I Was Hired by the Black-Minded Prince for My Life's Ransom - Chapter 43

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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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Episode 43. The Pink-Haired One
My mind went blank for a moment.
‘He’s asking Your Highness to give me to him?’
I blinked.
‘I’m not an object.’
I couldn’t begin to understand what he meant by such a question.
“What do you….”
“Ha, was that too strange a question?”
The man laughed.
Then he suddenly bowed his head.
“Cough, cough!”
“…! Are you all right?”
I stepped forward in alarm.
He seemed to have inhaled too sharply all at once.
A hand without a trace of color covered his mouth.
The coughing fit stretched on for a long moment.
Each time his gaunt frame heaved, he looked as though he might collapse at any second.
The First Prince finally caught his breath and lowered the handkerchief.
A faint smile spread across his pale face.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
He regarded me quietly.
His gaze, as if appraising, lingered over my face and neck before slowly withdrawing.
It was strange.
Though I’d done nothing unusual, a chill crept down my spine.
“Simply that I desire you a little.”
The man spoke softly.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper conversation. I enjoyed this pleasant time with you.”
“Ah….”
I swallowed my words.
For an explanation like that, there was something more to it, somehow.
It was hard to articulate, but the feeling was different.
Yet the First Prince offered no further explanation.
He simply leaned back in his chair and smiled gently.
“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said such a thing.”
His blue eyes curved slowly as he smiled.
“Let us meet again another time, Vanillin.”
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
What was I supposed to do in a situation like this?
I bowed briefly, then turned to leave.
Even as I walked the corridor beyond the Repository, my unease would not settle.
‘Ugh. My head’s about to split.’
Were all the members of the Ozwald Imperial Family like this—so suspicious, so unsettling, so strange?
As I walked down the corridor, I couldn’t help but feel watched from behind.
As if someone were following me with their eyes, never looking away.
* * *
Meanwhile.
Kitten Ozwald, the Second Prince, was in a state of furious rage.
“Damn that bastard!”
Crash!
An expensive vase smashed against the wall, shattering into pieces.
Already the dozens of them.
Five years’ wages for an ordinary commoner lay in merciless fragments across the floor.
The attendants held their breath, waiting for him to calm himself.
Yet his fury only swelled with each passing moment.
“What? A mine discovered in Valenta? Monthly revenue projected at three thousand Gold?”
Bang!
He roared in rage and kicked the mahogany desk clear.
Documents scattered chaotically across the floor.
“I gave him the most worthless land, and he manages to unearth a treasure there?”
“Your Highness….”
“Why does God only look after such a wretch, hm? Am I not worthy of pity?”
The attendants trembled with their heads bowed, silent.
The office had already descended into chaos.
No one dared speak.
Their master had been in this state ever since surrendering the island of Valenta.
How much longer would his rage burn today?
They all trembled as one, united in dread, when it came.
Knock. Knock.
A measured rap sounded through the office door.
The Second Prince’s head snapped around with a terrifying expression.
“What is it? If you value your life, get out of here now—!”
“It’s me, Kitten.”
Creak.
The man who entered was pale and sickly, his frame so frail he could barely walk without the support of a cane.
A useless wretch dependent on that stick for every step.
“Brother.”
It was Nike Ozwald.
He sat down on the sofa with the same silver-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, surveying the ransacked office with quiet composure.
“How goes the work?”
“If you’ve come to talk nonsense, leave.”
Kitten twisted his face in open disdain and hurled the object he’d been holding across the room with careless force.
Smash!
The fist-sized table clock grazed past Nike’s cheek.
A fine line of red traced across his skin.
A thin ribbon of blood welled up.
Nike let out a sigh.
The servants, who had been holding their breath in terror, rushed over to wipe the blood away.
“You seem quite upset about losing Valenta.”
“Upset? How could I not be? That was my land to begin with.”
“Then you shouldn’t have let yourself be compromised.”
Cough. Cough.
His voice descended calmly with the sound of his coughing.
A twitch. One of Kitten’s eyebrows flickered.
His mouth twisted into a snarl.
“What did you just say…?”
Seize!
Kitten grabbed Nike by the collar.
The atmosphere grew menacing in an instant.
Yet Nike’s demeanor remained unchanged.
“You made a clumsy move with that engagement, and it blew back in your face.”
“Would you like me to make sure you can never walk again, brother? Would you? I can arrange that whenever you please.”
“I wouldn’t have done it that way.”
……
What does this damned ghost think he’s doing, spouting advice like that?
Kitten swallowed the scalding knot of fury rising from his belly.
The First Prince, Nike Ozwald, was nothing but a defective man—someone who could never even compete in the succession war.
A pitiful prince whom everyone had forgotten.
The First Prince’s Palace had decayed into a state too neglected to even be called part of the Imperial Palace, and Nike inside it merely endured in sickness, having never once properly attended a state council meeting.
“You should have just died in the Fifth Separate Palace, brother.”
A wretched man.
What good was clinging to life after surviving the curse that struck the Fifth Separate Palace?
He lived on in agony, his body torn into countless fragments by its aftermath.
Kitten deliberately split his lips into a thin smile.
“You know your place, don’t you?”
Trying to curry favor with me just to save your own miserable skin.
“Don’t go blathering things better left unsaid and survive another brush with death.”
……
Nike closed his mouth quietly.
But it was not from fear.
He merely observed Kitten as one might regard something from a distance.
“You’re quite angry.”
Cough, cough.
He tilted his head, coughing.
Even with Kitten’s massive fist bunched in his collar, he showed no trace of fear.
Only a serene detachment.
“……Ha.”
Kitten had never liked that about him.
As if this were nothing compared to the pain he himself endured, meeting those calm eyes fixed so directly upon him only kindled his irritation.
Tap, tap.
Nike gently tapped the back of Kitten’s hand, signaling him to let go.
“I didn’t come here to fight. Rest easy—today I came because of our third brother.”
“…That cursed Yurian?”
“Yes. I met quite an interesting child today.”
With the change of subject, the mood shifted as if nothing had transpired.
It was a trait shared by those who carried Ozwald Imperial Family blood.
They had no brothers, no family.
Only rivals.
And so they could smile and join hands readily enough when discussing some other opponent.
Kitten’s eyebrows twitched.
“An interesting child?”
“A personal attendant of Yurian’s, or so I’m told.”
“…Ah. That pretty pink-haired girl.”
Kitten released the hold he’d had on Nike’s collar.
Then, with a soft thud, he sat down across from him.
He’d seen that maid a few times himself.
She was always trailing behind that damned Yurian like a shadow—there was no way she could have escaped his notice.
Nike calmly adjusted his clothes and leaned back against the sofa.
“Does Yurian treasure her greatly?”
“That saintly fool—is there anyone he doesn’t treasure?”
“Fair point.”
Wind swept through the open window.
His snow-white hair stirred faintly.
Cough, cough.
Nike gripped the handkerchief Vanillin had given him and coughed several times.
A fragrant scent rose from it once more.
A scent he found pleasing.
He rather liked it.
“Kitten, that plan you devised.”
Which was precisely why he’d dragged his ailing body here.
Nike’s pale blue eyes turned toward Kitten with measured calm.
“How would you feel about making a small modification?”
“A modification?”
“Mm.”
He lifted the corners of his mouth without warmth—a grim smile.
“I’ve taken quite a liking to that maid.”
So here’s what I’m thinking.
“Let’s use her when we strike at our third brother.”
The maid’s delicate, fluffy pink hair drifted through his mind.
‘It’s not really a color I prefer.’
She’d need to be dyed the moment she arrived.
And kept at his side every day.
Nike smiled softly.
“To topple our third brother, it’s far more effective to strike what he cherishes than to strike at him directly, wouldn’t you say?”

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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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