Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 7

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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 7. Illiteracy
“Ian, you must concentrate.”
I turned my head at the tutor’s words.
The guest room in the west wing. Unlike before, clear air drifted through the open windows on all sides. Seeing my listless demeanor, the tutor sighed and tapped his pen against the paper.
“Very well. Let’s try again. Say one hundred estate residents paid five sacks of wheat as taxes. Half of that was sent to the capital, and then half of what remained was distributed to the manor servants. How many sacks are left in the end?”
I let out a light yawn and turned my gaze away. These study hours, spent two or three at a time in the afternoon, were truly unbearable in their tedium.
“I don’t know.”
At first, I had pretended to calculate by counting on my fingers, worried that changing my answer too quickly would seem suspicious.
But doing that once or twice was one thing—continuing it became far too bothersome. I resolved to simply feign complete ignorance.
“At least attempt the calculation.”
“Hmm. Wouldn’t it be one hundred sacks?”
Moreover, exploiting the illegitimate son’s dullness yielded unexpected benefits. The tutor and butler often exchanged written messages regarding my educational progress.
Most of it was trivial, but occasionally they would leak information such as the household master’s affairs.
“…We shall end mathematics here. Next is literature. Last time we read ‘The Fate of Destiny,’ did we not?”
The tutor was a man without enthusiasm. Whether I understood or not, he simply plodded through his assigned duties and collected his wages.
For me, this was fortunate. When I claimed ignorance, he gave up cleanly, so I didn’t need to bother pretending to study earnestly.
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
“Pardon the intrusion.”
The butler entered carrying refreshments. That the butler himself brought them rather than a servant suggested an intention to observe my learning attitude.
“How far have we progressed?”
“We are preparing to conclude with literature.”
“I see. It seems we’ve finished rather quickly today.”
“Ian follows along so well.”
How amusing. They’re joking now.
I crunched on the refreshments while looking down at the half-illustrated book. The butler showed his palm to the tutor and quickly wrote something. From my position, I couldn’t see it.
“Then, please take care.”
“Yes, butler.”
Tap.
The tutor read aloud the few characters, wrote them on parchment, and had me copy them.
Thus the tedious afternoon study session concluded. When the wall clock chimed, the tutor gathered his books and stood.
“I shall see you out, teacher.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’m busy today. Ian, continue with your writing practice.”
I always escorted the tutor in and out, learning proper gait, greetings, and social etiquette in the process.
But on days when he refused, as today, it meant he was meeting someone from the household.
“Very well. I shall see you next time.”
I simply nodded without further comment.
The tutor, having donned his coat, left the room with a smile.
‘Is he going to meet the butler?’
I occasionally saw the count or countess as well, but since moving to the guest house, there were so many attendants wandering nearby that I couldn’t follow him.
Dismissing his lingering hesitation, I set aside the parchment and began to loosen my body. The spacious room was a blessing—I could train my physique without stepping outside.
‘Physical strength is magical power.’
One cultivated physical strength through magical power, and then channeled that strength back into magical reserves. This was precisely why the sages known as Grand Mages remained vigorous even in their silver years.
“Young Master Ian.”
Knock, knock.
That night.
After finishing dinner, the Butler summoned me.
“The Count requests your presence in his study.”
The moment had finally arrived.
* * *
Count Derga’s study occupied the entire top floor of the Manor, so I had never ventured down that corridor before. I followed the Butler with composed curiosity.
“Count, Young Master Ian has arrived.”
After knocking on the thick door handle several times, permission came from within.
“Enter.”
Creak.
Unlike my former room, which had only a single luminous stone, the study was as bright as midday. Numerous magical lanterns glowed throughout the space.
Yet the oppressive atmosphere that pervaded the room was surely due to Count Derga’s presence.
“You summoned me?”
I asked respectfully, but Count Derga offered no immediate response. While his work environment was far more leisurely than that of commoners toiling in the fields day and night, the Count was occupied with his own affairs.
“···You’re aware there’s a luncheon in two days.”
“Yes, of course.”
Count Derga continued to murmur without lifting his gaze from the documents.
“This time, other advisors from the Central administration will be attending as well.”
The first meal must have made quite an impression. A bastard child from the rural Borderlands discussing Phelen’s philosophy had apparently piqued their interest.
“You’ll need to be more careful than last time.”
“I shall bear that in mind.”
Was that truly all he summoned me for?
Count Derga had said little when he changed my room. I waited patiently for what came next. The scratching of his pen across parchment continued, and the Count finally opened his lips again.
“The Cheonryo Tribe has requested a letter in your handwriting.”
I was already aware that we had offered to send Count Derga’s second son as a condition for peace. The Cheonryo Tribe had also received a potion that reacts only to those of the same blood, so there was nothing more to say regarding lineage.
Of course, they didn’t know I was born of a commoner and a bastard. But regardless.
Of course, he doesn’t know that I’m a lowborn illegitimate child. Anyway.
“My handwriting?”
They seemed to want their own security measures.
What if Count Derga, out of concern for his son, attempted a last-minute substitution? Given the Cheonryo Tribe’s emphasis on family bonds, such suspicions were entirely reasonable.
“Barbaric as always, creating unnecessary complications. Tsk, tsk. We’ll use the blood potion again at the treaty ceremony anyway.”
Unlike the Bariel Empire, the Cheonryo Tribe has no Mages. They are creatures no better than beasts, their very bloodline defying nature itself.
“Well. I have no particular reason to refuse.”
By obtaining a letter in my handwriting, he could later compare it to verify that I was indeed Count Derga’s bastard son and the intended target.
“Write letters regularly and send them. I’ll instruct your Tutor, so you need only take dictation. Surely you’re not so foolish that you can’t manage that much.”
“I shall proceed without error.”
Creak.
In that instant, a small door adjoining the study swung open. The Steward appeared with a taut expression, seeking out Count Derga.
“My lord. No matter what I do, the accounts refuse to balance.”
He stood cradling a towering stack of documents that threatened to topple at the slightest misstep. The Count waved his hand dismissively.
“Enough. I shall attend to it myself.”
His gaze toward me conveyed a silent command to wait.
The documents he had been reviewing remained spread across his desk, yet he showed no concern. I was nearly illiterate, and even when I attempted to read, I could barely manage to sound out syllables.
“Wait here.”
Count Derga commanded as he entered the Steward’s office. My courteous smile vanished in an instant.
‘Let me see what has him so preoccupied.’
It was early spring. Conscientious lords maintained their estates even when the ground lay frozen, yet by any measure, Count Derga was not such a man. Had he not indulged in back-alley excursions even on the day he met Mollin?
Rustle.
I swiftly scanned the documents, my fingers moving with practiced grace to avoid disturbing their order.
‘Hmm?’
My brow furrowed as my suspicions were confirmed.
As I had suspected, Count Derga maintained a private military force far exceeding what he could reasonably sustain.
For a borderland of Bratz’s size, three hundred soldiers at most should suffice without strain. Yet judging by the military provisions expenditure, the numbers suggested between two and three thousand.
‘It’s remarkable he hasn’t collapsed into ruin.’
Furthermore, the taxes imposed upon the estate’s subjects exceeded the Capital’s recommended rate by more than twofold. Perhaps the Cheonryo Tribe’s annihilation of Bratz in history was merely the natural course of events.
A situation so precarious it would crumble of its own accord. I stared at the modest study in disbelief.
What could possibly occupy this man’s mind to manage an estate so recklessly? And this was no upstart family, but one that had endured for generations.
‘Could there be another source of funds?’
However long this arrangement had persisted, taxation alone seemed far too meager to sustain it.
‘There’s nothing in Bratz itself.’
As expected, the Bratz Estate bordered the Cheonryo Tribe lands beyond the Borderlands. The soil was hardly fertile, there was no sea access, and no resources of notable significance.
‘If there were, the previous emperor would not have divided the estate among other nobles.’
The former emperor had granted lands to the nobles who had aided in repelling the Cheonryo Tribe. Had there been important resources, the Imperial Palace would never have permitted such division.
Click.
Then, without warning, the door opened.
Leaning against the Count’s desk, I instinctively held my breath and poured my mana outward.
Zzzt. Zzzt.
“Hm?”
Simultaneously, every lantern in the room extinguished.
The Steward’s office as well.
With the moon hidden behind clouds, darkness swallowed everything in an instant.
“My lord? Are you unharmed?”
“We only replaced the mana lanterns recently, did we not?”
“One moment. I shall light a candle—agh!”
Thud!
The Steward had wedged himself somewhere in the darkness.
Before the moon rose, I moved silently toward the center of the room, concealing my presence. Count Derga fumbled ahead, searching for his desk.
“Ian. Answer me.”
“Yes, Father.”
My voice rang out clearly through the darkness. From the sound of it, I seemed to be standing near the sofa.
“Is there no one outside?!”
The Steward, who had been searching for a candle, stumbled in the hallway, and the darkness showed no sign of lifting. Count Derga’s irritation flared as he shouted.
Zing. Ziiing.
Then the lantern flickered back to life. I had steadied my breathing and withdrawn my magical power.
Count Derga’s eyes met mine as I stood calmly before him. His absinthe-colored eyes gleamed sharply.
“Are you unharmed?”
“······.”
The Count gazed down at his hand resting on the desk. Some documents were scattered slightly, but in the darkness, he could dismiss it as something he had disturbed himself. Without suspicion, he opened a drawer.
“Done. Come and take it.”
“What is it?”
It was a small pouch with embroidery stitched by hand. Count Derga tossed it lightly as though it were nothing, and it fell precisely at my feet.
“It is from your mother.”
The small pouch lay scattered on the floor.
I picked it up slowly.
“Always look upon it and remember your station, conducting yourself with proper restraint.”
When news of me through Hena suddenly ceased, my mother attempted to take her own life. If she could not meet me in life, she would meet me in death.
Faced with this sudden act, the Count had reluctantly compromised, agreeing to deliver letters and gifts. If she died, it would be as though the shackles binding me were removed.
“······.”
It was a fact that Hena had relayed through the coachman, omitting nothing of what had transpired. Since I had always paid generously for her errands, there should be no falsehoods mixed in.
“Now leave.”
Count Derga waved his hand dismissively.
I left the Study quietly, holding the worn pouch. Leaning against the dark corridor, I untied the string, and its contents spilled out.
Clink!
Five gold coins. A dried flower. A very small note.
One gold coin equaled what a commoner could earn in a month. I examined the letter with an impassive expression. The handwriting was neat—clearly, she had asked someone to write it for her.
Then, was it truly filled only with my mother’s sincerity from beginning to end?
‘No. There’s a possibility that Count Derga’s true intentions are hidden within. Perhaps he switched the letter······.’
I fingered the gold coins and began to read the letter.

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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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