Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor - Chapter 9

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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 9. A Second Luncheon
“We can use rumors to our advantage.”
“Rumors?”
I glanced at Mollin. Listen carefully—I’m about to give you the answer you’re looking for.
“To be precise, rumors that fulfill desires. Spread word that consuming it smooths the skin, adds shine and thickness to hair, aids in weight loss or gain, or enhances fertility. Men and women alike would clamor to obtain it.”
Regardless of gender.
In truth, this was a method frequently employed at the Central Office. A fundamental yet remarkably effective approach to shaping public opinion and correcting market imbalances.
“Intriguing indeed. However, the citizens of the Imperial Palace are both keen and shrewd. Surely such baseless rumors would be exposed quickly. What then would be your next move?”
Mac asked while moistening his lips with sherry. That too presented no obstacle.
“Simply station guards around it.”
I stood my index and middle fingers on the table to represent human legs, then traced circles around them in a wandering pattern near the dishes.
“Post them conspicuously, but deliberately leave gaps in the security. Coveting the precious is human nature. Even if what’s being guarded is worthless, greed will drive them to steal it. They’ll wonder all day and night—what could be so important that nobility guards it so carefully? By then, it becomes impossible to stop them, and everyone naturally gains access to it. However.”
“However?”
“These are merely secondary concerns. The fundamental issue is whether a suitable replacement food supply will actually materialize.”
Mollin, Mac, and Dgor felt as though static electricity crackled through their minds. The Central Office gathered the empire’s finest minds. They had witnessed countless individuals.
Educated men might offer such insightful responses, but they had never seen a boy barely past childhood demonstrate such brilliance. And this was the same boy who had wandered the red-light district mere months ago.
Only then did the three men recall what should have been their primary concern.
‘Could the second son truly cross the border in place of the first?’
They had overlooked it. No—they had been arrogant. Naturally, a bastard from the slums would be inferior, they had assumed.
Whether I noticed their realization or not, I smiled and brought the steak to my lips.
“The taste is indeed excellent.”
“Yes, quite. The fine weather seems to enhance it.”
What had begun as a light luncheon had shifted into an entirely different atmosphere. I noticed that everyone’s attention was fixed upon me.
‘That’s enough about Guula for now.’
Now came the real purpose. I intended to discover why Count Derga had resorted to scheming through letters, and whether there was an opportunity to venture beyond the manor.
“Do you enjoy writing, Ian?”
Conversation resumed. Mac posed the question to me, but his gaze naturally shifted toward the Countess and Chel. Even if he had come to see me, focusing the conversation too heavily on one person would be discourteous.
“I’ve heard the Countess has considerable expertise in literature. I imagine her sons are equally exceptional.”
“Oh my, you’re too kind. I merely dabble in brief compositions. And Mac, you’ve authored two books, haven’t you? To receive praise from such an accomplished person is truly embarrassing.”
Dgor interjected into her playful response.
“Countess, there’s no need for such modesty. From what I’ve observed, Mac is far more skilled at letter-writing than book-writing. Anyone who receives one of his letters weeps and declares their love.”
“Dgor! Your jokes are too much.”
“Ahahaha! Ian, when you need to write letters, do ask Mac. He’ll be most useful.”
The playful wink that accompanied his words was quite amusing. The Countess laughed heartily at whatever delighted her so, but Count Derga’s expression grew notably darker. The topic of conversation clearly made him deeply uncomfortable.
‘The Cheonryo Tribe demanded his handwritten letters.’
The timing was remarkably suspicious. It carried the implication that I would have reason to write letters. Did he know? If so, how had he discovered it?
Count Derga moistened his lips with wine and made his preemptive move.
“In fact, word has come from the Cheonryo Tribe.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“They’ve requested that I send them your handwritten letters periodically.”
Count Derga chose his next words with deliberate care.
“I fail to understand the concern, given we’ll use a kinship verification potion anyway. The barbarians are beasts—utterly incomprehensible creatures.”
Mac smiled broadly and supported Derga’s sentiment.
“Beasts are always wary of the world, you see. Such is their existence. They recognize order through strength alone, do they not? It’s common for a chieftain met in spring to be replaced by autumn.”
Strength alone. Their entire hierarchy was determined solely by power. A chieftain had to accept challenges at any moment, and only death brought peace to all things.
“Had they not possessed such a nature, Bariel would have proven far more troublesome.”
At least they regulated their own numbers. How fortunate that was. Ian posed a question to Mac.
“Then the current tribal leader of the Cheonryo—is she a rival to the chieftain, or a subordinate?”
The Cheonryo Tribe had been decimated before Ian’s ascension, leaving them of low standing. Occasionally, desert travelers went missing, which people attributed to sandstorms or the Cheonryo’s doing.
Thus, the information I possessed was fragmentary and elementary at best.
Mac shook his head at Ian’s question.
“Neither. The tribal leader is an elderly woman named Winchen—so old her age is unknown. While chieftains change constantly, she has held her position for a remarkably long time.”
“Ah. Then that means….”
Ian murmured as if surprised.
“She is the spiritual pillar of the Cheonryo Tribe.”
Correct. How quickly he grasped things with just a hint! Mac’s eyes gleamed with approval.
“So I’ve heard. The entire tribe regards her as one who touches the heavens. She possesses a most extraordinary ability.”
“An ability? I thought they despised magic.”
“It’s difficult to call it magic—more akin to what gypsies possess. She is blind, yet discerns truth from falsehood through voice alone.”
Ah. I furrowed my brows gently.
‘A blind tribal leader who perceives truth.’
Now I understood Derga’s true intentions.
Gruut leaves were certainly contraband—goods that could not be imported by any means. If I smuggled them in properly, it would yield tremendous profit. They were the very plant the Cheonryo always carried into battle, after all.
Whether to increase Bratz’s military strength or diminish the Cheonryo’s combat power—either way, it was an opportunity to tilt the scales of victory toward Bratz.
But if discovered during the process?
I would be interrogated by the tribal leader. I would confess that my heart was purely for my mother’s sake. Should the Cheonryo lodge a protest, Bratz would seek forgiveness through my death and my mother’s. It would have nothing to do with the Count, so a modest compensation would suffice to appease them.
‘What is the likelihood the Cheonryo would declare war as a pretext?’
Still slim. For now.
Bratz’s annihilation would come in the next generation. There must be a reason it happened then. A full-scale war now seemed impossible to anticipate.
“You must have heard tales of the tribal leader yourself, Count. Have you not? Count Derga?”
“Well, yes. Truth be told, I’ve never actually seen the tribal leader myself.”
Derga cleared his throat repeatedly while glancing at the boy.
‘But how does he know such things?’
The tutor reported that Ian was dull without question, yet the occasional flashes of intelligence were suspicious. I could never fathom what thoughts churned behind that small head.
“The more one hears, the more fascinating this tribe becomes.”
Ian noticed his gaze and smiled all the brighter, leaving no room for suspicion. As I continued cutting naturally, Derga soon withdrew his suspicious eyes.
But what of this?
I had already discerned Derga’s intentions. Should I stand before the tribal leader, everything would inevitably be revealed.
‘Well. Not that I intend to.’
After that, meaningless conversation drifted away on the wind. Laughter erupted from Mac, Dgor, and the Countess.
“So, Prince Gail said, ‘Throw that arrogant brat into the pigsty at once!'”
“My goodness! Is that truly what he said?”
“Yes indeed. He’s quite the aggressive sort.”
“Oh my! How dreadful!”
Then, suddenly, I turned my head in puzzlement.
Mollin, Mac, and Dgor were administrators dispatched from the Central Office. All civil servants conduct their duties under the Emperor and the official heir. The fact that such men had been away from the Capital for months on end carried deep significance.
Either they were important enough to carry the Emperor’s trust on their shoulders.
Or they were those who had withdrawn far from positions of power.
Count Derga, unfamiliar with Capital affairs as he was, could have no way of knowing. Yet I felt an odd intuition stirring within me.
‘Why do they keep mentioning Prince Gail?’
The official heir was Prince Gail the First, so naturally their master should also be the First Prince.
Of course, the other princes had their followers too, but most were likely those far removed from the center of power.
Yet these three men spoke consistently and only of Gail, the Second Prince.
“Ian. What occupies your thoughts so deeply?”
“Nothing at all. I simply found your conversation fascinating and continued listening.”
“Is that so? Then I’ve misread you. Your expression is quite stern, you see. Hehe.”
Mollin subtly redirected my attention. His face wore a smile, but his gaze—as he examined me carefully—was sharp and persistent.
Those golden eyes I’d glimpsed at our first lunch that day—were they truly a phantom? I’d heard that those who wielded mana possessed intellectual abilities far superior to ordinary people. Then perhaps….
“Count Derga.”
Mollin spoke as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. As if it were a signal, Mac and Dgor ceased their conversation.
“I felt it before as well, but Ian’s scholarship is truly remarkable—it startles even me. It must be thanks to your and the Countess’s excellent educational principles.”
“…You flatter me.”
“And so I wish to make a small request.”
At those words, Count Derga drank his wine with a slightly anxious expression.
That cunning old fox. How many times had he made things difficult with that word “request.”
A brief silence fell as Count Derga chose his words. And I did not miss this moment.
“Would you care to see my room?”
I asked with a playful tone.
It was not speech befitting a nobleman, but rather the polite jest of a child. To point it out with a stern expression would be ungraceful. Mrs. Mary’s lips twitched as she fixed her gaze on the back of my head.
“That would be pleasant, but this time it is something else.”
Count Derga and all members of the household fixed their attention on Mollin’s lips. Only Mac and Dgor remained composed, as if they had already anticipated this.

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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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