Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 73

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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 73. Scheming
The Merelof Steward’s day always began the same way.
Upon waking, he would tidy the bedding, oversee the servants to confirm the morning duties, and while meals were being prepared, he would organize various letters and deliver them to the study.
All of this had to be completed before the sun rose.
Knock, knock.
“Have you risen, Count?”
Hearing the Marquis Merelrof’s response, the steward opened the door and entered the bedchamber. At the far end of the three-room suite, the Countess still lay in bed, while the Count was already impeccably dressed.
“The weather is certainly growing colder.”
“I shall have the fireplace cleaned.”
The Marquis Merelrof examined each letter on the tray. Most were merely formal correspondence for maintaining social relations.
“What is this?”
“Ah, my apologies.”
What the Count held was Ian’s reply. Since the master showed no interest in congratulatory letters, managing external reputation was also part of the steward’s duties.
The Marquis Merelrof dismissed it casually and muttered.
“You’re unnecessarily diligent.”
Then the Count’s hand froze. Ian had sent a reply not only to the Count but also to the Countess. Without hesitation, the Count broke the sealing wax and read the contents.
“This is….”
His expression suggested complete bewilderment. His prominent brow ridge became even more pronounced. In his eyes, narrowed with all his might, the steward sensed alarm.
“This came for Lien?”
“Yes, Count. Knowing you had no intention of sending congratulations, she sent one in your stead. The Countess is always so attentive to supporting you.”
The Marquis Merelrof placed the letter on the table and stared at it intently. With each passing moment, cold sweat trickled down the steward’s back—he couldn’t believe the day was starting like this.
“It seems she sent a gift as well.”
“She selected unused items from the warehouse.”
“Personally?”
“…Yes.”
“She personally selected items and sent congratulations? And Ian received them quite favorably? Have they met separately?”
The steward shook his head lightly but with conviction.
It was merely scrap metal he didn’t even know existed. Even if the courtesies exchanged between them were polite, the Count, being a nobleman, would know better than anyone that such gestures were not sincere.
Rustle.
The sound of the Countess stirring in the innermost chamber was unusually loud. Today’s fortune would not be favorable for the steward alone.
“There wouldn’t have been, Count.”
“When Ian came to the central residence, you didn’t meet him?”
“Ah, well, we did cross paths when seeing him off. But it was only very, very brief, and we exchanged no words of note.”
The steward added desperately, as if making excuses, but his words seemed not to reach the Count’s ears. His already dark complexion now flushed with blood. One could practically see his blood pressure rising before one’s eyes.
“Good morning.”
At that moment, the Countess Merelof emerged from the inner chamber in light attire. She stretched in a long, cat-like yawn and snatched the letter from the Count’s hand.
“Why are you reading my letter without permission?”
“Now, Lien.”
“Let me see what he wrote. Hmm. He says he genuinely loves it. Should I be pleased about this or not? Hahaha.”
The Countess Merelof laughed without a care, as though her husband’s ominous mood didn’t exist. The steward turned his head away, as if determined not to see, and with each passing moment, the atmosphere in the chamber twisted further—the effect of one side impossibly light and the other impossibly heavy.
“Prepare a meal.”
“Yes, Count.”
“I’d like venison steak tonight.”
“Yes, madam. I shall see to it at once.”
“You said that last time too, but you never served it.”
“…My apologies. I will correct this.”
Autumn had arrived without bringing the joy of harvest. Though the grand manor never lacked for provisions and the kitchens ran without issue, materials requiring external procurement were often difficult to obtain within a single day.
Venison, in particular, was such a case.
The Countess Merelof perched on the edge of the table and broached the subject to her husband with careful indirection.
“Darling, I hear the people of Bratz are all cultivating and eating gula. They say it tastes remarkably good?”
“They’ve become beasts because they associate with beasts. Do they eat such things because there’s nothing else?”
“We may be different, but those below us face different circumstances. Baron Ian mentioned wanting to visit to offer his thanks, so perhaps I should go and see for myself?”
“Where? To Bratz?”
Marquis Merelof’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Yet his wife nodded without apparent concern.
“Why, do you think I’d go somewhere else?”
“Nonsense. Every year at this time, it’s the same complaints. No food, what shall we do. Soon enough, a merchant caravan will arrive from the Hawan Kingdom, so we need only endure until then. How do they lack all capacity to learn? Tsk, tsk.”
They possessed learning capacity well enough—that was precisely why the number of those farming had diminished year after year, and more estate villagers opened entertainment houses and inns. Many prepared nothing for winter, relying solely on the merchant caravans.
‘…There are problems both within and without.’
The Butler bowed his head and withdrew from the bedchamber. The Countess Merelof merely smiled faintly at his departure, offering no further words.
“Darling.”
Once the door had fully closed, Lien placed her hand upon her husband’s shoulder and asked. The Count’s mood remained thoroughly sour.
“When exactly is the caravan from Hawan arriving?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Is it wrong to ask?”
“…I received word they depart one month from now.”
“One month hence. Then they must cross the mountains, so perhaps a month and a half? No, rather a month and a week or so….”
At his wife’s murmuring, the Count’s eyes grew even more fierce. She had always been inscrutable, but lately her inscrutability had grown pronounced.
“I do hope they arrive soon.”
With that, she slipped from the bedchamber. A man cleaning windows in the corridor faltered, turning his gaze toward the door. The woman fixed him with a gaze cold enough to cut, her expression positively murderous.
“Clark. Do polish those windows until they gleam. Guests from the Hawan Kingdom will be arriving one month hence.”
“…Yes. Understood.”
The man called Clark merely nodded in acknowledgment, continuing to polish the windows while repeating to himself: One month hence, departure from Hawan Kingdom. One month hence, departure from Hawan Kingdom….
* * *
After Kakantir’s departure, I threw myself into a thorough investigation of Merelof in my study. There was nothing more crucial than knowing one’s enemy on the battlefield. Before making contact with Merelof, it was advantageous to learn everything possible about him in advance.
“But regarding this matter, the Countess Merelof….”
“The Countess?”
Romandro’s subordinate flipped through the report with a puzzled expression.
“I’ve confirmed her name is Lien Merelof, but I cannot determine her origins.”
“You mean you don’t know her family?”
“Neither her family nor her exact social standing. They’ve been married for three years now, and the wedding was conducted quietly, so many of the estate villagers only learned of it afterward.”
Upon hearing the conversation between Romandro and his subordinate, I lifted my head. No matter how modest the appearance, a Count was still a Count.
“It means there’s a significant difference in social standing.”
“I agree with that assessment. Could she have been a commoner?”
“Hmm. I’m not sure.”
I recalled the subtly smiling face of Countess Merelof and shrugged my shoulders. It was certain she came from outside. And above all, since she knew of the Drifter, she couldn’t have been of ordinary origin.
“Have we identified the merchant caravan departing from the Hawan Kingdom?”
“It’s called the Illak Merchant Company—a caravan that makes its rounds every five years. Including the caravan master, there are approximately one hundred people.”
“Smaller than I expected.”
“However, their route is consistent, so many people seek to join them.”
Individual travelers and small merchant groups would pay to join for safety. With over fifty such additions, the total size would be roughly one hundred fifty to two hundred people.
“After the Illak Merchant Company, more caravans—both large and small—are scheduled to arrive at two-week intervals.”
“Then it’s crucial we intercept them early on.”
“If we accept them as dependents, it would be quite convenient for us.”
Those were Nersaren’s words. He passed over the documents and slowly traced his finger across the letters as he read. Since they were in Variel script, it took him longer to verify than the others.
“In an emergency, they wouldn’t be able to respond, and moreover, they wouldn’t be a burden.”
“I agree. Then we should start coordinating the dates. They’ll aim to arrive before winter sets in, so at the latest….”
“Ah, I already know the dates.”
Romandro’s subordinate raised his hand cheerfully.
“They depart from the Hawan Kingdom in a month, and rumors have spread everywhere about their arrival time, accounting for the mountain crossing.”
“Rumors have spread? From where?”
“From Merelof.”
Upon learning the exact date, Romandro and his subordinates exclaimed in triumph and encouraged one another. Only I remained silent, unable to smile.
“Is there some problem?”
“It takes only ten days from here to the Hawan Kingdom.”
“No, no. That’s not the issue. I was wondering if there are bandits in this region.”
Particularly mountain bandits. A merchant caravan typically employs many mercenaries, but that also means they carry much of value. If the timing is revealed in advance, they could become targets for thieves. If bandits intercede, it could disrupt our plans. It would be better to pass through as quietly and quickly as possible.
“Hmm. Bandits, you say. Given the aftermath of the war, there probably aren’t any.”
“And we should inform them of the expected arrival date so the estate can make preparations.”
I nodded with some reluctance. Yes. It was important from the caravan’s and Merelof’s perspective, but from my standpoint, it was irrelevant.
“Very well. Then let’s proceed with——”
Boom, boom, boom! Boom, boom! Boom!
That was when it happened. A thunderous vibration echoed from the end of the corridor. Someone was approaching with rapid footsteps—a presence too heavy to be that of an ordinary human.
Romandro and his subordinates quickly reached for their swords, but I, Nersaren, and Berik calmly covered the documents.
Crash!
“You’ve arrived?”
It was Berik who greeted first.
“How rude.”
Nersaren offered a light rebuke.
“Su.”
“Ah, no! Why me!”
Her face flushed crimson as her fists trembled with fury. The moment Kakantir returned to Cheonrye, he had sent Su to find me.
“Well, well. Quite the entrance.”
“Berik! You! You recommended me, didn’t you?”
“What influence do I have? Can’t you see me now? While everyone else works at the tables, I’m sprawled out on the sofa like a wrinkled rag.”
“Why! Why me? Huh? It’s already cold enough when you leave the desert, and now you want me to climb a mountain? I don’t even know what that mountain looks like!”
“You’re making excuses.”
“Shut up, Berik! I’m not in my right mind right now!”
I rose from my seat and greeted Su first. Her eyes, wide with breathless indignation, were brimming with resentment as she looked up at me.
“Why do I have to go all the way to the Hawan Kingdom and infiltrate a merchant caravan! Are there really no talented people here?”
So I had been summoned from my leisurely life of eating well and enjoying myself! I should have known from the moment Kakantir passed meat onto my plate. Good heavens, the Hawan Kingdom!
I smiled broadly and nodded.
“That’s right. There’s no talent. No matter how I think about it, you’re the only one suited for this. Sit down and catch your breath first, then I’ll explain the operation in detail. You must have heard the rough outline from Kakantir?”
At those words, Su pressed her forehead and couldn’t help but sigh.
“Yes, roughly. Very roughly. Infiltrate the caravan and release Gula’s poison.”

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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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