Black-Haired Dad Isn’t Something You Reap - Chapter 32

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 32. Not Exactly My Precious Lover, But What Can I Do for Them Right Now? (9)
“Dad, Dad, hurry and name more conditions. That bastard is incredibly stubborn.”
“That prince isn’t a prisoner—we’ll adopt a protective arrangement instead. The royal life proved too burdensome, so he privately requested protection from the Kisomalos Imperial Family. Our military mobilized at the earnest plea of Media’s precious legitimate heir and successor. This way, it will look much better.”
“Wait, just a moment. If that’s the case, the dignity of the Media royal family….”
“We don’t mind leaving the Capital in this state and returning. We won’t occupy anything. It’ll be interesting to see how neighboring countries respond while you’re cleaning up the mess.”
“Ugh!”
Wow! A checkmate, a complete checkmate. Prisoner, you’re truly a genius at crushing people under your thumb. The King of Media can’t even squeak.
“Understood. Then, let it be so….”
“And there are approximately 200 treaties to conclude.”
“….”
Prisoner produced documents from his coat as if by magic, spread them across the floor, and discussed them methodically with the King of Media. The treaties began with trade between Kisomalos and Media, then specified what tribute should be paid annually, and included clauses requiring Media to report to Kisomalos whenever there were changes in succession or the throne.
Even in the final, absolute 189th clause, there was a provision stating that Media must sell 20,000 tons of mackerel annually to Kisomalos at fair market price.
“No, why mackerel!”
“I like mackerel.”
“Huh! I like it too!”
“Especially raw mackerel.”
“Huh! I absolutely love raw mackerel!”
“One bite with a sip of sake, and there’s nothing better than heaven.”
“Huh…!”
I tried to continue but quickly covered my mouth with my hand. Prisoner was staring at me like a ghost, and I felt cold sweat breaking out all over.
“What were you about to say?”
“Well, that is….”
“I asked what you were about to say.”
“I, I was just wondering what sake was.”
“It’s a spirit made from rice. You won’t be able to taste it for at least 12 more years.”
Prisoner seemed to share my tastes, so he promised to drink together with me in 12 years, then coerced the King of Media into concluding an unfair treaty.
“Then go. Don’t forget that our Lorowi was fired from the Princess’s education duties and now has free time.”
“Yes, I pray you enjoy a long and peaceful life.”
That old man has some spirit. He even knows how to curse Prisoner to die young in the heart of enemy territory. Prisoner understood this manner of speech just as well, for the man hurled an empty lunch box that struck the King of Media squarely on the back of his head. The old man’s face flushed crimson as he huffed and descended the fortress.
“When I’m done with business, I’ll call for you. Just stay and play.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Don’t run.”
“Okaaaaay.”
“Answer properly.”
“Yes, sir!”
How could I play without running, you foolish Prisoner? I watched him disappear somewhere with Lavender, then immediately bolted off to explore the fortress.
After running for about five minutes, my foot caught on a floor pipe and I tumbled down. I thought my knee guards would protect me, but the entire place was made of metal and hurt terribly, and a protruding screw pierced my palm, drawing blood.
I wailed so loudly the fortress seemed to shake, and not long after, Prisoner appeared, fussed over me, said he knew this would happen, and tossed me a healing spirit stone before leaving.
“Your Highness, Your Highness! Look at this! A super long-range cannon with a 20-meter barrel! Isn’t it absolutely insane and incredibly magnificent!”
Oh, to recognize the magnificence of this cannon! Achilles Young Lady, you and I actually share some common ground!
The pride and symbol of Loruruje Fortress, this long-range cannon was a fearsome thing—the shells alone had a caliber of five meters, with an effective range reaching thirty kilometers.
Nowadays, cannons utilizing rocket engines were all the rage, but a stationary fortress had no need to concern itself with such conveniences of mobility. That’s precisely how this absurd size came to be! The majestic length! Even the meticulous angle adjustment! Having come all the way to Loruruje Fortress, I couldn’t possibly leave without seeing it.
“Moving it must be quite the ordeal. How on earth did you manage to fire it earlier?”
“We tilted it back as far as possible! Rather than relying on the kinetic energy of the explosive charge, we focused on launching the shell high into the air using gunpowder, then attacked the enemy through gravity and potential energy!”
“Whoa, that was quite the acrobatic feat—only possible because it wasn’t a fragmentation round. A shrapnel cannon would have caused far greater devastation.”
“Whew! A shrapnel cannon! Just hearing about it sends shivers down my spine!”
Right, right. If it were shrapnel ammunition at the same cost, it would kill ten times as many. Choco and I continued chattering away excitedly as we toured more of the fortress.
Some of the soldiers were constructing something with rhythmic clanging, and Prisoner apparently had far more to attend to than expected, so we ended up spending the night at the fortress. The military rations were tasteless, and the fortress beds were unbearably uncomfortable, but it felt like we were on an outing, so it was rather enjoyable overall. And surprisingly, the military-issue chocolate and ice cream were absolutely delicious.

✦ ✦ ✦
When I woke, Christmas morning had dawned—a day any legitimate heir would anticipate. Some of the officers and Choco were thrilled about receiving gifts, but Prisoner and I could only wear sullen expressions. I couldn’t expect gifts from Kisomalos, and Prisoner had somehow acquired a vivid bruise shaped like a horse’s hoof across his face overnight.
“Everyone received gifts! I got a sword made of obsidian! They say it’s reinforced with divine stone, so it barely breaks at all! Thank you so much!”
Yes, yes, Choco. You’re fortunate indeed. Everyone else in this carriage received nothing, so do keep quiet.
“Your Highness the Princess! What did you receive?”
“Nothing.”
“Eh? Why not? Isn’t Your Highness the Princess kind-hearted?”
“Hard to call someone kind when they’ve killed their own father’s successor.”
“Ah….”
Even if Kisomalos weren’t missing, would anyone judge a child who murdered their father’s heir as kind? Choco, try to use some common sense.
“Then… what about your friend over there?”
“Ah, I’m not an heir, so.”
“Ah….”
Stop it, Choco. Don’t go poking at people’s wounds. You’re so clever that your older brother—the actual heir—got discouraged and was driven from home. What are you even saying to him?
“That Ende fellow probably won’t get anything either….”
“He asked for a gift and got kicked by a horse’s hoof instead.”
Ah, so Chiron is a horse, then. Still, we do share some connection. He’s a horse, I’m a sheep. Our masters are both livestock-descended deities, you might say—we both have that herbivorous grass-eating image. Anyway, it’s nice to have even these small commonalities.
“But if he’s your cousin, why isn’t he Chiron?”
“Ah, I survived by the grace of Netcha!”
“I was trying to kill him when a divine spirit descended. Lucky bastard.”
Ooooh! Choco, so you’re a divine spirit?! Wow! I’ve never seen a divine spirit before! And you were one from the very beginning? That’s absolutely incredible!
The gods and spirits we serve in the underworld are those our families have served for generations, but naturally, there are those who became the founders of their houses. Usually, in families that have grown tremendously powerful, a child with potential who couldn’t become heir is chosen, and a spirit volunteers to protect them.
In other words, while spirits usually appear, it’s rare for a divine spirit to appear from the very beginning offering blessings. When a lower or middle-tier deity protects someone from the start, they usually become kings or emperors. But a divine spirit—positioned right between spirit and deity—that’s quite ambiguous and remarkable!
“If Netcha hadn’t come then, I’d be dead.”
“That’s right. I was planning to kill you.”
Let’s not discuss such grim matters on a fine day like this.
I rebuked both of them and turned my gaze toward the window. I was trying hard not to make eye contact, but the presence was so overwhelming that I inevitably ended up looking.
A truck was following right beside the lead vehicle, with a high platform in its cargo bed and an iron cage installed at its very top. Inside that iron cage, the pitiful third prince of Media was coughing violently while facing the harsh wind and dust head-on.
Truly pitiable and wretched. Was there really a need to make him suffer so? I hadn’t really wanted to ask, but wondering if there was any way to improve his treatment, I asked Prisoner why he insisted on bringing the boy in such a state, and the man spouted what he considered perfectly reasonable.
“He’s a symbolic trophy, so he needs to be displayed prominently.”
“Couldn’t you just shove him in right before we arrive at the Capital?”
“…I see.”
Yes, that’s right. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Never mind then. What could I possibly expect from you, Prisoner? Just raise him to be strong and resilient, that’s all I ask.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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