A Mage Reborn: Legacy of the Fallen Emperor

"Master Ian?"

A young boy called out, cautiously observing Ian. While his complexion wasn't pale, there was an unusual edge to his demeanor. Rumors had circulated that Ian was different today, but no one expected this.

"Ah, yes."

Ian finally understood Chel's earlier hostility. With his mother's life hanging in the balance, such venomous words were bound to spill out. Ian offered the boy a gentle smile and a word of thanks.

"It's alright. I have nothing to send."

"What? But…"

The boy's eyes widened, clearly surprised by this unprecedented turn of events. Ian usually bombarded him with a litany of trivial messages whenever he left. Since the servant was illiterate, he would crudely sketch images, desperately trying to commit everything to memory.

"My father is out."

"The Count?"

Today was a special luncheon with the Count and the Molin family. This meant the Count's schedule was different from usual. The servant, accustomed to regular errands, seemed to have overlooked this.

"It would be troublesome if we were to run into each other by chance. Besides, you're still young. You shouldn't be wandering around."

He'd overheard mentions of brothels, places dangerous even in Ian's own time. Over a century ago, they would be even more perilous. With bad luck, even a healthy man could be drugged and robbed. He couldn't send a child to such a place.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"You… you cry late into the night…"

The boy knew Ian cried at night? Did he share a room with someone? If not, it meant someone was lurking outside Ian's room in the dead of night.

'So, I'm being watched.'

It was fortunate he'd discovered this before making any mistakes. Ian smiled gently.

"It's fine. I won't cry anymore."

"Then… what about my errand fee…?"

"Errand fee?"

Now it was the servant who looked like he might cry. He fidgeted nervously. Ian instinctively patted his pockets, but they were empty.

"If I don't bring back food today, my siblings might go hungry. I'm truly fine, so please give me an errand. This time, I swear I'll relay your message word for word."

So the errand fee wasn't money. It made sense. In the past, he was a child born into poverty, and now he was practically imprisoned in this mansion. Even if he wanted to buy something to eat, he likely had nothing to spend.

"Please, Master Ian."

What, then, was provided to Ian in this mansion? Three square meals a day.

'That explains why he's so thin.'

The Thousand-Mile Tribe were known for their robust and formidable warriors. A single tribesman could hold their own against dozens, making them a constant thorn in the side of the Variel Empire.

Given the vast difference in physique between the tribesmen and this emaciated boy, sending Ian back would undoubtedly raise questions. That was why his meals were on par with those of the Count's family. It was all Ian received, his only currency to the outside world.

"I have five siblings. If I don't bring back the errand fee, they'll have to fill their bellies with grass."

The servant pleaded, hands clasped together. He'd suspected the territory was struggling, but not to this extent.

However, Ian couldn't simply prioritize the boy's plight when his own safety was uncertain. He considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Alright. But on one condition. This time, it's an advance. I'll give you the errand fee now, and you'll do the errand for me later, when I need you to."

"Ah!"

The boy bowed repeatedly, clearly relieved by the offer.

So there was someone here willing to help Ian. Even if it was a transactional relationship, it was better than nothing. Any form of support was welcome.

"Also, I'd like to call you by your name."

Ian decided it was time to learn the boy's name, hinting that he would likely have more requests in the future.

Understanding his intent, the boy grinned.

"Call me Haena! Everyone in the mansion calls me that!"

Previously, Ian had addressed him with impersonal terms like "you there" or "hey." As if waiting for this moment, Haena proudly introduced himself.

Ian's room was at the end of the third-floor corridor.

The moment he opened the door, a musty smell wafted out. The small window was woefully inadequate for ventilation. It was clearly a servant's quarters, not a guest room.

Creak.

The old chair groaned, but it didn't break Ian's concentration. Thankfully, there was cheap paper and a quill in the corner, evidence of the boy's attempts at writing. The script looked more like drawings than actual writing.

'Imperial Year 1100…'

Ian had learned the exact date from Haena.

Since his time was 1198, he had traveled back almost a century. His initial estimate of 100 years was accurate. Ian sighed wearily, running a hand through his golden hair.

'Where do I even begin…?'

Whether it was Naum or someone else, he was clearly caught in some sort of spatiotemporal magic. Or perhaps this was a dying dream.

'All I know is that I share the same name as the person I've possessed.'

But that didn't mean much. The name Ian wasn't particularly rare or special.

Scribble, scribble.

To clear his head, Ian began jotting down major historical events. If this was a dream or another world, things might unfold differently than he anticipated.

"Hmm."

Ian effortlessly recounted the Variel Empire's historical timeline. There were gaps, but that didn't matter. A lack of memorable events implied a period of peace.

"But how can a studying child have so little paper?"

The clean sheet was quickly filled with his writing. The only remaining paper was covered in the original Ian's illegible scrawl. Ian sighed, trying to decipher it, though it was impossible.

'Are those even letters? There's a pattern, so something was written… but it's not Variel, is it?'

Knock, knock.

A sound from outside interrupted his thoughts. Ian quickly tucked the papers into a drawer and turned around. If whoever it was could read, it could be problematic.

"Come in."

"I've brought your dinner, Master Ian."

Ah, it was Haena.

Ian touched the crumpled paper in the drawer and looked out the window. The sun was setting, painting the early spring sky with the lingering hues of winter. The glowstones on the ceiling began to emit their faint light.

"Haena."

"Yes?"

Glowstones were a much cheaper light source than candles. They provided only enough illumination to discern shapes in the darkness.

"Could I ask for a candlestick?"

"Ah, well… anything brought into Master Ian's room requires Lady Elina's permission."

The boy's hesitant reply came from beyond the door. Judging by the meager state of the room, it was unlikely she would grant permission. After all, Ian was a constant reminder of her husband's "mistake." He could imagine how much of an eyesore he was.

'I should be grateful they even feed me.'

"…Should I ask?"

The odds of receiving leftover candle wax versus being interrogated about why he needed it…

Which was higher? Especially on the day her precious son, Chel, had caused a scene in the drawing-room.

"No, it's fine. You can go."

"Then I'll take my leave."

Haena's footsteps receded.

Ian picked up the quill again. He tried to write more, but it was too dark to even see the inkwell. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the door.

Creak.

A small tray sat outside. Two pieces of rye bread, a slice of cheap ham, and water.

"Well, isn't this grand?"

It was the bare minimum Haena could leave after taking his share for the errand. No wonder he was so weak. Ian clicked his tongue and brought the tray inside.

It wasn't much, but a growling stomach couldn't be ignored.

He dipped the bread in water and chewed slowly. Even the war orphans hadn't eaten this poorly. Back then, there was at least Gulla soup…

"Ah!"

It was as if a gust of wind had swept through the fog in his mind. Everything became clear, a nagging itch finally scratched.

That's right, something had felt off about the kitchen.

The luncheon had been plentiful, yet somehow lacking.

'There was no Gulla.'

Gulla was a nutrient-rich vegetable often used as a meal replacement. Its delicious flavor and versatility made it a staple in Variel cuisine.

The "discovery" of Gulla was a turning point for the Empire.

It reduced famine-related deaths by nearly 85%, dividing Variel's history into pre- and post-Gulla eras, both economically and socially.

'Gulla isn't supposed to be discovered for another 50 years.'

It was a discovery, not an invention.

Not creating something new, but recognizing the potential of something already existing. Imported from the East, Gulla was considered poisonous except for its seeds, so it was discarded and left to grow wild, eventually becoming naturalized.

'No one knew how to eat the strange Eastern food. For 50 years.'

But Ian knew how to prepare Gulla. This meant he could erase the Great Famine from Variel's history simply by "discovering" it.

"Unbelievable."

Suddenly, Ian desperately wished this was all real.

Not a magical illusion, but truly the Variel Empire of the past. A chance to change history.

'Master Ian, it's alright. There's always, always a chance. The Gods don't give us problems without solutions.'

Naum's last words echoed in his ears. He didn't understand everything yet, but he had a strange feeling he could find the answers. Whatever they may be.

'First, I need to survive.'

And then, to the Imperial Palace, to search for traces of Naum.

That was Ian's first decision.