A Mage Reborn: Legacy of the Fallen Emperor
Chapter 71. Undercurrents

Chapter 71: Chapter 71. Undercurrents

Ian extended a hand out the window. The humid breeze had begun to dry, carrying the crisp bite of approaching cold. Summer’s fiery reign was ending; autumn was on the cusp.

A soft knock.

"My Lord. Are you awake?"

"I am."

"Breakfast is served."

Since the Imperial decree and his investiture as Viscount, Ian’s position had solidified. Day-to-day life remained largely unchanged, yet he felt the subtle *weight* of his new authority.

The title, for instance. "My Lord."

*Amusing.* He’d held far grander titles, commanded far greater power. Yet this...this felt different. A hard-won foothold, not a birthright.

Ian took his seat opposite Romandro, the servants already laying out the morning meal.

"Good morning, Lord Romandro."

"Ah, Viscount Ian. A good night’s rest, I trust?"

"Indeed. Some tepid water, if you please."

"Of course, My Lord."

As the servants moved with practiced efficiency, Romandro cracked open a Gulla nut from a small dish, popping it into his mouth. "Ian, there’s a matter we need to address."

"And that is?"

"The Imperial support funds."

"Ah."

Three thousand gold. A considerable sum, yet significantly depleted by the territory’s restoration and the Gulla purchases. More expenses loomed, of course. A constant drain, unless we can secure a steady market...

"Isn’t it customary for remaining funds to be returned to the Imperial treasury?"

"Custom, yes. But merely custom." Romandro’s tone was pointed.

He was implying that he had the discretion to... reallocate the funds. To, in effect, line Ian’s pockets. A generous offer. And a politically savvy one. He’s securing my loyalty.

Ian’s eyebrows shot up.

"I would be most grateful, should you choose to do so."

"I’ve given it considerable thought, and it feels... right. Your contributions have been invaluable. Without the discovery of Gulla, those 3,000 gold pieces would have vanished in a single season. I have faith you’ll put them to better use."

"My thanks. I shall be judicious."

"And my gratitude for arranging my marriage before the winter snows."

"A honeymoon, you said?"

"Word arrived recently. She’s with child."

Ian broke into applause at the unexpected news. The servants, overhearing, chimed in with their congratulations.

"Congratulations, Lord Romandro!"

"A father! My felicitations."

"When is the child expected?"

"Next summer, we believe."

"Wonderful news!"

Romandro stroked his beard, a blush creeping up his neck. A genuine, unadulterated happiness radiated from him. *Uncomplicated joy. A rare thing in this world.*

"Are the funds and records in your study?"

"They are. I’ll transfer them to you immediately after breakfast."

"Understood."

Ian nodded, mentally running calculations. If his estimate was accurate, around 1,200 gold remained. Anything of value from the Bratz mansion had been seized by the investigation team. That was likely the extent of it. *Enough to start, but we’ll need a substantial influx soon.*

"And Kakan and Nersaren?"

"They departed for the border observatory yesterday and have yet to return. Observing the constellations, they said... I’m not privy to the specifics."

Ian grasped their intent instantly. His former tutor, the desert scholar, had always yearned to visit that very place. He wasn’t certain, but they clearly possessed their own unique method of understanding the Great Desert through celestial observation. Astrology, perhaps? Or something more... practical?

"Very well. When they return, inform them I wish to speak with them briefly."

"As you command."

"Lord Ian, a missive has arrived from Mereloff. Shall I have the messenger wait?"

A flurry of news this morning. Ian paused, a boiled *Gulla nut* halfway to his mouth. Romandro mirrored his action, his own bite suspended.

"No. Show them in."

The door opened once more, admitting a neatly attired page who bowed low.

"Greetings. I bear a congratulatory letter from Count Mereloff and the Countess, celebrating your investiture."

"Indeed? And nothing else? The sequence seems... unorthodox." Ian’s tone was sharp, a hint of steel beneath the civility.

He meant that a letter of protest regarding the assassination attempt should have preceded any congratulations. Why were they ignoring that blatant act of aggression? *Playing coy? Or is there something more at play?*

The page, flustered, fumbled for words. Ian, cutting him off, extended a hand. The ornate letter, sealed with the Mereloff crest, was placed within it.

"My sincere congratulations, once again."

"Thank you."

"And a gift, from the Countess."

Ian eyed the box placed behind the page with suspicion. The Countess had been... unusual from their first encounter. He couldn’t fathom what she’d send under the guise of a "gift."

But when the page lifted the lid...

Ian rose from his seat, involuntarily.

"A recording device, from a foreign land." The page’s voice was uncertain.

"A recording device?" Romandro’s voice was laced with confusion.

Ian moved closer, inspecting the mechanism with a keen eye. It was crude, undeniably. But the potential...

A small wooden box housing an intricate network of gears. Beneath, a slot for *parchment*. Beside it, a crank for operation. Simple, yet ingenious. The principle is sound, even if the execution is rudimentary.

"What *is* this? Its purpose?" Romandro persisted.

"Its function remains... undocumented. Its name, however..."

Ian murmured, almost to himself, "A Dripper."

"Y-yes, precisely! A Dripper, they called it." The page seemed relieved to have gotten something right.

"Remarkable, Viscount Ian. You’re familiar with this contraption?"

Familiar? *Intimately*. It was like seeing a ghost from his past life. A ghost that held the key to a technological revolution.

The Dripper was a form of automated recording device. Each pull of the crank marked a dot on the parchment at set intervals. Seemingly useless, yet it was the foundation of automated processes. The very seed from which assembly lines, and countless other innovations, would eventually sprout.

It had been a key component of a massive, state-sponsored project in his previous life, one cut short by his untimely demise. A project aimed at reshaping the very fabric of society. And she sent it to me. Why?

"A-as expected of Lord Ian! Your knowledge is boundless!" The page’s forced flattery was almost painful.

Ian ignored him. "The Countess Mereloff sent this?"

"Y-yes, My Lord."

"And her words?"

"She said it would... prove useful to you, My Lord. And that, while valuable, you should not feel burdened by it."

The page swallowed hard. Truth be told, the thing had been gathering dust in a forgotten corner of the Mereloff storehouse. It had taken half a dozen servants to even clean it properly. It was considered nothing more than a worthless trinket by everyone there.

*Is this some kind of twisted joke? A veiled insult?* He couldn’t imagine what use a device that simply made dots on paper could possibly have.

But Ian’s reaction... It was anything but dismissive. Something was *very* amiss.

"Ha!" Ian’s laugh was short, sharp, devoid of humor.

...Or was he right the first time? Was this a calculated insult?

The page, utterly clueless, could only bow lower, hoping to avoid any fallout.

Ian’s gaze was fixed on the machine, his mind racing. He paced around it, a low sigh escaping his lips.

"Viscount Ian, please, sit. Let’s consider this calmly." Romandro, clearly misinterpreting Ian’s reaction, rose to placate him. He assumed Ian was offended.

And, to be fair, he had every reason to. A century before its time, the Dripper was a crude, almost laughable object. Its function was basic, its significance utterly unrecognized. Even the Emperor himself wouldn’t grasp its true worth.

"This Dripper... do you know if it originated from Rajasan?" Ian asked, his voice strangely tight.

"I... I do not, My Lord. What does it matter?"

"Never mind. Wait here. I must pen a reply to the Countess."

Ian abruptly folded his napkin, signaling the end of his meal. Romandro stared, bewildered, alternating his gaze between Ian and the strange device. He’d planned to begin negotiations with Mereloff regarding *Gulla*; this unexpected exchange was entirely off-script.

"What... what will you write?"

"That I received the gift with gratitude, and that, as she predicted, I believe it will be quite useful. And that I wish to meet with her in person, as soon as possible."

Romandro groaned softly, stroking his beard. He perceived a veiled exchange of hostilities, but the reality was far more complex.

What in the world is happening?

Ian traced the rough, cracked wood of the Dripper’s casing with his fingertip, his mind already envisioning the possibilities, the future it represented.

I must know.

Had Countess Mereloff truly sent a worthless trinket? Or did she, too, understand the Dripper’s profound significance?

Ian signaled to Hana. "I’ve finished. Secure this. And ensure *no one* touches it."

"Y-yes, My Lord. Of course."

"Lord Romandro, please, continue your meal. I shall draft my reply and then conduct a brief inspection of the fields."

"Ah... yes. Of course."

Ian departed, leaving Romandro in a state of utter confusion. The Mereloff page, having received Ian’s reply, soon followed. Several hours later, Ian made his way to the fields.

"My Lord Viscount. A fine day, isn’t it?"

"Indeed. The air grows cooler with each passing day."

He’d come to check on the Gulla, which were sprouting at an astonishing rate. The fields, a vibrant green, stood in stark contrast to the browning leaves of the surrounding trees.

"We’re planning to begin the *Gulla* harvest today."

"So soon?"

"Megan from the neighboring plot already started sorting her seeds yesterday. It seems this soil is exceptionally well-suited to Gulla. They’re growing a hand-span overnight."

"Excellent news."

With the estate’s granaries filling, hunger was becoming a distant memory. Smoke curled from chimneys throughout the day, and children, their pockets bulging with steamed Gulla, ran and played with unrestrained energy.

"Uncle! Uncle! The sow is really pregnant, isn’t she?"

"She is, isn’t she? I thought she was acting sluggish this morning."

*Oink! Oink!*

The livestock, too, were thriving, gaining weight and bearing young. At this rate, winter would hold no fear of starvation or cold. The new year would be welcomed with full bellies and warm homes.

"Ah, Lord Kakantir."

In the distance, the Cheonryeo party approached, returning from their excursion. Kushille slowed, drawing alongside Ian.

"Out and about again, I see."

"Your timing is impeccable. I have news to share."

"As do I. Let us walk."

The two leaders strolled ahead, their retainers following at a respectful distance, leading Kushille. Beric, among them, playfully tugged on his horse’s reins, chatting with a fellow warrior.

"I shall be returning to Cheonryeo tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? That is rather sudden."

"Nersaren will remain, so you needn’t worry."

"Has something occurred in Cheonryeo?"

"No. I consulted the celestial charts, and tomorrow appears to be an auspicious time for departure."

Kakantir’s departure would mean the loss of over half their warriors. However, the territory was becoming increasingly self-sufficient, and apart from the Gulla cultivation, there was little need for extensive manpower. It shouldn’t pose a significant problem.

"In that case, I shall make preparations for your departure."

It was only proper to show due respect to the leader of their alliance. And, of course, there were the promised rewards for the Cheonryeo.

"And what news did you wish to share?"

"Ah. Earlier, a *page* arrived from Mereloff. I believe it’s time to begin our... *undercurrents*."

"Indeed."

By "undercurrents," Ian meant the carefully orchestrated plan to make Mereloff utterly dependent on their Gulla supply. At Kakantir’s words, Ian halted.

"Mereloff’s only recourse during the harsh winter is the merchant caravan from the Hawan Kingdom. If we can disrupt that, our task becomes significantly easier."

"Hmm. The Hawan Kingdom, you say? I’ve never ventured into those mountains, placing us at a geographical disadvantage. Not insurmountable, of course."

He didn’t know the caravan’s size, but it would undoubtedly be accompanied by a considerable number of mercenaries. A direct confrontation would be inefficient and costly.

"No. Absolutely no combat. The Cheonryeo’s involvement must remain completely hidden. Any misstep could provide Mereloff with leverage."

Mereloff, responsible for the caravan’s safety, would undoubtedly retaliate if threatened by the Cheonryeo. This would place an undue burden on Ian, given their alliance.

"Do you have a plan in mind?"

At Kakantir’s question, Ian smiled, nodding. His eyes held their usual confident gleam, a spark of cunning that never failed to reassure.