Chapter 4: Shackles

"Sir Ian, it was an honor to meet you today."

At the main gate, the carriage that Mollin had arrived in was waiting. The old man took off his hat and bowed, and a servant brought him his cane. Ian also placed his hand on his chest in a gesture of respect.

"Despite the rudeness, your words will surely please my father."

It was a formal and elegant gesture, as if he were a teacher responsible for the etiquette of the royal family, perfectly composed without a hint of imperfection. Mollin smiled down at the child again, his deep green eyes as clear as glass marbles.

"Sir Ian truly cares for the viscount."

Was it sincere? No.

It was a question disguised as a compliment, with an ambiguous intent that could be mocking or probing. Mollin seemed to expect an answer, but Ian had no intention of satisfying the old man's desires.

"Please be careful on your way."

He maintained the bare minimum of politeness with an ambiguous smile.

Without understanding the intent of the words, he could only respond accordingly. Mollin, however, seemed to find Ian's attitude even more intriguing.

"Then, I'll see you next week."

The registration process wouldn't be completed in a day.

It would take four sessions, spaced a week apart, totaling about a month. After that, a report would be sent to the capital, and it would take another month for a response to come.

In any case, it meant that there would be at least two months before anything significant happened. Ian confirmed the time he had and let out a sigh of relief. He was quick to react.

"Then, goodbye."

Creak.

The coachman opened the door for Mollin. He kept eye contact with Ian through the small window until he disappeared.

Only when the carriage was out of sight did the overall appearance of the Bratz Manor come into view.

'For a border viscount, it's quite old-fashioned.'

"Sir Ian, shall I show you to your room?"

"No, I need to go back to the parlor."

When the servant, who had been standing behind him, asked cautiously, Ian shook his head. He needed to check how the aftermath of Chel's mischief was handled.

Since the situation was not yet fully understood, he couldn't predict the outcome of his actions.

He needed to see it for himself.

He had to see it with his own eyes and hear it with his own ears.

"Go ahead."

"Yes, I understand. But, Sir Ian!"

Ian turned at the servant's call. He noticed that the hesitant face was familiar. It was the boy who had taken the brunt of Chel's mischief in the parlor.

"Is your hand okay?"

The servant gently held his slightly swollen hand and bowed. It didn't seem to be properly treated, but the swelling had gone down.

"...Thank you."

"It's nothing."

It wasn't anything particularly kind.

As soon as the servant turned the corner and disappeared, Ian looked at his own hand. There was something he needed to confirm.

'I can feel mana.'

Mana, they say, resonates with the soul, not the body. Even in this unfamiliar body, he could summon power. It was confusing, given his lack of knowledge in this area, but...

'At least it's a good sign.'

While it couldn't compare to his original body, with training, he could use mana much more easily. Even in the worst-case scenario, as long as he had mana, he could avoid it.

Knock knock.

Just as Ian was about to enter the parlor, he heard the servants' chatter from inside instead of the viscount's family. They were clearly cleaning up the mess on the floor.

"Phew. What a mess."

"Exactly. At seventeen, too."

"Shh. Be quiet. Lady warned us not to mention it. She said we'd be punished if we did, so be careful."

"Rather, I'd believe it if Sir Ian had made a mistake. Last time, he fainted when the young viscount pulled his hair. I thought he had done it again this time!"

The servants' laughter rang out clearly. Ian listened, hiding his presence by the door. They seemed to be holding onto every detail. Tsk tsk.

"But when I saw him in the garden today, I was really surprised. His posture was so proper, more elegant than Lady."

"He's just being careful because there are guests. Otherwise, the viscount wouldn't have let it slide. Blood doesn't lie. Just looking at his smooth skin, you can tell he's mixed with something. Kid."

"But his mother isn't a courtesan. Why do you call him that?"

"You're right. In the end, it's the viscount's fault. Why did he mess with a well-off woman?"

"Well-off? Living off her fingers is well-off?"

Creak.

Ian knew there was no point in listening further and opened the door. The servants, who had been making inappropriate comments, froze.

"...Um, Sir Ian?"

"Where did my parents and brother go?"

Should he make an excuse or not?

The servants, despite showing proper respect, knew that Ian was of low birth and was soon to be sold to the Telyar tribe.

"Do I need to ask again?"

"Ah! I'm sorry! Lady and Master Chel went back to their rooms, and the viscount went to the main gate with the butler."

If he went to the main gate, he must have gone to see Mollin off belatedly. It was too rushed. Sending off only Mollin and Ian for a grown son's mistake was worrying.

He was clearly concerned about what kind of leverage the cunning old man might have gained.

'The paths have diverged.'

"Understood."

As Ian calmly closed the door and left, the servants let out a sigh of relief and scolded one of the women.

"Hey, really! Bella! Your mouth is the problem."

"Tsk. So what? He'll be sold in a couple of months anyway."

"Watch your mouth? Do you want to get in trouble?"

It was a particularly sensitive issue for the viscount. He was in the middle of a major identity overhaul for Ian for the sake of the alliance.

While the royal palace might not say anything, if the Telyar tribe found out, who knows what kind of trouble it could cause. That's why all the servants treated Ian with respect.

"Ah, Father."

Ian saw Viscount Darga coming down the corridor, his expression grim.

"Has Sir Mollin left?"

"Yes. I saw his carriage leave."

"What did you talk about on the way?"

"It was just casual conversation. He mentioned Master Chel's mistake, but it was just a worried comment."

At the mention of Chel, Darga's frown deepened. Ian didn't miss a beat. From his reaction, it was clear that Chel had kept quiet about the golden eyes.

"...Go and prepare the carriage."

The viscount, feeling his stress rise, gave the order to the butler. He then put an emerald pipe in his mouth and exhaled a strong puff of smoke, regardless of Ian's presence.

Then, out of the blue,

"How did you know about Baron Purn?"

A question that had nagged him as he reviewed the luncheon. After all, a low-born bastard knew about a scholar in the capital that even he didn't know. Ian answered without much thought.

"I overheard someone in the family talking."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know their name."

He had only been in the manor for a short time.

It was a quick response based on the assumption that he couldn't possibly know everyone in the manor. It seemed convincing enough, as Darga filled in the blanks.

'Chel's tutor? He did say he graduated from Barial University.'

It wasn't a crucial point.

Darga deliberately put on a stern voice.

"Make sure you don't make a mistake next week. If you drink the finger bowl water again, I'll dunk your head in the mop bucket."

It seemed to be a mistake the child had made before Emperor Ian possessed him. Ian nodded without adding anything. Darga, with the smoke in his mouth, looked down at Ian.

'Hmm.'

He definitely took after his mother, with a face worth looking at. When he was first brought in, his face was covered in snot and tears, and there was no chance to see him properly. He didn't even feel like looking.

"Why are you staring?"

If the identity check went well, he would certainly be a welcome addition to the Telyar tribe. At just sixteen, he might even be able to marry into the chieftain's family. Who knows what would happen to him once he crossed the border.

In any case, if he did well, he could help with the formal alliance.

"Forget about your brother's mistake today."

"Yes, I understand."

It was embarrassing enough for the manor's servants, but if the Telyar tribe found out, it would undermine the next border viscount's authority. By the time the viscount finished his cigarette, the butler appeared with a coat.

"Viscount, everything is ready."

"Let's go."

The viscount turned away brusquely.

Ian watched him get into the carriage through the window. The servants didn't even see him off, indicating a secret trip.

"Tsk."

A worthless person. Ian cleared his thoughts about him and turned around. He needed to map out the entire manor in his mind. Or perhaps he should meet Chel and set some rules.

As he wandered through the vast manor, he ended up at the central kitchen. Servants and their families were gathered in the backyard, eating leftovers.

"Sir Ian?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing much. I was just taking a walk."

How peculiar. Usually, he acted like he wouldn't even step outside if the house was on fire. As the servants awkwardly ate, Ian frowned slightly.

'They're not livestock, so why are they eating leftovers...'

In Barial, where he had lived, such a thing was unheard of. Unless you were in the absolute lowest slums, who would eat discarded food?

Even in the slums, after the spread of saliva-borne diseases, it had become a taboo.

But in the Bratz Manor, it seemed to be a common practice, with no hesitation.

"Are you hungry? Would you like some?"

"Hey! How dare you speak so rudely to the young master!"

"Ah, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine."

The Telyar territory was in the middle of a scorching desert.

Even the closest Bratz territory was affected, making it a dry land compared to other regions. With limited arable land and a large military presence, the supply-demand balance was long broken, leaving the lower ranks always hungry.

"Then, help yourself."

"Yes, please go in."

Ian stepped aside to let them eat in peace. The more he thought about it, the more something seemed off. A sense of dissonance? Given the large time gap between Emperor Ian's era and this one, it was natural, but even considering that, something seemed missing.

'What is it? What feels hollow...'

"Excuse me, Sir Ian."

At that moment, someone called him from behind. It was a girl his age with black braided hair, one of the family members he had seen eating.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to the market in an hour."

...Why was she telling him this? Ian smiled kindly and tried to think hard.

What could it be? Surely, Ian wasn't in charge of market affairs? Managing the manor's food supply was a task even adults found difficult.

"Is there a message you want me to deliver to your mother...?"

"Oh."

The girl fidgeted with her fingers, and Ian understood her intention. She must have been delivering messages to his birth mother every time she went out. Since she couldn't read or write, she had to rely on word of mouth.

'That means I can't leave the manor.'

He was a precious offering for the alliance. He probably wouldn't be able to leave the manor until the Telyar tribe arrived. The girl's simple words reminded Ian of the shackles on his feet.