Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 370

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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 370
Fire. From Illusion to Suspicion
“I’ve been to Astana myself.”
Timothy was the first to break the silence.
It was a perfectly natural conversation starter, leveraging his position as a diplomat. Hasha chuckled as he poked at the campfire with a stick.
“For sightseeing?”
Astana had a king, but his position differed from those of other nations. Internal strife among the tribes had left the kingdom in chaos, which he failed to properly manage, causing him to lose the people’s trust. Having lost their trust, he lost their respect as well.
With only a hollow shell of a king remaining, no one would bow their head to him. It was more accurate to say they were merely beings who had survived a long time rather than true kings.
“Among other things.”
Timothy didn’t deny it and responded lightly.
What reason could the successors of the Minority Tribes have for participating in another nation’s war? On a larger scale, it might differ, but ultimately their primary goal was to strengthen their tribes, unify the nation, and stabilize it.
Therefore, it was only right that Burgos treated them the same as foreign nobility. Was there any investment separate from that for the future? If Burgos received help here and those people grew as a result, that would become Burgos’s true hill of prosperity.
‘The problem is that those who don’t think this way are the ones with decision-making power.’
Timothy dismissed the report that an officer had struck Hasha as nonsense. Even rough and crude warriors wouldn’t be so lacking in manners. They were the ones who commanded the synthetic monsters that formed the core of the war, and weren’t they allies participating in a foreign war?
But seeing Hasha’s torn cheek illuminated by the firelight, it seemed that was indeed the truth.
“Then I’m relieved. Astana’s scenery is truly beautiful. Cliffs carved by the divine hand cover the sky, and verdant moss and leaves blanket the earth. Rather than sightseeing, the word ‘journey’ would suit it better.”
“Yes. I agree.”
Timothy smiled slightly and studied Hasha’s expression.
Apart from the wound on his cheek, there were no other injuries. The existence of the Sorcerer, their number, and their location would be the information the other side most wanted to know. How could there be only one wound?
‘It must be one of two things.’
Either the transaction was conducted very smoothly, or they simply didn’t touch Hasha.
‘It’s different from May’s case.’
May’s safety was protected to preserve her value in bringing the Sorcerer. But what was Hasha’s safety for?
Timothy’s eyes narrowed without his realizing it, and Hasha noticed that he had caught onto something odd. Yet he didn’t seem to know for certain—his gaze was ambiguous, like a word on the tip of one’s tongue that wouldn’t come.
Hasha quickly flipped the campfire and asked back.
“Why are you sitting here?”
“Hmm?”
“Everyone calls you ‘Lord Timothy’ or ‘Timothy,’ yet you’re here instead of inside. That’s what I’m asking.”
Hasha recalled Ian’s advice and drove the blade deep into Timothy’s heart.
‘Timothy isn’t part of the military, yet not only did he participate, he’s leading the vanguard. According to intelligence from King Clipoford’s palace, he holds a position almost equivalent to a general.’
Ian had paused at that point. He chuckled again, reconsidering King Damon’s intention, but Hasha didn’t understand the meaning of that laugh.
‘Of course, he does hold quite a high position. But that’s precisely the problem. Nothing troubles those in authority more than standing in an unsuitable place, whether above or below. In any case, it’s clear that Timothy is currently facing difficulties with the situation. So try to approach him through that angle. The colder his reaction, the better for us. It’s proof that he’s been dwelling on it for a long time.’
Just as Timothy had done, Hasha now stole a glance at him. Timothy stared at the dying campfire with a hardened expression. Then he responded in a rather cold tone.
“That’s an internal matter. An outsider has no need to know.”
“An outsider? Is Burgos’s land so barren that everyone speaks and acts so dryly? I’m sitting here with you right now—so who exactly is inside and who is outside?”
As if displeased, Hasha set down the branch. Then he looked around with the gaze of someone waiting for a soldier to arrive.
It was an action to show that he had no lingering interest in the conversation with Timothy, while simultaneously checking how much time actually remained.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Timothy apologized readily. He didn’t want the conversation to end. He’d learned nothing and only gained suspicious points—he couldn’t stop now.
“How are things inside Clipoford?”
“Hmm. It was better than here. At least the walls were made of brick.”
“It seems they treated you quite humanely over there.”
“Would you prefer I speak honestly?”
“Of course. If it weren’t honest, it would be strange for you to be sitting here at all. Yet you wear those clothes and that weapon for Burgos.”
Hasha fell silent for a long while. As a soldier began to approach to move him along, Timothy raised his hand behind his back to stop him.
“No, this won’t do. That’s enough.”
“Wait. You understand that your attitude is displeasing to me. If you leave this place without another word, you will find yourself back in that tent.”
He meant the General and Officers would have him tortured.
Hasha managed to compose an awkward expression with considerable skill. His gaze wandered left and right without purpose, and he swallowed dryly again and again.
“I gave them a prophecy.”
“A prophecy?”
“Yes. Though calling it a prophecy is grandiose—fortune-telling would be more accurate. My grandfather came from a tribe of sorcerers, so I picked up a few things. I found myself enjoying it, flattering them with various tales. More than I do here.”
Hasha claimed sorcerer’s blood flowed through his veins, but there was no way to prove it here and now.
The other sorcerers all came from different origins, and even if they didn’t, what difference would it make? Gypsies read fortunes in front of the marketplace. What was so remarkable about a prominent heir of Astana, famous for sorcery, reading a single fortune?
The real problem was that he had pleased the enemy.
“You pleased them, if I heard correctly?”
“Hmm. Yes. You heard right. Ah, let me say this beforehand—the General doesn’t know about this. He never asked.”
The campfire went completely out. Hasha had stamped out the remaining embers with his foot. He was beginning to worry whether he was handling this correctly, and decided it was better to hide in the darkness altogether.
“Do the people of Astana have no pride?”
“No. They are filled with pride more than anyone. That is precisely why I did everything I could not to die. If I die, Astana dies too.”
“So spouting nonsense and basely pleasing the enemy is what you call pride? In all my years, I’ve never heard such absurdity. Remarkable. If I ever have reason to visit Astana again, I’ll make sure to go sightseeing.”
Astana would never progress. You would fight fiercely in that small, narrow place and die, yet find no meaning in it.
Hasha’s brow furrowed at Timothy’s insulting words. He had intended this, but hearing it directly made it all the more unpleasant. He might not have needed to stamp out the fire.
“What if it wasn’t nonsense?”
“What?”
“I said it wasn’t nonsense. I read the fortune correctly, and I saw Cliffford’s victory. Cliffford wanted those words to come from my mouth—his enemy, his military asset—and I delivered them. So what? What is the problem?”
“This won’t do. Hasha, you’re excused. I’ll inform the General to send you back to Astana at once. All support promised by Burgos will come to nothing. And more than that, your people will never see descendants in the north again. I stake my name and Burgos’s name on it—”
“You have a son, don’t you? About five years old.”
Hasha whispered coldly.
“Before you send me back to Astana, you should return to your country. It’s pitiful—wasting time in this place while your wife and child waste away, unaware.”
Clang!
“You—”
“Lord Timothy!”
As Timothy drew his sword, a waiting soldier rushed over in alarm. His duty was to escort Iza and move the synthetic monsters, and he was startled that Timothy was about to harm him.
“Why, why are you doing this? Iza is a sorcerer. Is, is there a problem? If you mean to execute him, you must first obtain the General’s permission….”
His voice was thin and trembling, but it was enough to stop Timothy. He was a man whose reason prevailed over emotion. This was wartime, and they were in a camp facing enemy territory. Harming a sorcerer without the General’s orders could be a serious matter.
“What is the matter?”
“Officer!”
“Lord Timothy? What are you doing?”
An officer who sensed something amiss among the soldiers rushed over shouting. Timothy stood there with his sword drawn, visibly agitated. And there was the sorcerer who had left earlier. The officer’s expression showed utter bewilderment.
“Lord Timothee?”
“…My apologies. Take the Sorcerer away.”
“Ah, yes sir! Understood!”
The Soldier gestured briskly for Hasha to come over. Hasha then brushed off his upper garment with quick pats and muttered under his breath.
“How could a mother stand by and watch her child wither away?”
It was spoken quietly enough that only the Soldier standing near Timothee could hear. His eyes flashed once more, and as strength surged into his sword-gripping hand, the Officer stepped forward.
“Lord Timothee! What’s wrong? Have you been drinking?”
“Then I shall take my leave.”
Hasha bowed his head respectfully and hurried after the Soldier. He maintained an outward composure, but internally his legs trembled so violently he felt he might collapse. How could one remain composed when a massive man like a bear came charging with murderous intent?
His mind raced with countless thoughts. Had Ian miscalculated? Was following Ian’s plan truly correct? Ian, what do we do now? If this goes wrong, I’ll consider this debt repaid to Ian, and so on.
In any case, he was grateful he hadn’t needed to resort to the final measure. Hasha glanced briefly toward where the Cliffford barrier stood, then quickened his pace.
* * *
“Lord Timothee. What in the world is all this commotion?”
What the Officer witnessed reached the General’s ears intact.
If it were an ordinary Soldier, it would be one thing, but the other party was a valuable Sorcerer. To attempt killing a prisoner brought at great cost was something Timothee clearly needed to explain.
Yet Timothee merely sighed incomprehensibly and asked.
“What did you interrogate that man about?”
“What?”
“It seems odd. Suspicious, even. An untrustworthy individual, yet you incorporated him without any particular measures. What exactly did you interrogate in that tent earlier?”
“Lord Timothee. Your words are excessive. I’m quite displeased right now.”
“…I apologize, but I shall return to Burgos.”
“What?”
“First, I attempted to harm the Sorcerer without your permission, so I shall accept the consequences. Second, frankly, your methods and mine differ greatly. This is not where I belong, and even if I remained, I would be of no help.”
“You are one who manufactures pretexts!”
“A pretext for transporting the Envoy? The situation has grown too grave for such meaning. What was announced officially at the border is sufficient. I shall return.”
Timothee expressed his opinion with considerable force. The discontent that had accumulated gradually ignited upon meeting the spark of illusion and erupted. His family was dying. Cursed sorcerer.
He stood with a distinctly displeased expression, yet the General facing him wore a troubled look.
‘The King commanded me to keep Iza at the forefront….’
“General.”
“…That cannot be.”
In that moment, goosebumps rose along Timothee’s neck.
There was no problem whatsoever with Timothee leaving. He could serve as a messenger alongside Bel—how efficient would that be?
Yet despite this, the General wished to keep him at his side?
Why? For what reason?
To keep someone standing uselessly like a scarecrow?
“….”
Was this not an attempt to confine him outside of Burgos?
He realized something was going terribly wrong. It was the moment his suspicion transformed from illusion into certainty.

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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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