Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Shackles
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"It was an honor to meet you today, Ian."
A carriage that Molin had arrived in was waiting at the main gate. The old man removed his hat in greeting, and a servant brought his cane. Ian placed a hand over his heart to show respect.
"Even though it's improper for you to say so, Father will be truly delighted."
It was a formal and elegant gesture. Perfect posture, without a single flaw, like that of a tutor in imperial etiquette. Molin looked down at the boy's eyes again and smiled. The deep green eyes were as clear as glass beads.
"You truly revere the Count, Ian."
Was it sincere? No.
It was a question disguised as praise. An ambiguous intent, unclear if it was mockery or just a probe. Molin seemed to expect an answer, but Ian had no intention of satisfying the old man's desires.
"Safe travels."
He offered only the bare minimum courtesy with an ambiguous smile.
Unable to grasp the intent behind the words, he could only respond in kind. Molin appeared even more intrigued by Ian's attitude.
"Then, I'll see you next week."
The registration process didn't end in a single day.
Four times total, at weekly intervals. He'd have to spend about a month like this with Molin. Only after that would the report go up to the capital, followed by a reply from the couriers after a fortnight.
All in all, if nothing unexpected happened, he had at least two months. Ian confirmed the leeway he'd been given and let out a sigh of relief. Swift responses were second nature to him.
"Then. Farewell."
Creak.
The coachman opened the door for Molin. He vanished through the small window, holding Ian's gaze until the end.
Only when the carriage was out of sight did the full view of the Bratz Count's mansion come into focus.
'Quite stately for a border count's residence.'
"Ian, shall I escort you to your room?"
"No. I need to head back to the drawing room."
When the servant behind him cautiously asked, Ian shook his head. He needed to check on the aftermath with Chel.
With his grasp of the situation still incomplete, he couldn't predict what results his power might bring.
So he had to see for himself.
With his own eyes and ears.
"Go on ahead."
"Yes, understood. But, Ian!"
Ian turned at the servant's call. Now that he looked, the hesitant face seemed familiar. It was the boy who had endured Chel's abuse in the drawing room.
"Is your hand alright?"
The servant clutched his slightly swollen hand and bowed. It wasn't properly treated, but the heat seemed to have subsided.
"…Thank you."
"It's fine."
What great kindness was this?
As soon as the servant rounded the corner and disappeared, Ian looked down at his own hand. There was something he needed to confirm.
'I can feel the mana.'
They said mana resonated with the soul, not the body. Even in this unfamiliar flesh, he could summon the power. He had no knowledge of such cases, so it was disorienting...
'At least that's a relief.'
It couldn't compare to his original body, but with training, he could wield mana much more easily. Even in the worst case, as long as he had mana, he'd avoid that one fate.
Knock knock.
Ian had reached the drawing room and was about to enter when he knocked.
From inside came only the chatter of unfamiliar servants, not the count's family. They were clearly cleaning up the mess on the floor.
"Whew. What a mess this is."
"Tell me about it. And he's already seventeen."
"Shh. Quiet. Madam said not to breathe a word. She'll punish us, so be careful."
"I'd believe it if Ian had messed up. Last time, his head got yanked so hard by the young master he passed out. They said it was piss, so I thought maybe he got yanked again and slipped up!"
Cackles of laughter rang out clearly. Ian eavesdropped from the door crack, hiding his presence. They were gossiping like cats. Tsk tsk.
"But when he left the garden today, I was really surprised. His posture was so straight, more elegant than even Madam."
"He was on his best behavior with guests around. Otherwise, you think the Count would let it slide? Blood doesn't lie. Look at that flashy mother of his—clearly mixed with harlot blood. That one."
"But I heard his mother wasn't a courtesan. Why call her a harlot?"
"Right. If you think about it, it's the Count's fault. Why touch a woman like that?"
"Touch? She was sucking her thumb to survive—is that 'well-off'?"
Creak.
Ian opened the door, deeming it no longer worth listening to. The servants, mid-gossip, all froze.
"…Uh, Ian?"
"Where are your master, his wife, and young master?"
Should they make excuses or not?
The servants were polite enough with their honorifics, but everyone knew Ian's lowly origins and that he'd soon be sold to the Cheonryeo Tribe.
"Shall I ask again?"
"Ah! Sorry! Madam and young master Chel returned to their rooms, and the Count headed to the main gate with the steward."
If he'd gone to the gate, he must be seeing Lord Molin off belatedly. Things had been too chaotic. Sending off Molin and Ian while leaving her grown son's blunder unattended.
She was surely worried about what leverage that sly old fox might have.
'Our paths crossed.'
"Understood."
As Ian calmly closed the door and left, the servants sighed in relief and immediately scolded one woman.
"Ugh, seriously! Bella! Your mouth is the problem with that one."
"Tch. So what? He's getting sold off in a couple months anyway."
"Watch your mouth! Want to get in trouble?"
It was something the Count paid special attention to. They were thoroughly laundering Ian's status for the peace treaty.
The palace might stay silent since it was an internal matter, but if the Cheonryeo Tribe found out? Who knew what they'd grab hold of. That was why all the mansion servants treated Ian with such care.
"Ah, Father."
Ian spotted Count Derka emerging from the far end of the corridor. He approached Ian, his face heavily creased in a frown.
"Has Lord Molin left?"
"Yes. I watched his carriage depart."
"What did you discuss on the way?"
"Nothing special, just small talk. He mentioned young master Chel's mistake, but it was merely concern."
At the mention of Chel, Derka's brows furrowed even deeper in dismay. Ian noted every detail. From the reaction, Chel had clearly kept quiet about the golden eyes.
"…Prepare the carriage."
Feeling his stress surge, the Count instructed the steward. Then he placed an jade mouthpiece between his lips. Regardless of the boy's presence, he exhaled a thick plume of mana cigarette smoke.
Then, abruptly.
"How did you know about Viscount Purn?"
It was a question that had arisen while carefully reviewing the luncheon. No wonder—he himself hadn't known about the capital scholar, yet this lowborn bastard did. Ian brushed it off without much thought.
"I overheard someone in the household mention it."
"Whose words?"
"I don't recall the name."
It was an improvisation from someone who hadn't been here long.
No one could expect him to know every person in the mansion. It sounded plausible enough that Derka filled in the blanks himself.
'Chel's tutor? I heard he graduated from Bariel University.'
Whatever. It wasn't important.
Derka deliberately lowered his voice sternly.
"No mistakes next week. Pull another stunt like you drank from the eaves, and I'll dunk your head in the slop bucket."
It must have been a mistake the boy made before Emperor Ian possessed him. Ian nodded without adding anything. Derka held the smoke in his mouth and gazed down at Ian impassively.
'Hm.'
He certainly took after his mother—his face was worth a look. When they first brought him, snot and tears streamed constantly, leaving no chance to appraise him. Nor had he particularly wanted to.
"What is it?"
If the background check went smoothly, his looks would surely please the Cheonryeo Tribe. And he was only just sixteen. He might even marry into the chief's family. What happened once he crossed the border was anyone's guess.
In any case, if handled well, it would aid the formal peace treaty.
"Forget what your brother did today."
"Yes. Understood."
It was embarrassing even for the mansion underlings; if the Cheonryeo Tribe found out? The next border count's dignity would be a joke. As he nearly finished his cigarette, the steward appeared with an overcoat.
"My lord. It's ready."
"Let's go."
Then the Count turned away brusquely.
Ian confirmed through the window that he boarded the carriage. The servants didn't even see him off, confirming it was a secretive outing.
"Tch."
A worthless man. Ian cleared his thoughts of him from his mind and turned away. For now, mapping the entire mansion in his head would be best. Or perhaps corner Chel and tighten the reins.
Wandering the vast mansion like that, he ended up at the central kitchen. Servants and their families were gathered in groups of three or five, devouring leftovers from the rear garden.
"Ian?"
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing much. Just taking a stroll."
How peculiar. He usually acted like he wouldn't step out even if the place burned down. As the servants shoveled food into their mouths, Ian faintly grimaced.
'They're not livestock—how can they eat scraps....'
Unthinkable in the Bariel he knew. Unless it was the lowest slums, who ate discarded food?
Even after infectious diseases spread via saliva raised living standards overall, it was taboo even in the slums.
But in the Bratz Count's mansion, it was routine—no one batted an eye.
"Are you hungry? Want some?"
"Hey! How dare you speak so casually to the young master!"
"Ah, sorry."
"No. No, it's fine."
The Cheonryeo Tribe's territory lay in the heart of the boiling Great Desert.
Bratz territory, the closest, was similarly arid compared to other regions. Farmland itself was scarce.
Yet with the border, how many troops were there? Supply and demand had long been imbalanced, leaving the underlings perpetually hungry.
"Then eat up."
"Yes. Please head inside."
Ian stepped aside to let them eat comfortably. But the more he thought, the stranger it felt. A sense of discrepancy? The temporal gap from Emperor Ian's era was vast, so it was natural, but even accounting for that, something was missing.
'What is it. What feels so empty....'
"Um, Ian."
Then someone called him from behind. A girl his age with braided black hair. One of the family members who'd been eating.
"What is it?"
"Um, I'm heading to the market in about an hour."
…Why tell him that? Ian racked his brains behind a kind smile.
What? Did Ian handle market duties too? Stocking the mansion's food was grueling even for adults.
"Um, any message for your mother...."
"Ah."
As the girl fidgeted with her fingers, he caught on. She must pass on Ian's regards to his birth mother each time she went out. Unable to read or write, he had no choice but to rely on others' mouths.
'That means I can't leave the mansion.'
He was a precious sacrificial offering for peace. Likely, he couldn't step out on his own until the Cheonryeo Tribe arrived. In one sentence, the girl had reminded him of the shackles on his ankles.