Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 417

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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 417
Fire. Tolorun
The man lying languidly on the bed opened his eyes.
Though blackout curtains kept the noon sun at bay, the commotion from the streets outside—what little had penetrated the barriers—had shattered his light sleep.
He raised his upper body and naturally reached for his cigarette holder. His subordinate, sensing the faint sound of movement, reported from outside.
“Rutherford. Did you cough?”
“Yes.”
Click.
At his affirmative response, the door opened. Brilliant light flooded in from outside. The subordinate carefully examined the scattered clothes, bottles of liquor, and white powder strewn beneath the bed before approaching him.
Nothing had changed noticeably overnight. As Rutherford leaned back against the pillow with the cigarette holder between his lips, his subordinate lit it for him and spoke.
“That Idgal awakened during the night.”
The firelight illuminated Rutherford’s features more vividly. His long black hair and handsome face were marred by rough scars scattered across his skin. Rutherford raised an eyebrow and asked back.
“That Idgal?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
As if anticipating Rutherford’s command, the subordinate withdrew a small pendant from his inner pocket. It was wrapped in white cloth, and beyond merely fractured, it was nearly shattered to pieces. Rutherford smiled faintly and fingered it delicately.
“So it found its true master.”
That boy with golden hair and green eyes. The foolish child who never understood how magnificent and wondrous the power flowing from his fingertips truly was.
Rutherford drew deeply on his cigarette with satisfaction, then exhaled with a smile. Wearing only a robe, he rose abruptly and drew back the curtains.
Whoosh!
The panorama of Tolorun Kingdom spread before him. Circular domes with colorful flags planted atop lined the landscape, and between the alleyways, the endless prayers of those who believed in the underground god and countless other deities never ceased.
Rutherford leaned against the window frame and surveyed the area below.
“If they’re going to call the underground god, they should do it underground. I don’t understand why they do it out here. Don’t you agree?”
“Did you lose sleep?”
“Yes. But I’m in a good mood. It feels like I received a gift the moment I woke up.”
Rutherford smiled and flicked the pendant fragment away. It rolled off somewhere and disappeared, but no one paid it any mind. The broken Idgal had fulfilled its purpose through its very existence.
“Let’s prepare.”
“Yes, Rutherford.”
“Are reports still coming in from those sent to Cliffford and Ruswena?”
“The last news was of a battle occurring at Cliffford. Between the northern minorities and Burgos. Ruswena, Cliffford, and Bariel reportedly participated.”
“Given that Idgal has awakened, it’s safe to assume Ian reached Damon. Then Burgos’s side has been checkmated?”
Tap.
Rutherford tapped ash from his cigarette lightly out the window. His eyes, visible from the side, seemed to deepen into an even richer blue.
Whenever he fell into thought, his eyes conjured the image of a deep, blue ocean. His subordinate had never seen the sea, but he believed that if such a world existed, it must surely resemble the depths of Rutherford’s gaze.
“If Damon makes his move like this, the profit margin becomes somewhat disappointing. There’s still much we haven’t received.”
“Yes. Including gold and silver, approximately fifty thousand gold coins remain unaccounted for. It would be wise to observe the flow from Burgos’s side.”
“This is trade secret—we can’t let it slip to just anyone. Even if it’s unfortunate, it’s better to keep using Damon. Find a way to secretly convey that we’ve nearly completed the regression method. If he dies before then, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Rutherford hummed a tune as he opened and closed the window.
The moment had finally come when Ian would pour forth his magical power. The child who harbored a vast cosmos had shaken the world, and now the southern Bariel and Cliffford regions would be ruled by fissures.
Then everyone would desire Idgal, and he, holding the lifeline, would naturally seep into the Empire. A long-cherished dream. One he had waited for, endlessly waited for.
Knock, knock.
“Rutherford. What shall we do about the meal?”
“Let them in. Why would I skip a meal on such a fine day?”
At his permission, the door opened once more. As servants from the upscale inn carried in the food, a man entered slowly. Rutherford uncorked a new bottle of wine and held it up to him.
“Clark. I have good news.”
Clark. A man of strange fate who had drifted all the way here from the borderlands of Bariel, serving as the escort for the heir of the Merelrof family.
Clark bowed his head at Rutherford’s toast. He didn’t know what the good news was, but if his current ‘master’ called it good news, then so it would be.
“You’re going back to Bariel.”
“…!”
“You wanted to go, didn’t you? What was her name again? That woman you loved so dearly—she’s in Merelrof in Bariel.”
“I never mentioned such a thing.”
“Just because you don’t speak of it means I don’t know?”
A slave had strangled the family heir with his own hands—how could he not know? The conclusion came easily enough if one simply traced the lines of interest.
Dive Merelrof, who had believed in the underground gods, had been driven to this Tolorun kingdom for some reason, but surely he would have wanted to return to his own lands someday. Clark had not wished for that, so in the end, he had no choice but to kill his master with his own hands. So that Lady Lien could escape the family, so that she alone could find her happiness.
“When you return, I’ll bill your price to Lady Lien. You know I’m a merchant, don’t you? I’ll collect every last coin, so speak well when you meet the lady.”
Under Tolorun law, murder was punished by death. But Clark and his master were foreigners, so they had planned to carry out corporal punishment instead—until Rutherford saved them. For a reason that hardly befitted a merchant: that they were from the same country.
Clark moved the dishes with a stolid expression, but he could not stop his heart from pounding fiercely.
‘Come back.’
Everything about Lady Lien as he had last seen her remained vivid in his mind. If the gods permitted, he had thought he would meet her again only in death, but Rutherford’s words proved to be truly good news.
Rutherford detected the faintest smile at the corners of Clark’s mouth and took a sip of wine. Whether the man was foolish or simply naive, Rutherford still didn’t know why he had chosen Clark from among the many imprisoned in the dungeon.
Rutherford paused, knife in hand.
“Ah. Those children who met that king—”
“Yes.”
“Get rid of them right away. If there’s a hill to lean on when the cracks start to form, it loses its flavor, doesn’t it? Until I go myself, let’s keep their hearts trembling a bit. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He was referring to his subordinates who had made the proposal to Damon and Eriponi. Simply having them return wasn’t a bad choice, but if Rutherford’s stewards met mysterious deaths in Burgos and Ruswena, wouldn’t that create an opening for his own people as well?
The justification for war was not limited to nations alone. This was a kind of insurance. He didn’t know what would happen later, but for now, it was better to keep all possibilities open.
At Rutherford’s command, his subordinate nodded and turned, then gestured to Clark. A signal to leave together.
Click.
“Clark.”
“Yes?”
“What if you return and the woman is gone, or she’s with another man?”
Clark grasped the door handle and paused for a moment. But soon he realized that such thoughts were a luxury. It was only recently that he had prayed merely to see Lien once more, and now he could not ask to be with her.
Tolorun. A land of gods. A land where countless gods hide in alleys and gnaw away at human hope and greed. Clark understood this well.
“…Forgive me.”
Creak.
Clark closed the door without another word, and Rutherford burst into loud laughter. That one, he thought, was more useful than expected.
A person’s worth was determined by the driving force within them, and such thick, strong will was welcome to Rutherford. As long as the man moved exactly as he desired, in whatever way that might be.
Huff!
“This should be interesting.”
Rutherford drove his knife through the center of the steak. The motion resembled piercing a human heart, yet he seemed to relish it.
‘Soon, Ian. You’ll see.’
Originally, I had planned to make my move around autumn, but events have unfolded most entertainingly. Ever since the rebellion erupted within the imperial palace, everything seemed to spiral into chaos, yet this exquisite sensation of everything falling back into place—words could scarcely capture it.
Rutherford smiled thinly as he carved into the meat. Following the blade’s path, raw blood seeped out in a slow trickle.
* * *
Boom! Crash!
Kaboom!
“Evacuate! Evacuate!”
“Get outside immediately! There’s no time to gather your belongings!”
“W-what is all this? W-what’s happening—”
“Stop asking questions or you’ll die here! Run!”
“Mom! Mom!”
“Help! Someone help! My leg is trapped!”
The western district of Prodona, the capital of Cliffford, had descended into absolute chaos from this sudden calamity.
Buildings shook from the earthquake before collapsing entirely, the earth splitting open and swallowing the verdant vineyards that had once flourished there. Through the cracks, searing heat erupted upward. Those who stumbled and fell into the fissures melted away before they could even scream.
There were no volcanoes in this region—where was this magma surging from? Those who had lived their entire lives in Cliffford could not comprehend what was happening. Was this truly their homeland? Was this truly the place they had always known?
Boom! Crash!
Screeeech!
“Ahhhhh!”
The earth split open like roots burrowing downward. One person stumbled and fell into the chasm, and magma erupted upward like a geyser of water.
Those watching in stunned silence slowly traced their gaze upward to the sky, where the magma transformed into ash as it met the air.
Its form gradually took shape. Formless yet undeniably present—the lowest of low-tier monsters born first from the cracks. A Dust.
“I-I-I….”
The startled person fell backward, eyes wide open. Though they couldn’t identify it precisely, they knew instinctively that it was a monster.
The Dust swayed with the wind, celebrating its birth as it lunged toward the people.
Zing!
Boom!
A mana projectile pierced cleanly through its body. Ash scattered in its wake, and the people stared in bewilderment before turning their heads.
There were people in the sky. Mages.
Those mages who had surely fought alongside them at the barrier.
“Don’t just stand there! Keep moving!”
“You must escape this place! What are you doing?”
“Y-yes! L-let’s go! Thank you!”
“Thank you! Thank you!”
“Slowly! Move in order! The path ahead is narrow!”
Taking advantage of the moment, the palace guards continued the evacuation. Some rescued those about to fall into the cracks below, while others courageously wielded their blades against the Dust.
This was the lowest of low-tier monsters heralding the beginning of the cracks—barely worthy of being called a monster at all, more accurately a symptom of what was to come.
Screeeech!
The mages carefully observed the continuing earthquakes and the steadily rising heat, committing every detail to memory. They would report everything to Ian without omission.
“My goodness. It’s a real crack.”
They too were witnessing a phenomenon they had never seen in their lives—the earth splitting apart. With curiosity and fear mingling in equal measure, they could not tear their eyes from the widening chasm.
Then, from somewhere, an unusual movement was felt.
Tap tap tap!
“Let’s see, let’s see! Has the feast begun!?”
It was Efdiram. She was approaching near the fissure with her subordinates, and just as the mages moved to block her path.
Whoosh!
“Wait until Ian says something.”
Berik stepped in front of them. Efdiram laughed as if it were absurd, slinging her sword across her shoulder.
“How ridiculous. Wipe the drool from your mouth before you speak.”

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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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