The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 1

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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 1: Possession
“Everyone carries a burden they must bear—some task or other that life demands of them.”
Caring for aging, ailing parents, for instance.
Or being forced to study so you don’t fall behind your academy classmates.
Or constantly managing your weight because you have a body that gains fat easily.
Some people call this burden a destiny, or the trajectory of one’s life.
“But here’s the thing—even so, isn’t national independence a bit much? An awfully heavy load, even for broad shoulders.”
Jet-black hair. Eyes deep and blue.
They were the distinctive marks of House Debur’s royal bloodline.
Not that being royalty meant anything now, when Debur had been conquered and reduced to a colony under the Litania Empire.
“Surprising. I never expected the famous Raven of Debur, the Crown Prince himself, to say such a thing. Though if it were me…”
Zion shrugged. The iron chains linking his wrists to the ceiling clanged sharply with the movement.
“Your point stands—a hundred times over. But are you cracking jokes at your own expense just to lighten the mood?”
He met the other man’s gaze steadily. The interrogator did not look away.
A knight of the enemy nation. A torturer. An interrogator.
And once—a comrade-in-arms who had fought alongside him for his homeland’s liberation.
“Do you remember when we fled together from the Empire’s hunters?”
“Yes. How could I forget?”
“We kindled a small fire in secret and split a wild potato—half each. The taste was absolutely perfect.”
Silence hung between them for a moment. Then the answer came.
“Perhaps. But for me, that was the moment I came to loathe—with every fiber of my being—swallowing something that tasted of mud.”
And so he had defected to one of the Empire’s most ruthless high-ranking nobles, and now he stood before Zion.
Faithfully carrying out his orders to torture his former lord.
“Do you know what? I understand you.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“Truth is, it’s strange that the other comrades didn’t turn to the Empire. Even I have wanted to throw down this burden more times than I can count.”
The turncoat’s eyes widened.
The symbol of the liberation movement and the independence struggle.
The only direct heir of House Debur, the last of its legitimate line.
Commander-in-Chief of the Debur Liberation Army, Zion Riobelt—these were not words he should speak.
“Truly?”
“But I can’t stand my subordinates.”
Zion’s subordinates were also, coincidentally, the interrogator’s former comrades.
“Of course. Naturally you would. Stubborn enough to be stupid…”
Squeak-squeak.
An unexpected sound cut short his words.
“Ah. I acquired it only recently. The joints haven’t settled in properly yet.”
Settled in properly.
The joints… hadn’t settled in properly yet.
Zion smiled at the turncoat.
‘He’s given up being Deburian.’
“Do you like the armor?”
Magitech Armor. An exclusive suit belonging only to the Empire’s elite knights.
“I’ve heard the living neural fibers inside can cause friction sounds. Seems the rumor was true.”
“…….”
A sound like a groan.
A malfunction, the voice of a ‘component’ that still lived—like a fish thrashing as it was being sliced alive, not yet dead.
“Now that you wear Magitech Armor, you must be twice as strong. How does it feel to wield a weapon forged from fellow Deburians ground into parts?”
Magitech Armor was a weapon produced through live human experimentation on Deburians, who were ultimately reduced to components and manufactured.
By the Empire’s own rhetoric, it was the glory of inferior flesh becoming one with superior technology.
That was the kind of nation the Litania Empire was.
“The Empire’s people all think alike—the weak deserve what they get, so the fault lies with the loser. So you’ve defected and changed your convictions along with it?”
“…Stop goading me. You’ll regret it.”
Perhaps. Though Zion doubted he would regret anything at all.
He was far too pleased watching that face twist in anguish.
“Do you remember the Great Famine? Merin, I mean.”
Years ago, the Empire had razed every wheat field in Debur and established vast cultivation grounds for specialized crops like Mana Herbs.
Then came a brutal drought.
What followed inevitably was the Great Famine—and mass starvation.
“We both loved the bread she used to bake. I loved it because she felt like an older sister to me, and you loved it because she was your betrothed, naturally.”
Merin was merely a village girl, and truth be told, her bread was nothing particularly special.
It had tasted extraordinary only because those were lean, desperate times.
“We were forced to watch as Merin wasted away to nothing, starving to death.”
“Your Highness… my father’s wheat fields, which he devoted his entire life to… they became herb gardens.”
This was why Zion had ordered the massive bombardment of all Mana Herb cultivation sites across Debur.
“That’s what galls me. If I’d defected to the Empire sooner, Merin would still be alive.”
“Ah, I see the logic now.”
Fury blazed in the turncoat’s eyes.
“The Empire was thrown into panic by that bombardment. A Great Mage in his twenties. The return of Debur’s Crown Prince, Zion Riobelt. Blinded by the hunger for vengeance and dazzled by your possibilities, I made a foolish choice.”
The anger of one who had squandered precious time in units better called years.
Or rather, the anger of one who had chosen to rationalize it that way.
“I told you before—our royal house’s reputation for Magic may be storied, but if we were truly as magnificent as they say, we would never have become a colony in the first place.”
Debur’s royal family was what people called a Magic noble house.
That was precisely why they had clung to pure Magic during the Magitech Revolution.
Isolationism’s refusal to see the turning point of an age had ended in subjugation.
“In any case… how did this conversation start? Ah, yes—the reasons I cannot defect to the Empire. The last one is the most personal, the most private: avenging my father.”
“You mean King Exon XIII, may he rest in peace?”
The turncoat already knew this reason well enough without explanation.
Though to be fair, the turncoat knew all the reasons Zion had laid out.
“In the end, I failed to kill that bastard Gebel and got captured instead. What a waste.”
Zion was the only surviving direct descendant of House of Debur.
It was an open secret that behind the mysterious deaths of Debur’s royal family lay Marquis Gebel, one of the Empire’s most powerful nobles.
“It would have been impossible regardless. A mere dissident cannot pierce all defenses and barriers to reach his lord.”
When the turncoat resolved to defect to the Empire, the nobleman he had sought out was Marquis Gebel.
He had made his lord’s father’s murderer his new master.
‘That is precisely why you must die with me.’
He smiled, hiding his true thoughts. Then he asked.
“By the way… what day is it today?”
“Three days have passed since the new year began.”
“So it’s already been a year since I was thrown in here…”
Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud!
Clang! Clang!
Noise erupted from outside—heavy, unrestrained footsteps followed by the sounds of many men.
“Where are you, you wretched creature of Debur!”
Bang!
Someone kicked through the iron door. Shock flickered across the interrogator’s face, while joy bloomed across Zion’s.
He’s here. At last!
The day he’d been waiting for!
Hair like spun gold and eyes a deep, blood red.
The distinctive marks of Imperial blood.
“Y-Your Highness. What brings you to this humble place…?”
“Humble? Humble?”
The Ninth Prince shrieked.
“The wretch who tried to kill me is still alive—how is that not a crisis!”
“…”
The failed assassination attempt on the Ninth Prince.
This was why Zion was imprisoned in the Litania Empire’s Prison in the Imperial Capital.
‘I thought it was a good opportunity. How was it a trap?’
The Ninth Prince was so notorious even the Imperial court had washed their hands of him.
To such a degree that the word “wastrel” alone was insufficient—he was called a disgraced prince.
‘I thought getting cast out of the palace was the perfect opening. How could there be a trap I couldn’t escape?’
Even a Great Mage couldn’t break free from the snare that had been laid.
Zion tried to ponder where his plan had gone wrong, but he couldn’t.
The unfolding situation was far too dramatic.
Crack!
His cheek flared hot in an instant.
‘Dramatic in decidedly the wrong way.’
The Ninth Prince, who had just slapped Zion’s face without warning, let out a derisive laugh.
“Zion Riobelt…. Hah, the very name feels soiled. A sewer rat is unworthy of such a name.”
That was true.
Cruelly, the Ninth Prince’s name was also Zion.
The only common point between two radically different people.
‘Does he know the meaning behind the name and just spouted it?’
No point dwelling on it.
He resolved to focus on what needed to be done.
This was the day he’d been waiting for ever since his capture.
“Bitri, you damnable bastard!”
The performance began. He screamed the words, venting fury with his voice.
“How dare you deceive me! Why is the Ninth Prince here!”
The Turncoat Bitri immediately gauged the Ninth Prince’s mood.
Seeing his face turn cold with frightening speed, Bitri went pale.
“What are you saying all of a sudden, Your Highness? Such mockery will not work!”
“You said you’d free me! You said I’d live if I just gave up information! You spoke of past affection, of standing together! And now you bring the Ninth Prince? You’ve toyed with me!”
“When did I ever—ah, Your Highness. I’ll explain everything. First, I serve Marquis Gebel……”
“Silence.”
Boom!
The Turncoat could speak no more.
His skull had been pierced by a Ballista-Type Magitech Weapon—one prepared for a Great Mage, no less.
With no mouth left, no man could continue speaking. Thus Bitri would never have the chance to voice his grievance either.
‘No. Bitri, I hope you aren’t even nursing resentment. Contemplate your sins and atone. I’ll be joining you soon.’
That Ninth Prince is something else, though.
He fired without a shred of hesitation.
“Ninth Prince. You kill the Marquis’s knight and don’t even worry about the consequences. I envy the recklessness you enjoy.”
Sarcasm, yes—but more than half sincere.
Zion had always yearned to be free.
He’d wanted to shed the weight of duty, to taste that lightness.
He’d never had the chance until now, and after today his life would end.
“A year dragging on wore your patience thin? So you came to kill me yourself.”
The Ninth Prince’s expression turned cruel.
“A wretch who dared raise a hand against this prince should never have lived a year at all.”
The fact that his interrogation was meant to extract information seemed to escape his mind entirely.
The thinking of an empire’s worst degenerate.
“I swear it on the honor of the royal house. I shall grant you the most agonizing death in the world.”
Torture implements lay scattered throughout this place, and he’d come to know the Empire’s torture techniques intimately over the past year.
And yet.
Zion remained unmoved.
“Kaironi, as I predicted. Correct again this time.”
“What did you say?”
“You know? I was waiting for you, Ninth Prince.”
The reason he’d endured a year of humiliation.
As commander of the Debur Liberation Army, to attempt the Ninth Prince’s assassination once more.
“What nonsense are you spouting all of a sudden? Have you lost your mind?”
He didn’t grasp the situation yet. Then again, it was laughable to expect him to sense danger now.
It was far stranger to fear a mage rendered powerless by a Mana Seal Bracelet.
‘…or so people of this age would think. In conventional terms, that’s even true.’
But.
But you see.
A hundred years after the Magitech Revolution.
Zion was all but the sole purist mage of his era.
And for that reason, no one understood.
That a Great Mage could do anything, if willing to pay the price.
Whoosh!
A breeze stirred. Despite this being an underground detention facility within a sealed prison.
“Quere Stellam Orbita”
The moment the wind swept the Ninth Prince’s golden bangs back.
Crack! Crack!
Mana surged.
Like a gale. Like a stone colossus.
Both sets of iron shackles shattered at once.
Zion dusted off his hands, while the other Zion—the Ninth Prince—stared with eyes wide as saucers, shock flooding his face.
“Wh-wh-what—?!”
“We have someone sharp in our faction—Kaironi. That’s his name.”
The bastard who calculates for every worst-case scenario. That’s why Zion called him the coward Kaironi.
“He told me: if you’re captured, focus only on surviving.”
After about a year, the Ninth Prince would come looking. That was the opening to exploit.
‘That Kaironi—he did it again. I’ll give it to him, his mind is sharp.’
Magical intelligence and strategic intelligence walk different paths.
So Zion stopped thinking for himself and trusted only Kaironi’s words.
That’s how he endured a year.
“I’m useless at strategy, unlike magic—I can manage some tricks, sure, but I had no choice but to trust him. At last, is it time for payback?”
Besides, even if he was hopeless at strategy, it meant the inverse was true.
In magical intelligence alone, Zion Riobelt was a genius whose brilliance would shine across all of history.
Crack!
The Debur Liberation Army—the militant faction fighting for Debur’s freedom.
Crown Prince and Supreme Commander. The Raven of Debur, the Great Mage Zion Riobelt.
The bounty on that name reached ten billion Luon.
Zion wore a criminal’s noose worth an entire nation’s annual budget around his neck.
The highest bounty in the empire’s history testified to how dangerous he was.
“Mana, take form once more.”
The moment he uttered the incantation, one of his sleeves tore. His arm had transformed into a blade of blue light.
The Ninth Prince thrashed in panic.
“I asked how you’re using magic! Answer the Imperial question!”
Did he really want to maintain that tone in this moment?
“Curious?”
“That is a command, you wretched thing!”
“It’s a secret, you wretched thing!”
Even gripped by fear, the Ninth Prince’s nature got the better of him, his face flushed crimson with rage.
It was laughable.
“Sorry, but I don’t have the hobby of indulging an enemy’s curiosity before death. Let’s finish this quickly—kill you, then bomb the Imperial Capital.”
An act of treason that promised death.
The Ninth Prince alone would not be enough.
Bombing the Imperial Capital—wouldn’t history remember Zion Riobelt’s final flame burning quite brilliantly?
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh!
The sound of a crow’s wings beating came from somewhere.
Black mana flowed forth.
It felt like shadow, yet crisp and translucent—the texture of that mana.
This was why Zion bore the epithet: the Raven, the great crow of Debur.
“P-please, spare me. I was wrong. Spare me—!”
“No. You’re worth far more dead than alive.”
Then let the execution begin.
“Ninth Prince. You said the name Zion weighed heavily on you.”
That was true. Far too heavy.
A fate he never wished for, a destiny that brought only anguish.
“A guide. A guardian. A pathfinder. That is what our name means.”
For the Ninth Prince, who reveled in license beyond freedom, it was a name he didn’t deserve.
So let him guide this prince toward death and quicken Debur’s liberation by even a single step.
“Go on ahead and bicker with Bitri. I’ll catch up soon enough.”
Mana like raven feathers swirled around him.
He released the bowstring.
The moment the blade of mana pierced the Ninth Prince’s heart.
————!
————!
A sensation rippled through him.
‘——Ah—ah—!’
As if his entire body was melting.
No.
It was shattering.
Particles of light—his body had become them.
It was dispersing.
——————!
——————!
Vision crumpling like paper.
A sensation of being squeezed and pressed, forced through a narrow gap.
And then, an unfamiliar voice echoing.
————————!
————————!
「The hour of the Covenant has come, and I declare its fulfillment.」
——————————!
——————————!
Everything reversed.
Flipped upside down.
In that moment of sensation.
→→→→→ □ ←←←←←
→→→→→ ■ ←←←←←
=======
→→→→→ ■ ←←←←←
→→→→→ □ ←←←←←
Vision faded to black.
Consciousness slipped away.
* * *
“Gasp!”
Zion’s held breath rushed back in as he pushed himself upright.
“What’s happening……? What?”
The voice was wrong. Utterly unfamiliar.
The setting wasn’t a torture chamber but a luxurious bedroom. A mirror hung directly ahead.
A face stared back.
“Blonde hair…… and crimson eyes?”
The Imperial prince—a notoriously degraded wretch of a man. The Ninth Prince, Zion Riobelt, gazed back from the mirror.
“……My body has…… changed……?”
‘I certainly pierced his heart through…… Ah.’
Sensations melting together, merging into one.
That voice at the very end.
“……The hour of the Covenant has come…….”
And I declare its fulfillment.
What Covenant? What fulfillment?
Even with a Great Mage’s knowledge, the before and after, the cause—nothing made sense.
“This is absurd. A freedom fighter from a colony becomes the prince of the occupying power.”
Knock, knock, knock!
At the sound, a white-haired butler with a neatly trimmed beard appeared as tension seized him.
“Your Highness. I’ve come to have your formal attire for the New Year’s banquet inspected.”
What should he answer?
Play the reckless fool?
“I never asked you to come in.”
The old butler flowed to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
‘What……?’
What was he doing? Was the man insane?
Wait. Could it be.
Did the Ninth Prince usually make people apologize like this?
‘What a contemptible wretch I inhabit.’
If he truly commanded such things, then…… hmm.
No wonder they called him a disgrace to humanity.
‘I have no memory of this. What do I do?’
While he wrestled with the dilemma, the butler continued speaking, his words tumbling out in grievance.
“Your Highness, I beg your forbearance. I dared commit this rudeness because it is an urgent matter for the banquet. Surely you understand that this New Year’s gathering is a matter of grave importance—one that will determine the fate of the Empire for years to come.”
He understood nothing. Not a shred of it made sense.
‘What do I do? I’ll pretend to be the Ninth Prince for now…… Will they not see through me? If I have to live like this in the Ninth Prince’s body forever, ugh, it’s repulsive. For now I could knock him out and buy time to think…….’
“Particularly, it is also the inauguration ceremony of Marquis Gebel as the Debur Colonial Governor…….”
His thoughts ground to a halt.
Gebel?
“Wait, hold on. What did you just say?”
Gebel, the marquis who’d orchestrated the death of Debur’s last king.
He was becoming the colonial governor of Debur?
“Chamberlain. I’ve changed my mind.”
There was no time to sit here deliberating.
I had to move, and quickly.
“If I attend the banquet, I could manage a simple greeting with Marquis Gebel, couldn’t I?”
“Of course, Your Highness. The Marquis will be delighted to see you.”
‘Ha. All this time, I’ve wanted nothing more than to kill Gebel, yet I couldn’t even arrange a meeting with him.’
Seeing his face would have cost me my life.
And now here was my chamberlain practically begging me to go see him.
“I’ll go. Of course I’ll go.”
I was finally going to meet my father’s murderer.
There was nothing to hesitate about.
And besides.
Zion gazed into the mirror once more.
‘I’ll meet him wearing this face.’
Golden hair, crimson eyes—the noble prince gazed back with a spiteful smile.

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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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