Chapter 3. The Duke's Manor

"Was the meal to your liking?"

Derga Duke put down his utensils and asked. The luncheon, which had been going on for a couple of hours, was finally coming to an end. The sun, which had been high in the sky, had long since begun to tilt toward the mountains.

"It was excellent. It could rival what is served in the palace."

Ian, who had been quietly folding his napkin, hesitated.

It was a bold statement, comparing the meal to the palace, the center of the world and the highest authority. In Ian's time, this would have been quite shocking, but judging from the Duke's people's reactions, there was no particular response.

'Is this normal?'

If so, it suggested that the palace's power was not as strong. It was over a hundred years ago, after all. Even disregarding the short-reigning emperors, one had to go back seven generations.

"I will prepare the dessert."

"Thank you, Lady Duke."

While Ian was deep in thought, the gathering completely dispersed. Lady Mary looked at her two sons with an elegant and kind smile.

"Chel, Ian, the adults have some matters to discuss, so you two should go to the next room and have some refreshments."

They would surely be talking about Ian's adoption, leaving out the person involved.

In fact, the adoption was almost a foregone conclusion, but given that the border region had been largely untouched by the palace's influence, they would likely scrutinize and nitpick the process.

"Yes, Mother."

When Ian spoke clearly, Lady Mary's lips trembled slightly. It must have been quite a struggle to pat the shoulder of someone of low birth.

She showed her affection by tapping his cheek, and the more she did, the more Chel's eyes narrowed.

"This way, Sir Molin."

"Oh, how splendid."

They entered the main house, leaving the backyard behind.

The spacious reception room at the center of the manor was not just luxurious but overwhelming. The gilded decorations on all sides reflected the sunlight, illuminating the room.

Creak.

As the adults entered the inner reception room, only Chel and Ian were left. They sat facing each other, looking at each other. To be precise, Chel was glaring, while Ian was observing.

'That guy really looks like Duke Derga. Even a passing dog would know they are father and son.'

The red, curly hair and the freckles on the bridge of the nose. Despite his youthful vigor, the protruding belly clearly showed he was of Derga's bloodline.

Ian, who looked like a mirror image, had blonde hair and absinthe-colored eyes, likely influenced by his unknown mother. He was quite handsome, and there was no resemblance to Chel at all.

"Lord Chel, Lord Ian, I will bring in the refreshments."

A servant approached respectfully and placed the tea and cookies. Chel's eyes narrowed, and he struck the servant's head with his hand.

Smack!

"Ah!"

Hot tea splashed onto the servant's hand. Ian reflexively looked for a handkerchief, but a low-born squire wouldn't have such a thing.

"Say that again."

"Excuse me?"

The servant, looking flustered, rubbed his hand on his apron. Fortunately, it was only slightly swollen and not badly burned.

"How dare you call my name so insolently?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, Young Duke."

This title, meaning the only bloodline of the Duke, publicly declared Chel as Derga's successor.

Ian, well-versed in etiquette, was not unaware, but Chel's sharp reaction was a bit puzzling.

"Since you spilled the tea, you must take responsibility."

"…I will bring it again."

"Bring it again? You don't even know how precious tea is? I'll deduct it from your salary, so you can take the spilled tea. Since you'll never taste it in your life, you might as well lick it up."

"I made a mistake. Please forgive me this once."

"Pathetic."

It was a kind of cruelty rarely seen. How could someone be so cruel? It was clear that his parents had raised him poorly.

"Since the tea is ready, go and cool your hands."

At Ian's low command, Chel's expression crumpled. The servant, fearing he might get caught in the crossfire, quickly picked up the tray and retreated.

Her judgment was correct. Chel looked ready to grab Ian's hair at any moment.

"What are you doing now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your brother was talking. How dare you butt in and tell him what to do?"

Ian spoke calmly, as if the question was obvious.

"If you treat the servants like this, your brother might have to do the work himself soon. It would be wise to control your temper and stay in your place."

Chel's eyes bulged at the calm and logical response.

"Who do you think you are, a low-born brat, to talk about staying in your place? Are you getting cocky because Sir Molin praised you? Do you really think you're a noble now?"

His voice was low and quiet, given that there were guests in the next room. At least he had some sense.

Ian sipped his tea and smiled.

"If I'm not a noble?"

"…What?"

"Your brother will be sold into slavery."

As he said this, he found it amusing.

Even if he had been emperor for only three years, he had been at the pinnacle of Barial. Chel needed to understand that this was a clear honor.

Seeing his face turn red and blue, it seemed he thought Ian was mocking him.

"You, you're crazy!"

Chel raised his hand to strike Ian's cheek but was stopped in mid-air. Ian's hand had tightly grabbed his wrist.

"You're Chel, right?"

Ian was thinner and smaller than his peers. If Chel pushed him down, he would surely be overpowered.

But Chel couldn't do it. When Ian called him by name in a low voice, it felt as if the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"If you get a mark on your face here, what will Sir Molin think? What about the Duke and his wife? They are trying to sell me here, and you, as their son, are causing trouble instead of cooperating."

The emperor placed his hand on Chel's cheek and tapped it.

It was a way of telling him to get his act together.

"What will you do if I disappear?"

At these words, the fear in Chel's eyes slowly turned to a cunning light.

"Hmph, you?"

His smile, gleaming with triumph, was not that of a child. It was like a street thug who had rolled in the back alleys all his life, making it clear why the family was known as low-class among the nobles.

"Try it. If you do, your mother's head will be cut off and kicked around the market like a ball. Ahaha!"

Ah, Ian let out a low exclamation in his mind.

As an emperor, he had never heard such crude and raw threats. It was more like receiving a low-class thorn rather than a dignified one.

In any case, Ian learned another piece of information from Chel's words.

'So, his mother was a slave.'

There was a reason Ian had to cross the border without a word. The chances of a child from the slums escaping Derga's grasp were almost zero.

'So, there must be a reason I chose this child's body among so many options.'

As Ian briefly pondered, Chel misinterpreted his attack as having hit its mark.

"Kneel. Only then can you and your mother survive another day. Even if you roll around in the market, your dirty body won't show any difference."

At that moment,

Ian grabbed Chel's hair and looked him straight in the eye. His absinthe-colored eyes turned golden, and magic surged. It was an involuntary reaction, like blood rushing to his head.

"Foolish one."

Ian shouted, feeling the magic coursing through his body.

Compared to when he was in the emperor's body, it was insignificant, but it was far beyond what Chel could handle. After all, Ian was one of the brightest stars in the history of magic.

"Even if you are a child, your words carry weight. A tongue can change a life, and if you're not careful, it can be cut off."

A century ago, the current Barial Empire had almost no concept of mages. Even the capital's nobles could only hope to meet one by chance, and the border region had no trace of them.

"Ah…"

Thus, even when faced with a supernatural phenomenon, Chel didn't understand what it meant. His mind went blank, and he was almost fainting.

Thud.

He collapsed onto the sofa, wetting himself. Ian stepped back, shaking his head in his mind. Standing in the sunlight, Ian looked almost like an angel. Chel continued to wet himself uncontrollably.

'…I'm going to go mad.'

Just as he thought about calling a servant, the reception room door suddenly opened.

"Young masters, did you enjoy the refreshments…"

Molin stopped, facing Ian, who was bathed in sunlight. For a brief moment, his golden eyes turned absinthe.

'Just now?'

Was it just a reflection of the light?

Something seemed off.

Molin looked into Ian's eyes, trying to recall the moment, before Lady Mary's fuss broke his concentration.

"Chel! What is this!"

Lady Mary found Chel standing there in a daze. The child looked at Ian, stammering, but his expression was calm.

'If you say anything, it won't end well.'

The silent warning seemed to have reached Chel. The child almost sobbed as he tried to explain.

"…I, I spilled the tea."

"Oh, oh, my goodness!"

Molin, who had just noticed Chel, cleared his throat awkwardly and turned away, while Derga closed his eyes tightly.

This was the ultimate disgrace! A seventeen-year-old son making a scene in the reception room! If the news got out, he would never be able to show his face again.

"Is anyone outside? Anyone, quickly!"

"What's the matter? Oh my!"

"Bring clothes, towels, and something to clean with."

While Lady Mary called for servants and made a fuss, Molin quietly asked for the Duke's understanding. There was nothing urgent for a central official in the border region, but standing here any longer was a torment.

"Your Grace? I have urgent business. For now…"

"Ah! Yes, of course. It was a great honor today."

"Likewise. If it's not too much trouble, may I ask Lord Ian to see me off?"

Derga, flustered, nodded before he could think, partly because Chel had started to sniffle.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Lord Ian, the manor is so large, please help the old man."

"Of course, Sir Molin. I will be happy to guide you."

Although he knew nothing about the manor's layout, it was better to leave with Molin than to stay here. He could just grab a passing servant and ask him to hold Molin's coat.

"Let's go."

Ian smiled and led the way.

Their absinthe-colored eyes met again. Molin looked at the child with a gaze that seemed to carry the weight of years.