A Mage Reborn: Legacy of the Fallen Emperor

"Huff… huff…"

The blue moon still hung in the pre-dawn sky. Ian sat by the window, gazing out. Lost in thought, he'd barely slept, only to be roused by a commotion.

"Left face!"

"Left face!"

"Forward, march!"

The sounds of Bratz's private soldiers on their morning drill drifted in. Ian rested his chin on his hand, observing them closely.

'Quite a large force for a private army.'

A considerable number of soldiers streamed out of the main gate. Judging by the usual ratio of mansion guards to troops deployed throughout the territory, Derga seemed to maintain an excessive number of soldiers.

'It's a tricky situation for him. Reducing troop size is a headache.'

Other border lords reduced their forces after peace treaties. Unemployed soldiers would return to farming, contributing taxes to the lord through trade. Peace brought economic benefits alongside tranquility.

However, Count Derga hadn't reduced his forces despite a long-standing peace treaty inherited from his predecessor. It was likely a superficial, distrustful peace. The Count's second-eldest brother had been ambushed and killed while crossing the border, and Ian himself was a sacrificial offering, sent away with the expectation of death.

'It would be better to break the treaty altogether.'

A territory's economy had to support its army. Currently, Derga had too many soldiers. Frequent battles would bring a perverse balance. War would reduce the number of soldiers the territory had to support, and successful conquests would bring new labor and resources.

Of course, defeat presented another set of problems, but the ever-increasing human population meant the outcome was clear. A solution was needed before things escalated.

'Either war or peace.'

One of the two had to be firmly established. This ambiguous in-between state only intensified everyone's suffering.

Hannah was a prime example. A servant working in the Count's mansion, yet she relied on Ian's errands to avoid starvation.

Creak.

Ian straightened his clothes and left the room. A servant dozed in the hallway, likely the one assigned to watch him overnight.

"Excuse me."

"Y-Young Master Ian?"

"It's chilly. Go inside."

Was it a dream? The servant blinked, wiping his mouth. It was the first time Ian had emerged this early. Usually, the morning meal tray confirmed he'd caused no trouble overnight.

"Wh-Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

A walk at this hour? Was he plotting something?

The servant's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Ian smiled, tilting his chin with an icy stare.

"What are you looking at?"

A clear dismissal.

The servant snapped to attention and bowed, but his unease remained. He seemed convinced Ian would cause trouble if left unsupervised, yet he had no grounds to detain him.

"Um, Young Master Ian…"

"You may follow."

Ian walked down the hallway, not expecting the servant to disobey. Besides, the mansion was full of unknowns. Having a guide would be beneficial.

"Is that annex locked?"

"It's for guests, so it's cleaned daily."

"So, it's unlocked. And that building?"

"The armory's security is paramount."

Quite tight-lipped.

The servant kept glancing at Ian, avoiding direct answers. He clearly intended to report everything as soon as his shift ended. Ian didn't mind. He wouldn't do anything problematic.

The real problems were different.

"Haah…"

He straightened, breathing heavily. While gathering information, he'd discovered his first problem: the child's weak physique. He'd expected it, but it was worse than anticipated. A simple walk around the mansion was exhausting. He'd likely collapse before even reaching the Cheonryeok Clan.

And the second problem:

'No Gulla in sight.'

He'd checked the manicured gardens and the secluded backyards, but no Gulla. A resilient plant, it would have been uprooted and burned on sight. Unlikely to find it near human settlements. His confinement posed another obstacle.

"Young Master Ian. Dawn has broken. Let's have breakfast."

The servant yawned, offering the suggestion. His night shift was ending. His behavior was disrespectful, but understandable given Ian's position. Ian nodded, complying readily.

"Very well. Let's go to the main dining hall."

"The main dining hall, sir?"

Ian understood the question. He'd received his dinner on a tray in his room last night, as he always had.

But Ian had other plans. He was ravenous, and he needed to confront the Count's family, the ones who held his life in their hands.

"Oh my. Young Master Ian? Good morning."

"What brings you here…?"

The servants bustling around the dining hall looked startled. Judging by the place settings, two people were already inside.

"I've come for breakfast."

"The Countess and Young Master Chel are inside."

"Derga, I mean, Father?"

"He went out yesterday and hasn't returned."

Tsk. He clicked his tongue, but it wasn't a bad situation. Derga's absence made dealing with the other two easier.

"Open the door."

The servant reluctantly opened the door, revealing the opulent dining hall.

The two occupants looked up, their expressions contrasting sharply. Chel's eyes widened in surprise, while Lady Mary's narrowed in displeasure.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Her tone was sharp.

Ian responded casually.

"Good morning, Mother. What a lovely day."

He greeted them lightly and sat opposite them.

Chel fidgeted, glancing at his mother, who glared at Ian, oblivious to her son's discomfort. She was a far cry from the benevolent woman in the garden yesterday. Her expression was venomous.

"Take your meals in your room."

Despite her cutting tone, Ian pulled his chair closer to the table.

"I did last night. But while nibbling on a piece of bread, I realized it was improper."

"What?"

"My drinking from the finger bowl yesterday must have shocked the esteemed Moline. Both children of the Count making such blunders."

Chel's face flushed crimson.

Mary slammed her knife down, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes warned him to be silent or face consequences.

"Father also instructed me to focus on my education. It's difficult to learn proper etiquette while dining alone with a tray. It's better to dine together."

A clever lie. Derga hadn't said anything of the sort, but Ian made it sound like his express wish.

"Mother?"

"…Sit down."

Her expression screamed frustration.

Lady Mary grabbed her fork and knife, angrily cutting into her frittata. Chel, his appetite gone, sat quietly, glancing at Ian. Ian smiled back.

"Indeed, dining at the table is much better than a tray. Don't you agree, Brother?"

"Huh? Uh-huh…"

The portions were much larger. Ian ate quickly, satisfying his hunger. He observed Lady Mary closely. Her jewelry, dress, and everything she wore were exquisite, treasures even Emperor Ian would have admired.

The servants were starving, eyeing even the bastard's meager meals, while the Countess lived in luxury.

A thoroughly dysfunctional family.

"Mother, I have a request."

"Can't you eat without talking?"

"I'd like to change rooms. And perhaps some candles."

"Ha!"

Lady Mary finally looked at him, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips.

"You have no sense of your place. Change rooms? And what need do you have for candles? You haven't even learned to read, yet you want to indulge in such frivolous expenses. Just like your vulgar, vain mother."

It was beyond an insult; it was pure vitriol.

Chel stiffened, clearly worried Ian would unleash his golden eyes and unknown power in anger.

"My mother is the Countess. It's only natural I resemble her. You are absolutely right, Mother."

But Ian smiled sweetly, delivering a subtle blow. He implied that the vulgar, vain woman she described was herself.

The polite tone masked the insult, but Lady Mary soon understood, her face reddening.

"…You!"

"Lord Moline asked to see my room when he arrives next week."

Lady Mary was about to shriek. Ian smoothly interrupted, weaving a useful lie.

"We can't show such a room to an esteemed guest. Even if we changed it for the day, a discerning man like him would notice the difference. We have plenty of rooms. It would be best to give me a better one now."

"How dare you look me in the eye!"

"If I display my lack of refinement, it will reflect poorly on Brother Chel. You wouldn't want that, Mother."

Although a formality, Lord Moline was a central government official sent by the Imperial Palace. He was there to assess the local nobility. If things went wrong, Chel might be sent away in Ian's place.

"I will do my best, Mother."

Ian smiled, chewing his food. His gaze dared her to refuse his request.

The Countess was beyond bewildered. How had this lifeless boy become so audacious in a single day?

Bang!

Lady Mary stood up abruptly and stormed out. Chel hesitated, then followed suit.

"Brother?"

"Huh? Uh…?"

Chel turned back at the door.

"Don't worry about yesterday. Everyone makes mistakes."

"W-Well, yes, but…"

"Dwelling on the past is something only petty people do."

On the surface, it was a comforting remark about Chel's blunder. But the underlying message was clear: forget what you saw yesterday. Chel nodded silently and hurried away.

'There's a lot of food left.'

Ian eyed the laden table. He took what he needed and pushed the rest aside, leaving it for the servants.

"Hmm."

He savored his meal, gazing out the window. Sitting alone in the spacious dining hall, he felt a sense of peace he'd never known as Emperor.

He caught his reflection in the windowpane. A small, frail figure with an unfamiliar face.

'Ian.'

If Emperor Ian was here, where had the bastard Ian gone?

Ian rested his chin on his hand, staring at the child's impassive face. The large tree in the garden swayed gracefully.

Later that afternoon, the Countess, fuming but resigned, had Ian's belongings moved to the annex. While packing his meager possessions, the servants found a curious piece of paper.

"What's this?"

It was Ian's notes on the history of Bariel from the previous night. Soaked in water, the ink had bled, and the paper was torn and illegible.

"Was Young Master Ian studying?"

"But why soak it in water?"

"Why else? He must have been ashamed of it."

Unaware of its contents, the servants tossed the paper into the trash. No one in the mansion doubted that the bastard Ian was illiterate.