Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 431

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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 431
Fire. Alone at the Grand Conference
A carriage climbing an uphill path.
Rutherford reclined lazily against plush bear fur, gazing out the window with evident satisfaction at the carriage’s unhurried pace.
But in that moment, a chill swept through his chest, and a subtle tremor rippled through him. Even his gaze, fixed steadily skyward, wavered.
“Ah.”
“What troubles you, sir?”
Rutherford did not answer his subordinate’s question, instead reaching for a cigarette. As he drew deeply, his brow furrowed beneath the smoke.
The spell he had placed on King Damon had activated. It felt like the thread connected to his sixth sense had been severed. He knew clearly why the spell had triggered, but he could not determine whether Damon lived or died. If his head had been blown clean off, that would be the end of it—but something about this felt peculiar.
Rutherford flicked cigarette ash out through the slightly open carriage window as he spoke.
“I think we should hurry. King Damon may be dead.”
“Has it activated?”
“Yes, it has. But something feels off about it.”
“I shall urge the coachman to make haste.”
Tap, tap. The subordinate knocked on the coachman’s window and signaled with his hand. The coachman, suddenly tense, pulled the reins taut, and the carriage that had been moving steadily began to shake violently.
Rutherford disliked this. Like a trivial human walking and running on two legs, he felt as though he himself were crawling across the earth like an insect.
The subordinate, noticing Rutherford’s shift in mood, ventured to speak.
“Perhaps it would be better to send you and part of the carriage ahead toward Bariel?”
“No. What good would arriving early do? It would be no different from charging into enemy lines unarmed. Whether Damon is dead or alive, things will unfold as they must. Besides, we must conserve our people’s strength.”
Rutherford chuckled and chided him, and the subordinate bowed his head.
His return to Bariel carried considerable significance. It meant far more than simply treading upon the earth, taking in the faces of the empire’s people, and observing his surroundings.
He would enter the imperial palace, allow the imperial bloodline to lay eyes upon him, and ensure that his name would be inscribed anew in the pages of history. Rutherford exhaled a breath mingling excitement and tension along with cigarette smoke.
“It took far too long.”
Time had become immeasurable. From the very beginning, the start of memory—from the name Bandor onward—he had lived eons amid countless deaths and lives. The subordinate added words of comfort carefully.
“All things will be accomplished according to your will, precisely because it took so long.”
Rutherford smiled broadly and grasped his subordinate’s chin, opening it slightly. A dark mark barely visible along the side of his tongue—the same as Damon’s. Rutherford tapped his chin lightly as he asked.
“Do you truly believe that?”
“Of course. Your very existence brings you close to divinity.”
“…How could that ever be my will?”
Bandor. Rutherford recalled his first body, now faded beyond recognition. For Bariel, for the mages’ creed, he had borne everything and cast himself into the rift—yet all that remained to him was a curse masquerading as eternal life.
“I am weary of it.”
It was a succession of deaths.
At one moment, a nomad at the edge of Gaia; at another, a wandering fisherman upon the vast Blaster Sea. And then a convict awaiting death with severed limbs, or a noble confined during fraternal strife, withering away…
All of these had descended upon Rutherford in succession. Death, death. And death again.
“….”
Amid countless deaths beyond measure, Rutherford eventually lost his will and merely endured what he experienced. Then one day, he met that one. The ‘Gypsy who devours secrets’.
“Where is Clark?”
“In the carriage directly behind us. Shall I summon him?”
“No. Leave him be. His heart must be racing at the thought of meeting his beloved—I would not disturb that. I know that feeling all too well.”
Clark meeting Lien, and Rutherford meeting Bariel after eons of death. As he stubbed out his cigarette, the subordinate knocked on the coachman’s window once more, urging him forward.
Nearly a hundred carriages of various sizes rapidly caught up to the rear of Rutherford’s carriage. Ahead of the procession, dozens of black horses led the way.
If God gazed down from that vast sky, this would surely be the first thing to catch His eye.
* * *
“Gasp, wh-what is this-”
“Explanations later, hurry! Stop the bleeding!”
“Ah, yes, yes. You are King Damon, correct? Pardon me for a moment. Bring the hemostatic agent!”
“What should we do about the tongue fragments?”
“It doesn’t seem possible to reattach them. Goodness, I’ve seen many with severed tongues, but never one shattered into such pieces. What on earth happened?”
The palace physicians laid Damon flat, glancing around the ruined interrogation chamber. Everything was drenched in blood—there was no word but “gruesome” to describe it. An explosion had occurred inside his mouth, shattering his tongue and leaving the interior in an indescribable state of horror.
The doctors hesitated, unsure where to begin, but brightened considerably when the healing mages arrived.
“We will infuse vital energy. Since he is an important attendee at the upcoming grand conference, preserving his life takes priority.”
“But how can we present him as a witness in this condition? It’s impossible. I’m not objecting as a physician—I mean it’s medically impossible.”
“He is the leader of the war criminals, and this is the reporting session right after the war’s conclusion. Even a corpse would be appropriate to bring forth.”
“Yes. And keep those tongue fragments safe. They are evidence that Ian did not mistreat King Damon. He caused this explosion himself, and we cannot allow Ian to face unwarranted suspicion.”
“Right then, bring a container for the tongue fragments!”
“The hemostatic agent is here!”
Tap, tap, tap!
Crash!
The hurried footsteps of those rushing up and down the stairs echoed loudly.
At the end of the corridor, Romandro blocked the scribes and carefully reviewed what they had written. They gripped their pens tightly, glaring at him with suspicious eyes.
“If you add even a single dot, we will report you immediately.”
“Goodness, how many times must I say not to worry? You’re the ones holding the pens, aren’t you? As the Steward, I must know what Ian and Damon discussed before this disaster occurred! Stop making such a fuss and stay quiet.”
“Fuss? Did you just say fuss?”
“Ugh! Every time you speak, I have to reread what I’ve already gone through!”
As Romandro complained with petulant irritation, the scribes retreated with bewildered expressions. Soon they realized that touching this matter would only hurt themselves, so they remained silent, pens still in hand.
The sound of pages turning filtered through the commotion. After finishing his review, Romandro looked toward Ian, who sat at some distance away.
What could that remarkable boy possibly be thinking?
“Ian.”
At Romandro’s call, Ian turned his head. Romandro approached Ian’s side and tapped the scribes’ records repeatedly.
“So, Rutherford being a mage by origin is a foregone conclusion based on King Damon’s reaction?”
“Otherwise, his tongue would never have shattered like that.”
“Fair enough. But is it generally possible for a mage to lose their magical power? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Of course, I’m not a mage myself, so I don’t know much. But isn’t magic said to be inscribed upon the soul? How could it disappear unless one dies?”
“That is precisely it.”
“That? What?”
“Death. Nothing but death can strip a mage of their power, so we can deduce that Rutherford must have died at least once before.”
“C-could it be related to necromancy?”
“The possibility isn’t entirely absent, but it’s quite slim. Hasha gave no particular hint regarding Rutherford. Astana holds the most authoritative talents in necromancy, and Rutherford would not have moved without involving them. Based on his movements, including those with Idgal, it would be more natural to say he is simply a mage who experienced death.”
“Goodness, wait. I don’t quite understand this.”
How could someone who died be moving about so freely? Unfamiliar with regression and reincarnation, Romandro could not easily accept it. Unlike Ian.
‘This body now is that of the illegitimate son Ian. A hundred years hence, I cannot yet be certain whether Bariel’s self is dead or alive. But one thing is certain—’
If magical power remains in the bastard Ian’s body, then his soul has not vanished either. He is not dead. It means he exists somewhere else, moving through a different timeline just as I and Damon do.
Indeed, Emperor Ian’s possession of the bastard Ian occurred in Count Derga’s back garden, at the dining table. Unless the bastard Ian consumed poison, there was no reason for him to meet death at that moment.
“Ian.”
Romandro moistened his fingertips with saliva and flipped through the documents. His face was filled with determination.
As if the imperial family’s connections weren’t enough. Creating Idgal and all that nonsense. Right now, all manner of ridiculous rumors swirled about Ian, the war hero.
If Damon’s condition deteriorates further, the suspicions will undoubtedly amplify anew. To deny and cover up the accusations, they would claim that Ian harmed Damon.
“You should prepare your defense meticulously. The war just ended, so the officials won’t come at you too aggressively. But this—each problem is not trivial. Don’t give them any opening, understood?”
‘If the bastard Ian is alive, where is he now? Is he moving through a different timeline? Otherwise, he would surely have come to find Philia. Just as I have, he could do the same.’
“First, I’ll exert some influence with the administrative branch. We have connections there, more so than other departments. The problem is King Damon’s safety, which Burgos will raise, but since we haven’t received their position yet, it would be advantageous for us to hold the grand conference promptly.”
‘The abyss beneath the fissure. If there is no space-time in the abyss, could Naum be there? According to the records, Bandor is someone who has traveled beneath the fissure. I have no choice but to meet Rutherford directly and ask him, but to meet him—’
“Ian. Who am I talking to right now? Are you listening to me?!”
“…Of course.”
“What did I just say?”
“To prepare meticulously.”
“Look, look. You were pretending to listen while letting it go in one ear and out the other!”
“No, I was truly listening. But Romandro, why don’t you return the documents to the scribes and visit the imperial archives? Please check if there are more records about someone named Bandor. And bring me everything that mentions the fissure and the abyss. Even a single character would suffice.”
“No! If you return the documents, what will happen? The scribes will gossip to the imperial court!”
“Then should we keep them?”
“That’s not quite right either—”
“Romandrooooo! Sir! Romandro!”
Crash! Bang!
Boom!
Someone tumbling down the stairs. Romandro clicked his tongue, saying he didn’t even need to look to know who it was. Only Berik moved so recklessly through the imperial palace.
“You’re so loud! This is an important moment!”
“It’s important for me too!? Viviana is having a baby!”
“What?”
Thud. Romandro dropped the documents to the floor. His eyes widened like a rabbit’s, and he froze in place.
“She’s having a baby, yes. Waa, waa. I saw Viviana collapse, so you should hurry, right?”
“V-Viviana collapsed? Why?”
“I don’t know. Go see for yourself.”
“I, well….”
Romandro hastily tried to gather up the papers. But Ian gently stopped his hand. He knelt down himself and spoke to Romandro.
“Don’t worry about this. Please hurry and go.”
“Ah, wait, Ian.”
“It’s fine. This isn’t my first time attending the grand conference alone. A child’s beginning should have both mother and father present.”
Romandro’s feet would not move. Normally, if things were as they usually were, he would have simply left an apology and run off.
For some reason, sending Ian alone to the grand conference felt like inviting disaster. He couldn’t quite identify what it was.
“Ian, then I’ll just check on my Viviana and the baby and come right back, yes?”
“Very well. Hurry.”
“Ah, well. Anyway, see you soon. Berik!”
“The carriage is outside!”
“Yes. Understood. You’ve worked hard! Move aside!”
Tap, tap, tap!
Romandro moved his short legs briskly as he climbed the stairs in great strides, and I gathered the documents before handing them to the Scribes.
Those who had been watching me with cautious eyes reached out and took the papers as if snatching them away.
“You are to return now. And testify before the Grand Council about everything you have witnessed and experienced here, without omission or embellishment.”
“…There is no need to tell us. Your concern is unnecessary.”
“Worry is worry precisely because it is unnecessary, is it not?”
As I smiled faintly, the Scribes hurried away, pushing through the Mages and exiting the interrogation chamber. Everywhere their feet touched, the footprints stained with King Damon’s blood were vivid.

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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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