Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor
Chapter 30

Ian stared at the red flower inside the tent. Beric was still snoring, fast asleep, and outside was noisy.

To summarize the situation, Winchen’s illness required a plant called ‘Silasque,’ and several expeditions had apparently been sent out to find it. But none had returned.

‘But is this really it?’

Silasque. The identity of a potted plant that nobody in the Bratz mansion knew about. Ian frowned as he gently brushed the petals. How on earth did this Ian obtain this during his lifetime?

‘I’m sure Ian said he grew it himself. If Philea were nearby, I could have asked.’

Could it be a panacea only found in a hidden corner of the bazaar? Like grula . If someone were to discover it, it could lead humanity to a new leap.

With that thought, Ian could feel his heart pounding.

“Hmm.”

Then, Beric woke up. His face was swollen from the meat and alcohol he had consumed the previous night. Ian hastily threw a towel at him, signaling him to get ready, and Beric, still half-asleep, left the tent.

“Ah. It’s the foreigner.”

“Shush. He’s a foreigner.”

“Weren’t you at the feast yesterday?”

“Hey! Did you have a good dream? What went into your bellies was top-notch!”

Pushing through the murmuring crowd, Ian found a somewhat familiar street. It was Winchen’s tent, where they had gone immediately upon arrival yesterday. With a stronger lingering smell of gureut leaves in the air, Nersarn turned his head quizzically when he spotted Ian.

“What business do you have?”

“Good morning. I followed the commotion and ended up here.”

“This matter doesn’t concern you. Stay in the tent until there’s a message from Kakantir.”

Now, Ian would earn his keep here. Given his position, he’d likely be tasked with spreading Barielean language and culture to the higher-ranking officials.

As for Beric, who knows? Maybe he’d be treated like a slave, as Soo had said, or perhaps he’d be recognized as Ian’s assistant.

“Chief Winchen seems to be in critical condition.”

“Ian Bratz. You talk too much now.”

The mere mention of Chief Winchen’s name silenced the surroundings in an instant. Some clicked their tongues in disbelief, others sent angry glances. If Ian had been dealing with someone other than Nersarn, a fight might have broken out right then and there.

“I couldn’t help but hear, given all the noise this morning.”

“Sorry, but you—”

“They call it the flower that never withers once it blooms, Silasque. Is that all it takes for Chief Winchen’s health to be restored?”

Nersarn, who knew Ian not to be one to miss the mood, looked at him for a long time. Ian glanced around and whispered quietly.

“I have something to discuss; please let me speak to the chieftain.”

This much attention should be enough. If what he had was indeed Silasque, then credit would surely seep into the relationship between them like the wind. It was a situation where he needed to elicit friendly feelings, so a little attention was necessary.

Creak—

Nersarn took Ian not to Winchen’s room but to the next tent, where the leaders, including Kakantir, were discussing an expedition.

“–But he just had a son.”

“His fifth. With four grown children, the remaining family should have no problems, I believe.”

“And he’s particularly good at shooting arrows…”

“Kakan¹.”

At Nersarn’s call, Kakantir turned his head. A rolled-up leaf still hung from his mouth.

“What is it?”

“Ian Bratz has something to say about Silasque.”

“To be precise, I’d like to ask about it.”

“…Sit.”

Ian took his seat amid the thick smoke. The elderly men sitting next to him looked at him with various expressions.

“Please explain what the plant Silasque is. I have a guess, and I’d like to see if it’s correct.”

“A guess? Ahh. You don’t know about Silasque?”

Ian answered with silence.

Kakantir exhaled a puff of smoke and gestured to a councilor, who took out a piece of paper. It looked like part of a botanical guide, written in an unfamiliar language.

“Silasque is what we call the disease that afflicts those, like Chief Winchen, who directly receive the will of the gods. It’s as if their lifelong energy shatters when they grow old and can no longer contain it.”

The councilor continued:

“There are records that long ago, merchants coming up from the South were rescued from the desert by our people, and we obtained Silasque seeds… but it has become difficult to see these days.”

The depth of “long ago” that they spoke of was hard to gauge, as nobody in the present Cheonrye tribe knew about Winchen’s younger days.

While she had endured for a long time, the records about Silasque had faded, and they had only now managed to grasp a thread of it.

Ian offered a consoling word, “It seems that in Bariel, there are not many who receive the will of the gods.”

He almost slipped and called them gypsy. To them, Winchen was an important figure, but in the Bariel Empire, she was just one of many old gypsies. At least she was talented among those swindlers. That much is true.

Moreover, gypsies wandered their entire lives, so no one knew what happened to them in their later years. It would be more accurate to say that there was no interest in them

The councilor furrowed his brow.

“…somehow, the Silasque has disappeared, and well, now you see the situation.”

“Is Silasque by any chance… the red flower that never wilts once it blooms?”

“If there’s no mistake in the records.”

Then, Kakantir frowned slightly. “I can smell the scent of Silasque in your words.”

What a keen nose.

Ian smiled and nodded. “Actually, I have seen a flower that was suspected to be Silasque in the Bratz territory. It was red, and it never seemed to wither once it bloomed.”

Even the sun sets once a day, let alone a mere flower that doesn’t wither. Surely a special case.

Kakantir was taken aback by Ian’s words. “Is that true?”

“I was surprised as well. That’s why I’ve come here as soon as I heard about Silasque.”

Let’s see. What should I do? If the timing was right, there could be a way for him to lure them to Bratz.

When the Emperor’s central army is devouring Bratz, the power of wisdom can not only save one’s life, but also acquire territory.

But…

‘The problem is Winchen’s current situation.’

Will she able to endure until the central army arrived in Bratz? I doubt it. Since the chieftain left the banquet last night, it wouldn’t be strange if the old woman stops breathing immediately.

“Tell me more.”

“Before that, I have a favor to ask first.”

In that case, there’s no choice for me but to use a different approach.

Kakantir didn’t hide his displeasure at Ian’s words. Especially, at Ian’s attitude of bargaining with their tribal Chief’s life at stake.

“A favor? Before Winchen’s breath stops, your neck will fall too?”

“Please treat me not as a hostage but as a guest of the Bariel Empire.”

Since there was no imperial decree, words like ‘envoy’ or ‘representative’ couldn’t be used. But the intention of his arrival was not much different. Ian wanted assurance of his group’s life and respect.

“Bratz is one piece of the grand Bariel. The imperial court knows of Bratz’s alliance, and my presence here is also, in a way, the will of the imperial court.”

Kakantir slowly lifted the corners of his mouth at Ian’s honeyed assertion. With a look that said, ‘Look at this,’ of course.

“Really? In that case, let me ask you: if your neck were seized, would the imperial court deploy an army here? If what you’re saying holds true, that would be the fitting response, wouldn’t it?”

“I may be uncertain about them deploying an army here, but it will undeniably pose a problem. After all, the enduring essence of the imperial palace is embodied within me.”

Crash!

As soon as the words were spoken, an elder slammed the table. They were speaking their language, so what he was saying wasn’t clear. Something about a snake’s tongue or the like…

Others remained silent, but they seemed to believe Ian’s words were empty.

“The essence of the imperial palace?”

Is Ian asserting that he belongs to the imperial lineage? Isn’t Dergha Bratz his father?

“I can’t explain in detail. What I can say is that while I inherited my physical body from Dergha Bratz, my essence is that of the imperial palace. I don’t think this is a matter the chieftain should be concerned about.”

“Fine. Alright, good. It’s because of people like you that the gods gave us Winchen-nim. Anyone!”

At Kakantir’s shout, two warriors grabbed Ian’s arm. Beric, who was waiting outside the tent, started to rush over, but Ian raised his hand to stop him.

‘It’s done.’

They were taking Ian to Winchen. Ian glanced at Beric, signaling him to wait, and then reentered the chief’s tent.

“Winchen-nim.”

“Ah…”

Her breath was ragged, but her consciousness had returned. The attendants slowly helped her up, and her clouded eyes were still fixed on the sky.

“This guy said that he knows something about Silasque.”

“Exactly, he said he has a guess.”

“…He had a guess? Is it true?”

Saliva trickled down the corner of Winchen’s mouth. Instead of speaking, she answered by nodding her head. At the same time, the attendants burst into joyful cheers, and the following Nersarn also brightened as if they had found a ray of light.

“And this guy’s essence is also said to be that of the Bariel Imperial Palace.”

Kakantir looked down at Ian, his voice trailing off. In this situation, if Winchen’s head bowed, the plan was to cut off Ian’s legs. Since the brat had talked about Silasque, Kakantir thought he must make sure of the execution, if needed.

“Ah….”

Then, Winchen inhaled sharply. Her body trembled, and she closed her eyes, something she had never done while lying.

“……!”

And soon, everyone fell silent. Winchen, with hands as dry as twigs, placed them on her chest to show respect, and she bowed forward as much as she could. To anyone watching, it was clearly a salute to someone noble.

“Winchen?”

“Ugh….”

And the chief collapsed to the side. A councilor rushed to check her pulse, and attendants ran to fetch warm water.

Ian stared at her and murmured, “Silasque is in my tent.”

At his words, Kakantir was taken aback. When the chieftain did not give an order, Nersarn, who had been listening, ran out and yelled,

“Go to the foreigner’s tent! Find the red flower!”

“What? Why?”

“Hurry! There’s no time!”

“Ian! What now? How do we do this? Should we grab our stuff and run?”

At Beric’s cry, Ian smiled softly.

“It’s done. This is my first gift to them, as Bariel’s guest.”

Ian informed Beric with a dignified voice. In Winchen’s tent, filled with the scent of gout leaves, Ian stood on equal footing with Kakantir for the first time.

1. It seems that those who are close with Kakantir calls him Kakan here.[↩]

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