Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor -
Chapter 38
“Did you hear that?”
“It was Sir Ian’s voice near the barracks, right?”
A couple of members of the Cheonrye tribe who had awakened from sleep came out, hastily putting on their clothes. They had clearly sensed something amiss. They hurriedly ran to where Ian and Beric were and soon found the half-open entrance.
“Sir Ian? Are you all right?”
“Is there a problem? Beric, you’re not dead, are you?”
The moment they stepped inside, the sight that met them was a stranger sprawled on the floor, and Ian holding his reddened neck, coughing.
“Cough!”
“Si, Sir Ian? What happened?”
“He, he attacked me… He tried to kill me all of a sudden…”
Only then did they notice the broken dagger on the floor. They immediately went outside to alert others and tied the man’s arms and legs.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I woke up, and he was trying to kill me.”
“No, not just that, but how did you knock him out? You didn’t even have any training, Sir Ian.”
“…Somehow.”
Ian pretended to have a hard time answering, simply rubbing his neck. Soon, the entire tribe was awake, including Kakantir, who was lightly dressed.
“What’s the commotion? Who attacked Sir Ian?”
“Kakantir! It’s this man. He’s been lying like this since he entered.”
“What an idiot! What is he doing?”
“Exactly…”
“Who is he? I can’t see his face.”
It was a pure question, without malicious intent.
To be honest, even a child from the Cheonrye tribe could have easily subdued Ian. What had this hulking figure done to be knocked out?
“Take off his mask.”
Kakantir looked closely at Ian’s condition in confusion at this unprecedented event. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be hurt.
From now on, not only will they be on alert, but they had sworn to treat Ian as a ‘guest.’ If something disgraceful were to happen, it would be utterly dishonorable.
Swish.
“Gasp!”
As a subordinate took off the mask, everyone gasped.
It was Bumart, Nersarn’s second stepmother’s cousin and the man in charge of food management. Ian recognized him instantly. Wasn’t he the one who had glared at him during the return ceremony? The memory had lingered, leaving him uneasy.
“…Move Bumart. We will interrogate him at daybreak.”
At Kakantir’s command, three subordinates rushed to drag Bumart away. The chieftain, about to leave, looked back at Ian.
It was none other than Bumart, one of the strongest warriors in the tribe. To face him without a scratch, only to have him collapse?
“Sir Ian. Is it true that you subdued Bumart?”
“It seems so. Somehow.”
“In the empire…”
Kakantir’s eyes flicked toward Beric. He seemed to have an idea now.
“They call those who perform miracles magicians.”
“I have no intention of lying in the desert.”
“So you’re talking in riddles.”
“I will tell you when we return to Bariel at the appropriate time. What my existence means, it may be hard for you to understand now, as we’ve lived at different times.”
Ian didn’t know the social standing of magic users, or magicians, in the empire. Regardless of his humble lineage, the ability to manage the palace’s main affairs – that was the societal power of magic.
“Alright. Right now, our internal affairs are more important. Rest. If there’s anything, feel free to ask.”
“Thank you.”
Kakantir smiled lightly, as if expecting, and left the barracks. As the commotion settled, Beric was still agape, asleep.
“Snore.”
“Sigh.”
Judging by the loud snoring, he seemed to be recovering. Considering a hole was pierced in his side, his condition looked remarkably good.
Only then did Ian notice the new gureut leaves on the table. He burned a few of them in the lamp and carefully dried others, placing them under Beric’s nose.
* * *
“Shaaah!”
As the darkness lifted, Kakantir’s subordinates heaped sand onto Bumart’s face. Usually, sprinkling water would be the norm, but they were in the middle of a great desert. Ian felt a stinging sensation on his cheek for no reason.
“Pour until he comes to his senses.”
“Yes, Kakan.”
The sand poured endlessly, rising up to Bumart’s chest. Only then did the man twitch and regain consciousness. Kakantir scrutinized him with a sharp gaze.
“Bumart.”
“Ah…”
He was bound hand and foot, propped up by a pole. Bumart writhed this way and that, soon raising his head with an expression of injustice.
“Bumart, did you attack Ian during the dawn?”
Bumart hesitated to answer. A human tongue could lie, but they had a Winchen, a truth detector. Kakantir would certainly distinguish truth from falsehood based on the interrogation.
“Kakan, first, loosen this…”
“Answer. If you talk nonsense, I will cut your fingers off.”
It was an unhesitating cold-heartedness. Bumart could neither resist nor yield, only biting his lips, and finally bowed his head to the ground.
“……”
“Choosing silence?”
Damn it. He could kill his opponent with one hand, but he had no idea how things had turned out this way. But there was still hope. If the motive remained undisclosed, he would only be punished for attacking Ian.
Even if it cost Bumart his right arm, it was better than dying.
“Is it true?”
“Kakan. If you still consider me family, don’t ask anymore and take my arm. Ian used a strange power. His eyes turned golden, and the air condensed and burst instantly; he is undoubtedly a suspicious character.”
Kakantir looked down at Bumart. A murmuring sound was heard, but only for an instant.
“You talk about things I did not ask, Bumart. Do you know how disgraceful you look now?”
In front of the whole tribe, buried in sand, babbling. If he were a warrior who prioritized honor and glory, he would have bitten his tongue and died.
Bumart’s face flushed with humiliation. Ian, who had been silently watching, raised his hand.
“May I testify?”
“Speak.”
“He certainly mentioned Dergha.”
If he was willing to give an arm to hide a secret, then something more was hidden behind. Ian’s words caused everyone to stir.
“I propose to Kakan that it was his scheme, and seemed to prevent him saying as such, so probably there’s some connection with Dergha and….”
Ian seemed to remember something but didn’t continue. Kakantir patiently waited, and Bumart only swallowed his saliva.
“Did you send a letter to Dergha, Bumart?”
The day Ian snuck into the office to stamp the seal, he found a letter written in Chonryeo in the drawer. He didn’t remember it clearly, but…
“‘Who will succeed the chief next?’ I saw a letter on Dergha’s desk. Bumart, was it you?”
Everyone’s eyes fell on Bumart, kneeling. He glared hard at Ian, took a deep breath, and bit his tongue.
“Stop him!”
After Dergha’s name was mentioned, the time to choose an honorable warrior’s death had passed. The subordinates quickly pressed his tongue and stuffed cloth into his mouth.
“Ugh! Ugh ugh!”
“Bumart! Is this true?”
“Don’t make him talk! Stuff more cloth in!”
“Damn, what is all this…”
The tribespeople distorted their faces in shock and betrayal. Ian speculated carefully but confidently.
He had seen these things haphazardly at the Imperial Palace.
“The deterioration of Chief Winchen’s health might be related to Bumart. He was the food manager, wasn’t he?”
Killing Winchen and taking over the tribal leader’s position… If that had happened, Bumart would have been a strong candidate indeed.
“I’m not sure what kind of collusion Dergha has done, but probably, Bumart was promised the honor of being the chief, and Dergha was promised economic gains.”
Kakantir stared at Bumart in silence, seeming to organize his thoughts for a moment. Then he rose, grabbed Bumart’s hair, and dragged him along.
“…No one follow.”
He headed for Winchen’s tent.
His subordinates watched tensely as the two men disappeared inside. The wait that felt like an hour for just a minute continued.
When Kakantir came out, he was covered in blood, and Bumart’s head was in his hand.
“Throw it in the desert and bring Bumart’s family as well.”
“…Yes, Kakan.”
To throw the body away without holding a funeral, and leaving it to be eaten by beasts, was to declare that he was a traitor. As Kakantir threw Bumart’s head, the tribesmen spat at it as they passed.
“Sir Ian. Come here.”
Upon Kakantir’s call, Ian changed his position. He muttered while wiping his face and hands with a water towel that Nersarn handed him.
“We need to revise our plan a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“All we had to do was help you safely enter Bratz and establish a foothold there.”
It was risky to confront the central army directly. But now that the situation had come to this, the Cheonrye tribe had to fully engage in their fight.
“Dergha’s hidden profits are ours to reap.”
“Ah.”
Daring to deceive Kakantir by pretending to be an ally while conspiring with their family to kill Winchen, their spiritual pillar, was a far more significant misdeed than smuggling gureut leaves.
Ian nodded after some consideration.
“I understand, but it might be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because Dergha’s crime is ‘treason.’ The royal investigative team had to travel for fifteen days to execute him, so it would be a bit ridiculous if the remote tribes take care of him first.”
The execution of a traitor was usually grand, cruel, and solemn. If the highlight of the festival was Dergha’s death, they couldn’t just hand it over to a remote tribe.
“Even so, we, or rather, I must kill Dergha myself.”
“…It’s not that there’s no way.”
Kakantir’s will seemed very firm.
“As originally intended, all I need to do is take the Bratz territory. To be precise, ‘officially.’ Then I can participate in the execution and receive the will of the Cheonrye tribe to help.”
“Anyway, we have to help the you.”
“You overstate it. I am the one asking for help.”
Kakantir smiled at Ian’s congenial words. It was not a smile of joy but a smile of anticipation for what lay ahead.
“Good. Let’s do it.”
“Demosha.”
“Demosha.”
Ian and Kakantir exchanged fist bumps. Then, a councilor approached and called Ian.
“Beric has regained consciousness.”
“…Already?”
“Just consciousness, somehow.”
“…Ah.”
Ian acknowledged with a slight smile, noticing the subtle irony.
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