Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 354

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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 354
Fire. The Prelude to War
Burgos had never been quieter.
Unlike Cliffford, whose castle stood close to the people, Burgos’s fortress perched atop a massive hill.
Not a whisper of the nation’s great and small rumors reached these heights. Those who had sensed the stirrings of war had extinguished their lamps early, leaving everything shrouded in profound silence, darkness, and a heavy, sunken atmosphere.
Timothy and the Advisors who had ventured into Cliffford yanked their reins hard and galloped toward the royal palace. Upon seeing the Burgos flag waving alongside torches, the gates opened in advance.
Clatter, clatter!
Neigh!
The situation was urgent. Cliffford possessed Mages, but they were reportedly incapacitated, and the palace’s Shadow had pursued the traitor’s trail.
Cliffford was making considerable preparations as well. Other traitors had likely been identified, and even if not, there was no hope they would prove useful.
The moment Timothy dismounted, he rushed toward the central audience chamber where Damon waited. If war were to be waged, every hour gained would favor them. The sooner the King made his decision, the closer they would be to victory.
Creak.
“Ah, Timothy.”
“Your Highness. I have returned.”
Damon was conducting a military strategy conference with the Nobles. Countless eyes turned toward Timothy. He steadied his breathing and relayed the intelligence gathered from Cliffford.
“So, how many Envoys were killed?”
“Rumors on the streets suggest two or three. However, this is not the matter of significance.”
“Two or three? Those are vastly different numbers.”
“Most of the Mages are stationed in Cliffford, including Count Ian. Their condition appears to be near-incapacitation, preventing their return to Bariel. Our agent embedded in the palace has confirmed this, so this intelligence is reliable.”
The Nobles murmured at Timothy’s report. They had never witnessed such a circumstance in their lives. Most of the Mages absent from the capital was shocking enough, but their condition was so severe they could not return? Was this not a gift from the heavens?
One of the Nobles, trembling with excitement, added:
“Your Highness. If the Mages’ condition is that dire, why concern ourselves with justifications? Could we not simply march in? Better yet, capturing the Mages would prevent Bariel’s intervention.”
“Precisely. To capture the Mages, we would need to penetrate deep into the capital, yet they are within arm’s reach now. We cannot miss this opportunity.”
“Now I understand why Cliffford was stalling for time. They were waiting for the Mages to recover. It seems some alliance with Bariel has been agreed upon, and they clearly intend to deploy the Mages defensively.”
“How long has it been since Ruswena made contact? When they displayed that ‘black moon’?”
“Less than three days have passed. The magical exhaustion from that must have been considerable.”
“Count Ian was supposedly sent to retrieve something, yet I cannot fathom how matters deteriorated so. Did some personal matter befall Count Ian?”
“How would we know the Mages’ troubles? We need only capture them and ask. Your Highness, proceed without delay. Use the pretext of personally retrieving the Envoys who have fallen ill.”
“Yes. Demand they open the roads. They will surely refuse, and we shall use that refusal as our justification to enter.”
The Nobles, sensing the moment, crafted a seamless narrative. Since the other side had officially acknowledged the Envoys’ illness, what objection could they raise to Burgos retrieving them directly?
Of course, the scale of this retrieval force would be military in nature, so Cliffford would never open its borders. That refusal would become the spark that ignited war.
“And the palace appeared to anticipate our entry and contact with the traitor. A Shadow was following us.”
“Is that so? Any casualties?”
“One man fell, but the death was instantaneous, so there will be no leaks.”
Cliffford had detected Burgos’s intelligence operation. This meant that regardless of how many Envoys had died, the fact of their death had been exposed. It was only a matter of time before Burgos seized upon this pretext to create an incident.
Damon rested his chin in his hand, contemplating something, then snapped his fingers.
“When we claim to retrieve the Envoys at the border, lead with the military physicians.”
This way, they could claim the Envoys had died due to confusion in supplies and medical provisions during the chaos, and by leading with military physicians, they would further maximize the justification for their treatment. The Nobles and Advisors took note of Damon’s command and nodded in agreement.
“Understood. Shall we begin preparations for the expedition immediately?”
“Yes. Have everything ready before dawn.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Damon gestured for everyone to withdraw, and the Nobles moved in perfect unison, filing out of the audience chamber.
Timothy also attempted to follow them, but suddenly sensed something amiss. One of the Advisors who had accompanied him remained motionless. When Timothy glanced at him questioningly, the man prostrated himself and addressed Damon.
“Your Highness. I have a matter of a personal nature to discuss. Might you grant me the honor of a private audience?”
Damon, who had risen from his desk and was shuffling through documents, tilted his head in confusion. He looked at Timothy as if asking whether he knew what this was about, but Timothy himself had no idea.
Damon muttered in a low voice.
“You ask me to spare my time for personal matters? How audacious. Can such a thing truly be called an honor?”
“Your Highness. I have something that must be said.”
“Very well. Let me hear it then. Timothy, you may go.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Timothy cast a sidelong glance at his Subordinate and left the audience chamber.
With everyone gone and only the two of them remaining, the Advisor slowly raised his upper body and looked up at Damon. The King sat with his legs crossed, his eyes commanding him to speak quickly. Fatigue had accumulated from the lengthy meeting, and there was an implicit warning that trivial matters would be severely punished.
There was no choice but to be direct.
“It appears Timothy is a traitor.”
Damon froze. He had heard such words before in his past life. Though the speaker was different.
“Do you understand what you are saying right now?”
“When we made contact with the palace, there was a third force beyond the Shadow. They appeared to be searching for Timothy, yet there was no killing intent or any negative reaction whatsoever. It is clear that Timothy has some connection within Cliffford.”
The Advisor was so tense that he could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. He understood what it meant to accuse his superior.
If the King took Timothy’s side here, he would fall completely with nowhere to turn. But if the King harbored even the slightest suspicion? Timothy’s position would become his own.
An opportunity to push aside his superior and climb one step higher, and moreover, to earn the King’s trust more solidly. He had wagered his very life on this gamble.
“….”
But no answer came.
The Advisor turned his head slightly to look at Damon. His expression was extraordinarily strange. He seemed angry, yet regretful, and even despair and sorrow were evident in his face.
Confronted with the King’s unexpected reaction, the Advisor pressed his forehead to the ground once more and cried out.
“I stake everything upon it—my solemn oath, Your Highness!”
“Lower your voice.”
Damon pressed his forehead and furrowed his brow.
Just as in his past life, Timothy was abandoning Burgos. Despite the differing depth and distance of their relationships, the outcome remained unchanged. This was like a death sentence to Damon, who sought to alter Burgos’s future. It declared that no matter what he did, the future would not change.
How could he twist the great current of Burgos when he could not even change the small life of one man named Timothy?
All these questions transformed into Ian’s voice and churned through Damon’s mind.
Crash!
Shatter!
Damon hurled the ornament in his hand against the wall. As his breathing grew ragged and objects shattered with each impact, Ian’s voice seemed to scatter with the debris.
The Advisor trembled, remaining prostrate as he waited for the King’s fury to subside. Timothy was the representative of the delegation and the King’s closest confidant. If he had turned traitor, such a reaction was only natural. The Advisor could only hope that the shattered glass would not reach him.
“Hah, hah….”
Damon’s rage continued for some time, until only his ragged breathing echoed in the silence. He slumped into his chair and reached for a cigarette.
“Does Timothy have a family?”
“Ah, yes. He has a wife and children.”
“Timothy will lead the vanguard in this war. As for you—”
With a sigh wreathed in smoke, Damon’s cruel command dissipated into the air.
“In the meantime, seize his wife and children. One must repay one’s duty to family with one’s life. I shall show him what suffering greater than death truly is.”
A chilling murmur. The Subordinate didn’t even notice the cold sweat trickling down his back as he bowed repeatedly.
While Timothy was away, what did he intend to do with his wife and children? For a moment, the Countess’s warm smile—the one she’d offered him when serving him food—flashed through his mind. But it was already too late to turn back. He squeezed his eyes shut and painted only his own future in his thoughts.
“And you.”
“Yes, yes, Your Highness.”
“Tell Timothy that you appealed to me that he cannot participate in the war. You will remain in Burgos in exchange for your position being stripped, and tell him that I am caring well for Timothy’s family.”
Surely Timothy would wonder. What message could be so important that it would bypass him and go directly to the King?
It was somewhat unclear, but soon there would be no time for suspicion amid the impending war. The Subordinate nodded again in understanding.
“Yes, Your Highness. I shall execute this perfectly!”
“…Go.”
The gamble had succeeded. The Subordinate forced strength into his trembling legs and barely stumbled out of the audience chamber. Without a shred of evidence, the King believed his words based on nothing but a hint—he harbored no suspicion whatsoever. He merely thought that the King must have harbored some doubt about Timothy all along.
‘Timothy. In the end, like this again—’
Damon crushed out his cigarette and kicked the desk over once more. On the surface, pretending to care for Burgos, pretending to care for himself, but nothing changed.
This was disappointment in an individual, and anger as well, but ultimately it was frustration born from the fact that the future he would change remained so firmly fixed.
“No. No, no, that cannot be.”
This time would be different. Small pebbles would remain in their place, but the great river of Burgos that Damon led would trace a different course. It would flood Bariel, fill the Imperial Palace, and there he would admire the gleaming water’s surface shimmering above it all.
Burgos in this life was different. He himself in this life was different. Damon muttered thus, his head in his hands. It sounded like the whisper of a phantom drifting through the vast audience chamber.
* * *
“You couldn’t meet Timothy?”
“Nope. Some other guy was there instead. That palace traitor died and the Shadow dragged the corpse away, so we just split.”
While Berik reported through mouthfuls of meat, Barsabe hung her head as if ashamed.
Even if Berik didn’t know, Barsabe had rarely made mistakes in the missions entrusted to her. She would rather die than return empty-handed—it was unthinkable.
Yet all she’d managed to do outside was roof-hopping. It felt like she’d tarnished the reputation of the Imperial Guards.
“My apologies. The crowds were so thick that it was difficult to follow, and above all, I judged that avoiding detection by the Shadow took priority, so I suspended pursuit and returned to the palace first.”
“No, that was sound judgment. If Cliffford learned that the two of you were involved in contact, things would become complicated. You did well, Barsabe.”
“What about me? I suffered greatly too. Hopping roofs, scrambling up, getting my head stuck on the railing, look at this. A wound on my neck. Ugh, it’ll take a year to heal.”
Berik whined about a mere scratch while chewing meat. Ian found his obvious demand for praise absurd and laughed.
“You did suffer, I suppose.”
“I suppose? Not suppose—I did suffer.”
“Right. Eat plenty. The palace chef has learned your name.”
‘Eat plenty’ was itself praise and reward. The moment Berik laughed heartily and grabbed meat in both hands—
Tap, tap, tap!
Crash!
“Goodness!”
“Disaster, my lord!”
The palace Servants rushed to the separate residence where the Mages were and burst through the door without warning. The Mages, who had been slowly stirring back to consciousness, all stopped and turned toward the door.
“The army of Burgos has appeared at the border!”

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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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