A Mage Reborn: Legacy of the Fallen Emperor

"We can use rumors," Ian said.

"Rumors?" Moline questioned, glancing at Ian. The boy's gaze held a subtle challenge, a promise of an answer Moline sought.

"More precisely, rumors that promise wish fulfillment," Ian elaborated. "Rumors that this food makes your skin smooth and your hair thick and lustrous. Or that it helps with weight loss or gain. Or even that it increases fertility. People will be clamoring for it."

Men and women alike. This was a common tactic employed by the Central Authority – shaping public opinion to manipulate market equilibrium. A basic yet effective method.

"Intriguing," Mac said, wetting his lips with sherry. "However, the citizens of the Imperial City are astute and discerning. Such rumors would quickly be exposed as falsehoods. What then?"

"Post guards," Ian replied, placing his index and middle fingers on the table to represent legs, then slowly circling them around the tableware. "Deploy them conspicuously, but leave deliberate gaps in their security. It's human nature to covet valuable things. Even if it's guarding something worthless, greed will drive them to steal. They'll wonder, 'What could be so precious that nobles guard it day and night?' By then, it will be impossible to contain the spread. Everyone will have access to it. However…"

"However?" Moline prompted.

"These are secondary concerns. The fundamental question is whether a substitute food source will emerge."

Moline, Mac, and Degor felt a jolt, as if static had coursed through their minds. The Central Authority was where the Empire's brightest minds gathered. Countless individuals had passed through its halls. While such an insightful response might be expected from seasoned scholars, they had never witnessed such astuteness from a mere child, especially one who had recently roamed the brothels.

The three men finally realized the crucial question they should have considered first: Could the second son truly surpass the first? They had been negligent, even arrogant, assuming a bastard from the slums would be inherently inferior.

Oblivious or indifferent to their realization, Ian smiled brightly and brought a piece of steak to his lips. "Delicious, as always."

"Y-yes, indeed. The fine weather enhances the flavor," Moline stammered.

What began as a casual luncheon had taken a distinct turn. Ian noticed that everyone's attention was now fixed on him. Enough about the gula fruit for now. It was time for the main course. Ian intended to probe how Derga had manipulated the letter and whether there were opportunities to venture outside the mansion.

"Do you enjoy writing, Ian?" Mac inquired, his gaze shifting subtly towards the Countess and Chel. Despite their focus on Ian, it would be impolite to monopolize the conversation. "I've heard the Countess is quite the literary talent. I imagine her children share her gifts."

"Oh, you flatter me," the Countess demurred. "It's merely dabbling. Speaking of writing, haven't you authored two books, Sir Mac? I'm humbled to receive such praise from someone of your caliber."

Degor interjected, "Countess, there's no need for modesty. From what I've seen, Sir Mac is far more adept at writing letters than books. Anyone who receives one of his missives is sure to declare their love through tears."

"Degor! You jest too much," Mac chuckled.

"Ahaha! Ian, if you ever need to write a letter, ask Sir Mac for assistance. It will prove most beneficial," Degor added, winking playfully. The Countess roared with laughter, but Derga's expression darkened. The topic of letters made him deeply uneasy.

The Cheonryeo Tribe requested a handwritten letter from you. The timing was uncanny, as if they knew Ian had reason to write one. Did they know? If so, how?

Derga took a sip of wine and preemptively addressed the issue. "We received a message from the Cheonryeo Tribe."

"Oh? Is that so?" Moline asked.

"They requested periodic handwritten letters from Ian," Derga continued, carefully choosing his next words. "I fail to understand their concern, considering we'll be using the Bloodline Verification Potion. Barbarians are like beasts; their ways are incomprehensible."

Mac smiled, supporting Derga. "Beasts are always wary of the world. That is their nature. They understand only the language of power. Isn't it common for their chieftains to change with the seasons?"

Strength was paramount. Their entire hierarchy was determined by it. A chieftain must always accept a challenge to a duel, and only death brought peace.

"If they weren't so volatile, Variel would have been far more troublesome," Mac added. How fortunate that they regulated their own population.

Ian posed a question. "Then is the current Cheonryeo Tribe's deputy chief a rival to the chieftain? Or a subordinate?"

The Cheonryeo Tribe had been decimated before Ian's ascension, their status diminished. Occasional disappearances of desert travelers were attributed to either sandstorms or the tribe's actions. Thus, Ian's knowledge of them was limited and fragmented.

Mac shook his head. "Neither. The deputy chief is an elderly woman named Winchen. Her age is unknown, but she's incredibly old. While chieftains change frequently, she has held her position for a considerable time."

"Ah, so that means…" Ian murmured, feigning surprise. "She must be their spiritual leader."

Correct! He understood perfectly! Mac beamed, impressed.

"I've heard that the entire tribe reveres her as someone touched by the heavens. She possesses a unique ability," Mac continued.

"An ability? I thought they scorned magic," Ian said.

"It's not quite magic. It's more akin to the abilities of a gypsy. She's blind, but can discern truth from falsehood through voices."

Ian's eyebrows arched subtly. A blind deputy chief who sees the truth. Derga's intentions finally clicked into place.

Gurut leaves were contraband, impossible to import legally. If Ian succeeded in smuggling them, it would be immensely profitable. It was a plant the Cheonryeo Tribe considered essential for battle.

Either it would bolster Bratz's military strength or weaken the Cheonryeo Tribe's. Either way, it would tilt the scales of victory in Bratz's favor.

But what if he were caught in the act?

Ian would be interrogated by the deputy chief. He would confess his pure intentions to help his mother. If the Cheonryeo Tribe protested, Bratz would offer Ian and his mother's deaths as atonement. The Count would be absolved of any involvement, the matter settled with appropriate reparations.

What's the likelihood of the Cheonryeo Tribe declaring war over this? Slim, for now. The destruction of Bratz was a future event, with its own underlying causes. A full-scale war at this point was unlikely.

"You must have heard of the deputy chief as well, haven't you, Count Derga?" Ian asked.

"Yes, well, I haven't actually met her myself," Derga stammered, coughing nervously as he glanced at Ian. How does this boy know so much? The tutor's reports insisted on Ian's dullness, but the occasional flashes of intelligence were unsettling. He couldn't fathom what thoughts were swirling within that small head.

"They're a fascinating tribe, the more I hear about them," Ian said, smiling brightly at Derga, masking any suspicion. He casually continued cutting his steak, and Derga, momentarily reassured, averted his gaze.

But what now? Ian knew Derga's plan. If he were brought before the deputy chief, everything would be revealed.

Not that I intend to let that happen.

The conversation drifted into meaningless pleasantries. Laughter erupted, centered around Mac, Degor, and the Countess.

"And so, the Second Prince Gael declared, 'Throw that insolent brat into the pigsty!'" Mac exclaimed.

"Oh my! Did he truly say that?" the Countess gasped.

"Indeed. He's quite the belligerent one," Mac replied.

"Oh ho ho! How dreadful!" the Countess shrieked.

A sudden thought struck Ian. Moline, Mac, and Degor were officials dispatched from the Central Authority. All public servants were bound to the Emperor and the official heir. Their prolonged absence from the capital, spanning months, was significant.

Either their mission was crucial, backed by the Emperor's trust, or they were sidelined from positions of power. Derga, largely unaware of the capital's affairs, wouldn't know the difference, but Ian had a nagging suspicion.

Why do they keep mentioning the Second Prince? The First Prince was the official heir; therefore, he should be their liege. While other princes had their followers, they were typically marginalized from the core of power. Yet, these three men consistently spoke of Gael, the Second Prince.

"Ian, what are you thinking about so intently?" Moline asked.

"Nothing, sir. I was simply captivated by your story," Ian replied smoothly.

"Is that so? I must have misread your expression. You seemed rather serious. Haha," Moline chuckled, his eyes, though smiling, scrutinizing Ian with a sharp, persistent gaze. Had the golden eyes he'd glimpsed during their first luncheon been a hallucination? Magic users were said to possess superior intellect. Could it be…?

"Count Derga," Moline began, wiping his mouth with a napkin. As if on cue, Mac and Degor fell silent. "As I've mentioned before, I'm consistently impressed by Ian's remarkable intellect. It's a testament to your and the Countess's excellent guidance."

"…You're too kind," Derga replied.

"Therefore, I have a small request," Moline continued. Derga nervously sipped his wine. That sly old fox. How many times had he used the word "request" to put him in a difficult position?

A brief silence hung in the air as Derga searched for a suitable response. Ian seized the opportunity.

"Would you like to see my room?" he asked playfully.

It was an unconventional remark for a nobleman, but a polite child's jest. Reprimanding him would be unseemly. Countess Mary glared at the back of Ian's head, clearly itching to scold him.

"That would be lovely, but my request is of a different nature," Moline said. All eyes in the room, including Derga's, focused on Moline, anticipating his words. Only Mac and Degor remained composed, as if they already knew what was coming.