Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 412

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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 412
Fire. Whose Will
I washed the stained blood from my hands until they were clean.
An urgent summons from the Prince. As a Minister, receiving it in such disheveled attire was disrespectful, yet given the wartime circumstances, it could surely be overlooked.
Bariel’s messenger recognized me. Rather than bowing, I gave a light nod. It was only natural—bearing the solemn words of the Empire, one did not bow carelessly to anyone.
I slowly bent my waist in proper courtesy. Heil assisted me from the side, and the Mages watched anxiously. Only Efdiram and her subordinates rested their chins on their hands, gazing downward with apparent interest.
*Rustle.*
“An urgent summons from Prince Gin. There is a strict command to deliver it directly to Minister Ian Hielo himself. State your affiliation and name.”
“I am Viscount Ian Hielo, Minister of Magic. I am certainly the one you seek, and I shall receive the Prince’s command with utmost gravity and fulfill his will.”
The messenger handed me a weighty envelope sealed with official stamps and golden thread wound so tightly that I could not discern what lay within.
Having fulfilled his duty, the messenger then saluted me and returned to his primary task.
“You have labored greatly.”
“Is there any trouble in Bariel?”
“No, sir. The entire imperial capital was somewhat unsettled by news that the Ministry of Magic had emptied, but it was overshadowed by war reports. Bariel now enjoys very peaceful days under your protection, and Prince Gin himself remains unshaken. He personally encouraged everyone, so please return safely.”
“What of Romandro? Do you know of him?”
“Yes, I do. He guards the Ministry alone while handling all duties. He said he wishes you would hurry back—a child will be born soon, and he laments he cannot even take paternity leave.”
One of the Mages interjected with a question, and the messenger replied with a light jest. The Mages laughed and sighed with relief.
“We shall return soon. We have captured King Damon, so the war is as good as finished, is it not?”
“Yes. You came on horseback? If we fly, we might arrive first.”
“Should we buy some wine for Romandro’s hard work?”
“What? King Damon has been captured? What do you mean?”
The messenger started in surprise and naturally brought his hand to his waist. It was to write down additional information to report.
Not just any news, but the end of the war. The messenger realized he had arrived at a most fortuitous moment. There was no need to send someone else—he could simply carry this information back himself.
The Mages, speaking with pride, gathered around me and each threw in a word.
“Minister Ian captured King Damon in battle. While there remains room for negotiation with Ruswena and the northern reinforcements, with the principal figure King Damon captured, what more can be done? Is that not so?”
One Mage shouted toward Efdiram above as if to show off, and she smiled broadly while raising her middle finger.
The messenger alternated his gaze between the Mage and Efdiram, tilting his head in confusion. Who was she? She did not appear to be from Clifford.
“The reinforcements from Burgos we just mentioned. Those from the north—the Atan Clan.”
“Ah, the Atan?”
“There are several Sorcerers among them, and numerous Minority Tribes have been mobilized from the north. I am not telling you to worry, mind you. That is simply how it is. You need only go and deliver the victory report. How enviable. You have been given something wonderful.”
“Yes! There is no greater honor. Thank you sincerely for your hard work.”
“The hard work was not ours. It was our Minister Ian here.”
*Ta-da.* The Mages gradually clustered around, lingering behind me. As if it were now my turn to speak.
I laughed while my slender fingers continuously traced the tightly bound golden cord.
“What are you saying? Many have shed blood and tears. Messenger, depart at once. I would offer you a meal if possible, but is not the victory report joyous news that all of Bariel awaits? To deliver such glad tidings quickly, you must endure the hardship.”
“I was already planning to leave immediately after changing horses. Think nothing of it.”
“Go now. And convey my regards to the Prince.”
*Rustle!*
The messenger saluted with a broad smile, and the Mages simultaneously raised their hands in response.
I slowly climbed the stairs, holding the envelope, with Heil following close behind to assist.
“Everyone stay away from the windows. I’m going to read His Majesty’s urgent letter. Keep your eyes and ears distant. I wish to be alone with my thoughts.”
“We obey, Ian.”
Efdiram watched Ian pass by her, tilting her head back. So what was happening with her proposal?
“Excuse me, Minister of Magic. You didn’t forget we were in the middle of a conversation, did you? Will you share the secret about Idgal and Damon with just me, or should I hand over that bastard Berik instead?”
The messenger mounting his horse perked up his ears. What was this about? A secret regarding Idgal and Damon? Handing over Berik? Wasn’t Berik that Guard who raided the royal kitchen?
The messenger’s hand holding the reins lingered longer than necessary. He wanted to hear more before leaving, but the Clippoford Soldier dragged the horse away coldly, as if oblivious or uncaring.
Neigh!
“We’ll head this way.”
“Ah, yes, yes. Let’s go.”
“Travel safely. Clippoford is genuinely grateful for Bariel’s support, and I hope this sentiment reaches your esteemed lord.”
Creak!
As the barrier gate opened, the messenger could finally see the white flag hanging over the Burgos encampment. Having ridden without sleep and taken a detour to avoid the main gate, he had no way of knowing the state of affairs. He glanced once at the white flag fluttering in the wind, then kicked his horse’s flank with vigor.
“Clan Chief Efdiram.”
Meanwhile, Ian called out to Efdiram while gripping the door handle. Climbing the stairs seemed to have taxed him somewhat; beads of sweat had formed on the nape of his neck.
“Just because you made a proposal doesn’t mean we’re obligated to accept it. I reject both conditions.”
“Reject? Really? Aren’t you even a little tempted? If you just accept, I’ll do well by you. I’ll speak nicely to our people and get the north sorted out completely, and I’ll make sure that red-headed bastard gets his meals regularly.”
Ian chuckled softly. This too was a secret whose details he didn’t know. Yet how could a mere clan chief of the north presume to handle it? And Berik’s meals were another matter entirely.
Efdiram pulled out something to chew and put it in her mouth, scanning Ian from head to toe. He looked so weak that one slash would split him in two, yet why did he show not a shred of fear or hesitation?
To stand mere paces from the Atan Clan Chief and say they couldn’t share a future together—was this a sign of having no sense of death?
“Efdiram. Eat quietly and then leave. Receiving my lord’s orders takes precedence, so I’ll speak with you again after I’ve read this. But nothing will change. All the proposals you’ve made are rather unimpressive.”
He was similar in thinking to Berik. Speaking so directly would be more effective. Sure enough, Efdiram spat out what she was chewing with a “ptui” and scowled.
“How irritating.”
“Oh, consider it an honor. You’re the first to speak to me so brazenly in my presence.”
“Honor my ass. Just give me some meat. I’ll chew on that and think things over. Since the noble Minister Bariel says all my proposals are unimpressive, I’ve got nothing to say. Damn it.”
If she could think things over, let her. Ian shrugged and entered the room, while Berik, who had been hanging from the stair railing watching, shouted.
“I’m not being sold!”
“Oh, congratulations, Berik.”
“Ian didn’t hand me over!”
Heil gestured silently for quiet, then made a beckoning motion with his finger toward Efdiram.
“Didn’t you hear Ian’s orders? He said not to make a fuss while His Majesty’s letter is being read. Clan Chief Efdiram. Come down.”
“I’m going anyway. My stomach’s killing me, so set the table! I’m still a guest!”
“Shh! Keep it down!”
“What! You’re being louder!”
Click.
Ian locked the door, then slowly untied the cord. The seal was surely stamped by Gin himself. Quite beautifully done. Ian smiled brightly and opened the envelope.
Tear.
A note was written on thick paper. In Gin’s own handwriting. When had he developed such a mature script? The handwriting showed a subtle maturity compared to what I’d seen in lessons before the appointment ceremony.
-Count Ian. How are you? Thanks to you and the Mages being on campaign, Bariel remains as always. I have mountains of things to say, but in wartime, the time allotted to you is limited, so I’ll keep this brief. I hope you return safely so we might meet. I’ve grown a bit now, so it should be a pleasant sight. I no longer look down, and you needn’t look up either. If you can’t believe it, come back early and see for yourself.
Ian laughed quietly. I’d only read the words, yet why did I hear His Majesty’s voice ringing in my ears? Truly remarkable.
The back page was equally filled with writing like the front. If this was the abbreviated version, there would be truly much to discuss when I returned.
—Timothy, who was once Burgos’s envoy, has naturalized and currently resides in the palace. I trust you’re already aware. When Timothy crossed the border, he handed over documents he’d kept during his time as envoy. They’re copies I’ve had translated from Burgosian script into Bariel’s common tongue. Rutherford appeared in my dreams after all this time and insisted I deliver this to you, Count Ian, without fail.
Rutherford sent this to Ian? At the unexpected revelation, Ian’s brow furrowed.
He was no mere phantom of Jin’s will or a figment of delusion. He had been the guardian standing beside the future Prince in the imperial palace where demons dwelled, a protective spirit who foresaw both great and small futures. Yet the nuance woven through the letter felt ominous—as though refusing to accept this would invite calamity.
—To be honest, I still don’t fully understand what these mean. But you, Count Ian, you will understand. You’ve always shown me the path forward.
*Rustle.*
Ian carefully turned the pages, reading through the contents. They resembled a sort of royal palace journal, interspersed with detailed accounts that illuminated Burgos’s true state and internal affairs. Ian found it peculiar why Rutherford would have given Jin this revelation. There was nothing particularly striking about the contents.
The moment Ian calmly reached the final page, a single word seized his attention.
‘Rutherford.’
The name Rutherford appeared, deeply entangled with Idgal and, more broadly, with the illegitimate Ian.
—…Following King Damon’s orders, I delivered Gilberto and Longel to Rutherford.
Gilberto and Longel? Were these people’s names? Ian flipped back through the pages to verify whether the two were of noble birth.
—…Individuals claiming to be the late king’s children have appeared. Gilberto and Longel. King Damon had them arrested and imprisoned, yet he imposed no severe punishment upon those who would tarnish the honor of the late king or late queen.
Damon had ‘created’ more siblings upon his regression. Yet he handed them over to Rutherford? For what possible reason?
—Rutherford’s side demanded tens of kilograms of gold and silver, yet the King granted permission without any inquiry. As a result, the tax rates on provincial nobles increased by fifty percent.
—King Damon unveiled a new magical seal stone called Idgal to high-ranking palace officials. It is said to have been obtained through Rutherford, though its effects remain unknown. The King stated that it would bring a new future to Burgos.
*Rustle.*
Ian suddenly recalled King Damon, who had yearned for a third life. Could Rutherford be connected to regression? No—he might even be the very source that enabled the regression itself.
Remembering the chain magic that had bound him, Ian shot to his feet.
‘If that’s the case….’
Could his present existence—which he’d believed to be divine will and Naum’s intention—actually be Rutherford’s design?
Ian gathered the documents together and urgently threw open the door.
“Bring Damon to me!”

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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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