Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor
Chapter 60

As he grew older, the Emperor increasingly yearned for things that were fresh and rejuvenating. His bedroom’s renovation was part of that context; one wall had been replaced with glass so he could constantly view the lush garden. There were moments when he seemed so still that Mariv wondered if he might have passed away.

“Father?”

The Emperor turned his head at the sound of his son’s voice, a smile spreading across his face, warmth shining through the deep wrinkles.

“Did you call for me?”

“Yes, Mariv. You seem quite busy these days.”

“As always. It’s summer, after all.”

Mariv naturally took a seat in front of the Emperor. This was a private space, and a personal summon. Mariv glanced at his father’s complexion as he asked, “Is something the matter?”

“No… I just realized it has been too long since I last saw your face.”

“That’s a bit sudden.”

“Mariv.”

“Yes, Father?”

“Is there something going on with Gale?”

It was public knowledge that the Emperor held great affection for Gale. While Mariv knew this, the Emperor had strictly refrained from mentioning Gale’s name in front of him. It was a discretion for the sake of succession, as well as for his children.

“No, there isn’t. Why do you ask?”

“…I had a dream yesterday. Carolina appeared.”

Unlike Mariv, who was born to the Queen, Gale was the son of the first concubine. Carolina came from some obscure noble background and was a woman who had climbed the social ladder solely through her beauty.

“A person who normally never appears in my dreams showed up and then…”

The Emperor’s voice was tinged with emotion. Internally, Mariv sighed. Had he known it would come to this, he would have used his work as an excuse to avoid the meeting. Striving to hide his expression, he looked off into the distance.

A lone peach tree stood majestically.

“She handed me a peach, and then tearfully asked for Gale.”

“Father.”

“If there’s no issue, then so be it. It’s settled.”

The Emperor lightly tapped Mariv’s hand, unilaterally concluding the conversation. Even though he was smiling warmly, the Emperor’s arrogance remained unchanged. Mariv nodded and left his father’s chamber.

*Screech.*

“Prince Mariv?”

As Mariv stepped out of the door and stood still, his aide called out to him with a puzzled look. Mariv approached the row of servants standing in line.

“Is there any issue with His Majesty’s bedroom management?”

“Eh? No, no, Your Highness Mariv.”

“Then why does my father’s bedside seem so chaotic?”

“What?”

The servant seemed puzzled, as if hearing this for the first time. Just as he unconsciously raised his head to question back, Mariv swiftly slapped his cheek.

*Slap!*

“If I hear such talk from you again, I will cut the throats of all those under your supervision.”

“I—I will keep that in mind, Your Highness.”

Both father and son might be unaware, but they were strikingly similar—warm as spring yet suddenly chilling without warning. The servants exhaled a sigh of relief as Mariv’s shadow disappeared from sight.

“Is today’s schedule over?”

“Yes, Your Highness. But it seems you need to go to your office rather than your bedroom.”

“I thought the schedule was over?”

As Mariv frowned, the aide hastily added,

“A letter has arrived from Romandro.”

“I’ll check it tomorrow. I’m tired today.”

“But the report seems quite shocking…”

One could only imagine how the subordinate felt after being scolded by the Prince. But in the party that had gone with him was a spy. It wasn’t just Mariv who would find out; Gale would also learn of it.

“Summarize it briefly.”

It was an answer that indicated he would listen first and decide later. The aide, as the subordinate wanted, summarized the report concisely.

“The younger son of Dergja, Ian, has joined forces with the Cheonrye tribe to rebuild and control Bratz. Commander Erica has gone outside of the territory.”

“What?”

“And this Ian is a magic user.”

Mariv stopped walking and turned to look at his aide. The aide asserted his innocence through his expression, insisting that the report was truthful.

“Things have gone awry.”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

“Head to the office.”

“Yes, preparing it right away.”

Mariv clenched his teeth and tied his hair back into a single bundle. It was a night when the full moon was out.

***

The day after the full moon.

In the back alley of a tavern in the Merellof domain, it wasn’t hard to come across some strange information.

“What? They’re saying they’ll give you money if you bring Grula to Bratz?”

“Ah, keep it down! Someone might hear.”

“Why on earth? What are they going to do with weeds?”

“Who knows? Barbarians, I can never understand them. Even Logan from the red-brick house took six bags and received two coins of gold.”

“There’s a time limit though. And the nearby forest has already been picked clean. We’ll have to go deeper to collect Grula.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing about buying weeds in my lifetime. This is crazy.”

“What do we care? It’s good for us, isn’t it? My wife has been craving meat recently anyway.”

While everyone was hushing about who would gather Grula, there was no one among the lower class of Merellof who didn’t know about it. The same was true for the citizens of the Bratz domain.

“What? Grula?”

“There’s a notice. They’re offering one gold coin for three bags.”

“Isn’t that a waste of money?”

“They won’t tell us the reason!”

While puzzled, they certainly met Ian’s requirements. They scoured the mountains and fields and brought the Grula, which they usually would have stepped on, to the mansion in bags. In no time at all, the Grula seeds piled up in the warehouse almost reached the ceiling.

“How many bags do we have today?”

“Forty-nine bags.”

“The speed is faster than I thought.”

Ian looked at this satisfyingly and moved on. In the back, where entry was restricted, research on Grula cultivation was in full swing. It is said to grow well in all harsh conditions except for the cold, but there must be an optimal way to cultivate it.

Ian, having never personally grown it, had no choice but to research.

“The growth speed is almost the same whether we water it more or less. We probably have to try different soils.”

“Then we should scoop up some soil from the riverbank over there.”

“Ian-nim! Look at this. The shoots have already come out.”

Covered in dirt, Hannah and Romandro’s subordinates stood up when they saw Ian. They were very small, about the size of a finger joint. Ian smiled and patted Hannah on the shoulder.

“Good job.”

“By the way, Sir Romandro ate Grula again earlier. Ian-nim, could you please say something?”

“Again? I already warned him yesterday.”

“He probably thought nobody would see.”

After that day, Romandro indiscriminately ate Grula for every meal. It got to the point where Ian had to intervene and tell him to take better care of himself. Since a single seed could grow more than ten other Grula, it was almost preferable to eat meat instead.

“Alright, I’ll talk to him again.”

Ian said this and left the garden. He planned to prepare as many Grula as possible for the coming winter. This would probably be the most abundant end-of-year celebration for the citizens of Bratz domain.

“What are you thinking?”

Following behind, Beric asked Ian as he walked ahead. Before Ian could answer, Beric snapped his fingers and began answering his own question.

“Let me guess. You were thinking about the official, weren’t you? You’ve been unusually quiet, almost eerily so.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right.”

Ian paused for a moment, wondering who the “official” referred to, before realizing it meant Molrin.

“He hasn’t been out?”

“Two of his subordinates have been running around, but I haven’t seen the official himself for quite a while. But he’s eating well, they say.”

They had attached a magical stone brooch to the bed in their room. The plan was to take it while cleaning, but since the room was never empty, it had been postponed. It was now time to personally retrieve it.

“Tell Sir Romandro that we’ll all have dinner together tonight.”

“All of us? What if he refuses?”

“Add that it’s mandatory because we’ll also be having a meeting. I’ll find the magical stone in the meantime.”

Beric nodded and stepped back.

They might have heard rumors about the Grula. Even if they knew, Ian needed to formally inform the imperial envoys—specifically, Molrin’s group—of his plans. It seemed that Romandro and Molrin were each writing their own reports.

Knock knock.

“This is Ian coming in.”

“Come in, Sir Ian.”

It seemed to be lunchtime, so everyone gathered quickly. Unlike Romandro, who rose slightly from his seat to greet him, Molrin’s party held their heads high as if quite displeased.

“The weather is fine today.”

“What’s the matter?”

“As for the matter, it’s just that I haven’t seen your faces in a long time. I wanted to check if everything’s alright, and there’s something I’d like to discuss.”

By calling Molrin’s group “guests,” Ian clearly established the context. This was Ian’s domain.

Mack muttered sarcastically.

“You seemed busy. Very likely.”

“Ah, did you hear that from Sir Romandro?”

At Ian’s question, Mack and D’gor’s expressions instantly soured. If Romandro considered them equal colleagues, he would naturally have shared the news about the discovery of the Grula.

However, they had heard nothing. As if they were unwelcome guests, they had been left in the dark. The ban that Ian had imposed applied to his household, not Romandro.

“Hmm. Not yet.”

“In that case, I apologize.”

Romandro squinted his left eye and made an awkward cough. Just as Mack was about to say something, the dining room door opened and the food arrived.

“I should mention Sir Molrin, that we’ve discovered a new crop for the winter. It’s nothing grand,” he said.

“Nothing grand?” Beric chuckled to himself, overhearing from the corner. He had clearly noticed how Romandro was boasting about his ventures in Bariel. While Ian was talking to the three men, Beric signaled the servants with his eyes.

“A new crop? You don’t mean ‘Grula,’ do you?” Mack questioned.

“You knew already,” Romandro affirmed.

“Of course. The word is out that you’re buying this worthless weed for money. If even Merellof is talking about it, surely everyone in Bratz knows,” Mack raised his voice, visibly agitated.

However, noticing Molrin’s subtle signal for him to restrain himself, Mack clenched his lips and fell silent.

“So, you are aware?” D’gor interjected. His voice was low and composed, but he couldn’t completely hide his hostility.

“Aware of what?”

“What people are saying about why you’re buying this weed in Bratz,” D’gor pressed.

“Curious, what are they saying?”

“That Ian is taking subsidies to sell his territory to the Cheonrye tribe,” D’gor explained.

“How interesting,” Ian chuckled lightly. It wasn’t entirely baseless. After all, pushing aside advisors and the palace influence, if Bratz were to fall, the Cheonrye tribe would be the biggest beneficiary.

“Yet if that was my intent, I would have shown my hand as soon as Your Excellencies arrived. Why would I leave the food stockpile untouched?” Ian questioned.

“What? Stockpile?”

“Mack, lower your voice.”

“And I wouldn’t have worked so hard on reconstruction. Whoever is spreading these rumors will be severely punished for insulting my allies and me,” Ian glanced sharply at Mack and D’gor.

The people of the territory, who were busy with their own survival, wouldn’t harbor any resentment. Firstly, the perception of the Cheonrye tribe and Ian was fairly positive, and the territory’s downfall wouldn’t necessarily mean their own.

What has changed just because Dergha is dead?

It was clear that Mack and D’gor were the source of these rumors. In response to Ian’s warning, the previously silent Molrin spoke up.

“…Do you have any idea about the public perception of Grula?” Molrin finally broke his silence.

It’s considered toxic, so commoners usually pull it out wherever they see it. As a result, you could only find Grula in heaps of trash, sewers, and places untouched by human hands in the city.

“I am well aware, but since Sir Romandro enjoys it, everyone will probably come to appreciate it,” Ian responded, adding a slightly regretful smile.

“But Sir Molrin, don’t you remember? We’ve discussed this issue before.”

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