"Did you enjoy the meal?" Count Derga inquired, setting down his cutlery. The two-hour luncheon had finally come to an end. The sun, which had been high in the sky, had long begun its descent towards the mountains.
"It was excellent," Ian replied, pausing momentarily as he folded his napkin. "Comparable to the fare at the Imperial Palace."
He inwardly cringed. Comparing anything to the Imperial Palace, the center of the world and the seat of supreme authority, was audacious. In Ian's time, such a statement would have been met with shock. Yet, judging by the reactions of those present, Count Derga's people seemed unfazed.
'Is this commonplace?' he wondered. If so, it suggested the Imperial grip on power wasn't as strong here. A hundred years had passed. Even excluding the emperors with short reigns, seven had ruled since his time.
"I'll have dessert prepared," Lady Mary said.
"Thank you, Countess."
While Ian pondered, the luncheon party dispersed. Lady Mary, with an elegant and gentle smile, turned to her two sons.
"Chel, Ian, the adults have matters to discuss. Why don't you two enjoy some refreshments in the next room?"
Undoubtedly, they would discuss Ian's adoption, without him present. While the adoption was practically a foregone conclusion, the periphery, typically untouched by the Imperial court, would likely scrutinize the matter with unusual rigor.
"Yes, Mother," Ian replied crisply. Lady Mary's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. It seemed touching the shoulder of this lowborn child was a considerable ordeal. She settled for a light pat on his cheek, a perfunctory display of affection that only deepened the animosity in Chel's eyes.
"This way, Sir Mohlin," Chel said, leading the way.
"Oh, how splendid," Mohlin replied.
They left the courtyard and entered the main building. The grand reception room, occupying the heart of the manor, was lavish to the point of being overwhelming. Glimmering gold adorned every surface, reflecting the sunlight and illuminating the room.
With a creak, the adults entered the inner reception room, leaving Chel and Ian alone. They sat facing each other, Chel glaring while Ian observed.
'He's the spitting image of Count Derga,' Ian thought. 'Even a stray dog could tell they're father and son.'
Chel possessed the same red, wavy hair and freckled nose. Despite his youthful vigor, his protruding belly was a clear testament to his Derga lineage. Ian, with his blond hair and absinthe-colored eyes, had likely inherited his features from his unknown mother. He was handsome, bearing no resemblance to Chel.
"Master Chel, Master Ian, your refreshments," a servant announced, approaching respectfully with tea and cookies. Chel's eyes narrowed, and he abruptly struck the servant's head.
Thwack!
"Ah!"
Hot tea splashed onto the servant's hand. Ian instinctively reached for a handkerchief, but a lowborn bastard like himself wouldn't possess such a thing.
"Say that again," Chel demanded.
"Sir?" the servant stammered, dabbing his hand on his apron. Fortunately, the burn seemed minor, though his hand was slightly swollen.
"How dare you address me so casually?"
"Ah, I… I apologize, Young Master."
The title "Young Master" signified Chel's status as the count's sole heir. While Ian, well-versed in etiquette, understood the formality, Chel's sharp reaction puzzled him.
"You spilled the tea. You'll pay for it," Chel sneered.
"I… I'll bring more," the servant stuttered.
"Bring more? Do you have any idea how precious this tea is? It'll be deducted from your wages. Since you'll never taste it again, you might as well lick it up now."
"I made a mistake. Please forgive me," the servant pleaded.
"Pathetic," Chel scoffed.
Such blatant cruelty was unsettling. How could someone be so vicious? His upbringing must have been severely flawed.
"Leave the tea. Go and tend to your hand," Ian said quietly.
Chel's face contorted in rage. The servant, caught between two warring factions, hastily retreated with the tray.
Ian's intervention had only fueled Chel's anger. He glared at Ian, practically vibrating with fury.
"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed.
"What do you mean?" Ian asked calmly.
"You interrupted me! How dare you tell me what to do? You're just a bastard!"
Ian feigned innocence. "If you treat the servants this way, you might end up doing their work yourself. It's wiser to control your temper and fulfill your duties."
Chel's eyes bulged at Ian's composed and logical response. "You lowborn scum! How dare you lecture me about duties? Are you getting cocky because Sir Mohlin praised you? Do you think you're a real noble now?"
His voice, however, remained low, mindful of the guests in the next room. At least he had some semblance of decorum.
Ian sipped his tea, a faint smile playing on his lips. "What if I'm not?"
"What?" Chel sputtered.
"Then you'll be sold off as a slave," Ian replied, amused by his own words. Even though his reign had lasted only three years, he had been the pinnacle of power in Variel. Chel needed to understand the significance of this situation. Judging by Chel's fluctuating expression, he seemed to think Ian was mocking him.
"You're insane!" Chel raised his hand to strike Ian, but it was caught mid-air, firmly gripped in Ian's grasp.
"Chel, was it?" Ian said, his voice low. He was smaller and thinner than most boys his age. Chel could easily overpower him. Yet, Chel hesitated, a shiver running down his spine as Ian addressed him.
"What will Sir Mohlin think if you show up with a bruised face? Hmm? What about the Count and Countess? They're in there trying to secure my adoption, and you're trying to sabotage it."
Ian tapped Chel's cheek lightly. A gentle reminder to get his act together.
"What will you do if I disappear?"
Fear flickered in Chel's eyes, quickly replaced by a cunning glint. "Ha! You?" He smirked, a predatory expression that belied his age. It was the look of a street thug, confirming the rumors about the Derga family's vulgarity.
"Try it," Chel hissed. "Then your mother's head will be on a pike in the marketplace. Ahahaha!"
Ian suppressed a sigh. As an emperor, he had never been subjected to such crude threats. He was accustomed to more… sophisticated barbs. Regardless, Chel's words revealed another piece of information.
'His mother is his weakness.'
That explained Ian's forced journey across the border. A child from the slums had little chance of escaping the Derga family's clutches.
'There's a reason I ended up in this body,' Ian mused.
Chel, mistaking Ian's silence for fear, continued his taunt. "Grovel. That's the only way you and your whore of a mother will survive another day. Even if you end up in the gutters, your filthy bodies won't stand out."
In that instant, Ian grabbed Chel's hair, forcing him to meet his gaze. His absinthe eyes flashed gold, a surge of mana erupting from him. It was an involuntary reaction, a visceral response to the threat.
"Fool," Ian growled, feeling the power coursing through him. It was a fraction of what he possessed as emperor, but far beyond anything Chel could handle. Moreover, Ian had been the brightest star in the history of magic.
"Words have weight, even from a child. A sharp tongue can change a life. Be careful, or it will be cut out."
A century ago, Variel's understanding of magic was far less developed than during Ian's reign. Even nobles in the capital rarely encountered it, let alone those in the periphery.
"Ah…"
Chel, having never witnessed such a display of power, didn't understand its implications. His mind went blank, and he nearly fainted.
Plop.
He collapsed onto the sofa, wetting himself. Ian recoiled in disgust. Backlit by the sun, he looked almost angelic. Chel continued to soil himself, oblivious to his predicament.
'This is insane,' Ian thought. He was about to call for a servant when the reception room door burst open.
"Young Masters, are you enjoying your…" Mohlin began, his voice trailing off as he saw the scene. He froze, his eyes meeting Ian's. For a fleeting moment, the gold faded back to absinthe.
'Did I imagine that?'
Perhaps it was a trick of the light. But something felt amiss. Mohlin stared intently at Ian, trying to decipher the strange flicker he had witnessed. His contemplation was interrupted by Lady Mary's shriek.
"Chel! What is the meaning of this!"
She had finally noticed Chel's state. The boy stammered, glancing fearfully at Ian, whose expression remained impassive.
'Don't say a word,' Ian's silence warned. The message seemed to reach Chel, who whimpered, "I… I spilled the tea."
"Oh dear! Oh my!" Lady Mary exclaimed.
Mohlin, finally noticing Chel's condition, coughed awkwardly and turned away. Count Derga closed his eyes in mortification.
This was utter humiliation! His seventeen-year-old son had soiled himself in the reception room! The scandal would be unbearable.
"Someone! Anyone! Quickly!" Lady Mary cried, summoning the servants.
"What happened? Oh my goodness!"
"Bring clothes, towels, and something to clean this up!"
While Lady Mary fussed over Chel, Mohlin quietly excused himself to Count Derga. Although the central official likely had little pressing business in the periphery, the situation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
"Count, I have urgent matters to attend to…"
"Ah, of course! It was an honor to have you."
"The honor was mine. If you'll permit, I'd like to request Ian to escort me out."
Derga, flustered by Chel's continued sobbing, readily agreed.
"Thank you, Count. Ian, the manor is quite large. Would you be so kind as to assist an old man?"
"Certainly, Sir Mohlin. I'd be happy to," Ian replied, smiling politely. He had no idea about the manor's layout, but leaving with Mohlin was far preferable to remaining in this awkward situation. He could easily grab a passing servant to act as a guide.
"Let's go," Ian said, leading Mohlin out.
Mohlin, his gaze fixed on Ian's absinthe eyes, studied the boy intently. His aged eyes held a depth of experience, searching for answers to the fleeting glimpse he had witnessed.