Black-Haired Dad Isn’t Something You Reap - Chapter 33

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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 33. Even So, It’s Still a Person’s Name—What’s With Calling Them a Pig? (1)
Three months had already passed since I seized Loruruje Fortress. The political situation remained unstable and the atmosphere in the Imperial Palace was tense, yet the fortress’s fall had swung the people’s hearts toward Prisoner in a single stroke.
A hundred years ago, Media was nothing more than a minor nation that paid tribute to us Kisomalos. But after that wretched Loruruje Fortress was built, they stopped sending tribute altogether—didn’t even dispatch diplomatic envoys. They’d made the decision to sever ties with us and cling to the northern Empire instead.
In the eyes of Kisomalos citizens, Media was a pack of ungrateful dogs who, after we protected them and showered them with benevolence, one day shut us out and became lapdogs of the Empire.
When Prisoner cleared away a hundred years of accumulated resentment in one glorious stroke, how could the people not rejoice? Moreover, various treaties were being concluded that would soon enrich the common folk’s livelihoods.
“Tch, there goes Alset poking his nose in again.”
While the people celebrated, the nobility bristled at Chiron’s growing authority. Most troublesome was Duke Alset’s House, one of the Three Great Noble Families of the Empire, who had their eyes bulging trying to befriend me. They figured if Chiron could become Emperor with me at his side, why couldn’t they accomplish the same?
“Emily, back up and turn the wheel!”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Whenever we crossed paths, it would be invitations from the Duke’s House or summons to the Princess Palace—they’d cling to me relentlessly asking for favors. I couldn’t very well ban these bothersome nobles from visiting, so I simply had to avoid them as best I could.
“The weather’s cleared up nicely. Let’s head north. It should be pleasantly cool right now.”
“As you command!”
I pedaled my tricycle enthusiastically toward the Northern Palace Grounds. Thanks to taking my medicine faithfully, my tongue had recovered remarkably well these days and I was in excellent spirits. Before my regression, I recall it took at least another year to recover from this condition, but thanks to Prisoner finding an excellent specialist in paralysis treatment and assigning them to me, I’m healing much faster.
To express my good mood, I pulled out the elephant whistle I’d packed in the cargo basket and blew it merrily—poo-poo, poo-poo. Whenever I blow this whistle, my stress melts away when I’m irritated, and my mind grows peaceful when I’m happy.
I wonder why. Perhaps because I never got to blow it once before dying, and now that I’ve blown it to my heart’s content, my regrets have been soothed? Having something in my mouth provided such remarkable comfort. Maybe that’s why Mother and Prisoner couldn’t quit smoking either.
“Huh?”
Why were there so many Imperial Guards stationed at this remote Tower? Finding it curious, I sent Emily to investigate, and one of the guards standing at the tower entrance came running toward me.
“Your Highness, this is a protected zone for the Prince of Media.”
What? Is the Prince of Media some sort of natural monument? Why are they protecting him here? If he’s a Media natural monument, shouldn’t Media be protecting him? As I voiced my confusion, the guard explained what had happened three months prior.
“His Majesty the Emperor conquered Loruruje Fortress and decided to protect the Prince of Media.”
“Huh? Did he?”
It seemed like he had, and yet it seemed like he hadn’t. As I wavered uncertainly, the man leaned in close and whispered the truth.
“He’s a prisoner of war, Your Highness.”
“Ah, a prisoner! Now I remember!”
That scrawny wretch who couldn’t even get a decent meal! But he’s still in the Imperial Palace? Usually, we’d assign them some quiet rural land and keep them under surveillance so they couldn’t leave.
“His Majesty said he still has his uses. There are also assassination threats to consider.”
“I see.”
If Prisoner had determined it that way, then so be it. Besides, if he were assassinated, our position would become precarious. We brought him here under the guise of protection—if we let him die, we’d be handing Media a justification for war.
“Since I’m here anyway, let me check if he’s put on some weight.”
“I cannot permit entry.”
“But I’m… the legitimate heir.”
There’s a zone the legitimate heir of Kisomalos cannot enter? I opened my eyes wide and shot the guard a pointed look, and he apologized while blaming Prisoner.
“His Majesty ordered that no one be allowed inside.”
“But… I’m the legitimate heir.”
“If you absolutely must enter, His Majesty would need to accompany you.”
“Seriously?”
An imperial decree—my status as legitimate heir won’t work against that. There’s nothing for it; Emily, you’ll have to do some work for me.
“Emily, send a telegram to Father. Request entry authorization.”
“Right away, Your Highness!”
Emily understood my terse words perfectly and dashed off to the telegraph office in the northern section of the Imperial Palace. The guard, satisfied he’d done his duty, returned to his post, and not long after, with a loud rumble of an engine, Prisoner appeared.
“Safe driving! Please drive safely, you madman! Ahhhhh!”
Boni was driving the elongated supercar, and Choco sat in the passenger seat next to Prisoner. He was certainly driving recklessly, yet the curves were smooth and the floor tiles remained unscathed.
How was Prisoner so skilled at driving? My father, who had braked gently and stopped the car at a safe distance, stepped out of the driver’s seat with a flourish of his cape. Incredibly cool. He looked like a spoiled rich brat with nothing but money to his name.
“I cannot let him in alone. That man is far more dangerous than you think.”
“But Father Your Majesty, I believe it is the duty of the rightful heir to care for prisoners.”
“You’re not just going to watch for fun and then mock and ridicule him if he doesn’t suit your fancy?”
“Gasp!”
How did he know? Since the other party was the rightful heir of Media, there was nothing to lose by becoming close. If we became friends, Kisomalos’s divine status would recover—a windfall. If I behaved rudely, I could vent the frustrations Media had caused us and leave it at that.
Completely caught, I clamped my mouth shut and watched Prisoner’s expression. Father chuckled and brought up my biological father.
“You really do the same things as Helbatro.”
“But you do not dislike that aspect of me, do you?”
“That man should have had this kind of perceptiveness too.”
If he had, he wouldn’t have died. Father smiled bitterly, scooped me up, and climbed the Tower. At the same time, he explained why the Prince of Media was dangerous.
“Do you remember hearing about the evil customs of the Media Royal Family?”
“I do remember that. You said they designate separate heirs—one to inherit the throne and one to inherit divine status?”
“Your memory is quite useful. Sharper than Helbatro’s.”
Ugh, Prisoner, stop comparing me to my biological father. It bothers me that you’re fixating on the similarities. When I complained and tugged at Prisoner’s hair and ears, Father let me pull as I pleased and continued speaking.
“Media’s power is curses. And those who cast curses must bear the corresponding backlash.”
“So if you curse someone, you get hurt too?”
“Exactly.”
Wow, that’s a terrible divine power. Why would they curse if they know it will hurt them? Unless someone forced them to…
“Ah, I see…”
So that’s why they separated the throne and divine status. They assign divine status to someone unpopular or useless, summon them whenever needed to cast curses, and discard them afterward. That explained why the rightful heirs there died young so often.
“But what if, after treating them so badly, they curse your family to death?”
“Curses require sacrifices and procedures, I’ve heard. That’s why they keep them bound in empty spaces most of the time.”
“Ugh.”
They basically live like livestock, don’t they? I hope that country falls quickly. It seems more urgent than the Imperial Kingdom.
“So, is he bound here too?”
“No. I’ve been watching, and he shows no signs of self-harm. Now we even provide him with forks and knives at meals.”
“Phew.”
Right, since we brought him here, we should let him live like a human being.
I stopped tugging at Prisoner’s hair because I found him admirable and dependable, and switched to gently patting his head instead.
“Oh my, how good our Prisoner is.”
“Hmph, I do have upright character.”
“Nowadays you madman should know your place.”
When Choco made a sarcastic remark, Prisoner kicked backward like a horse. Unable to dodge Prisoner’s kick in the narrow corridor, Choco tumbled down the spiral staircase. I worried Choco’s life might be short. People who always speak the right words tend to die young—like me, for instance, who was executed by dismemberment at twenty-one.
“Here it is.”
Prisoner knocked twice and opened the door without waiting for a response.

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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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