A Mage Reborn: Legacy of the Fallen Emperor
Chapter 81: The Inside Man

Chapter 81: Chapter 81: The Inside Man

"That woman..." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusation.

One of Romandro’s men was among those who’d scrambled over at the sound of the servants’ screams. It was him – the one who’d slain Colin while traveling with the Mereloff caravan, bound for Sheiron.

"Lord Ian," the man said, his voice tight with barely suppressed urgency. "She’s the one who caused all that chaos in the Sheiron Mountains."

"Her? You’re absolutely certain?" Ian’s voice was sharp, demanding.

"I saw it with my own two eyes. I watched her kill Colin." The man’s words were clipped, definite.

A flicker of something – suspicion, perhaps, or a dawning understanding – crossed Ian’s face as his gaze locked onto Mereloff’s wife.

"I told you," she hissed, "I despise everything to do with Mereloff!"

"So you resorted to sabotaging the trading caravan?" Ian’s voice was laced with steel.

"Instead of thanking me, you dare treat me like this?"

"He was the one who attacked first. He’s still breathing, so cut the theatrics."

At his words, the wife leaned closer, confirming that Clark’s chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths. Gradually, her own ragged breathing evened out.

"How did you discover that Colin was our informant?"

"A significant number of people vanished from a private gambling den. Almost simultaneously with Lord Ian’s... intervention. One of the men who worked there disappeared, only to reappear later. Naturally, that aroused suspicion."

"And the Count?"

"Why should I care? That old, unfeeling block of wood. The Count hasn’t issued a single directive regarding the investigation. He’s likely oblivious to the fact that Colin even worked there."

The situation was as preposterous as he’d anticipated, perhaps even more so. Count Mereloff had utterly dismissed Ian’s actions, despite the involvement of his own people.

"Are you two lovers?" Ian asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"...It’s not like that," she replied, a little too quickly.

"Hm. I see."

"Get him to a spare room," Ian ordered.

"Yes, my lord."

At Ian’s order, the soldiers carried and supported the unconscious Clark. Mereloff’s wife wore a look of consternation, but she dared not object. It would certainly raise eyebrows at the estate if her escort returned in such a state.

"I can hardly explain the situation and admit that I knocked him out, can I?"

"...I didn’t say a word."

"Very well, my lady. It seems we need to get our stories straight."

Ian offered a disarming smile as he extended his hand. The wife watched Clark’s retreating form disappear through the doorway, then she placed her hand in his and rose. With deliberate slowness, he undid the bindings on her wrists.

"You desire freedom," Ian said smoothly, "and I desire the tribute. However, as long as the Count’s brother holds any sway, there’s no assurance I’ll receive my due compensation."

She could be implicated in the Count’s death – accused of being complicit, at the very least.

"The Gula trade," she stated, her eyes narrowing slightly. "That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?"

Ian allowed himself a small, approving smile. The woman was sharp, he’d give her that. Far too sharp for her own good, perhaps.

He needed to be careful.

"Precisely. I intend to extract the maximum possible profit from it, initially."

"So I am to act as the... enticement," she said, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"Not so much a shill, as someone who can... persuade the Count. You do have influence, after all."

"Frankly, Mereloff is screwed. The road to Hawan is blocked, so is Sheiron. It’s a perfect recipe for starvation."

"Speaking of which," she interjected, "were you behind the bandits plaguing the Hawan Kingdom as well? If so, I must say, it was a rather... drastic approach."

"No. That particular misfortune was not of our making."

"Divine intervention, then," she murmured, a wry twist to her lips. "How very convenient."

"See to Clark’s well-being," she said, changing the subject.

"Of course. And as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll provide a small sample of Gula for your... consideration. You can say you traded Clark for it."

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the most plausible explanation for the moment. It eliminated the need to explain the servant’s unconscious state, and, having paid a price for it, Count Mereloff would undoubtedly seek to exploit the Gula to its fullest. He would experience its true value firsthand.

A ’taste test,’ as they say in the marketplace.

And should any problems arise, Ian thought, Lady Mereloff will be firmly under my control.

With that thought firmly in mind, Ian hurried to give instructions to Hanna. The sun was already setting. Even if they left now, the wife wouldn’t reach the estate until well into the night. Any further delay would arouse suspicion.

"Hanna, bring a small pouch of Gula to the front gate."

"Yes, my lord."

"Prepare a carriage! Her Ladyship is returning home."

"Yes! Prepare a carriage!"

As everyone rushed outside to prepare the carriage, the servant who’d brought the dry cloths hesitantly reached for the glass lid. But the wife firmly pushed his hand away.

"I’ll do it."

She covered her nose and mouth with one hand, meticulously transferring the powder with the other. It was a delicate operation. Given that Beric had fainted merely from the scent, the potency of the drug was undeniable.

"But if he dies too quickly, it will raise a great deal of suspicion," Ian pointed out.

"I told you, it won’t kill him with a single dose. When mixed with liquid, it’s neutralized, so he won’t just collapse like that."

Instead, he would experience fantastic dreams, blurring the line between reality and illusion. Like being possessed by a dream demon, his vitality would be slowly drained through his sleep. That, of course, was precisely the wife’s intention.

Click.

The wife carefully closed the compact and tucked it into an inner pocket. With that, she strode briskly down the hallway, as if she had no further business here. Ian followed, seeing her off.

"You won’t be seeing Clark for quite some time. Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye?"

"He’ll manage. And... we’re not in that kind of relationship, you know?"

Ian simply nodded.

"One of my men will escort you to the estate. Please, travel safely."

"May we meet again with good news, Lord Ian."

She accepted a light kiss on the back of her hand before closing the carriage door. He suddenly remembered the blossoming bruises on her ankle. Would Mereloff’s wife be safe tonight, once she returned?

"My lady..."

"It’s fine," she said, shaking her head before Ian could finish his sentence. She’d thought there were no similarities between herself and her mother, but every time she endured her husband’s beatings, she inadvertently realized the Dryad blood flowing through her veins.

"...I can still endure it, for now."

"We’re departing!"

Hiii-neigh!

Creak.

The wife looked back through the small window, exchanging a final farewell with Ian. Romandro, watching the departing carriage, vigorously wiped his face with a handkerchief.

"What in the world is going on...?"

"In exchange for overlooking that compact we saw today, the wife has agreed to support the Gula trade."

"That compact... it wasn’t poison, was it? What about Beric!?"

"She said it wouldn’t kill him with a single dose. He’ll be having pleasant dreams, apparently."

"Huh? Really? But he was cursing earlier, saying all sorts of things..."

"Well, knowing Beric, I can imagine what his idea of ’pleasant dreams’ might be."

Ian smiled as he entered the estate. A loud, insistent thumping echoed from the upper floor. At this hour, there was only one person who would be causing such a commotion.

"Open this door! What are you doing to her?!" Clark’s voice was raw with desperation.

Thump! Thud!

Clark’s desperate cries leaked through the crack of the door. The servants, unnerved by the sound of the door about to splinter, stepped back. In the end, it was the Tianlé warriors who reluctantly stepped forward.

"Should we knock him out again?"

"He’s going to be awfully loud all night, isn’t he?"

"Leave him. I’ll talk to him."

Ian stopped them with a gesture and approached the door. Taking advantage of a brief lull, he attempted to explain the situation to Clark.

"Your name is Clark, correct?"

"...Lord Ian?"

Rattle!

But Clark’s agitated scream came first. He rattled the doorknob, nearly weeping as he pleaded. The last image he had of the wife was of her being bound, so his reaction was understandable.

"Lord Ian, please, I beg you, spare her life. Lady Rien did everything for us. If it weren’t for her, more than a dozen of us would have been killed by the master’s hand..."

Every time the Count had beaten a servant to within an inch of their life, the wife had willingly taken their place. Everyone in the estate knew it. Though she wasn’t affectionate by nature, everyone held a deep gratitude towards her.

Otherwise, this affair would have reached the Count’s ears long ago. The wife would likely have been torn limb from limb.

"The wife did that?"

"Yes, yes... I swear to the gods. So please, I beg you, let me open the door and see that she’s safe..."

"The lady departed for the estate just now. She’s on her way home."

"...Truly?"

"Yes. Your life is collateral in this arrangement, so just wait patiently. Causing a disturbance will only burden her."

Only sobs could be heard from inside. Ian didn’t wait for a reply, simply ordering the servants to guard the door well.

The atmosphere at the Mereloff estate was tense. The lady, who rarely ventured outside, had not returned even as the sun set.

The Count hadn’t mentioned his wife, but he’d created a suffocating, unspoken air of menace.

"Ah, there!"

A faint light glimmered in the distance. The silhouette of a carriage drawn by two horses appeared. The servants quickly rushed out of the estate to greet the lady, and soon, a somewhat weary-looking wife alighted.

"Why are you so late?"

"Where’s Clark?"

"Did you have dinner?"

"My lady, the, the master..."

The servants tried to warn her that the Count was furious, but the master himself appeared, silencing them.

"Rien." The Count’s voice was a thunderclap.

"I’m sorry I’m late," she said, forcing a bright smile. "But I have something to show you." She held up the pouch, letting the contents rattle enticingly.

"I traded Clark for some Gula. Lord Ian was quite the haggler, so it took longer than expected."

The Count, who had been on the verge of exploding, paused.

Mereloff’s wife’s visit had been a prelude to the Gula trade, not the actual transaction. Yet here she was, having already acquired some Gula.

"My dear?" The Count’s eyes were fixed on the pouch, his greed momentarily eclipsing his anger.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Mereloff’s wife’s face. She knew exactly where to begin.

"Shall we... sample this a little? I have so much to tell you."