Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 3

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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 3. Count’s Manor
“Was the meal to your liking?”
Count Derga set down his utensils to the side as he spoke. The luncheon that had stretched on for two hours was finally drawing to a close. The sun that had hung at its zenith had long since begun its descent toward the mountains.
“Quite excellent. It rivals what one would be served at the Imperial Palace.”
I paused mid-fold of my napkin.
It was a remark that dared compare itself to the Imperial Palace—the center of the world and the seat of supreme authority. In my era, such a statement would have been shocking, yet the people around Count Derga showed little reaction.
‘Is this commonplace?’
If so, it suggested the Imperial Palace’s power was not as formidable as I had known. A hundred years prior—one would have to trace back through seven emperors, even excluding those with brief reigns.
“I shall have dessert prepared.”
“Thank you, Countess.”
While I turned these thoughts over in my mind, the table was completely cleared. Mrs. Mary offered an elegant and gracious smile as she glanced at her two sons.
“Chel, Ian. The adults have matters to discuss, so why don’t you two enjoy some refreshments in the adjacent room.”
They would surely discuss my adoption—leaving out the subject himself.
The adoption proceedings were nearly a foregone conclusion, yet given that the Borderlands lay beyond the Imperial Palace’s usual reach, they would scrutinize it carefully as a precaution.
“Yes, Mother.”
I replied with crisp formality, and the corners of Mrs. Mary’s mouth trembled slightly. It seemed quite taxing for her to pat the shoulder of one of lowborn status.
Instead, she merely tapped my cheek in a performative display of affection. The more she did so, the more Chel’s eyes narrowed.
“This way, Lord Mollin.”
“Ah, quite impressive indeed.”
They passed through the back garden and entered the main residence.
The spacious Drawing Room at the heart of the manor was not merely luxurious but overwhelmingly ornate. Gilded furnishings gleamed from every direction, catching the sunlight and flooding the room with brilliance.
Creak.
Once the adults had withdrawn into the inner Drawing Room, only Chel and I remained. We sat facing each other, observing one another. More precisely, Chel glared while I observed.
‘This fellow bears a striking resemblance to Count Derga. Even a passing dog would recognize their kinship.’
His reddish, wavy hair and freckled nose bridge—despite his youthful vigor, his protruding belly unmistakably revealed his bloodline to Derga.
The Ian reflected in the mirror had blonde hair and absinthe-colored eyes, likely bearing much influence from some unknown mother. Delicate in appearance, I shared not a single feature with Chel.
“Young Master Chel, Young Master Ian. I shall bring refreshments.”
A servant approached respectfully and set down tea and cookies. Chel’s eyes narrowed, and he struck the servant’s head squarely with his hand.
Smack!
“Ah!”
Scalding tea spilled across the servant’s hand. I instinctively reached for a handkerchief, but a lowborn bastard would hardly possess such a thing.
“Say that again.”
“Pardon?”
The servant rubbed his hand against his apron with a bewildered expression. Fortunately, though it swelled slightly, the burn was not severe.
“How dare you speak my name so presumptuously?”
“Ah, I—I apologize, Young Count.”
A title signifying he was the Count’s sole legitimate heir, publicly declaring him as Derga’s successor.
Though I, versed in propriety, was not ignorant of this, Chel’s sharp reaction struck me as somewhat odd.
“You spilled the tea, so make amends for it.”
“…I shall bring a fresh pot at once.”
“Spilling it again? Do you not understand how precious this tea is? I’ll deduct it from your wages—keep what you’ve spilled. Since you’ll never taste anything like it in your lifetime, you might as well lick it off the floor.”
“I apologize for my carelessness. Please forgive me this once.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
It was a cruelty rarely seen. How could someone possess such a vicious nature? His parents must have raised him poorly.
“The tea is ready now. Go outside and cool your hands.”
At my final instruction, Chel’s expression crumpled. Like a shrimp caught in a whale’s battle, he hastily retreated with the tray in hand.
Her judgment was sound. Chel looked ready to grab me by the hair at any moment.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Your brother was speaking. How dare you interrupt and tell him what to do?”
I spoke with an untroubled expression, as if the question were obvious.
“If you manage servants this way, you may soon find yourself handling the manor’s affairs directly. It would be wiser to refrain from venting your temper and causing problems, and instead fulfill your duties properly.”
At my calm and logical response, Chel’s eyes bulged.
“A child of lowborn blood dares speak of duty? Did Mollin praise you once and now you’re full of yourself? Do you think you’ve become a true noble?”
His voice was hushed and quiet—naturally so, since there was a guest beyond the door. Still, he possessed some sense of discretion.
I sipped my tea and smiled.
“Am I not a noble?”
“…What?”
“You’ll be sold to the Cheonryo Tribe, brother.”
Even as I spoke, I found myself laughing.
Though I was emperor for merely three years, I stood at the pinnacle of Bariel. Chel needed to understand this was undeniable glory.
Seeing his face flush red and purple, he seemed to think I was mocking him.
“This is insane!”
Chel raised his hand to strike my cheek, but it stopped in mid-air. My grip had caught it firmly.
“Your name is Chel, correct?”
I was smaller and thinner than others my age. If Chel had pressed down, he would have overpowered me.
But he could not. When I called him by name one last time, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
“If a wound appears on your face here, what will Mollin think? And the Count? And his wife? They’re working hard to sell me out there, yet you, as their son, not only refuse to cooperate but try to sabotage me?”
The emperor tapped Chel’s cheek lightly.
It was a reminder to come to his senses.
“What happens when I disappear?”
At those words, fear in Chel’s eyes gradually gave way to cunning light.
“Hmph, you?”
His gleaming smile, as if he’d caught something, was no child’s expression. It resembled a street urchin who’d rolled through back alleys his whole life—no wonder the nobility whispered that this was a vulgar house.
“Try it then. Your mother’s head will be severed and kicked around like a ball in the Market District. Ahahaha!”
Ah. I let out a low exclamation internally.
As emperor, I had never heard such crude and raw threats. It was more… I suppose one could say I’d received threats with more refinement and grace.
In any case, I learned another piece of information from Chel’s words.
‘His mother is a shackle.’
That was why I had to cross the border without hesitation. A child from the slums had almost no chance of escaping Count Derga’s grasp.
‘That’s right. Now that I think about it, there must be a reason I ended up in this child’s body among countless possibilities.’
As Ian pondered briefly, Chel mistook his silence for a sign that his threat had landed.
“Lie flat on your belly. That way you and your mother can live one more day together, yes? Even if you roll around in the Market District, your filthy body is so dirty no one would notice anyway.”
That was the moment.
Ian seized Chel by the hair and locked eyes with him directly. His absinthe-colored irises shifted to gold, and mana surged forth—an involuntary reaction, as if blood were rushing backward through his veins.
“How foolish.”
Ian spoke coldly, feeling mana course through his entire body.
Compared to when he had possessed an emperor’s form, it was trivial, but far beyond what Chel could withstand. Besides, Ian had been the brightest star in the history of magic itself.
“No matter how young one is, words carry the same weight. A tongue three inches long is not too short to change a life. If you’re not careful, it will be cut off.”
A century ago, the current Bariel Empire had virtually no awareness of Mages compared to when Ian had ruled it. Even the Capital nobility could barely encounter one if fortune smiled upon them, and the Borderlands naturally bore no trace of them at all.
“Ah······.”
Thus, even when faced with a miraculous phenomenon, they did not know what it meant. Chel’s face went deathly pale, and he nearly lost consciousness.
Thump.
He collapsed onto the sofa and lost control of his bladder. Ian clicked his tongue inwardly and stepped back. Standing with his back to the direct sunlight, Ian looked almost like the incarnation of an angel. Chel continued his mishap without any sign of stopping.
‘…This is maddening.’
Just as Ian thought he should call a servant, the Drawing Room door suddenly opened.
“Young masters. I hope you’re enjoying your refreshments······.”
Mollin emerged with a benevolent smile, then froze. He came face-to-face with Ian, bathed in sunlight. In a brief flash, golden eyes shifted to absinthe.
‘Just now?’
Was it merely a reflection of the light?
Something felt off.
Mollin replayed that fleeting moment and peered into Ian’s eyes, until the Countess’s flustered voice broke his concentration.
“Chel! What is this!”
Mrs. Mary discovered Chel standing in a daze. The boy glanced at Ian hesitantly, but his expression remained composed.
‘It would not be wise to speak carelessly.’
It was a warning delivered in silence, but it seemed to reach Chel well enough. The boy stammered out an excuse, nearly in tears.
“…I, I spilled my tea.”
“Oh my. Oh my. Goodness!”
Only then did Mollin, having confirmed Chel’s state, turn away with an awkward cough, and Count Derga squeezed his eyes shut.
Utter humiliation! His seventeen-year-old son had an accident in the Drawing Room! If word got out, he truly could never show his face again.
“Is anyone outside? Anyone will do, hurry!”
“What’s the matter? Oh heavens!”
“Bring clothes, towels, and something to clean with.”
While the Countess fussed about calling servants, Mollin quietly sought permission from Count Derga. There was no telling what urgent business a Central official visiting the Borderlands might have, but standing here any longer was becoming unbearable.
“Count? I’m afraid I have some pressing matters to attend to. If I may······.”
“Ah! Of course. Today has truly been an honor.”
“Likewise. If it’s not too much trouble, might I request that Ian escort me out?”
Count Derga nodded before he could think, so flustered was he by Chel’s sobbing.
“Thank you for your permission, Count. Ian, the Manor is quite vast, so please help an old man find his way.”
“Of course. Lord Mollin. I shall be delighted to show you out.”
I don’t know the manor’s layout at all, but leaving with Mollin would certainly be better than staying here. I can simply grab a passing servant and have him carry his coat.
“Let’s go.”
Ian smiled softly and led him out.
Those absinthe-colored eyes met his once more. Mollin gazed at the boy with a look that held the weight of years, scrutinizing him intently.

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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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