Chapter 7: The Blind Owl

"Lord Ian, you must concentrate."

Ian turned his head at the tutor's words.

In the guest room of the western annex, clear breezes came in from the windows, which were now open on all sides, unlike before. The tutor sighed and scribbled with a pen at the indifferent look on the student's face.

"Alright, let's try this again. Suppose 100 peasants have paid five bundles of wheat as taxes. Half of these are sent to the capital, and half of the remaining are distributed to the household servants. How many bundles are left in the end?"

Ian yawned lightly and turned his gaze. The study time in the afternoon, which lasted for a couple of hours, was truly unbearable.

"I don't know."

At first, to avoid looking strange, he pretended to count on his fingers.

But even that became tiresome after a while. Ian decided to feign ignorance.

"Try to calculate it."

"Hmm, 100 bundles, perhaps?"

Moreover, using the illegitimate son's dullness had its unexpected benefits. The tutor and the butler often discussed Ian's education in writing.

Most of the content was trivial, but sometimes they would leak information about the lord's affairs.

"Let's finish with mathematics here. Next, we'll move on to literature. Last time, we read 'The Fate of Fate,' right?"

The tutor was not enthusiastic. Whether Ian understood or not, he would diligently complete his assigned tasks and receive his salary.

For Ian, this was fortunate. Since the tutor would give up easily, he didn't have to pretend to study hard.

Knock knock.

"Come in."

"Excuse me."

The butler entered with snacks. The fact that the butler, not a servant, brought them suggested an intention to observe the child's attitude towards learning.

"How far have you progressed?"

"We are finishing with literature."

"Is that so? It seems today's session is ending early."

"Lord Ian is very cooperative."

Indeed. What a joke.

Ian munched on the snacks while looking down at a book that was half pictures. The butler showed his palm to the tutor and quickly wrote something. From Ian's position, he couldn't see what was written.

"Alright, work hard."

"Yes, sir."

Clack.

The tutor read a few characters and wrote them on parchment, then had Ian copy them.

Thus, the boring afternoon study session came to an end. When the clock on the wall chimed, the tutor gathered his books and stood up.

"I'll see you out, sir."

"No, it's fine. I'm busy today. Ian, continue with your calligraphy practice."

Ian usually greeted and saw off the tutor to practice his walking, greetings, or social etiquette.

But when the tutor refused, it meant he was meeting someone in the household.

"Yes, I'll see you next time."

Ian nodded without further comment.

The tutor, who had put on his coat, smiled and left the room.

'Is he going to meet the butler?'

Occasionally, he would see the viscount or the viscountess, but since moving to the annex, there were many servants patrolling nearby, making it impossible to follow.

Ian put away the parchment and stretched. The larger room was fortunate because it allowed him to train his body without going outside.

'Physical strength is magic power.'

Using magic power to build physical strength and then using that physical strength to generate more magic power. This is why sages, known as great mages, remained vigorous even as white-haired old men.

"Lord Ian."

Knock knock.

And that night.

After finishing dinner, the butler called Ian.

"The viscount has summoned you to his study."

Finally, the time has come.

* * *

The viscount's study was on the top floor of the mansion, and since it occupied an entire floor, Ian had never walked down that corridor. Despite his curiosity, he followed the butler composedly.

"Viscount, Lord Ian has arrived."

After a few knocks on the thick door handle, permission came from inside.

"Come in."

Creak.

Unlike Ian's old room, which had only one luminescent stone, the study was as bright as daylight, with numerous magic lanterns illuminating every corner.

Still, the gloomy atmosphere was due to the presence of Viscount Derga.

"Did you call for me?"

Ian asked politely, but Derga did not respond. Although his work environment was peaceful compared to the peasants toiling day and night, the viscount must have been busy.

"…You know about the luncheon the day after tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, of course."

Derga mumbled without lifting his gaze from the documents.

"They say other advisors from the capital will accompany us this time."

The first luncheon must have been quite impressive. A rural illegitimate son discussing the philosophy of Purna must have piqued their interest.

"You'll need to be more alert this time."

"I will keep that in mind."

Was he called just to enforce this?

Derga didn't say much when Ian's room was changed. Ian patiently waited for the rest. The sound of the pen on parchment continued, and the viscount finally spoke.

"The Chylerians have requested a personal letter from you."

Ian knew that the Chylerians had been informed that Derga's second son would be sent as a condition for peace. The potion that reacts only to family members was included, so there was no need to discuss lineage.

Of course, they don't know he is an illegitimate son of commoners. Anyway.

"A personal letter?"

They seem to want some security measures.

What if Derga, feeling sorry for his son, switched him at the last minute? Given the Chylerians' emphasis on family bonds, this was a reasonable concern.

"They are creating unnecessary trouble, as barbarians do. Tsk tsk. They will use the family potion again at the treaty ceremony."

Unlike the Bariel Empire, the Chylerians have no mages. They are considered beasts, beings that go against nature from the start.

"Well, I have no reason to refuse."

The personal letter is to be used for handwriting comparison later, to confirm that Ian is indeed Derga's illegitimate son and the chosen one.

"Write letters regularly and send them. I will inform your tutor, so you just need to copy them. Surely you're not so foolish that you can't do that."

"I will not make any mistakes."

Creak.

At that moment, a small door in the study opened. The clerk, with a pale face, approached Derga.

"Viscount, the calculations don't add up no matter what I do."

He was carrying a stack of documents that could easily topple over. The viscount waved his hand.

"Enough. I'll handle it."

He gave Ian a look to wait.

The documents he was working on were still spread out on the desk, but the viscount didn't seem particularly concerned. Ian was nearly illiterate and could only read syllables.

"Wait here."

Derga entered the clerk's office, and Ian's polite smile immediately changed.

'Let's see what's so urgent.'

It was early spring. Diligent lords would care for their estates even when the ground was frozen, but Derga didn't seem like that kind of person. He had been enjoying strolls in the back alleys until he met Mollen.

Clack.

Ian quickly scanned the documents. His skill in handling papers without mixing them was quite smooth.

'Hmm?'

Ian frowned, as if he had expected this.

As suspected, Derga had far more private soldiers than he could manage.

For the size of the Bratz border, 300 soldiers would be sufficient. However, based on the grain expenditure, the number could be between 2,000 and 3,000.

'Impressive that he hasn't collapsed yet.'

Moreover, the taxes levied on the peasants were more than double the capital's recommended rate. Historically, the Chylerians' destruction of Bratz might have been inevitable.

The situation was so precarious that it would naturally collapse. Ian stared at the small office in disbelief.

What could be in this man's head to run the estate like this? He was not just any commoner but a member of a family that had been around for generations.

'Maybe he has other sources of income?'

However long he had been managing this way, it seemed tight to cover it with taxes alone.

'There's nothing in Bratz.'

As suspected, Bratz was a border estate adjacent to Chylerian territory. The land was not fertile, and there was no sea. There were no significant resources to remember.

'If there were, the previous generation wouldn't have divided the estate among other nobles.'

The former king granted estates to the nobles who helped defeat the Chylerians. If there were important resources, the royal palace would have handled it.

Click.

Suddenly, the door opened without warning.

Ian, leaning on the viscount's desk, instinctively held his breath and released magic power.

Buzz. Buzz.

"Hmm?"

All the lanterns in the room went out simultaneously.

The same happened in the clerk's office.

Since the moon was behind the clouds, the room was instantly plunged into darkness.

"Viscount, are you alright?"

"The magic lanterns were replaced not long ago?"

"Wait a moment. I'll light a candle, aah!"

Thud!

The clerk stumbled into something.

Before the moon came out, Ian quietly moved to the center of the room, hiding his presence. Derga fumbled in the dark, searching for his desk.

"Ian, answer me."

"Yes, Father."

Ian's clear voice echoed in the darkness. By the sound, he seemed to be near the sofa.

"Is anyone outside?!"

The clerk, who was looking for a candle, kept falling, and the darkness persisted. Derga, frustrated, shouted.

Buzz. Buzz.

The lanterns lit up again as Ian released his magic power.

Derga's eyes met Ian's, who was standing calmly. His eyes were a vivid absinthe color.

"Are you alright?"

"..."

The viscount looked at his hand on the desk. The documents were slightly disordered, but it could be attributed to the darkness. He opened the drawer without suspicion.

"It's done. Come and take it."

"What is it?"

A small bag that he had sealed himself. Derga casually tossed it, and it landed precisely at Ian's feet.

"It's from your mother."

The small bag on the floor.

Ian slowly picked it up.

"Always look at this and remember your situation and your actions."

When the news about Ian, which he had been receiving through Hana, suddenly stopped, his mother attempted suicide. She said she would meet him in death if not in life.

Faced with this sudden action, the viscount had no choice but to agree to deliver a letter and a gift. If she died, it would be as if Ian's shackles were removed.

"..."

This was a fact that Hana had relayed through the coachman, who was paid generously and thus unlikely to lie.

"Leave now."

Derga waved his hand.

Ian quietly left the study with the old bag. Leaning against the dark corridor, he untied the string, and various items spilled out.

Clang!

Five gold coins. Dried flowers. A very small note.

One gold coin was equivalent to what a commoner could earn in a month. Ian calmly examined the letter. The neat handwriting suggested it was written by someone else.

Then, was it truly filled with his mother's sincere intentions from start to finish?

'No. There's a possibility that Derga's intentions are hidden. Perhaps the letter was switched... '

Ian fiddled with the gold coins and began to read the letter.