Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 38

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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 38. A New Reason
“You heard that too?”
“It came from Ian’s encampment, didn’t it?”
Two or three members of the Cheonryeo Tribe, roused from sleep, threw on their clothes and rushed outside. It wasn’t a false alarm. They hurried toward where Ian and Berik were, and soon confirmed the half-open entrance.
“Ian? Are you alright?”
“Is something wrong? Berik, you’re not dead, are you?”
The moment they stepped inside, the scene became clear. Some unknown man lay sprawled on the ground, while Ian clutched his reddened neck and coughed violently.
“Cough!”
“I-Ian? What happened?”
“That man… I subdued him… he suddenly tried to kill me…”
Only then did they notice the fragments of a dagger scattered across the floor. They immediately alerted those outside and bound the man’s arms and legs.
“How did this happen?”
“I have no idea. I woke up and he was trying to kill me.”
“But that aside, how did you manage to knock him down? You haven’t received any training.”
“…It just happened.”
Ian touched his neck awkwardly, as if the question were difficult to answer. Soon, every member of the tribe had awakened. Kakantir himself wore only lower garments, dressed lightly.
“What’s all this commotion? Someone attacked Ian?”
“Kakantir! It’s this man. He’s been like this since he arrived.”
“Is he an idiot? What was he trying to do?”
“That’s what we’re wondering…”
“Who is he? I can’t see his face.”
The question was asked without malice, purely out of curiosity.
Truthfully, in terms of combat ability, even a Cheonryeo child could have subdued Ian in an instant. So how had someone of that size been knocked unconscious?
“Remove his mask.”
Kakantir examined Ian’s condition carefully, bewildered by this unprecedented situation. Fortunately, there appeared to be no injuries.
From this point forward, regardless of what lay ahead, they had sworn to treat Ian as a ‘guest.’ If something unseemly occurred, there would be no greater dishonor.
Whoosh.
“Gasp!”
As the subordinate removed the mask, everyone covered their mouths in shock.
It was Bumart. The cousin of Nersaren’s second stepmother and the man responsible for managing provisions. Ian recognized him immediately. Wasn’t this the man who had stared at him so intently during the return ceremony? The discomfort had lingered in his memory.
“…Move Bumart. We’ll interrogate him at dawn.”
At Kakantir’s command, three subordinates rushed forward and dragged Bumart away. The chieftain, about to leave with them, turned back to look at Ian.
It was none other than Bumart. One of the tribe’s strongest warriors, someone you could count on one hand. To face such a man and emerge without a scratch, merely disheveled—it was remarkable.
“Ian. Is it true that you subdued Bumart?”
“It just happened. That seems to be the case.”
“In the Empire…”
Kakantir’s eyes shifted slightly toward Berik. Now things were beginning to make sense.
“We call those who perform miracles ‘mages.'”
“I have no intention of lying in the Great Desert.”
“So you’re answering my question with evasion.”
“I’ll return to Bariel and explain when the time is right. What my existence means. For now, it would be difficult for you to understand—we’ve lived through different spans of time.”
He likely reacted that way because he didn’t fully grasp the status of mana users—mages—within the Empire. Regardless of how lowborn one’s bloodline, possessing the qualifications to shoulder the Imperial Palace’s central pillars was the social power that mana commanded.
“Indeed. Besides, internal matters take precedence now. Rest yourself. Should any problems arise, speak freely.”
“Thank you.”
Kakantir laughed lightly with anticipation and left the encampment. Even as the commotion settled, Berik slept with his mouth agape.
“Krraaaagh.”
“Sigh.”
Given how resonant his snoring was, recovery seemed to be progressing. For someone with a hole pierced through his ribs, his condition looked remarkably good.
Only then did I notice fresh betel leaves placed on the table. I burned a few in the lamp, then carefully positioned several dried ones beneath Berik’s nose.
* * *
Whoooosh!
As darkness receded, Kakantir’s subordinates threw sand onto Bumart’s face. Normally water would be used, but here in the heart of the Great Desert, I felt an odd sting in my own cheeks.
“Pour until he comes to.”
“Yes, Kakan.”
Sand poured endlessly until it reached Bumart’s chest. Only then did the man twitch and regain consciousness. Kakantir examined him methodically with a sharp gaze.
“Bumart.”
“Ugh….”
His limbs were bound with splints set in place. Bumart writhed this way and that before finally lifting his head with an aggrieved expression.
“Bumart. You attacked Sir Ian at dawn—is that correct?”
Bumart hesitated in his response. The human tongue could speak falsehoods, but they had Winchen. Kakantir would certainly discern truth from lies based on the interrogation.
“Kakan. At least loosen this first….”
“Answer. Speak nonsense and I’ll cut off your fingers.”
His coldness was without hesitation. Bumart could only gnaw at his lips, trapped between options, before finally pressing his head to the ground.
“….”
“You choose silence?”
This is absurd. An opponent I could kill with one hand—I don’t understand how it came to this.
But there’s still room. If only the motive remains hidden, he’ll receive punishment merely for attacking Ian and nothing more.
Even if that punishment is his own right arm. It’s better than death, isn’t it?
“Are you serious?”
“Kakan. If you still consider me family, ask no further and take my arm. That Ian fellow—he used strange power. His eyes turned golden, the air condensed, and it burst instantaneously. Surely he’s a suspicious one.”
Kakantir stared down at Bumart. Murmuring sounds were heard, but only for the briefest moment.
“You speak of what wasn’t asked. Bumart. Do you realize how pathetic you look now?”
Buried in sand before the entire tribe, babbling away. A true warrior who prioritized honor and glory would have bitten his tongue and died.
Bumart’s face flushed crimson with humiliation. I, who had been watching quietly, raised my hand.
“May I offer testimony?”
“Speak.”
“He certainly mentioned Count Derga.”
If surrendering an arm was worth concealing a secret, it meant something greater lay hidden beyond. My statement caused everyone to stir with agitation.
“The proposal I made to the Kakan—he called it a scheme and appeared to obstruct me, so it seems he and Count Derga have some sort of….”
I trailed off as if remembering something. Kakantir waited patiently, while Bumart merely swallowed hard.
“Did Bumart ever send a letter to Count Derga?”
The day I had snuck into the office to steal a seal and forge it. I had discovered a letter written in the Cheonryeo language inside a drawer. I couldn’t recall the exact details, but….
“I once saw a letter on Count Derga’s desk asking, ‘Who will come after the female chieftain?’ Bumart, could it be you?”
All eyes poured onto Bumart, who was kneeling. His face hardened like stone as he glared at me with intensity, then after a deep breath, he bit his tongue.
“Stop him!”
From the moment Count Derga’s name was mentioned, the time to choose an honorable warrior’s death had passed. His subordinates immediately pressed their fingers on his tongue and shoved cloth into his mouth.
“Mmph! Mmmph!”
“Bumart! Is this the truth?”
“Don’t let him speak! Stuff more cloth in!”
“Damn it, what in the world is this….”
The tribespeople’s expressions twisted with shock and betrayal. I carefully, yet confidently, made my deduction.
These were things I had seen frequently in the Imperial Palace.
“It’s possible that Winchen Chieftain’s deteriorating health is related to Bumart. Wasn’t he said to be in charge of provisions?”
To kill Winchen and replace the chieftain’s position…. If such a thing had truly occurred, Bumart was certainly a prime candidate.
“I’m not certain what kind of conspiracy he made with Count Derga, but I suspect Bumart was promised the glory of chieftainship, while Count Derga was promised economic gain.”
Kakantir stared at Bumart in silence. He seemed to be organizing his thoughts for a moment. Then he stood up, grabbed Bumart by the hair, and dragged him away.
“…No one is to follow.”
He headed toward Winchen’s encampment.
The subordinates watched tensely as the two disappeared inside. A wait that felt like an hour passed in mere minutes.
When Kakantir emerged, he was drenched in blood, and in his hand hung Bumart’s severed head.
“Throw him in the desert, and bring his family as well.”
“…Yes, Kakan.”
To throw him without a funeral rite, to leave him as beast food, was to proclaim him a traitor. As Kakan threw Bumart’s head, the tribespeople spat on it as they passed.
“Sir Ian. A moment.”
At Kakantir’s call, I moved closer. He muttered while wiping his face and hands with a wet cloth that Nersaren handed him.
“We need to revise our plans somewhat.”
“How so?”
“Our role was simply to support you as you safely entered Bratz and established your position.”
Direct confrontation with the Central Army would require bearing that much risk. But now that circumstances have unfolded this way, the Cheonryeo Tribe has no choice but to become properly involved in your struggle.
“We will take Count Derga’s life.”
“I see.”
He had dared to deceive Kakantir by pretending to make peace on the surface, then conspired with his family to kill Winchen, their spiritual pillar. It was an act far more serious than mere smuggling of gruut leaves.
I paused to consider, then nodded.
“I understand, but it may prove difficult.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Count Derga’s crime is ‘treason.’ An Imperial investigation team came down from the capital over half a month ago to execute him, but if a frontier tribe handles it first, the situation becomes rather absurd.”
The execution of a traitor was conducted with greater splendor, cruelty, and solemnity. Count Derga’s death was to be the highlight of the festival—you cannot hand that over to a frontier tribe.
“Still, we must—I must—kill Count Derga with my own hands.”
“…There is no method without difficulty, but….”
Kakantir’s resolve seemed far too firm.
“As originally planned, I need only take control of the Bratz Estate—officially, that is. Once that’s done, I can involve myself in the execution ceremony and provide assistance in accordance with the Cheonryeo Tribe’s wishes.”
“Either way, we need to help you.”
“You’re too kind. I’m simply requesting your aid.”
Kakantir’s lips curved upward at Ian’s audacious words. It wasn’t the smile of mere amusement, but rather the smile of anticipation for what lay ahead.
“Good. Let’s do this.”
“Demosha.”
“Demosha.”
Ian and Kakantir exchanged a fist salute. Just then, the Physician approached and called out to Ian.
“Berik has regained consciousness.”
“…Already?”
“Consciousness only, I’m afraid.”
“…I see.”
Ian caught the subtle implication and nodded in understanding.

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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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