Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 80

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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 80. Dryad
I paced the room with my arms crossed, unable to fathom how the situation had spiraled into this chaos.
Berik lay sprawled in a semi-conscious state, while the agitated Countess Merelrof sat bound to the sofa, her posture rigid and her expression resolute despite her predicament.
“What in the world is this…?”
Romandro crouched beside a small container covered with a glass lid, examining the powder within. Berik had collapsed the moment he caught its scent, prompting Hena to hurriedly retrieve the lid from the kitchen.
“Countess. It seems we have much to discuss.”
“…”
“I’ll need you to explain everything from beginning to end. Otherwise, we’ll both find ourselves in an awkward position.”
“It’s just a love potion. Nothing serious. Why are you making such a fuss?”
The Countess Merelrof lifted her bound wrists, displaying them as she spoke. The work was indeed Hena’s—the ribbon was tied firmly and with meticulous precision.
In truth, if her claim were accurate, there would be little cause for concern. Dissolute noblemen who loved their pleasures never missed such things at parties, and in a remote region like this, such substances were far easier to obtain.
“This isn’t a love potion.”
However, Hena, crouching beside Romandro, immediately refuted her.
“Love potions come in many varieties, but most have a yellowish tint or thick granules. This powder is so fine and white it could easily be mistaken for flour. More than that, I’ve never heard of anything that causes unconsciousness from mere scent alone.”
So she said. I turned to the Countess Merelrof, silently urging her to explain. She merely glared at Hena with an expression of disbelief.
“Who is that girl?”
“…As you can see, she’s one of our family who knows everything.”
At the word “family,” Hena broke into a proud smile.
The Countess Merelrof promptly closed her lips again. I gestured to Romandro and Hena to step out for a moment. With more people present, she would never speak freely.
“Then I’ll go fetch a cold cloth for Lord Berik.”
“Ah? Yes, yes. In that case, I’ll also…”
The two perceptive individuals quickly left Mrs. Mary’s room. As the door closed, only Berik’s labored breathing echoed through the silence. I pulled a chair before the Countess and sat.
“Countess Merelrof. No matter how I think about it, there are too many strange things here.”
“So that’s…”
“Speak openly. Let’s address each point as it comes to mind. It seems you know about Dryads. Is that correct?”
“…”
“More precisely, about the value of Dryads.”
The Countess Merelrof bit her lips tightly, swallowing a sigh. She was clearly hiding something. I studied her face carefully before taking a chance.
“Are you perhaps from Razasan?”
“…What did you say?”
Razasan. It was the place where Dryads were first believed to have been created. She glared at me with utter disbelief. And with good reason—to be from Razasan meant…
“I’m asking if you’re of the Dera tribe.”
“Have you lost your mind? Do I look like a mole to you?”
“The fact that you know what the Dera tribe looks like suggests you are indeed from that region.”
Razasan was a mountain on the opposite side of Bratz, with the Capital as the midpoint. Before Dryads and various other inventions gained recognition, even the villagers of nearby regions didn’t know such a mountain existed. It was a place absolutely unknown to anyone who never ventured beyond their immediate surroundings.
“I am… I am…”
The Countess stared intently at me, her words faltering.
“I am their friend.”
“Friends with whom? The Dera tribe? That’s impossible.”
The Dera tribe was insular, refusing all contact with the outside world. They were people who devoted their entire lives to assembling, disassembling, and creating inventions within their tunnels.
A race that lives the same day every day, yet ultimately creates a different future. That was the definition of the Dera people as decreed by posterity.
“…It’s the truth. I was born nearby and raised there. My mother is a Dryad.”
Ian’s mouth fell slightly open at this unexpected confession.
“A Dryad? The same Dryads I know of?”
“Yes. That’s right. One who shares her fate with trees.”
Countess Merelrof spoke of her dryad heritage with a composed expression, not blinking once—clearly no jest.
“But I didn’t inherit my mother’s fate. Thank goodness for that. How horrifying it must be to consume the body of someone you love and spend your entire life rooted in a single place,”
Dryads were known to be dangerous even among faeries. Whether because they must protect the tree bound to their life or not, they were infamous for their temperamental and cruel nature. The very act of absorbing a beloved human alive to remain with them forever was proof enough.
“I couldn’t possibly understand my mother. So I cut down the tree myself and fled. I didn’t even have time to collect my father’s hardened corpse.”
The Countess gazed out the window, remembering that day. Thunk, thunk—with each swing of the axe, the forest wailed and the earth trembled. Birds shrieked as they took flight, and beasts howled in response. Perhaps it was my mother’s screams.
“And so you came here?”
“Well, there’s more to tell. To be precise, I was captured by a merchant caravan and sold. Unluckily, the first thing I encountered after leaving the forest was a slave trader. I didn’t know it then, but now I wonder if it was my mother’s final curse. If you don’t mind, give me a cigarette.”
The Countess raised her arm and wiggled her fingers. Since Ian didn’t smoke, he immediately opened the door to find Romandro. The man, not far away, startled and hurried over.
“Romandro. Just one cigarette.”
“Oh? Yes, yes. One moment, I have one here.”
“Thank you.”
Slam!
The door shut coldly again. Romandro scratched his head with an awkward expression. Of course, Ian had no way of knowing that.
“Here you are.”
“Thank you, Ian.”
Countess Merelrof exhaled pale smoke with a sigh.
“So, to answer your earlier question—yes. I knew the value of the Drifter. I didn’t know what it was for, but the Dera people never make anything useless. But how did you know that, Ian?”
“I’ve picked up information here and there.”
“You seem to know far too much for that.”
The decision to gift the Drifter had been half impulsive and half intentional. The moment I saw it in the warehouse, my hand reached for it, and I thought that anything made by the Dera people must surely have purpose.
“Countess, was it you who spread word of the caravan’s arrival throughout the estate?”
“Why? Does it matter?”
“It’s strange—I suspect you’ve been helping me.”
“You’re a funny one, Ian. That’s not something to suspect; it’s something to be grateful for.”
“It depends on your intentions.”
At Ian’s words, the Countess lifted her skirt slightly. From her ankles blooming with red and purple bruises, to her calves where flesh hung loose, to her knees covered in scabs.
Ian frowned and turned his head away.
“Would you like to see higher up?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Marquis Merelrof—my husband, that is. He’s not in his right mind. Elevating a woman rescued from a slave caravan to Countess says it all.”
That’s why they held no wedding ceremony and took his wife in secret. As he recalled Mrs. Mary’s subtle condescension, the pieces fell into place one by one.
“Does the Marquis know you have dryad blood?”
“No. I resemble my father far more than my mother.”
Yet there was truth to the saying that blood cannot lie. Her beautiful appearance, her slowly advancing biological clock, her slightly longer lifespan, and her superior physical abilities—all of it proved she was a dryad’s child.
“Someone of my lowborn origins could never divorce my husband, and I have no desire to spend decades in a place like this. I cut down my mother’s tree and fled the forest, only to end up here.”
“So?”
Countess Merelrof didn’t answer. Instead, she stared at Berik sprawled on the ground. That’s what’s needed, then. My expression shifted instantly, and I seized her wrist.
*Crack!*
“…Is it poison?”
“No. It’s a new hallucinogenic sleeping aid circulating in the Hawan Kingdom. They say if you take it consistently for about a month, it causes sleep apnea. But I’ve never heard of it causing this just from smelling it.”
“You’re certain of this information?”
“I am, and Mrs. Mary also took her portion without issue. I’d expect she’s having pleasant dreams by now.”
A new drug that triggered hallucinations while corroding the body from within. The reason for obtaining it from outside was obvious—if the Marquis Merelrof’s death came under external suspicion, we needed to avoid an autopsy.
“This is maddening. Mrs. Mary was doing this too?”
“I’m not sure if she used it. It seemed initially intended for Count Derga. But she must have realized soon enough that it would be better to do it herself rather than use it on Count Derga.”
“Why?”
“Why, you ask? Sir Ian, your very existence is the reason.”
The illegitimate child brought from outside—me. Wasn’t I the result of Count Derga’s countless infidelities? I suddenly recalled Mrs. Mary’s haggard appearance in that underground secret space. It was undoubtedly withdrawal from the drug.
“Sir Ian, I despise the name Merelrof. How am I any different from my mother, bound to one place and living out her days?”
Even her attempt to kill her husband resembled her mother. I wanted to turn away from it, but this inescapable fate—was this what it meant?
“I simply want freedom to choose my own destiny. That’s all I desire.”
“I understand the Count has a younger brother.”
Even if the Marquis Merelrof died, the next master of the estate would belong to his brother, not to her.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as I can decide where I belong.”
Besides, at this rate, she would die before the Count did.
I studied her quietly, thinking. Though neighboring estates, we were constantly watching each other’s throats, each seeking to expand our influence.
“I have a proposal.”
Countess Merelrof made her move first. She extended her wrist as if asking to be freed from her bonds.
“The enemy of my enemy is my ally. There’s no reason Sir Ian and I shouldn’t join hands. If you help me—or more precisely, if you turn a blind eye—I’ll provide maximum support in tribute.”
“Maximum, you say. How much?”
“…That’s difficult to state precisely.”
Outside, the sun was already setting. The time for Countess Merelrof to return home had long passed. Now I merely weighed whether letting her go was truly advantageous to me.
*Bang! Crash!*
That’s when the commotion erupted outside.
I slowly opened the door to assess the situation. An unknown man was clashing with my servants.
“Are you joking? Why can’t I see my lady?”
“Because Sir Ian is having an important conversation right now…”
“I have something to tell her. You haven’t even passed along my message, which is suspicious. Move aside.”
“I said you can’t!”
“Move! What have you done to my lady?!”
“Did you really just say that? How frustrating! Whatever was done, your lady did it to us!”
It was the conduct of Countess Merelrof’s servant. Her return time had passed with no word, and since the manor wouldn’t let him see her, he’d forced his way inside.
“Listen.”
I called to him quietly.
“The lady is occupied at the moment. Wait a little longer.”
But the Servant paid no heed to caution and rushed toward where I stood. In the next moment, he caught sight of Countess Merelrof with her wrists bound, and his eyes went wild.
“What in the world—!”
“Clark! Wait!”
Clark lunged at me. The attendants tried to stop him in alarm, but they were a moment too late. I seized Clark’s wrist as it extended toward me and unleashed my mana.
Zzzzzzng!
Crash!
“…Ugh!”
“Clark!”
Countess Merelrof rushed to the fallen Clark and let out a sharp cry. She embraced the trembling Clark, her voice thick with concern.
Everyone stared down at them with bewildered expressions, and soon Berik muttered under his breath.
“Foolish bastard… knocked himself flat….”

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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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