Ian the Illegitimate Son Was an Emperor

Chapter 1

The End of Emperor Ian

Ian ascended the throne at an early age and was beheaded before he reached maturity.

Those few words summed up the life of Emperor Ian Verocian in full. That is, if a young emperor who came and went like the wind during a time of great upheaval were to be remembered at all. A cruel man, upon entering the dungeon where Ian was being held, mercilessly grabbed hold of the emperor’s hair. Although he was covered in blood, Ian’s eyes still shone defiantly.

“Uncle Ian.”

The man’s name was Kroney. He was Ian’s nephew, despite being twenty years his senior, thanks to a gnarled family tree. Each time Kroney shook Ian by the hair, bloody saliva dripped from the young emperor’s mouth.

“Look where you’ve ended up. Did I not advise you to refuse the throne, since you were not fit to be emperor? If you had listened to me, this never would have happened to you.”

Ian only glared at him in response. Displeased with his silence, Kroney struck Ian across the face.

“Even a thoughtless teenager such as yourself should have known what you were getting into! So what if you’re a mage? What’s so great about magic?”

Ian sighed to himself. Magic was a great and glorious power, believed to be the remaining traces of god. It was also the very reason why Ian was able to take the throne as emperor.

“Uncle, see for yourself. Your precious magic cannot even protect you from this.”

Without warning, Kroney landed kick after kick into Ian’s crumpled form.

Kroney was right. Ian was powerless because his limbs were restrained with mana-sealing stones. At that moment, he was nothing more than an ordinary nineteen-year-old boy. Even if he were to free himself, he was already at death’s door. His end seemed inevitable.

“All that talk about you being one in ten thousand and the first mage of royal blood! It is all useless before this blade.”

Kroney finally drew his sword. As Ian lay there, knowing he was a dethroned emperor accused of treason, it was still difficult for him to accept that he would end his days defeated and bloodied on a dungeon floor. Despondent laughter escaped his lips.

“Are you laughing?”

“Yes, I am. I find it laughable, Kroney. I am still the same, and so are you. Are you still so jealous that I am a mage?”

Kroney’s face hardened at Ian’s words. Rarity increases value, which was true for mages too. Mages were so rare that only a hundred or so could be found throughout the entire Variel Empire. Ian’s birth was the first time in the empire’s history that a mage had been born with royal blood.

“I still remember what you told me when I was a young, ignorant mana handler. ‘Mages are rare, but they mostly come from the lower classes. You must hide it, or you will be turned out of the manor if it’s discovered.’”

“Ian, that was a very long time ago.”

“Is it not laughable, though? Given that the lower class greatly outnumbers the nobility, it is only natural for most mages to be lowborn, is it not?”

“Shut up!”

“Why? Are you embarrassed?”

“I said, shut up!”

Without warning, Ian’s vision turned black. Kroney had struck him squarely between the eyes. He then stepped on the back of Ian’s head as he lay prostrate on the floor.

“So what? I am standing over you, and you are lying flat on your face. That is all that matters.”

He aimed his sword at Ian’s throat. Just as he was about to deliver a final blow to the emperor’s neck, footsteps could be heard approaching.

“Lord Kroney, you have received a letter from Duke Hillon.”

“Is it urgent?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. My apologies.”

Clicking his tongue, Kroney removed his foot from Ian’s head. With a parting glance at his uncle, who was lying as still as a corpse, he left the dungeon. Some time passed until there was the sound of a key turning in the lock.

“Your Majesty…”

Hearing strange metallic noises and a familiar voice, Ian finally came to his senses and opened his eyes. With no strength to turn his head, he lifted his gaze to see Naum, the Minister of Magic, undoing his restraints with tears in his eyes.

“Your Majesty, please. Please wake up.”

“Naum, wh-what are you doing here?”

“There is no time. You need to escape and survive. Your Majesty, please, help me a little…”

The restraints could not be so easily undone. The moon lit the room through a small window, shining its cold light on Naum’s hands. His fingers were stained with rust.

“Stop.”

“Your Majesty?”

“I want to stop.”

“Wh-what are you saying?”

Ian closed his eyes again with a faint smile. He could still vividly remember the day he had first joined the Ministry of Magic.

“Thank you. If not for you, I would have only been a mana handler and never become a mage, let alone the emperor. This is the end for me, but I hope you will continue to live and protect the Variel Empire.”

“No, this cannot be. Without you, the Ministry of Magic has no meaning. Your Majesty, please pull yourself together and receive my mana. Once you die, it is all over…”

Once I die, it’s all over…

That was actually what Ian truly desired. He was just too exhausted, too weary, and too worn out. The last three years as emperor had destroyed him.

“Your Majesty, please listen to me closely.”

Naum, however, would not give up. He softly held Ian’s chin and made him look directly into his eyes.

“The Ministry of Magic’s annex is right next to the central hall of the second palace. You know it, don’t you? It is where you hid whenever you wanted to cry after you came to the palace.”

“I only cried once…” Ian protested weakly.

“Well, so you say.”

Why had he cried? Ian furrowed his brows, trying to sift through his foggy memories to find the answer. At that moment, Naum glanced at the entrance to the dungeon as if he had heard something. It was clear that Kroney was coming back.

“Naum, take down the magical barrier and hide yourself.”

“I cannot do that. Your Majesty, you need to go. Once you reach the annex, you will be able to find a way through.”

“What do you mean?”

Only silence greeted Ian’s words. Naum’s concern clouded his face, which appeared even darker than the dreary dungeon. With great effort, Ian grabbed hold of Naum’s sleeve.

“I asked you a question.”

“I have mixed my blood with the magic.”

“Naum!”

“I received an answer. Once you get where you need to go, you will be given a chance. I do not know why you must go there. Maybe it is because my magic is not strong enough. Either way, you must hurry.”

The power of magic is such that its very existence can defy the laws of nature. If the balance of power was off, even by a hair’s breadth, Ian would end up in an abyss. The Papal Office refers to this abyss as hell, while mages refer to it as the curse of eternity.

“Are you saying you warped time and space?”

“There was no other choice. Your Majesty, please…”

“Why? Why?!”

The door suddenly creaked open.

“I knew it. You bastards in the Ministry of Magic… What is the use in trying to weed out the bad seeds when the minister himself is the worst of them all?”

It was Kroney. Behind him stood the man handpicked to be the next Minister of Magic after Naum. With clenched teeth, Naum summoned a magic circle. Wafts of mana appeared at his fingertips, but the complicated pattern grew twisted and did not shine as it had before. The sealing stones restraining Ian were just too strong.

“Naum! Please! Don’t!”

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

With an ominous sound, the magic circle began to burn bright red. The fire, however, was burning Naum’s hand instead of being directed at Kroney. Naum cried out in pain.

“No! Naum, wait! Stop!”

Still lying face down, Ian could only lift his head and shout. He felt no attachment to life, but he could not endure seeing his friends die because of him. He realized only after becoming emperor that the weight of the crown was the weight of the trust his followers put in him. Furthermore, it was not himself, but his followers who were forced to bear the burden.

The flames flared. With a cry, Kroney tried to block the raging flames with his left hand. His face would have been burned beyond recognition if the mage standing behind him had not put up a barrier to block the fire.

Ah, damn it.

Ian felt himself drifting away again, this time because of the scorching heat. Just when everything was glowing brightly, and the pain seemed distant, Ian suddenly realized that a metallic sound was ringing in his ears—Kroney’s sword had finally come down on his throat.

So this was the end of Ian’s three years as emperor. He had done his best for Variel, but the man he trusted most was dying at his own hands, and he was about to be beheaded.

“Ian. In your next life, do not be born at all.”

With Kroney’s cruel last words, everything disappeared. It was suddenly so quiet that Ian had to wonder if this was what death was like—a long, dark stretch of silence. Then his eyes fell upon…

A fork and knife?

He was holding them in the wrong hands.

***

Ian lifted his head slowly. His body felt like lead. Although, when compared with the pain of the last few days, it was still as light as a feather.

“Ian.”

There was a strange woman sitting opposite him, looking down at him. He was in a large garden with immaculate flowerbeds, seated at a well-laid table. He realized, belatedly, that everyone sitting around the table was staring at him.

This does not seem like hell. Then is it heaven?

The scenery was not that different from what he was used to. It compared poorly to his old palace.

“What has come over you?” the woman asked. “Ian, you are being rude to our guest.”

“It is just his ignorance seeping out at every opportunity,” chimed in a fat boy from beside the woman.

“Chel, be more prudent with your words.”

“Fine. Ian. Pay attention.”

The boy spoke harshly, but Ian did not care. He was more interested in the smell of food stirring his stomach. He could not remember when he had last eaten after being imprisoned in the dungeon.

I do not know what is going on, but the smell of food is driving me crazy.

Acting out of instinct more than anything else, Ian elegantly held the cutlery in the correct hands and began cutting the steak in front of him, eating as quickly as he could without sacrificing his good manners. For someone who had been clutching a fork in his fist only a moment before, his comportment was now perfectly dignified and meticulous. He also expressed his appreciation of the excellent meal in soft interjections. Dumbfounded, the margrave, the margravine, and Ian’s half-brother stared at him in shock from the opposite side of the table.