each time he fell.
“Want some food?”
Ian pulled out some well-dried jerky from his pocket. The servants had given it to him to ensure he wouldn’t go hungry during training. Human favor springs from such fundamental sources. Satisfying basic desires is where it begins, and the more fundamental the need, the more effective the gesture.
But.
“I don’t want any, sir.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no reason for me to eat it.”
Berik rejected it without hesitation.
It was unexpected. No matter how much Count Derga focused on expanding his private forces, an orphan-born soldier wouldn’t be living in abundance. At best, he had enough to fill his belly—better than when he was outside, but nothing more.
“Stop blocking my way, sir.”
“Your speech is strange. If you’re going to use formal language, do it properly.”
….
Still, the man remained resolute. Even knowing that Ian was an illegitimate son, his behavior hadn’t changed. He thoroughly rejected kindness and goodwill.
Ian thought him difficult for only a moment. Then he realized this was actually fortunate.
‘That’s right. I need a tool, not a devoted follower.’
If someone showed no interest in personal matters, they likely possessed their own convictions. Satisfy those, and he could forge a clean contract without unnecessary complications.
Of course, the orthodox approach was to build a master-servant relationship on trust and faith.
Creak.
Berik wrapped bandages around his right hand and wooden sword with practiced efficiency. Without hesitation, he opened the Rest Area door and called for his sparring partner—specifically, a man named Meirel whom he’d been training with just moments before.
“Meirel. Come out.”
“Did the heat get to you? Where did you get that—”
“We didn’t finish.”
Is this guy insane? As Meirel’s expression darkened, a burly man across from him stood up instead. His frame was easily twice the size of Berik’s.
“…You’ve been acting up since yesterday, huh?”
“Get lost. I’ve got no business with you.”
“Meirel’s got no business with you either!”
Crash!
The man grabbed Berik’s head and slammed it against the wall in one fluid motion. It happened in an instant. Berik, as if accustomed to such treatment, didn’t flinch. He pushed back and swung his wooden sword.
“I said get lost!”
Thwack! Crack!
I watched the scene unfold while chewing on dried meat.
Berik’s temperament was certainly abnormal. He showed no fear of violence whatsoever. And there was that obsession with strength and victory.
Thwack! Crack!
The unfortunate truth was that reality was merciless, regardless of spirit. No matter how hard Berik fought, he couldn’t overcome a man twice his size.
“Damn! You bastard! Stop it! I’m telling you to stop!”
Crack! Crack!
Whoosh!
The man kicked Berik’s abdomen as if kicking a ball.
Hmm, that must hurt. As I felt concern for him, Berik collapsed to the ground. The man brushed off his hands with a laugh, as if it were nothing.
“Keep acting up and you won’t live long. Though I wouldn’t mind if you died early. Hahahaha!”
“Ugh…”
Berik lay sprawled on his back, gasping for breath. I crouched down beside his face. My golden hair fell into his line of sight.
“Want me to teach that guy a lesson?”
At my whisper, Berik closed his eyes.
“…Get lost, you bastard.”
“Why? Don’t you want to win? There are many ways to win in this world.”
Even as a bastard, a single word from me could easily dispose of a mere trainee like that.
But Berik raised his middle finger.
“That’s meaningless.”
Raw strength. That alone was the measure by which one survived in this world. When his father’s violence forced his entire family to their knees, when bandits’ merciless blades stained his home with blood—Berik could do nothing. He could only watch.
Though I didn’t know these circumstances, I understood what he meant.
“I see. That’s your meaning.”
Just then, Chel collapsed backward in the distance. Deo and the men around him, looking troubled, gathered in small groups and shook Chel’s body. Berik, still with his eyes closed, spoke.
“Talk to me one more time and I’ll kill you.”
“But look at the state you’re in… Tsk tsk.”
“Damn it—”
I placed my hand over Berik’s eyes. Crouched down as I was, my face wouldn’t be visible to the others. Besides, with Chel collapsing backward, everyone’s attention had shifted in that direction.
“I have a rather excellent method in mind.”
Beneath my palm, I felt Berik’s gaze—a blazing inferno of spirit that transcended mere heat. His pupils seemed to burn with an unmistakable crimson hue.
“That strength you desire. I can give it to you.”
“You’re spouting nonsense. You mad bastard.”
“If I give you what you need, then you must give me what I need in return.”
My voice carried genuine weight. When Berik fell silent, I let out a low chuckle. His hesitation was unexpected—the way he couldn’t even offer a casual dismissal suggested that beneath his flippant demeanor lay a more serious nature.
*Zing.*
Without hesitation, I channeled my mana into him—slightly more than yesterday, yet still insufficient for awakening. Since a Mage Knight typically served under a master for a minimum of one year, I would need to invest considerable time in his development as well.
“…!”
Berik’s fingertips trembled. The agony that had consumed his body washed away in an instant, replaced by a coolness so refreshing it jolted his senses awake. His heart thundered in his ears as he bolted upright.
“Oh.”
Startled, I withdrew my hand. In that gap, the boy’s golden eyes met mine—a brief collision of gazes.
Berik turned his head slowly. Every sensation felt heightened, as though dormant nerves were awakening. The man who had beaten him down stood with arms crossed, watching Chel.
“Tsk tsk. If he’s like this from the start….”
“That’s why Count Bratz….”
The voices drifted lazily past his ears. Berik’s eyes gleamed as he reflexively launched forward—like a beast responding to a signal. He discarded the wooden sword as an encumbrance and drove his fist forward.
*Crack!*
“Aaaahhh!”
“…?”
The burly man turned at the cry, only to see Berik charging at him drenched in blood. Strangely, though not a breeze stirred, his hair whipped wildly about him.
Only I understood—it was the flow of mana.

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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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