Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 70

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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 70. Celebration
Outside was in an uproar.
“Ian is becoming the new lord!”
“Congratulations, Ian!”
“Congratulations, everyone! Cheonrye Tribe! Come on, let’s have a drink.”
“From now on, we’ll have to call him Baron. Ha!”
As news of my appointment as lord spread rapidly, the estate villagers came rushing in. The night grew long with a festive atmosphere. I watched from the window with a faint smile.
Chielronia ultimately couldn’t have a deep conversation with Mollin. They only exchanged glances that could be interpreted as the passage of years spent together.
“Sigh, really!”
While everyone, including me, celebrated, only Romandro couldn’t smile freely as he uncorked wine. With a pop, he shook the bottle.
“I understand the barony. Given the size of the estate, a viscount seemed insufficient, and granting a county felt excessive.”
Moreover, the borderlands effectively held most of the Count’s authority regardless of title. It was the minimum threshold below the Duke and Marquis of the imperial family—the bare minimum for recognizing autonomy.
“A Baron of the Borderlands—truly an unfamiliar title.”
“But ten thousand gold coins within a year? If I’d ever seen the tax reports from Bratz, such a calculation would be absolutely impossible.”
He did it knowing full well.
I don’t know the Emperor’s true intentions, but whoever first proposed this likely anticipated failure in repayment.
And that was likely Prince Gail.
“Isn’t the annual tax collected from Bratz ten thousand? And now another ten thousand! In such circumstances, how can he demand double the taxes at once? The Emperor is truly indifferent—how can he not know there are estate villagers in Bratz before such disputes arise?”
Romandro vented his frustration. And at the same time, he looked at me with pity. The estate villagers outside might not know, but this was like tasting sweetness for a year before falling into slavery.
It would be better to live grandly as a lord without regret!
That’s not all. When I go up for the appointment ceremony, I’ll surely undergo registration as a mana user and management as a mage.
“Three or four months? That’s all the time I’ll have to rest comfortably in the estate.”
“We do have until the new year.”
“No! What are three or four months? The estate is being rebuilt right now, and we’re working ourselves to exhaustion! After the snow falls, we might only have a month to rest!”
“Why are you so heated, Romandro?”
I refilled his wine to calm him.
“In any case, I’ve achieved my purpose of becoming the lord of this place. When there’s time to enjoy, one must enjoy it.”
Crash!
“Ian!”
Then Berik burst through the door shouting. Whether his flushed face was from joy or drink, I couldn’t tell. He stumbled in, colliding with several Cheonrye tribesmen.
“A pig! Let’s catch a pig!”
“You won’t give permission, Berik!”
“Ah, come on! I’m just asking!”
“Fine. I’m in the mood. Go try to catch one.”
“Oh yes! Look at this! On a day like this!”
Thud thud thud!
As Berik shouted and rushed out, Kakantir and Nersaren appeared. They approached me with bright smiles.
“Congratulations, Ian.”
“Thank you. It’s all thanks to the help of the Cheonrye.”
“Yes. Things have turned out really well.”
“Unexpected, you say?”
“Indeed. If I’m being honest, quite so. Haha!”
It was the day I confirmed that pushing aside Derga and supporting Ian had been the perfect choice. Now they would be treated not as barbarians from the borderlands, but as a proper allied nation, and they would achieve economic and cultural growth befitting that status. This place was, after all, the very gateway to Variel.
“Might I see the Emperor’s letter?”
“Of course.”
Ian unrolled the scroll that Chielronia had bestowed upon him. At the very bottom, written in neat characters, was the name of the current Emperor: Klai Verosion.
‘I’m not entirely certain.’
Ian had turned over the previous Emperor’s name in his mind several times, but no particularly distinctive information came to him. It was an age of chaos. Countless emperors had come and gone within a single century, so it was only natural. Ian himself had not even completed three years before stepping down.
“Hmm?”
“What’s wrong?”
“…Nothing.”
What had caught Ian’s attention was none other than the Emperor’s seal. Its size was subtly different from the one he had used regularly. Wondering if it was a mistake, he traced it with his fingertips, but the more he did, the more vividly his sense of touch came alive.
It was a seal he had stamped every single day.
Ian could recall it vividly even with his eyes closed, so this subtle difference deeply unsettled him.
‘Is the seal different?’
But that couldn’t be. The Emperor’s seal had been passed down for over a thousand years since the founding of the nation. He had never heard of it being lost in the interim, and even if it had been…
‘I would surely know.’
Ian could not shake his bewilderment and continued to examine the seal. The more he did, the more certainty and doubt surged within him like madness.
There was only one conclusion.
The seal had been changed at some point.
But why? For what reason?
Romandro, watching from the side, offered a word.
“It must be worn down.”
“Is something troubling you?”
“Well, it’s just… once I’m appointed as a Count, I’ll need to address you as…”
Romandro glanced at Kakantir and mumbled. When the two of them were alone, he hadn’t noticed, but seeing an outsider made reality suddenly come alive. Count Ian was, by any measure, a person of higher standing than Romandro.
“Since it’s not yet official, please remain at ease.”
“Is that… really alright?”
“Of course. You don’t have a family name, after all.”
“Ha, haha! I do hope winter comes soon. I never imagined we’d be heading to the capital before the New Year celebration. I must write a letter to my wife.”
Romandro’s voice was excited at the mere thought. He had expected to leave well into the next year, but to have the mission end before then was naturally cause for joy. Kakantir too showed signs of wanting to return.
“We’re planning to gradually reduce the number of Celestial Warriors as well. The weather is getting colder, and the warriors miss the great desert.”
“Ah, so you’ll be returning, then.”
“I shall do so within a short time, but Nersaren will remain here for a while longer.”
But it seemed this hadn’t been agreed upon beforehand. Nersaren, standing behind, stiffened his expression as if he might faint from shock. Given how weak they were to the cold, one could well imagine what the seasonal phenomenon of ‘snow’ would mean to them.
“By the way, the capital demanded ten thousand gold coins, I hear.”
“That is correct.”
“Can you manage it? I’d like to help, but that’s beyond our capacity. Though if it were ten thousand enemy heads instead, that would be another matter.”
It was a jest, but it didn’t sound like one. It seemed not entirely impossible for them. Ian raised his wine glass as if to say there was no need to worry.
“There’s no problem. They didn’t ask for it at the inauguration ceremony itself, and they’ve given me a year. It took me only two or three months to rise to the position of lord in the great desert.”
Life can flip upside down in a single day, so what’s a mere ten thousand gold coins? A year would be more than enough to manage it. Besides, my true purpose in going to the imperial palace wasn’t the destination itself. What happens afterward remains uncertain, which means there’s no reason to worry about it now.
“Indeed, the Divine One never poses unanswerable questions. Once you reach the center, you’ll find another opportunity there, I’m sure.”
“I believe so as well.”
I drained my wine glass and glanced out the window. The estate villagers’ festival was still in full swing. Despite the late hour, there was no sign of fatigue. It seemed they truly needed an event like this to breathe life back into the desolate estate. Everyone was having such a wonderful time….
“Ah, Ian. Now that you’ve received your appointment as lord, shouldn’t you inform the neighboring territories?”
Neighboring territories. At Romandro’s words, I looked toward Kakantir. The closest one was right here.
And the next one….
“Ah, yes. You’re right.”
That left Merelrof. I had sent a protest regarding the assassination attempt, but received no response. It was such a complete and utter silence that it was almost impressive.
“I should write to Merelrof. Now that the official appointment has arrived, I can expect a reply this time.”
* * *
“What? That man received a title?”
“The letter just arrived.”
Marquis Merelrof snatched the letter from his butler’s hands. He read through the handwritten note stating that formal appointment would take place at year’s end and that Ian would be elevated to Count. At the bottom was even an insincere expression of gratitude: “It is all thanks to you, dear Marquis Merelrof.”
“Ridiculous. The world truly is in its final days. A lowborn wretch from a brothel now plays at being nobility.”
“We should send a congratulatory reply, but since we’ve been delayed in responding to the previous letter we received…. What would you have me do?”
He was referring to the news of Ian’s attack that had come under Romandro’s name. At the time, Marquis Merelrof had merely scoffed at it. If Ian had sent it directly, he would have immediately overturned everything, demanding to know where Ian had killed his estate villagers. But since the sender was Romandro, he couldn’t quite do that and had responded with silence instead.
“Why bother? Simply have a servant relay the message. Paper and ink are too precious for this.”
“Yes, my lord.”
His arrogance was thorough. Even so, once someone received an official noble appointment, they should at least be treated with the courtesy due to a neighboring lord. Though they were rivals who kept each other in check, when trouble arose on the frontier, there were only two of them to rely on.
The butler thought he would have no choice but to write and send a reply in his own hand. Marquis Merelrof tossed the letter aside and returned to reading through documents—organizing the estate’s revenues before winter arrived.
“By the way, Butler.”
Marquis Merelrof suddenly asked with a puzzled expression.
“Has there been no word from Bratz regarding food supplies?”
“No, my lord. We have received no letter on that matter.”
How strange. With the harvest being poorer than last year, even Merelrof, who had made preparations, was seeing warning signs. At least foreign merchants would stay quite long once the weather turned cold, but he couldn’t fathom what that man Ian was thinking, making no response whatsoever.
“Is he planning to feast on corpses? Tsk, tsk.”
Marquis Merelrof flipped through the documents dismissively. As the butler bowed and left for the corridor, he saw the lady at the end, fanning herself. It was a signal for him to come over.
“Madam, what is it?”
“A letter came from Bratz, you say?”
“Yes, madam. It was news that Lord Ian has been formally appointed as Count.”
“Oh.”
The Countess let out a small exclamation of surprise.
“What did the Count say?”
“Well….”
“About the reply.”
The butler was at a loss for words. He had been planning to write it himself. The Countess, understanding his intention, smiled and nodded.
“Please do so. And separately from that, I think I should send a gift. Have the treasure vault opened.”
“The Count’s permission….”
At the butler’s words, the Countess snapped her fan shut. The light, meaningless smile that had been playing on her lips instantly hardened.
“I’m heading there now to request permission.”
“There’s truly no need to go to such lengths, madam.”
The Butler hastily tried to dissuade her. After all, the Count had already given up on writing replies to her. He couldn’t afford to invite trouble over a mere gift for him. Yet the Countess brushed aside his objections with firm resolve.
Tap!
“It must be done.”
Leaving behind those weighty words, the Countess stepped into the study.

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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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