MBSE Chapter 103

Chapter 103. The Day I Met Philea  

“Iaaaan!”

Thud thud!  

Whether from the delight of being introduced as the mother of her son, Philea charged down the stairs and threw her arms around Ian. Fiercely, and very warmly.

“Have you been well?”

“Ian. I missed you so much.”  

“It must’ve been hard in this cold weather.”  

Ian smiled patting her back. No matter how nice mountain living was, it couldn’t have been easy for a woman alone out there—battling loneliness amid the silence in the days and fear of beasts howling in the nights.

“You’ve had it hard, Ian. I’m very proud of you.”

“What did I do to deserve that?”

“Beric told me everything. About helping people with Gulla, not only in Bratz but Merellof too.”  

“Mother. There is no one here by the name Bratz.”  

At Ian’s words, Philea’s smile grew even brighter. As if that was very nice to hear. Whether from the tears, her eyes shone exceptionally bright. With golden hair, she had an aura like the moon incarnate in the night sky.

‘I’m realizing once again what trash Dergha was.’  

Just what did that bastard do to a woman like her? Ian beamed holding Philea’s hand.

“Mother. I could only help people with the Gulla because you had gathered them for me in the mountains ahead of time.”

“What? She was the one who collected them?”  

Romandro cut in, surprised.   

“You’ve accomplished great things, my lady.”  

“M-my lady? Please talk casually.”

“How could I? Though Sir Ian was granted his title, I was interacting informally considering the circumstances. But I can’t do so to you, my lady. Let me introduce myself again. I am Romandro, imperial advisor.”  

Though flustered by Romandro’s polite greeting, Philea seemed happy as she chuckled. She smiled blissfully as she continuously patted Ian’s back.  

“Ah. I’ve no lingering attachments now even if I die. Ian.”

“Don’t say that. Please come live in the annex from now on. The mountain is cold and dangerous, isn’t it? Even if I’m not here, Sir Romandro’s men and the estate servants will take good care…”

“He said you’d be leaving in a few days?”

Philea’s smile held subtle sorrow.  

It was a bit disappointing. Seemed like Ian had distanced himself after she was taken by Count Dergha.  

‘But it can’t be helped. It’s my fault—for failing to protect my child from the Earl.’

Stroking Ian’s hair, Philea engraved every detail of her son’s face into her memory. 

“Come back safely. I’ll always wait here for you.”

“…Please take care. I beg you.”  

“Alright. If the going gets tough, return to your mother anytime. I swear I’ll protect you then.”

Ian couldn’t promise he would come back. Philea embraced her son once more before carefully asking,

“Just for today, would you spend the evening with me? There’s so much I want to talk about. It’s been a while since we ate together.”

Having just finished a feast at Merellof, Ian readily nodded.  

“Of course, mother.”

“Shall I make you barley porridge?”

His favorite food as a child—barley porridge. Philea gently caressed the back of Ian’s hand with a sorrowful smile.  

“Please do. Let me change myself first, I’ll be right back. Hannah, please get my mother anything she needs.”

“Yes! My lady, you remember me right?” 

“Of course, you relayed Ian’s words to me.”

“Heehee! I’ll be in your care from now on!”

Around the time their reunion in the lobby wrapped up…  

Creak. The door opened and some warriors including Nersarn entered, faces hardened as if they still weren’t acclimated to Bariel’s winter.

“Ah, Sir Ian.”  

“Off to the observation post again?”

“Yes. I heard you went to Merellof? Got all the work sorted out?”

“Thanks to you.”

Nersarn naturally shifted his gaze to Philea standing behind Ian. Everyone seemed out of sorts from the cold. One warrior absentmindedly murmured.

“Sir Ian…you had a sister?”

“She’s not my sister but my mother.”  

“…Huh?”

The flabbergasted warrior repeated.

“Honestly, I’d believe it if you said she was your wife.”

“Right. Actually, she’s my wife.”

“…You can’t be serious?”

“If you won’t believe me, why ask?”  

Ian joked glancing back at Nersarn. Ian couldn’t readily discern his expression from his frostbitten face. But it surely wasn’t a positive reaction. Since the Cheonrye tribe had been told Ian’s birth mother died.  

“There were circumstances, Sir Nersarn. If you don’t mind, I’d like to explain in detail.”

At Ian’s words, Philea anxiously bit her lower lip. Was she worried her presence would cause Ian trouble? Clearly she was concerned. 

“Go ahead.”

But Nersarn showed no particular response, removing his overcoat as if he already knew everything.

“I deduced your mother was alive.”

“You deduced?”

“Soon as we entered this place, you bonded with the residents in barely a day. Word spreads fast—the lion who crossed the Great Desert has returned alive. Along with all kinds of talk.”

It wasn’t just that he returned alive.

He led the Cheonrye tribe, dedication himself to restoring the territory, driving out his abusive father Dergha, even rising to take the lord’s seat with imperial approval. To an astounding figure.  

The residents delighted in gossiping every little thing about Ian down to minute details. 

“The notion your mother disappeared before the reconciliation feast was also mentioned. Having planned everything and crossed the desert, I took it as Sir Ian’s preparation.”

“Does Chief Kakantir know too?”

“Of course. There’s no way he wouldn’t know what I do.”  

Ian simply nodded. Then smiling brightly, he conveyed his gratitude to Nersarn—for not prying despite knowing it was a lie. It was proof of the trust they had placed in him.

“Thank you.”  

“I’ll be heading central soon. I wondered if I might see you once… But to run into you like this.”

Having overheard Ian and Nersarn’s conversation, Philea hurriedly bowed introducing herself. Unsure of the circumstances, there was a set greeting she had to give.

“Th-thank you for helping my son Ian. I deeply apologize but please continue caring for him.”  

“…You’ve no need to honor me so, my lady.”  

Philea smiled shyly at Nersarn’s words. A woman who bloomed like a wildflower wherever she went in life—even if it was a cesspool. Nersarn unconsciously couldn’t tear his gaze from Philea’s glittering hair.  

“Don’t be like that and go rest inside where it’s warm. I plan to catch up with my mother.”

“Ah, wait.”  

The collected Nersarn called Ian’s name with a small gasp.

“Might I offer you some advice?”

“By all means, go ahead.”

“The stars have been moving oddly lately. Today in particular, I witnessed dozens plunging to earth single file.”  

Shooting stars? Seeming to read Ian’s mind, Nersarn promptly added.

“Different from shooting stars. They didn’t fall in a blink but moved slowly.”  

Having not seen it himself, Ian couldn’t grasp what astronomical phenomenon Nersarn described. But hearing it from one raised gazing upon the Milky Way across the desert, it was surely out of the ordinary.  

“Be careful going central. As stars brighten this world, Sir Ian does too.”

“I appreciate the counsel. However Sir Nersarn.”  

Ian etched his words in mind and slyly rejoined.

“I aspire to be the sun, not a star.”

Emperor Ian—the paramount of Bariel. He demonstrated the will to regain that body. Looking somewhat surprised, Nersarn moistened his lips then faintly smiled.

“Then to the desert, Sir Ian will be a very important figure.”

Swish.  

As if not expecting a response, he went right upstairs with the warriors. Watching Nersarn’s back, Philea whispered carefully.

“Who was that?”

“Chief Kakantir’s younger brother and scribe, Sir Nersarn. He’ll be helping manage the territory affairs while I’m away. He wants to return to the desert yet there’s no one quite like him.”  

Understanding, Philea looked upstairs again. Then grinning, she gently grasped Ian’s arm.

“Ian. Instead of changing, let’s head to the kitchen together. As the porridge cooks, sit and tell me what’s been happening lately.”  

Seeming unwilling to waste a second, Philea took Ian’s overcoat to hand to Hana before heading to the kitchen. The head chef had tidied up expecting them.

“Use these bowls and pots. What else do you need besides the barley?  

“Ah, there. Salt.”

“Seasonings are in the bottom cupboard over there.”

Ian sat at the servants’ break table watching Philea. Though she seemed clumsy at first, she began cooking the porridge more adeptly. 

“Was it lonely in the forest? Now that Dergha’s gone and the territory prosperous, come live down here. You could stay in the mansion if you want or I could get you a house.”

“Let me think on it a bit. I didn’t feel that lonely out there but…meeting people like this, maybe it was.”  

The savory aroma of the barley porridge wafted up. Philea elegantly stirred the pot, smiling. 

“Sometimes lost travelers come by. Shockingly a while ago, some injured people appeared together.”

“Injured people?”

“Mm. About three of them? They told me their names… Let’s see. Ricardo, Nave, and…Erica!”  

That’s right—Erica. The imperial investigator searching for Mary and Chel’s corpses. Her whereabouts were unknown after getting caught up fighting the Hawan caravan. How unexpected.  

“Badly hurt?”

“No, but she said she lost many comrades. Poor things. They were having a hard time, unable to return home.”

“Where were they headed next?”  

“Hmm, not sure but I think she said Hawan?”

“I see.”  

Stroking his chin, Ian let out a meaningful chuckle. Philea beamed, stroking her son’s hair.

“Doesn’t the porridge smell nice?”

“It does, mother.”

“Ian, by the way—would it be alright if I wrote you letters? On sleepless nights sick with worry, it might soothe me some.”  

Philea hesitantly sought his understanding, extremely careful not to impose one bit. Ian readily granted permission. 

“Please do. But I may be too busy to reply so please understand that.”

“Of course. Ian, my son—”

Philea embraced Ian again, nestling her face against his shoulder. Ian patted his fidgeting mother’s back. 

“Just come back safely…Ian.”