Ian the Illegitimate Son Was an Emperor

Chapter 5

The Plan

“Lord Ian?” the girl called out to him tentatively.

He seemed to be on edge, though his face betrayed nothing. She had heard that Ian was acting differently today, but she had not expected such a drastic change.

“Ah, yes.”

Ian had also come to understand Chel’s attitude. Chel had been able to say such vicious words to him because his mother’s life was on the line. Ian showed his gratitude with a smile.

“It is all right. I have no message for her.”

“You don’t? But…”

The girl’s eyes widened, as if this had never happened before. After all, Ian had always asked her to convey all kinds of anecdotes whenever she went out. Being illiterate herself, the servant had tried to memorize them with scribbled drawings.

“Father has gone out.”

“His lordship has gone out?”

Today was the day of the special luncheon with Sir Mollin. That meant that the margrave was deviating from his usual daily routine. The girl who regularly went out had overlooked that fact.

“You would get in trouble if you were to meet him by accident. What is more, you are quite young. You should not go to such places.”

He had heard the servants talking about brothels, which were unsafe even in Ian’s time. They would be all the more perilous now, a hundred years earlier. Even ordinary men could fall under the influence of potions and be robbed blind. He could not send a child to such a place.

“Would that be all right with you?”

“Hmm? Why should it not be?”

“Because you cry yourself to sleep every night.”

How does she know that he cries himself to sleep? Does he share his room with someone else? If not, it meant that there was someone posted outside Ian’s room during the late hours.

I guess I am being watched.

It was fortunate that he found out about it before he made a mistake.

Ian answered with a smile, “It is all right. I will not cry anymore.”

“Then, um, the payment for taking the message would be…”

“Payment?”

Now it was the girl who appeared as if she was about to cry, wringing her fingers with a devastated expression. Ian automatically rummaged in his pockets but found they were empty.

“If I don’t bring any food to my younger siblings today, they might have to starve. Please don’t worry about me and give me your message. This time, I promise I will bring back her answer, word for word.”

So the payment was not in coins. That made sense, since Ian had been born and raised in the slums and was now practically locked away in the manor. He would not have so much as a copper to his name.

“Please, Lord Ian.”

What was the only thing given to Ian in the manor? It was three square meals a day.

No wonder this boy is so skinny.

The Chunryeo were a strong and formidable people. They were so physically strong that one of them could fight and hold their own against dozens of Variel men, which was how the tribe had come to be such a problem for the empire.

With their standard of strength being much higher than that of the empire, they would be highly displeased if the latter sent a scrawny child like Ian as a hostage. For this reason, Ian was fed at least as well as the other members of the Vratz family. Food was the only thing he was given, and therefore the only thing he could use as payment.

“I have five younger siblings. If I don’t bring them anything, they will have to live on thin porridge.”

The servant desperately pleaded with him. He had guessed that the margravate was poor, but he had had no idea how bad things were. At the moment, he had to worry about his well-being. He could not risk himself to help this girl. After considering his options for a while, Ian nodded.

“All right, then. I will set a condition. I will give you the food in advance. Then you can do my bidding later when I ask you to.”

“Oh!”

Relieved at his proposal, she curtsied to him again and again. At any rate, someone was helping him. Even though it was in return for payment, that was still something. Any help was better than none.

“What is your name?” Ian asked, thinking this was as good a time as any to learn it. He also intended for her to understand that he would have more things for her to do eventually.

The girl answered with a bright smile, “Please call me Hanna. Everyone in the manor calls me that.”

Previously, Ian had called her “hey” or “you.” Hanna provided her name without hesitation, as if she had been waiting to be asked.

***

Ian’s room was at the end of the third-floor hallway. As he opened the door, the smell of mold greeted him. The small window was nowhere near large enough to ventilate the room, and it was obvious that he had been given quarters for a servant, not a guest.

The old chair creaked under him when he sat. Fortunately, he found cheap paper and a pen soon after. The child had evidently tried to practice writing, though his penmanship could be better described as rough sketches rather than lettering.

So this is the year 1100 by the Imperial Calendar.

Ian had found out the exact date from Hanna. He had last been in the year 1198, so he had traveled almost a century back in time, making his estimation of a hundred years almost exactly right. Feeling somewhat tired, Ian exhaled and ran his hand through his blond hair.

How am I supposed to tackle this?

He must have been caught up in Naum’s or someone else’s time and space magic. Or perhaps he was on the verge of death and all of this was merely a hallucination.

All I know so far is that I have the same name as the owner of this body.

That fact, though, did not seem of much significance, since the name, “Ian,” was neither special nor uncommon. To clear his head more than anything else, Ian began writing down some major historical events. If this was a hallucination, or if he was in a different world entirely, the flow of history would deviate from the events he could recall.

Without much trouble, Ian drew up the chronology of Variel’s future timeline. Although there were some missing parts, that did not matter. The fact that nothing memorable happened meant that those were periods of extended peace.

“Why does this boy have so little paper on his desk when he is supposed to be studying?”

The blank piece of paper was soon filled in with miniscule writing. The only other paper he could find was covered in the other Ian’s illegible scrawl. Heaving a sigh, Ian tried to work out what the writing said, but it seemed nearly impossible.

It is writing, I suppose? I can see a pattern in it, so he was writing something. Maybe it’s in a different language?

At that moment, Ian heard footsteps outside his door and quickly put the papers in the drawer and turned around. He did not know who it was, but he could get into trouble if it were someone literate. A knock sounded.

“Come in.”

“I have brought you your dinner, Lord Ian.”

Ah, it’s Hanna.

Fingering the crumpled papers in the drawer, he looked out of the window. The sun was already setting. Since it was early spring, the evening sky showed the last traces of winter. Luminous stones on the ceiling began to give off light.

“Hanna.”

“Yes, my lord?”

Luminous stones were much cheaper than candles. They only gave off enough light to discern the outlines of objects in the dark.

“Could you bring me a candlestick?”

“Oh, the thing is… Everything that is brought to your room has to be approved by the margravine herself.”

Through the door, he felt the helplessness in the girl’s answer. Given the state of his simple and shabby room, he doubted that he would be given one. After all, he was a “mistake” committed by the margravine’s husband. Ian could understand how much of an eyesore he would be to her.

Maybe I should be grateful for being fed at all.

“Would you like me to ask her?”

He would either be given a used candle or he would be interrogated as to why he needed it. Which would be the more likely outcome, on the very day Chel, her pride and joy, had an embarrassing mishap in the sitting room?

“No, that is all right. You may go.”

“Then I’ll be on my way, my lord.”

As he listened to Hanna’s receding footsteps, Ian held the pen once again. He tried to write some more, but it was so dark that he could barely see the inkwell. Leaning back on the chair, he gazed at the door. Opening it, he found a small tray containing two loaves of rye bread and a chunk of cheap ham.

“What the…?”

That was all that was left by Hanna after taking her payment. That explained why Ian was so feeble. Clicking his tongue, Ian brought the tray into the room. Although it was not to his taste, he had to fill his empty stomach. He chewed on the bread moistened with water. Come to think of it, not even war orphans were given such meager fare. At the time, there was ghula soup…

“Oh!”

It felt as if a fresh breeze had cleared the fog in his head. Everything became clearer, as things fell into place. Something had seemed off in the kitchen. Though the luncheon was sumptuous, there had been something missing.

There was no ghula.

Ghula was a nutritious vegetable that could be a meal in itself. Not only was it tasty, but it could also be used in various dishes. It was an indispensable part of the Variel diet. The “discovery” of ghula was an important turning point for the empire, decreasing the number of people dying of hunger each year by 85 percent and marking a significant shift in Variel’s economy and daily life.

Originally, ghula would be discovered about fifty years from now.

It was discovered, not invented, which meant it was out there in the world waiting to be found, and not something that had to be made from scratch. Ghula originally came from the east. Every part of it except the seed was toxic, so it had been deemed inedible and thrown away in the fields and mountains where it had taken root naturally.

No one knew how to eat this strange food from the east for fifty years.

Ian knew how to make ghula edible. What that meant was that, if he were to “discover” ghula, he could erase the great famine from Variel’s history.

“Oh my god.”

Ian could not help but hope that all of this was not a hallucination and that he had truly come back to the Variel of the past for a chance to make a difference. If so, he would be able to change history.

“Your Majesty, it is all right. There is always a chance. Always. God does not pose questions that have no answer.”

Naum’s last words rang in his ears. He still felt a little lost, but he was sure that he could somehow find the answers, whatever they were.

First, I will do all I can to survive. Then I will go to the palace and look for traces of Naum.

That was the first answer Ian reached.