Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 401

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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 401
Fire. Closing Your Eyes
A silent night where nothing could be heard.
King Damon pressed his forehead with a weary expression. Eriponi was like a serpent—it was wise to treat her as though her Achilles’ heel might strike at any moment. Thus, even in that brief meeting, he had no choice but to maintain a state of vigilance. Well, at least it was less taxing than dealing with Ian.
It was the moment King Damon was rummaging across the table, searching for a cigarette.
“Your Majesty.”
An unfamiliar voice broke the silence and called to him.
Whenever this happened, King Damon always thought of Timothy, for it was always he who had called from that position. That wretch who fled under the guise of exile, daring to leave traces in his life. King Damon furrowed his brow and lit his cigarette.
“The Sorcerers wish to make a report.”
“Let them in.”
Whoosh.
With King Damon’s permission, the tent flap was drawn back.
The appearance of those who came from the north was truly distinctive. Some had large eyes, some had particularly prominent foreheads, and still others revealed their different tribal origins through their very physique.
The northern successors mobilized for this war stood in a line before the King.
“Well then. What is the harvest?”
“My apologies, Your Majesty. No matter what we attempt, it seems the Mage’s corpse cannot be utilized.”
Sigh. King Damon made no effort to hide his displeasure. But what could be done? If it cannot be done, it cannot be done.
The Sorcerer with the greatest influence among them added while keeping his head bowed.
“We can move it alongside the other corpses, but that is the limit. As for mana manipulation, we dare not grasp its principles. The incantation itself does not activate at all, making it difficult to use in this war. If you would transfer the corpse to us, through research we will surely master the method of controlling a Mage—”
“No. Give it to our tribe. Burgos is closest, so we can research it when the decay is least advanced. Has it not been growing warmer these days?”
“One of the Mages was captured by my Synthetic Monster. It is only proper to count this as merit, not to measure it by distance.”
“Merit? Well spoken. When you were on the right flank, you couldn’t even capture a single Mage Knight, and it was complete chaos. After suffering such a defeat, you dare speak of merit?”
“What did you just say?”
Crash!
As the Sorcerers’ voices grew louder, King Damon irritably slammed the table. Already troubled by setbacks in his plans, and now these fools were making a commotion over a single Mage corpse.
As King Damon chewed on his cigarette, the Sorcerers fell silent as one.
“Set aside the corpse. What of the other Mages?”
“They still live. The Military Doctor is treating them.”
“Do they seem to require mana? It seems we could borrow Mages from Ruswena’s side. Since those who still live are preferable, keep the living ones alive for now.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. As you command.”
“Um, Your Majesty.”
Then, one of the Sorcerers cautiously added his words. He was from a tribe in hostile relations with Astana. Since Hasha had betrayed and turned to Clifford’s side, appropriate punishment would be necessary. If his own tribe took the lead in carrying it out, it would be equivalent to an opportunity to seize hegemony over that region.
“What are your intentions regarding the subjugation of Astana? If you have no separate plans, we shall bring the heads of all Astanans in the name of Burgos.”
Tsk.
There it was. Everything grated on him from start to finish. King Damon tilted his head back and blew smoke, taking a moment of silence to organize his thoughts.
Astana. Yes. They too deserve some form of punishment. But he could not divide his forces during wartime.
Tap, tap. King Damon flicked his fingertips and withdrew a small pendant from his inner pocket. It was a rusted thing covered in hand oils, with a magic circle drawn upon it.
Click.
Idgal, shining within it.
It was somewhat brighter than when the war first began, but still far from sufficient. A flow of mana strong enough to withstand ignition and shatter was needed. Without it, even if a great earthquake occurred, he could not create a fissure.
It was the moment King Damon’s fingertips caressed the pendant.
“Your Majesty. A messenger has arrived from Clifford.”
Clifford had contacted them first. All the Sorcerers exchanged glances, and Damon pondered with his head tilted. A messenger?
“Bring only the letter, but have the messenger wait outside. And summon the Generals as well.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Damon recalled the Mages falling from the sky. Surely Clifford’s message would contain news of the Mages’ safety.
If his suspicion was correct, Bariel might have prioritized the Mages’ welfare over the alliance with Clifford. It would have been the wise and natural choice.
The immediate problem was Clifford. Without Bariel’s reinforcements arriving yet, if the Mages withdrew their power, they would be like a candle before the wind.
‘I cannot know Ian’s condition. That’s the greatest variable.’
“Your Majesty. The Generals have arrived.”
“I shall read the letter.”
At Damon’s gesture, one General slowly read the forceful handwriting aloud. The overall content was as follows.
Withdraw from Clifford immediately. Compensate for damages. Furthermore, if you are holding the Mages, it would be wise to return them. Otherwise, punishment will follow—these were the main arguments.
Those gathered in the King’s tent strained their ears to catch every single word.
“Your Majesty. It seems a problem has arisen between Clifford and Bariel, does it not?”
“Is that how you interpret it? I rather see no problem at all. The Mages belong to Bariel, so it sounds to me like Clifford is warning that they will intervene if any harm comes to them.”
“That’s the same thing, is it not? Why would Clifford intervene? They would not intervene unless they could not capture Bariel otherwise. Your Majesty. This is fortunate. Inform them that we have a Mage here, and lead the negotiations.”
“If Bariel has chosen the Mages’ safety over Clifford, we can take a stronger stance. If Bariel does not return to neutrality, we will kill them all.”
“That is too provocative. Such words cannot be spoken.”
Opinion divided among the Generals. But the general consensus was similar—Bariel was prioritizing the Mages’ return.
Damon murmured while examining the handwriting of the letter.
“Prince Noah wrote this himself, but the content is strange.”
“Strange in what way?”
“The word choice contains much of Bariel’s common tongue. Given that the Mages’ safety is at stake, it must have been written in agreement with Bariel.”
“Then you believe there is no problem with their alliance?”
“Not greatly, for now. But who knows what the future holds. They send this message first, asking questions. As the saying goes, the thirsty dig wells—I can feel Clifford’s lands drying up from here.”
Damon chuckled and tossed the letter onto the table. Then he questioned the Sorcerers.
“Answer me clearly one last time.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Can you truly not use a Mage’s corpse?”
“No. It is beyond our capabilities.”
“I see.”
There was no way around it. Damon nodded, understanding their limitations well.
Eriponi had not surrendered Jang, but as a gesture of alliance, she had handed over a Mage’s robe. This would prove to be a useful trick to deceive both Bariel and Clifford.
“Prepare a box.”
“A box?”
“Soak all five robes—ours combined with theirs—in blood and place them inside—”
It would be good to inform Eriponi of this situation as well. The messenger from Clifford likely visited Ruswena too.
“Sever the head of the dead Mage and send it along.”
War has only just begun, and there will be no safe return of the Mages you desire. That great Mage, deemed close to the gods, has fallen by Burgos’s blade. Can magic dare to obstruct Burgos’s magnificent footsteps? Let Clifford and Bariel grow anxious and eye each other suspiciously. This reply contains all such meaning.
One of the Generals stepped outside the tent to sever the corpse’s head, then returned carrying five blood-soaked robes.
There was no need to search for blood elsewhere. The blood of their fallen colleague was more than sufficient to saturate them.
* * *
“Damn, this—”
General Clifford’s men muttered while clutching their foreheads. This was bad. They didn’t know who it was, but the circumstances made it clear it was a Mage’s head.
Samobo grabbed Prince Noah’s arm and closed the lid.
“Your Highness. You mustn’t show this to Count Ian.”
“Yes. This is terrible. It’s only been a few hours since Count Ian ordered the Mages to return safely. The sun is just rising. Yet Burgos has provoked us like this? The consequences are unpredictable.”
“Until the Bariel reinforcements arrive. Let’s buy time until then. We’ll bring them to the battlefield and see what happens.”
Isn’t it true that forgiveness is easier than permission? If the Bariel reinforcements arrive while we’re searching for the Mages, they’ll join the war without hesitation.
But if the Mage’s death is revealed, that’s something to discuss later. Above all, as time passes, Ian’s emotional turmoil will fade.
Yet Noah could not decide easily.
“Damn it, damn it!”
He had witnessed the bond between Ian and the Mage Division firsthand. What if they hid this now and it came to light later? Could he handle the fallout? Anguish churned through his mind. Evasion or acceptance. Avoidance or responsibility. It was a crossroads that would determine Clifford’s future.
The Generals watched Prince Noah with concern as he remained silent, gripping the edge of the table. How much time had passed? Finally, Noah made his decision.
“Bring Count Ian.”
“Your Highness!”
“Bring him!”
As several Generals began to voice their opposition, Noah cut them off sharply. Don’t waver him, he said. He had already decided. Even if his future self cursed this as a foolish choice, so be it. The best Noah could do now was to remain faithful to his alliance without deception.
Samobo sighed and left the war room as their representative.
“I opposed this to the end.”
“Listen, it’s the Prince’s decision. Don’t argue.”
“Your Highness. I support you. I believe this is the right choice. If we try to deceive him, it could bring greater disaster.”
As opinions continued to divide, Ian arrived. The atmosphere fell silent instantly. Ian entered the war room slowly, and soon discovered the blood-soaked robes on the table.
“….”
He approached without a word and picked up the robes.
One, two, three, four, five. The sizes varied, the wear on the sleeves differed, and each bore the living habits of its Mage owner. As Ian lifted the garments, blood dripped from their ends.
“…Where did these come from?”
Ian’s voice was low. It was cool, yet his emotions were tightly compressed beneath the surface, causing Noah to unconsciously step back.
“A message from Burgos.”
“…Five robes.”
Jang was in Ruswena, yet five robes? Ian calmly folded the garments and set them aside.
His gaze reached the box. Noah covered its top with his hand as if in warning.
“Open the box.”
“Count Ian. There’s a person’s head inside.”
“…Open it.”
Click.
Noah slowly opened the box. Ian immediately recognized the corpse’s identity. It was Selena, one of the five who had disappeared.
As if gazing into a distant world, her empty pupils remained fixed. Her disheveled hair, wounds scattered across her skin. And her neck, severed without hesitation.
Crack.
I bowed forward, clutching the box. Something scorching and frigid, bristling with thorns, surged upward from within.
Unaware, I shed tears once more. Droplets traced along my jaw and seeped into the blood pooling across the ruined table.
“Count Ian. Are you… all right?”
Prince Noah called out with concern, but I did not answer. I simply closed Selena’s eyes with my own hands.
My long, pale fingers passed over the cold eyelids of the corpse, offering a prayer for peace. Go gently into that distant world, I whispered—let the light of this realm trouble you no more.
“…I will.”
I murmured, gazing down at my subordinate’s lifeless face.
My words carried the weight of a vow, an oath carved into stone, a declaration.
“I will claim Damon’s life as my own. No matter what comes, Damon will not close his eyes even in death, and I will tear his body to shreds beneath the feet of all things in this world. Therefore, Clifford, do not set your sights upon Damon.”

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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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