Chapter 19: Informant

"You have nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. I'm well aware."

Any wages Beric had received had likely been confiscated as compensation for damages. He was, quite literally, destitute. He glared at Ian, his brow furrowed.

"Damn it, did you drug me?"

"So that's how it felt."

"Come to think of it, every time I meet you, my body feels strange. I don't know what it is, but you'd better come clean. That's not how I fight."

The feeling of fighting spirit coursing through his veins. He had almost lost himself in the ecstasy of the blows he had landed. It was far from a normal reaction, no matter how he looked at it. And in both instances, the only common factor was this golden-haired brat.

"Hmm."

Ian smiled leisurely and shook his head, a hint of disappointment in his demeanor.

"Your stance is good, but you're duller than I thought."

"What?"

Beric was momentarily stunned by the unexpected remark. Ian leaned against the door, arms crossed. He tapped his temple, as if telling Beric to think harder.

"The water I gave you when we first met wasn't mine, but one of the trainees'. And you refused the jerky, didn't you?"

Besides that, he hadn't had so much as a sip of water. Beric's face twisted in confusion. He had come here almost certain of his suspicions.

"I can tell you what you're curious about. But first, you must promise me something."

Shaaa.

Ian's eyes turned gold.

However, unlike before, he did not send any magic power toward Beric. If he were to run wild like a colt here, things could go awry.

"First, you will keep the golden eyes a secret."

"Yes, that! This!"

Beric jumped and shouted, causing the guards behind him to look back in confusion. Ian's back was turned, so they couldn't see his face.

"And don't be insolent."

Ian calmly stared at Beric, issuing a warning. He had overlooked much due to needing the power of a Magic Swordsman, but Beric had gone too far. Given his personality, he would likely act the same way in front of Derga.

'Is that why Magic Swordsmen are so rare?'

A temperament that practically begged for an early death, shoving its neck out for the slaughter. The whip wounds, still not fully healed, were proof of that. Beric bit his lower lip and muttered.

"...Is that all?"

"Lastly, I want you to protect me from all dangers. Do that, and I will make the power from that day entirely yours. In case you misunderstand, I merely drew out the power hidden within you."

He seemed to abhor relying on external forces, so it was best to make that clear. Beric blinked, surprised.

"My power?"

"That's the offer. If you agree—"

"I'll do it!"

"Please lower your voice."

At Beric's outburst, the guards began to wear suspicious expressions. They whispered among themselves, discussing something.

"Following me also means crossing the border. I don't know if I'll need you when we return, though."

"Return? Here?"

How could a tribute sent away in a peace treaty return to Bratz? Even Beric knew that was impossible. But regardless, his answer was clear.

"Crossing the border is no big deal. I don't have a home or family anyway, so anywhere will do."

"Keep in mind that you could die."

"If I stay here, I'll starve to death."

'Right. He still won't use honorifics, even if it kills him.' Ian looked up at him, chuckling wryly. He had been about to add something, but stopped himself. After being subjected to curses repeatedly, this much was an improvement.

"So, tell me now, clearly."

Beric's eyes burned with intensity. It was the simple look of someone seeking strength. Ian, after a moment of choosing his words carefully, asked.

"Have you heard of a Magic Swordsman?"

"No."

"Then what about magic power?"

"That, either."

"..."

They stared at each other in silence, each finding the other strange.

Even in the era when Ian was Emperor, it was possible for someone to be uneducated. Moreover, this was a rural borderland a hundred years in the past. It might be natural for Beric, who had roamed the streets as an orphan, to be ignorant of such things.

"Lord Ian, you're taking too long."

"It's time for our shift change."

As the two stopped talking, the guards interjected, seizing the opportunity. Ian stroked his chin and instructed Beric.

"I'll call for you soon, so wait."

"Huh? Hey? Wait a minute."

"Quietly."

He added the last word almost as a plea. As the guards slowly began to close the massive door, Beric rushed forward as if to follow. He was blocked by a long spear, though his attempt was thwarted.

'I clearly told him to wait.'

How could he disobey an order the moment it was given? He already had a lot on his plate, and now he had one more thing to worry about.

Ian clicked his tongue and moved towards the detached building. Perhaps it was an awkward time, as not a single servant was visible in the hallway. They must have all gone to rest after cleaning.

Knock, knock.

"It's Ian."

Ian opened the door without waiting for a reply.

He had expected to find his tutor waiting, but the room was empty. A half-cold cup of tea, along with a coat and bag, suggested he hadn't left, but...

"...Where did you go, Teacher?"

He might have gone to the bathroom, but there wasn't a single sign of life. Ian leaned back on the sofa and then, suddenly, his gaze fixed on the tutor's bag.

'Derga attached him to me to keep an eye on me. There must be some useful information in there.'

Ian rummaged through the bag, finding a stack of papers. Most were reference materials for lessons.

The rest was a thesis titled , and among them was an academic journal published last year. Surprisingly, the publisher was Bariel University.

'He said he graduated from university, and it was Bariel after all.'

It was easy to guess why a top talent ended up in the backwater of Bratz. The 'Great Desert' referred to the territory of the Chun-ryeo tribe. And the 'Blister Sea' was the sea at the edge of the desert, bordering the East.

Swoosh.

He emptied the bag to the bottom, but there was nothing special. Ian neatly put the materials back and then searched the old coat. The pockets were clean, save for some trash.

"Hmm?"

Deep inside the sleeve, there was a tailor's label. It bore the name of the designer and the tailor, and the seal next to it looked familiar.

'...It looks similar to the seal used by Sir Molin.'

He traced the lines with his fingertip, one by one. It closely resembled Molin's hand movements from his memory.

At that moment, the academic journal from 'Bariel University' caught his eye again. Since Bariel University was a state-run institution, wasn't there a good chance of connections with government officials? Ian burst into laughter without realizing it.

'Sir Molin's eyes and ears were the tutor after all.'

Thinking about it, it made sense. Servants wouldn't know about sending letters to the Chun-ryeo tribe. Ian tidied up the coat and sat on the sofa as if nothing had happened.

'Does the tutor know? That I've joined hands with Sir Molin?'

If he were a simple informant, there would be no need to inform him of that, but if he were more than that, he was monitoring Ian from behind.

Just then.

Creak.

"Lord Ian?"

The tutor, entering hurriedly, flinched upon seeing Ian. A faint sheen of sweat and a flushed face. He had clearly just returned from a very delicate task.

Such cases were usually secret meetings, espionage, or theft. Since he was empty-handed, espionage was the most likely.

"I was a bit delayed due to some business. Are you going somewhere?"

"To the, to the bathroom."

"There's a bathroom in your room, too."

"Well, that is, um..."

His eyes darted around. Ian waved his hand dismissively and sat at the desk.

"I need to write a letter today. You heard from my father, right?"

"Yes, indeed. I received the content and have already written it. Lord Ian just needs to copy it."

The sound of a relieved sigh was audible. He seemed glad that Ian wasn't paying much attention.

How could he be so clumsy? Rather than planting an informant as a tutor, it seemed more plausible that the tutor turned out to be a distant relative.

"Teacher, I think I'll be late today. Shall I have them send word to your home? Since it's an awkward time, why don't you have dinner here?"

Ian asked, probing him. The tutor wiped his sweat, clearly uncomfortable.

"It's fine. There's no one waiting for me. I'll have dinner at home."

Single. A poor nobleman in his late thirties, struggling alone in a foreign land. A life dedicated to research, evident at a glance.

When he was at the Imperial Palace, such individuals occasionally produced remarkable results.

'It makes sense that he was unenthusiastic about the lessons.'

He needed to finish quickly and return to his own research.

Even while copying the letters, Ian closely observed the tutor. He was clearly on edge, his demeanor strangely tense.

Scratch, scratch.

The sound of the quill scratching on parchment filled the quiet room. Ian thought to himself.

'He seems to have done something under Molin's orders. But there wouldn't have been enough time to go to Derga's office.'

Ian's room was on the third floor of the detached building, while Derga's office was at the top of the main building. He couldn't have gone there not knowing when his pupil might arrive. Therefore, he must have conducted his business somewhere in the detached building.

The first floor had a makeshift kitchen, a bathroom for the servants, and a storage room. The second floor had the butler's and servants' quarters. Above the third floor were all guest rooms and empty rooms.

"The butler..."

Did he visit the butler's room? Ian deliberately let the word slip and looked at the tutor. He seemed to have a knack for answering silently. His face had turned dark and stiff.

"The butler hasn't brought any snacks today. Aren't you hungry?"

"I-I'm fine."

Ian chuckled and continued writing the rest of the letter. From Molin's perspective, it was safer to have multiple options open.

If Ian failed, and it was overturned because Derga found out, how would he handle the aftermath? The tutor must have received some kind of order as well.

'He has some business with the butler.'

A master key? But it was rare for a lord to grant access to their seal to a butler. It would be different if it were about managing finances, but it didn't seem likely given Derga's personality.

'Then...'

He would have to find out for himself.

Ian skillfully copied the text, watching the tutor. For now, he seemed unaware that Ian had joined hands with Molin. He was sweating profusely and fidgeting.

If so, Ian had no reason to reveal it either. At the sight of the boy's smiling face, the tutor seemed to relax, offering an awkward smile in return.