Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor
Chapter 28

This is what true serenity feels like.

The blazing sun and the incessant wind. The sound of Kusilre’s hooves faded as they were buried in the sand. Ian felt an inexplicable peace as he gazed at the horizon that seemed to rise like a mirage.

“Ugh…”

Every now and then, Beric’s voice, sounding as though he was on the brink of death, reached Ian’s ears, but nobody paid any mind. In the desert, those who are to die should die swiftly, and those who are to live must find a way to survive at all costs.

Holding out half of the remaining water bottle, Ian asked, “Are you okay?”

“I feel like dying…”

“From just this?”

“Well, not exactly…”

It had been only a day since they had entered the desert from the border. If there was a variable in their journey, it was Beric’s tolerance to the heat. His red hair, which seemed to absorb the heat directly, clung damply to his forehead, soaked in sweat. The guide who had been leading them came up from behind.

“If you’re going to die, get off here. I pity your Kusilre.”

Upon hearing the guide’s sarcastic remark, Beric merely scowled. This place was lawless territory beyond the border. The guide was a member of the Cheonrye tribe, and damnably, his accompanying master was deemed as a ‘reconciliation sacrifice’. Yet, Beric contemplated making a rude gesture even as he panted.

“Hold on.”

Whooosh-!

The wind’s direction changed. The guide at the front halted, causing the procession to stop as well. The guide checked the wind direction by waving a dried branch.

“What’s happening?”

“A sandstorm is approaching. It’s moving faster than I anticipated.”

“How close is it?”

“We should encounter it in a few hours.”

The leaders, including the chieftain, looked up at the sky. Unfortunately, as it was daytime, no stars were visible.

“We’ll set up the tents for a while.”

It meant a long meeting was about to ensue. Upon Kakantir’s order, a large shade was spread, and everyone rested and gave their Kusilres water. Ian did the same. After taking care of his Kusilre, he offered water to Beric’s parched lips.

“You did say you’d be my escort, but you’re pretty impressive.”

“You didn’t say it’d be this hot.”

“I didn’t expect you to be unfamiliar with the desert.”

“I know what a desert is! I do! Geez. Give me more water.”

Ian handed Beric the water bottle and then rummaged through a small bag. Inside, there was a map of the desert and a list of weather forecasts that he had received from the tutor.

‘How far have we come?’

He marked their route on the map whenever their path changed. Their progress seemed accurate. Although Beric complained, the Cheonrye tribe pushed their Kusilres without any concessions. They probably did so out of concern for the health of Chief Winchen.

“…A sandstorm.”

Ian pointed to a spot on the map. Their current location overlapped with a storm route labeled “A12”. Considering they started their journey the previous day, the estimated time difference for the storm’s arrival was about four hours, aligning with the guide’s prediction.

“What are you looking at?”

“Soo, you haven’t even broken a sweat.”

The guide chuckled as she chewed on dried dates.

“I was born in the heat and raised facing the desert sands. I am a warrior.”

“I see. How long is the break?”

“Around 10 minutes. We should start packing soon.”

She seemed pleased that Ian acknowledged her warrior status. She handed him a couple of dates and moved on.

“Attention! We’ll depart in 5 minutes. We need to move swiftly to avoid the storm!”

“Which direction should we position the Kusilre’s heads?”

“To the east.”

“Understood.”

Following the chieftain’s instructions, everyone adjusted their Kusilres’ heads to face the right direction. Amidst the hustle, only two remained motionless: Ian and Beric. Though, considering Beric looked half-fallen, it made sense.

“Is there an issue?”

“Did you just mention heading east?”

“Yes.”

“…Not south?”

The unexpected comment made the tribe pause and turn to Ian. What was this outsider is saying?

The guide, responsible for the tribe’s safety, inherited the wisdom of his ancestors. In matters related to the desert, even the chieftain deferred to his knowledge.

“What are you blabbering about?”

“Someone who’s never stepped on desert sands sure has a lot to say.”

“Leave him be. It’s typical of those aristocrats.”

“Haha! Indeed! He’s from the great empire, after all!”

Since they were speaking in their language, Ian could only infer the content by the tone, excluding the first statement. The chieftain also seemed perturbed. It felt as if things could escalate, possibly leading to a form of tribal punishment.

The chieftain approached.

“Why mention south?”

The central location of the Cheonrye tribe, Cheonrye, was to the north. Going south would mean taking a detour, consuming more time and effort.

“There was a desert researcher at my residence. According to the information I obtained from him, a storm is currently descending from the northeast. Considering its large size, shouldn’t we avoid it? Since we can’t backtrack, I suggest we go south.”

They crossed a massive sand dune yesterday. The slope was so steep that, while descending, two ‘Kusilre’ almost rolled off by accident.

“Chieftain?”

In the pressing situation, the chieftain just stared at Ian. Yielding to the tribe’s urgency, he extended his hand.

“That information, hand it over.”

“Here it is.”

Ian seemed surprisingly compliant, which caught the chieftain off guard. If the child wanted something in return for this, the chieftain was ready to abandon him. However, he instead took a look at the paper and called for ‘Nersarn’.

“Nersarn, interpret this.”

It was written in Bariel script. Kakantir, Nersarn, and the guide came together, heads close. By the looks of it, they had something to discuss.

“Why are they doing that?”

Ian whispered to Soo, who was nearby. She glanced briefly at the tribe and replied quietly, “The storm from the north was expected. But one of the ‘Kusilre’ yesterday was the guide’s, and it seems to have gotten weakened due to damage from tree branches.”

The world of the gypsies is truly mysterious. How could they predict the weather with just a simple stick? Ian wanted to interrupt and ask, but he just nodded patiently.

‘Heading south would be safer, but it would be a harder journey. On the other hand, the east is a shorter detour. It’s uncertain whether they’ll encounter the storm or not.’

The urgency from Chief Winchen, injuries to two ‘Kusilre’, stacked trading goods, and outsiders unfamiliar with the desert. As the chieftain, Kakantir finally made the most efficient choice, especially not knowing the storm conditions to the east.

“Alright. Let’s proceed that way.”

After a long discussion, a decision was reached. Kakantir scanned the surroundings, searching for suitable individuals.

“Jangyarung, Tan, Turom! You three will detour to the east and enter ‘Cheonrye’ first. Inform them we might be delayed due to the storm, and return if you get news from the Chief.”

They were the three with the strongest physiques in the group, able to brave a sandstorm.

Upon hearing the orders, they quickly mounted their Kusilre with minimal luggage. While the remaining members could withstand the storm, they couldn’t be sure about the rest of the Kusilres and the goods they carried.

“Spread out as much as possible. Don’t pass the Eternal Cactus and the Praying Rock. The storm is fierce within that area.”

“Yes, understood.”

“We’re heading out first!”

“See you in Cheonrye!”

With a short neigh, they sped off, and in moments, they disappeared into dots in the distance.

“As for us…”

The chieftain turned to Ian and then folded and stored the map.

“We move south.”

“Moving south!”

Everyone adjusted the direction of their Kusilres. Ian helped up Beric, and the chieftain assisted in getting him on one.

“Who is he?”

“The one who made the map? He’s my teacher.”

Kakantir kept a neutral face, but inwardly, he felt the vast difference between practical experience and academic knowledge. They had personally traveled the desert and made the map, discovering some oases just a few years ago. Yet on the map, they were marked with probabilities like ‘85% chance of existence’.

“Conserve and drink water.”

He glanced at the sweaty, waterlogged face of Beric and advised. With the journey now extended, water would be scarce.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Ian decided he would have to infuse magic instead of water and nodded.

The wind started to blow again, different from before – a lower, shorter gust.

* * *

“Huh?”

Several days passed like that.

Just as they were getting accustomed to the harsh heat of the desert day and the coldness of the night, the guide who was leading the way broke the silence. The guide was someone who seldom made a sound.

Taking that as a signal, Kakantir, who was behind, raised his head, followed by Nersarn, and soon the entire group focused forward.

“Trees?”

Ian thought the same.

On the horizon, something green was visible. Soon, the horn sounds of the Cheonrye tribe echoed, and they shouted in elation.

“We’ve arrived! It’s Cheonrye!”

“You’ve all worked hard.”

“Thank you for your efforts! Demosha!”

“Demosha!”

Beric, who was half-asleep atop the Kusile, also rubbed his eyes and got up. His already tanned skin seemed even darker.

“Have we arrived?”

“Yes.”

As they neared their destination, the sand became firmer. The Kusilre walked more energetically, and within an hour, they reached their destination.

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Ian surveyed the land of the Cheonrye tribe.

For a remote tribe, their architectural skills were quite advanced. Tents stood packed within white stone walls. Palm trees on the sand looked lush and vibrant, and various colored fabrics fluttered, fading in the golden sand. The road conditions were also good. They seemed to have their own sewage system…

“Kakan! Come over!”

“You’ve had a long journey. This way!”

“Prepare water and meals for everyone!”

“Is that Ian? Or that one?”

“Obviously, the blonde one. The one next to him looks feisty.”

Amidst the bustling welcome crowd, everyone exchanged joyous greetings. The three who had departed earlier to inform the group were also relieved and returned to their routines.

“Where is Chief Winchen?”

“She is said to be recovering.”

“That’s a relief.”

Kakantir gave a nod to Ian, signaling him to follow. As he dismounted from the Kusilre, all the tribespeople curiously stared. Beric, still half-asleep, followed Ian.

Creak—

As they pulled back the canopy adorned with beads, a scent of cinnamon wafted in. Inside was cool and dark.

In the middle, an old person lay on a bed. Her skin, deeply marked by time, seemed saggy and frail.

“Winchen. Kakantir has returned.”

“Ah… Chieftain. My apologies.”

“How do you feel?”

That person was the chief of the Cheonrye, the so-called root of the tribe, a gypsy named Winchen who discerns truth from lies. The old woman slowly sat up.

“This is Ian, who is with us due to the agreement with Bratz.”

When Winchen stood up, a ray of light lit her face. Her pupils were cloudy, like they had mold. The rumors that she was blind were true.

“I wish to confirm if Ian is the suitable one.”

“…Ian. Answer my question.”

“Yes, Chief.”

The old woman moved her lips ponderously, thinking of something. Soon, she posed a somewhat unexpected question.

“Did Ian Bratz come here by the will of the gods?”

…In the desert, Ian realized that unexpected events, like this, always occur.

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