Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor
Chapter 66

Ian and the mansion’s servants had moved all the Grula seeds they had gathered over time to the plaza. What had been only four bags had now far exceeded a hundred.

The seedlings they had been growing for research were carefully wrapped in paper and loaded onto a cart, which had to make five or six trips back and forth.

“My goodness, what is all this?”

“We’ve scoured the nearby mountains and fields to gather them.”

“Are you giving all these away for free?”

As Ian gestured for them to line up, everyone began to move, albeit awkwardly, in an orderly fashion. By his side, a subordinate of Romandro was shuffling through papers. Distributing the Grula would be a task that would take some time.

“Listen well. The Grula seeds will be distributed according to the size of the fields you are tending. Families with many members will receive additional seedlings, and I hope you’ll actively share cultivation and cooking methods to reduce the workload of the mansion.”

“They’re giving away seedlings too!”

“Shh, be quiet. I can’t hear.”

“I can’t hear from the back!”

Ian raised a finger and shouted.

“While the Grula is being distributed for free now, next year at harvest time, the tax will increase by ten percent. Also, any trade of Grula with outsiders must go through the mansion. Violators will be fined 50 gold coins.”

“50 coins!”

“Oh my, that’s shocking. Really.”

For an average tenant farmer, earning one gold coin in a month was the norm. The strict penalty was surprising, but on second thought, it didn’t seem to be a problem.

“What about trading among ourselves?”

“That’s fine. The important thing is outsiders. You cannot trade even a single root or seed with outsiders.”

“That should be alright, right?”

“Yeah. By outsiders, he means desert tribes and maybe Merellof, hard to find anyone else.”

“Right. No, no problem at all!”

“You, you owe me a debt, right? Pay it off with some Grula.”

Ian continued to shout louder, guiding them.

“And if anyone reports a violator, they will receive a reward. If you’re unhappy with the additional tax, you don’t have to receive the Grula.”

“How much is ten percent?”

“Think of it as adding one more sack for every ten sacks of wheat.”

“What about fifty sacks?”

“…Five sacks. Those who can’t calculate should ask the staff.”

Everyone worried about the increased taxes for next year, counting on their fingers. But they needed to survive the present to see the next year. As the distribution of Grula began, the first man in line applied.

“My name is Aolden Parma.”

“Ah, you’re in charge of the farmland by the river.”

“How much do I get?”

“Here. Five scoops.”

It was only five scoops, but considering the reproductive capacity, it was sufficient. Those who arrived late were stomping their feet, trying to move forward, but Ian pushed them back, saying,

“Don’t worry if you don’t receive Grula now. There will be a second distribution.”

Since external trade was prohibited, whatever was cultivated would eventually return to the mansion. It was only a matter of time before all the vassals in Bratz’s territory cultivated Grula.

“Next!”

While helping with the distribution, Beric whispered from behind.

“Ian. You need to come to the mansion for a moment. One of the conspirators has regained consciousness.”

“…I’ll be right there.”

Ian signaled the subordinates of Romandro with a glance, asking them to take over, and left the plaza. The mansion, emptied of both Grula and people, seemed much quieter and emptier than usual.

Tap, tap!

“Have you arrived?”

“Someone woke up? What about Petreio?”

Sweating profusely, the doctor wiped his face with the back of his hand and sighed heavily. It was his first time seeing a patient in such a horrendous condition.

“There’s no chance. At most, he has till today.”

“…Madman.”

Beric glanced through the door at Petreio, a man barely breathing, turned into a bloody mess. The fact that he still wouldn’t confess, even in such a state, meant he wasn’t going to open his mouth, even in death.

“Swish. What about the other man’s consciousness?”

“Bright as a button. As soon as he opened his eyes, he started crying and begging…”

Begging for his life, pleading so desperately. It was Ian and Beric who had nearly died, but to an outsider, it might have seemed like they had kidnapped the wrong person.

As Ian entered the room, the man who had been eating barley porridge stopped his actions.

“Ah…”

“I’m Ian. Happy to see me again in the daylight?”

“Please, save me! Save me!”

Crash!

The barley porridge flew as the man threw himself to the ground, begging and wailing, almost having a fit. Ian sighed and asked.

“Your name?”

“Co, Collin.”

“Go on.”

Ian sat down and nodded his head. The man, wiping the barley porridge off his mouth, cleared his throat.

“Well, my name is Collin, I’m twenty, with two older and three younger siblings.”

“…That’s maddening. I’m not interested in that.”

“Hey, want your head smashed with this porridge bowl?”

“Eek!”

As Beric threatened him, Collin started pleading again.

“So, I’m a runner for the gambling dens, and I overheard the guards talking. Someone was offering a bundle of money for a job.”

“Where are you from?”

“I, I’m from Merellof…”

Just as expected. If they were recruiting from nearby, it had to be from there. Ian’s smile caused Beric to kick Collin hard in the shin.

Thwack!

“Aaagh!”

“So? Who is this someone?”

“I don’t know! We don’t ask those things, just take the money and do the job. I didn’t even meet them personally. I got the money from the guards.”

Beric glanced at Ian.

“What should we do? Kill him?”

“Please! Save me! I’ll do whatever you ask! Aaah!”

“Oh dear. The screams are fantastic, even though he’s unharmed.”

Beric kicked off the man clinging to Ian’s feet. The man didn’t seem like he would take his own life to keep silent. Ian tapped his fingers, thinking.

‘Merellof…’

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“Keep this man imprisoned. And is there no one else outside?”

“No? Sir Ian. I’m here. Just say the word.”

“I need to send a letter to Merellof. Prepare a horse.”

Ian instructed the servant as he emerged above ground and then headed straight to the reception room, knocking on the door. Romandro, who had been writing a report inside, was startled and greeted him.

“What’s the matter? Is Petreio dead?”

“No, he’s still breathing. One of the conspirators woke up and confessed he’s from Merellof. Most of them are likely from there, having worked as guards in the gambling dens. I’d like to write a letter; could you help me?”

Romandro put down his pen and tried to understand Ian’s intentions. Why was he asking for help with a letter? Romandro raised his eyebrows in speculation.

“Are you trying to create a pretext?”

“That’s one way to see it.”

“Heh, indeed.”

Ian sat opposite Romandro, who handed him the report he had been working on. It was a recommendation for the position of a lord, filled with praises for the discovery of Grula, the alliance with the desert, and the reconstruction of the territory.

“Do you like it?”

“I hope it pleases His Highness Mariv, and the Emperor. Just in case, include one of Molrin’s possessions when you send it. Do you have a ring?”

“Yes. So, what should we write to Merellof?”

Romandro took out a new piece of paper and dipped his pen in ink.

“Start with ‘The recommended successor for the lordship, Ian, was attacked.'”

This was precisely why Romandro, an imperial advisor, was writing the letter. Ian’s current status was too low to make such a claim credible.

However, mentioning that the ‘successor to the lordship’ was injured and that the advisor had to write on his behalf would be something Merellof couldn’t ignore easily.

“Assailants from Merellof attacked the lord’s successor. One of the conspirators is alive and confessed. I believe this is a matter that could easily lead to misunderstandings between us.”

Scribble, scribble.

What if Ian had been the lord?

It would have been a matter grave enough to raise an army, but since that was not the case, they had to rely on Romandro’s authority. There was a risk that Merellof could brazenly claim they had killed one of their own citizens.

It seemed entirely plausible for the Count of Merellof.

“We’ll send someone to confirm and take custody of the body, requesting active cooperation in the investigation.”

“Good. The ink flows well, and it looks fine.”

“And it would be good to add a compensation.”

Upon hearing Ian’s suggestion, Romandro scratched his nose with the feather of his pen.

“How much? Would 100 gold coins be appropriate?”

“That’s reasonable, but you might want to raise it more. They won’t intend to pay anyway.”

Considering the humanitarian request for food trade they had rudely refused, it seemed appropriate to start with 200 gold coins, expecting to negotiate down to maybe 20.

“Let’s see…”

Romandro pondered for a moment, then elegantly concluded the letter. He sealed it with his ring and handed it to Ian.

“Is everything ready outside?”

“Yes, Sir Ian. The horse is prepared.”

“Deliver this to Count Merellof. Be careful.”

The servant carefully tucked the letter away and left the reception room. It would likely take some time to receive a proper response.

“If it’s for the sake of creating a pretext, it would be best if they didn’t respond at all.”

Ian smiled at Romandro’s words.

That was exactly what Ian had in mind.

“Maybe we’ll receive a response by winter? By then, their Grula seeds will have dried up, and it will be hard to cultivate, so they’ll surely want Grula soon.”

If they made an issue of this incident, it would provide a pretext to refuse them initially and, secondarily, a reason to raise the price of Grula.

It would be a fitting payback for what the Count of Merellof had done.

“The thought of them paying dearly for weeds makes me smile. Their expression will be worth seeing.”

However, Ian’s situation differed from theirs. He didn’t need to buy their food, but they had no alternatives to Grula.

Romandro then finished the report to be sent to the central government.

“But tell me, becoming a lord is one thing, but won’t you have to stay in the capital for a long time, given that you’re a magic user?”

Once appointed, there would still be issues to consider. It was unlikely that they would send a magic user like Ian to a remote area.

“Who will look after this place if you’re in the capital for an extended period?”

“It’s not uncommon for lords to spend extended periods in the capital.”

“That’s true, but usually only when they have a steward.”

Ian responded only with a smile.

For now, he would think about it after returning to the palace. If this unbelievable return was related to Naum’s magic, he could make plans accordingly.

“I don’t know. Let’s think about it once I become a lord. The title ceremony will be held during the New Year’s celebration anyway. Hopefully, His Highness Mariv will be of help.”

Ian’s mention of Mariv’s help elicited a peculiar expression from Romandro. It was neither confirmation nor denial, a vague reaction.

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