Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 85

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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 85. Lien’s Wish
“Ha! You there!”
Was this really a matter to invoke His Imperial Majesty over?
But since I had struck first with such a preemptive move, there was nothing appropriate left to say in return. The Marquis Merelrof did nothing but continuously tug at his beard and groan in distress.
‘Still, it dies if it touches snow? I could have sworn I saw gula even in winter. It’s a weed of a crop like no other. It grows in water and sand alike, but snow is poison to it.’
The Marquis Merelrof’s estate had no greenhouse. Since he had never invested effort in farming from the start, there were no preparations whatsoever for winter cultivation. If what Ian said was true, I would need to purchase gula immediately and begin both cultivation and greenhouse construction at once.
“…Thirty bundles.”
“My apologies.”
“Thirty-one bundles!”
“My lord.”
“You there, let us speak of the days ahead. How much time remains for me to live as the head of this house? Let us leave it at this. True nobility lies in burying each other’s transgressions. Thirty-two bundles.”
He even made his threats with remarkable elegance, though they hardly held weight. This was precisely why Ian had set such a high initial price of fifty bundles—he knew the Marquis would cut it down to nearly half.
As if waiting for this moment, Romandro let out a deliberate cough, and his subordinate outside seized the opportunity to interject with perfect timing.
Knock, knock.
“Count Ian, Lord Romandro. There is something I must report to you.”
“Is that so? Is it urgent? We have guests present.”
“My apologies. It should only take a moment.”
“Pardon us, then.”
It was a calculated move to ease the overheated atmosphere and give the Countess Merelrof an opportunity to persuade her husband. She continued to furrow her brow as if deep in thought, whispering something to the Marquis.
Creak.
Once Ian and Romandro had left the parlor, the Countess raised her voice slightly, her expression darkening with concern.
“Fifty bundles would be five thousand gold coins in total.”
“Madness. Five thousand gold coins for mere weeds.”
“But this year’s circumstances are rather special. We must keep the estate alive for now, after all. I hear that in Bratz, they proceeded by providing temporary rations and collecting higher taxes next year.”
The dead cannot be revived. Of all things, that much was certain. The Countess probed her husband subtly with her question.
“What is the maximum you are willing to pay per bundle?”
“If I had my way, I wouldn’t spare even a single gold coin.”
“No, I mean realistically.”
Realistically, she was asking where the compromise between Ian and the Marquis might fall. The Marquis twisted his beard between his fingers, his expression making it clear he was thoroughly displeased with this entire situation.
“Around thirty-five bundles.”
“Hmm. Thirty-five bundles, then.”
The Countess echoed his words as if pondering them. If so, what she needed to say next was already determined.
“Do you think Count Ian would agree to such terms? From what I observed, he seems intent on securing a substantial profit.”
“That’s precisely why—the boy’s head is filled with nothing but greed. Tsk, tsk. At this rate, he won’t live long.”
“In my opinion, it would be wise to settle at around forty bundles. As you say, if snow falls, the price may rise further. When that happens, it won’t be a matter of price but of supply itself becoming….”
The Countess’s concern held merit. Had not matters become increasingly tangled, leading to this very predicament? I believed there was nowhere left to retreat, yet there was always a bottom to reach.
“Between forty and thirty-five bundles—if negotiations settle somewhere in that range, we should seal the deal immediately.”
“Hmm.”
“Instead, why not request that half be small gula seeds and the other half be large ones?”
Half would be for cultivation, so filling the bundles with the smallest seeds possible made sense, while the other half would be for consumption, making larger seeds preferable. The Marquis sipped his now-lukewarm tea and let out a troubled sigh.
“Hmm.”
The Countess continued her persuasion. The core of her argument was not to purchase gula at the lowest possible price, but rather to focus on ensuring the transaction was concluded at an appropriate rate by any means necessary.
After some time had passed, Ian and Romandro re-entered the reception room.
“My apologies. The matter took longer to resolve than expected.”
“Ahem. The tea has gone cold.”
“Oh dear, how rude of us. Hena!”
“Yes, Master.”
The Marquis Merelrof, intent on seizing the initiative, maintained an air of control while doing nothing but clearing his throat. Beside him, the Countess touched her earlobe as if troubled.
Click.
The sound of ornate earrings and fingernails striking together drew Ian’s attention. Her fingers spread three at first, then caressed with all five. Ian recognized the signal and settled onto the sofa.
‘I asked for fifty, but thirty-five is their maximum.’
I couldn’t tell if this was remarkably stingy or simply the highest the Merelrof estate could manage. But I decided to trust the Countess’s cooperation.
‘It’s better than not selling at all. Besides, I have other business to conduct with the Marquis and the villagers of the Merelrof estate.’
One hundred bundles at thirty-five gold coins each would yield 3,500 gold coins—equivalent to one-third of the taxes I needed to remit to the capital. I exchanged a glance with Romandro and opened negotiations.
“Have you gentlemen discussed the price?”
“Count Ian, fifty coins is simply too much. We control the market here at the estate, and at such a price, it would be obvious that we’re trading with you, which we cannot afford.”
As the Countess lifted her chin sharply and spoke with an edge, the Marquis nodded with a solemn expression. I furrowed my brow in a show of contemplation.
“Very well. Then I shall add a condition.”
“A condition? What sort?”
“I will provide it at forty gold coins per bundle. In exchange, you shall sign a covenant promising not to interfere with any economic activity that occurs in this territory henceforth.”
“…Not interfere with economic activity?”
At this unexpected condition, the Marquis Merelrof’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. The Countess wore the same expression. Though they had gained some ground, they could not fathom what lay beneath such a condition.
“Do you find it unsatisfactory?”
“No, not unsatisfactory, rather…”
It was quite a meaningful condition, was it not?
The Marquis observed the Cheonryeo Warriors passing through the corridor and surmised that I intended to conduct some scheme with the frontier tribes. Was I trying to smuggle something in that direction?
‘A foolish condition. Even if we don’t interfere, if the capital gets word of it, they’ll move to stop it. Tsk tsk.’
But I could see through even the Marquis’s thoughts. The meticulous Marquis had a talent for accumulating wealth but lacked the depth of vision to see beyond the surface.
‘He suspects the Cheonryeo Tribe. But he’s barking up the wrong tree.’
A long silence followed, feigned as contemplation. Romandro merely observed the two of them, while the Countess broke the quiet by raising her teacup.
“Count Ian, are you not a household head appointed by the Emperor himself? The economic authority of each territory is tantamount to the autonomy of its household head, so it is strange that you would question such a natural condition.”
“Is that so? Then since it is natural, there is no need to adjust the price.”
At those words, the Marquis’s eyes widened and he glared at the Countess—a silent warning to keep quiet if she didn’t know what she was talking about. The Countess lowered her eyes as if embarrassed, but I recognized that this was her intention all along.
“Fine. I don’t know what you think of Merelrof, but the guarantee of each party’s rights is only natural, is it not? In exchange, you shall also promise not to object to Merelrof’s economic activities, and we shall conclude this at thirty gold coins per bundle.”
“Marquis, I stated forty coins.”
“Quite right, I understand. Thirty-one coins.”
“Is it not excessive for the tens digit to change twice? Marquis?”
In the stages of negotiation, where one side descends and the other ascends, the midpoint between forty and thirty was predetermined. After several rounds of haggling, the Marquis Merelrof finally reached his limit.
“Thirty-five! I absolutely cannot go lower than that.”
Thirty-five coins. The price the Countess had discreetly indicated. I crossed my arms and exchanged a glance with Romandro—a sort of performance to ensure both parties felt satisfied with the transaction.
“Sigh. Very well.”
That was it—a single sigh of reluctant concession. I laughed lightly, as though I had surrendered completely.
“Thirty-five gold coins per bundle, one hundred bundles in total. That comes to three thousand five hundred gold coins for the transaction.”
“Agreed. Well thought out. Let’s draw up the contract.”
As the Count and I shook hands, Romandro produced a standard contract template. It spanned ten pages, but they were all standard clauses used among nobility—only the first and last pages contained the critical terms.
Snap.
The Count began examining each word meticulously, as though chewing through them. Seeing that he had even loosened his outer garment, I could anticipate this would take considerable time.
“Change the word ‘fresh’ here to ‘one week after harvest.’ Does that work?”
“Of course. In exchange, please add a clause that it may vary depending on the harvest schedule.”
“Understood. Bring new paper.”
“Right here, Count.”
Rip!
And so it went—revisions upon revisions.
At his feet lay torn contracts, scattered from the wall of corrections. As Romandro and I took turns addressing his concerns, the Countess could no longer restrain herself and tapped her lower back gently.
“Are you tired, Countess?”
“Oh, I apologize. That was quite rude of me.”
“Not at all. This seems to be taking longer than expected. Would you perhaps prefer to rest comfortably in another room?”
I turned to the Count and asked, but he kept his gaze fixed on the contract.
“Dear, are you listening?”
“Handle it yourself. Don’t bother me with this.”
“….”
The Countess didn’t appear wounded at all; rather, she smiled with relief at his indifference. I rose from my seat alongside her, leaving the Count to Romandro.
“Countess, allow me to show you the way. I could use some fresh air myself.”
At those words, the Count’s eyes followed my retreating figure. Personally escorting her? Why? Blood rushed upward, and jealousy seemed ready to burst through his throat, but the Count was a nobleman. He could not display such unseemly behavior before the Emperor’s Advisor.
“Count?”
“Ah, my apologies. Would you repeat that?”
“If we modify Article 3, Section 3, then Article 5, Section 1 in the back must also be revised for consistency. Shall we proceed?”
“Yes, do so.”
Creak.
The moment the Countess stepped into the corridor, she leaned against the wall and sighed.
“You’ve worked hard, Countess.”
“…And Clark?”
“He has the best fortune in the estate. He simply receives his meals in his room.”
Despite claiming they weren’t lovers, the moment the Count’s attention shifted, she asked about Clark. I gestured for her to follow.
“Shall I offer you my arm?”
“No need. My waist aches from the corset, but my legs are fine.”
She walked with composed elegance, gathering her dress hem. I wondered if more bruises had bloomed on her that night she returned late, but I didn’t ask. Pain is something that hurts simply by being remembered, no matter the form.
Instead, I gently broached another subject.
“Have you ever seen the Count’s younger brother?”

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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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