Chapter 34: March to War

Erika, the head of the Imperial Investigation Team, surveyed the chaos of her temporary office. Documents were strewn everywhere, drawers overturned, the room turned inside out in their frantic search. In the inner room, her subordinates were meticulously drying ink-soaked papers.

"Can they be salvaged?"

"We'll need to identify the type of ink used, my lady. Still, we've managed to recover about half."

"The rest are fine!"

"That bastard... He works fast."

The 'bastard' in question wasn't the dead servant lying in the corner with his throat slit. It was Derga, who had ordered the disposal of the documents in that brief window of time.

His guilt wasn't yet confirmed, and he still held the title of Count, but they paid it no mind. The woman before them, Verti Erica, would soon be the new lord of this domain.

"What about the tax reports submitted to the capital?"

"Here, my lady."

"Phillip and Sarieng, calculate the production yields and the tax rates for the serfs. The rest of you, pull the records for the mines and trade. Focus on the last three years. Can it be done in a week?"

Her subordinates exchanged faint smiles at their superior's 'question'. It wasn't a question at all, but a command. They had a week.

"Yes, my lady."

"Good. Delrix, you're in charge of managing the annex. Move!"

"Let's go! Strip this place bare!"

"Oooorah!"

They roared with gusto, vowing to uncover every shred of evidence of tax evasion. If they succeeded, this land would be theirs! Their superior would become a noble, and they would all secure positions in the capital! The starting point of their long-awaited rise to power was right here, in Derga's office.

'Damn it all.'

Meanwhile, Derga was confined to the room Ian had once occupied in the annex. Aside from a few servants drafted to assist the investigation team, no one was allowed to leave. Derga tugged at his beard, muttering curses under his breath.

Mary and Chell had not yet returned to the estate.

"My lord, what will become of us?"

"What do you mean, 'what will become of us'?! Shut your mouth!"

The steward flinched at the outburst, but he couldn't help himself. His own life dangled precariously, dependent on the Count's actions. Derga paced the room, trying to organize his racing thoughts.

'The Emperor himself sent this investigation team. But it was Molin who instigated this. If my head rolls here, it will benefit the Second Prince. Then...'

Derga rummaged through the desk and found parchment and a pen. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then began to write furiously, without pause. There was no time to correct any errors. Every second was a desperate struggle.

Scratch, scratch.

"Steward, you have two tasks."

"S-speak, my lord."

"Send these letters. This one to the Cheonryeo tribe, and this one to the First Prince in the capital. After they're dispatched, contact Theo and tell him to prepare the soldiers. Full battle gear, ready to march at a moment's notice."

The letter to the Cheonryeo was a request for military support and Ian's execution. The Imperial reinforcements were said to be arriving soon, so he needed to suppress them by force, even if it meant resorting to violence.

But this was outright treason, the highest form of rebellion.

The letter to the First Prince was meant to offset that. If he knew it was part of the Second Prince's scheme, he would surely take action. Whether to check his power or obstruct him directly. Whatever it was, it would be an opportunity for Derga.

Unable to use his official seal, he took off a ring and placed it inside the letter as a makeshift mark.

'Yes. First, I must survive. Survive and plan for the future. That's what I must do...'

He was desperately trying to steady his nerves when the steward uttered something absurd.

"Leave from here? How?"

Wasn't the door being guarded by the investigation team? Derga flicked his head towards the window. The steward's face turned pale, and he shook his head in refusal.

"My lord! I'm already fifty years old."

"So? You want to die like this? Fifty will be your last age, then."

"When you put it that way..."

The steward reluctantly peered out the window. It was a three-story drop. He might die if he was unlucky, and even if he was lucky, he'd surely break something.

Derga ripped down the curtains and threw them at the steward.

"Make a rope."

'Son of a bitch. He could at least help me with this.' The steward swallowed his rising anger and began tying the curtains together, as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

A lone horse raced across the dawn desert. It had been running day and night through the sandstorm, its hide steaming with exertion.

A Cheonryeo warrior standing guard spotted the approaching figure. And then, he saw the unfamiliar rider was waving the flag of Bratz.

"A message...! A message from Bratz!"

"Sound the buffalo horn."

"Sound the buffalo horn!"

Boooom- Booo-

The tribe, peacefully preparing for the start of the day, simultaneously looked up at the sky. It was the sound announcing the arrival of an outsider. The sound reached Ian as well, a signal that the time had finally come. The rider from Bratz panted heavily and pounded on the outer wall.

"I bring a message from Bratz! It's urgent!"

Neigh!

At that moment, the horse collapsed to its side. It was clear how relentlessly it had been ridden. The tribesmen brought water and poured it over the horse's body, while the warriors led the rider inside. As if they had been waiting for him.

Thwack-

"A message from Count Derga, you say?"

The tent flap was pulled back, and a half-naked Kakantir rose from his bed. The rider suddenly realized he hadn't announced his affiliation at the entrance. He had simply said he had a message, yet he was let in without question. As if they had known...

"Did he faint standing up?"

Seeing the rider standing there blankly, Kakantir prodded him in an irritated tone.

"F-forgive me. I am Bell, a knight of the Bratz domain. The Count has urgently requested your aid."

The rider quickly came to his senses and handed over the paper he had been carrying in his breast pocket. Crooked, crooked, Kakantir couldn't help but smirk at the crude handwriting. He must have been in a real hurry.

"Let's see, 'Due to a misunderstanding with the capital, I find myself in a dangerous situation. We are bound by an alliance, and we must not turn away from each other's hardships. I implore you, as a friend, lend me the strength of the Cheonryeo and fight alongside me. And in addition, my son, Ian Bratz...'"

-'I ask that you behead him. If you consider this a stain on their honor, the knight I sent will do it instead.'

Kakantir hummed and nodded.

"What is this 'misunderstanding' with the capital?"

"The Count is under investigation for alleged treason. This is clearly a false accusation, and armed conflict is expected soon in order to resist."

"What evidence is there that the treason charge is false? If it's true and we join, we'll be making an enemy of the Imperial Palace."

"The evidence is Lord Ian Bratz himself. He said he would prove his innocence through the death of his beloved son."

"Ahahaha!"

The rider stopped panting at the sudden burst of laughter. He looked utterly bewildered. Kakantir leaned back languidly and chewed lightly on a guruth leaf.

What a cunning and insidious man.

Killing two birds with one stone, using Ian's death to his advantage. It gave Kakantir a good idea of what Ian meant to Derga.

'A tool. Nothing more, nothing less.'

"Chieftain?"

"It's just, I haven't fully woken up yet."

"...We have also sent a letter to the Imperial Palace. Fifteen days, we only ask for fifteen days until the reinforcements from the Imperial Palace arrive. Are we not allies, bound by a pact? I have heard that the honor of warriors is like a divine promise, unshaken by anything."

Kakantir blew out a puff of smoke in agreement. Then he gestured for the rider to wait a moment. He casually threw on a shirt and wrote a reply.

"That's right. And we are the warriors among warriors. Deliver this reply to your master. We will follow soon."

"Thank you!"

Kakantir tightly bound the reply with a leather cord, preventing the rider from peeking. The rider, tucking it into his breast pocket, glanced outside.

"Then, the matter of Ian Bratz..."

Kakantir remained silent. As the silence stretched, the rider swallowed hard. He had expected an immediate answer, and the unexpected delay heightened his anxiety.

"Ah, that matter. As the Count surmised, he is a token of our friendship, but he has also been a member of the Cheonryeo for some time now. We do not wish to stain our hands with his blood."

"...I understand completely."

"So, you can take care of it yourself. Is anyone out there?"

"You called, Kakan?"

"Take this man to Sir Ian."

The rider felt a sense of unease. But perhaps because he was so exhausted, he didn't notice the difference between Ian and 'Sir' Ian.

Kakantir and his men led the way to Ian's tent. A nod, and the entrance was opened.

"Sir Ian, are you awake?"

"Kakan."

Still with his shining blond hair and green eyes. Ian looked even healthier now, his skin slightly tanned.

The rider placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"He wants to kill you."

"As expected."

But then, a pause. The Chieftain's words once again defied the rider's expectations. He had thought he would order Ian to be dragged out immediately.

The rider looked back at Kakantir in confusion, but he continued to stare intently at Ian and Beric, who stood beside him.

"I made a promise back then. To teach your red-haired subordinate everything a warrior should know."

"Ah, yes, you did."

"A warrior is one who walks the path of death and survives. Sparring with us has its limitations, unless there is genuine hostility."

Combat prowess needed a spark. To reach a higher level, everything had to be burned.

And that included life and death.

"The conditions are perfect. There's hostility, and above all, he's a knight of Derga, so his skills are, well, recognized even in Variel, are they not?"

It was laughable to Kakantir, but it was the truth. The fact that he held the title of knight meant he was somewhat acknowledged. He had survived battles against monsters, both large and small, and had distinguished himself in wars against foreign powers.

"Chieftain, what is the meaning of this..."

"You wish to kill Ian, so I am simply providing the stage."

There was something the rider didn't know. And yet, they were treating him like a fool. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, a sense of unknown humiliation rising within him, and glared at Ian.

His neck was exposed. Perfect for a clean strike.

"Ha. I see. Then, if you'll excuse me."

The rider let out a short, hollow laugh and rushed towards Ian. There was no time to waste. Derga was confined, so he had to return as soon as possible to assist his master.

Clang!

But then, Beric swiftly swung his sword, deflecting the rider's blade. In that instant, sparks flew like an illusion, and Beric lowered his stance, assuming a defensive posture.

"Ah."

Ian blinked, scratched his cheek, and looked up at the rider. Then, his gaze slowly moved towards Beric. Even from behind, his expression was clear. He was itching for a fight.

"...It seems you'll have to kill Beric first if you want to kill me."

"...?!"

He had been training with the Cheonryeo tribe, rolling around in the sand, but he didn't know if he could handle a knight. Many of the Imperial knights were magic swordsmen, just like Beric.

He didn't know about this one. What abilities he might possess.

"I'm looking forward to it. Well then, do your best."