The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 10

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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 10: The Price of Extravagance (1)
Winter recalled it. That moment last night, bright as fire.
“All In. I’m betting everything.”
He’d taken the Prince’s Identity Badge without permission to enter the casino’s VIP room. A crime worthy of death.
Winter did this because he felt a need to prove himself, even if it cost him his life.
Not just a high noble—a Divine Being, no less the Emperor’s own son, had declared Winter would serve as his dog.
If he was to live as a dog, Winter’s style wasn’t to whimper and wait for scraps, but to prove his worth and tear into meat with abandon.
And so he’d acted—a wager that staked his life.
The prize: five million Luon.
The result of Winter Flowering’s gamble. Proof that his life, as a man named Winter, had not been in vain—and its symbol.
“A car! Aha, which brand should I buy? Winter, you know something about foreign cars, don’t you?”
…Proof… symbol….
“Didn’t you say earlier? Five million Luon is barely a month’s living expenses for dignity. I’ll show you—I’ll spend it all in one day. Hehehehe.”
Winter pressed his palm to his forehead. For a moment, deceived by the unexpected display, he’d forgotten: the Ninth Prince, Zion Liobelt, was a thoroughbred fool.
“Your Highness, are you truly set on going to Madam de Gallerie?”
Madam de Gallerie—a merchant house catering to the wealthy and elite, dealing primarily in luxury goods.
The proprietor is the Baroness Craina, whom Zion had mentioned.
Word had it she was a formidable businesswoman, her enterprise flourishing all the more after her husband’s death.
Particularly, there were rumors of her unmatched talent for stoking the flames of excess… In the presence of a prince like this, she might indeed succeed in spending all five million Luon in a single day.
“Your Highness, you mean to squander the seed money you’ve only just earned on mere extravagance?”
“Extravagance? Squandering? Those are words quite foreign to me.”
Not a jest—truly distant from him.
Winter’s face fell abruptly, which suggested Zion had understood the words in a different sense entirely.
“Could you perhaps reconsider serving as my attendant? I’d be grateful if you’d simply split the money in half.”
Well. That won’t do.
“Your father—Marquis Remiconin.”
“S-Sire! Your mouth!”
“My mouth? Keep it shut?”
“…Let us go. I shall serve you.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
The interior of Madam de Gallerie was quite striking—arranged like an art gallery despite being a merchant house.
Each item was displayed as though it were a masterpiece, creating an extraordinarily opulent impression.
“Welcome, guests new to our establishment… Oh my.”
Hair the color of light amber. Eyes a deep brown.
A mature and beautiful noblewoman caught sight of Zion and covered her mouth.
“As a subject of the Empire, I greet a member of the great Divine Race.”
Zion regarded Baroness Craina for a moment, then offered a slight smile and extended the back of his hand. Her eyes sharpened at once.
“Does Your Imperial Highness desire the customs of a lesser nation?”
Even as she spoke those words, her body bent gracefully as she received his hand, drawing the back of it to her brow.
‘Lesser nation, indeed. Well, I am Zion Liobelt now, so the phrasing was unavoidable.’
Another thought crossed his mind.
That the Imperial Prince might have felt insulted, imposing Deber customs upon a half-breed of Deber and Litania as though to humiliate him.
He became newly aware of how much had changed.
“May I look around for a moment?”
“How could a noble soul seek permission? Please, look as you wish.”
Baroness Craina withdrew. As if passing a baton, Winter stepped close and whispered.
“Your Highness. Even if you spend money, do it elsewhere. The space is well-appointed, but judging by the proprietor’s dress, this is not a legitimate establishment. A businesswoman dealing in luxury goods dressed in such frugal attire?”
A businesswoman dealing in luxury goods must model herself after what she sells.
To dress in austere, pennywise clothing was evidence of poor business instinct.
Given the nature of luxury goods, the margins should be substantial, yet where all that money goes is a mystery.
“Enough. Bring the money pouch.”
“Your Highness.”
“Now.”
He picked up a necklace on display. The sensation of finely-worked gemstones sliding through his fingers.
Beautiful. And yet, shrinking.
Crown Prince Zion Blije couldn’t help but find himself thinking such thoughts before these precious metals and jewels.
‘How much would this be? Surely at least one hundred thousand Luon? With that, I could survive half a year in the field.’
One person’s ornament was another person’s half-year rope of survival.
From now on, Zion Blije would have to live the former life, not the latter.
‘If that’s what must be, then I won’t endure it—I’ll savor it.’
Zion Blije laughed. The old habit lingered in his body, twisting Zion Rieobelt’s mouth into a familiar smile.
Truth be told, he’d wanted for ages to drape himself in expensive jewelry and taste a Crown Prince’s life.
More than a decade ago, with a child’s recklessness, he’d even stolen an imperial earring to try on in secret.
‘I ended up selling it anyway, put the money toward The Order’s coffers. Out of guilt.’
For Zion now, extravagance was no longer a privilege—it was a duty.
So he would indulge in it freely, without a shred of remorse.
“This necklace goes to Madam as a gift. And of course I’m paying for it myself, understood?”
“Your Highness…!”
As part of the five million Luon he’d earned in one night of adventure melted away in an instant, Winter’s face fell into an expression of utter dismay.
But Zion paid it no mind and moved on to the next display case.
It was Zion’s duty to enjoy shopping at Madam de Gallerie.
* * *
Deep underground, far to the west of Deber, lay a hidden stronghold buried in the wasteland of the Gizcal Federal Republic.
Ordinarily, the Deber Liberation Army maintained strict policy: no single hideout would shelter more senior officers than absolutely necessary.
But now, as an exception, a considerable number of high-ranking commanders had gathered in one place.
The reason was singular: to confront the grave crisis that had befallen Deber.
“I trust you’ve all heard by now.”
Ariste’s low, heavy voice filled the cramped, dim conference room.
“The Ninth Prince of the Empire. Some wretch dares to use the name Zion and has set foot on Deber’s soil.”
In that moment, several voices rose in a collective groan.
Some might have dismissed it as merely the visit of one prince.
One who wasn’t even in line to inherit the throne—so what was the trouble?
But it was trouble.
Grave trouble indeed.
“The Empire’s greatest disgrace dares set foot in Deber…!”
Someone’s voice rumbled like distant thunder.
“Surely chaos will erupt across Deber. That’s what he is, after all.”
“And I suspect the Third Prince intends to use the Ninth Prince to turn Deber into a hellscape—stripping him of his entire fortune suggests a high probability this assessment is correct.”
One of the officers had pierced through to the Third Prince’s true intention with sharp precision.
“Allow me to go and kill him. Please, entrust this to me, Vice-Commander.”
The one who had volunteered without hesitation was Reyanna, a giant swathed in a black cloak.
“When the Marquis Gerbel was appointed governor some time ago, I could not act. But now it’s different. This is the optimal moment to end the Ninth Prince.”
Killing intent rose from every corner of the room in agreement. Thus did the Liberation Army despise the Ninth Prince.
The reason? Simple.
“Had it not been for the Ninth Prince, our lord would never have been captured by the Empire.”
“The Crown Prince surely endures terrible suffering even now.”
“We lack the strength to rescue our lord immediately. Then at the very least, to take this revenge is our duty as his subordinates.”
The Order’s faction—one of the two heads of the Liberation Army—served Zion Blije as their sovereign. In other words, the Ninth Prince was privately the source of their lord’s downfall, the instrument of the Third Prince’s snare.
“Duke Ariste. We beseech your decision.”
“If the Ninth Prince returns to the Imperial Palace, our opportunity will vanish.”
“Do you fear a trap? There’s no need to worry. I will go alone and return.”
After long deliberation, Ariste’s face hardened with resolve as he issued his command.
“Execute the Ninth Prince, Zion Rieobelt. Reyanna, ascertain his current location at once and depart to carry out this mission.”
“I accept the order!”
As Reyanna bowed with crisp precision, Ariste brought forth the second matter of the meeting.
“While we’re all gathered, there’s one more thing to attend to—the matter of our debt to the Republican Council. Thanks to recovering the Polar Star Branch, we can now send loan envoys to other nations. So make this known to all your divisions: no more mercenary work under the military warlords of Gizcal.”
Every face in the room brightened at once.
All shared the understanding: to shed the blood of comrades for another nation’s war was far too hollow a sacrifice.
The envoys sent to three nations to request loans were expected to return in four days.
Every bit of it was the work of that nameless benefactor who had reclaimed the Polar Star Branch.
* * *
“Madam. This liquor here—the bottle is quite lovely. I’ll take ten bottles.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Your Highness, is it truly the case?!”
“I’ve heard you also deal in automobiles, Madam. Is that true?”
“Each one is hand-procured from the Dwarvheim Republic—our handcrafted automobiles are the pride of our gallery, Your Highness.”
“Excellent. Which maker do you recommend as the best? I’ll take the most expensive one.”
“One bearing the blood of the Divine Race, I believe, would be most suited to the Imperial August.”
“Ah. The Imperial August.”
It meant the majesty of the emperor—a name that could be used because the dwarf nation was a republic.
Zion Blije carries himself with the dignity of an emperor.
‘The Empire would have a fit if they knew.’
Decision made.
“That’ll do it.”
“Understood, Your Highness. Though I must say, the sum is rather substantial… Are you certain?”
Standing before a Divine Being—and a Crown Prince at that—was hardly the place for such caution.
The Imperial household’s extravagance was legendary enough without rehearsing it.
Winter himself thought nothing of five million Luon as a month’s living expenses.
‘Still, if anyone would know, it’s Madam.’
“I’ll pay the full sum upfront. You just need to deliver the items I specify, and deliver them beautifully.”
“I shall obey your command.”
Craina answered calmly, but Winter had fallen into thought.
“You’re truly purchasing a carriage? A Dwarvheim-made one, at that?”
“Yes. What kind of Crown Prince lacks a carriage?”
He’d tried one at the Imperial Palace and found it remarkably comfortable. With all the traveling ahead, one would certainly come in handy.
“Your Highness… five million Luon in a single night….”
For someone like Winter, that was wealth enough for a lifetime of leisure.
Yet if he meant to settle every extravagant purchase—the imported carriage included—in one sweep…
It would vanish like a mirage by morning.
‘This won’t do. I need to tell that subordinate not to bring the Money Pouch.’
The moment Winter thought it, the ogre appeared as if summoned.
“Boss—or rather, Director. I’ve brought it.”
……
The man was trustworthy enough to entrust with a purse of gold coins, yet right now Winter wanted to strike the back of his head.
“Your Highness, the Ninth. Your refined station stands above one of my lowly bearing. Why would you tolerate someone whose very presence offends the sensibilities of the Divine Race? Surely you’ll cast out such a base creature. Allow me to procure a butler more befitting your dignity.”
Though Craina’s demeanor remained composed and graceful, Winter could no longer hold back—his expression betrayed him.
‘Even for an alley rat, this Winter shows remarkable restraint.’
Zion observed them both in silence for a moment.
The baroness, smiling throughout, was gently stroking the back of her hand.
In other words, she was swallowing her rage.
‘To think I’d ever see Craina stroking her hand to calm herself because of me.’
It was a sight he’d never have imagined.
Had his body not switched, he’d have gone his whole life without witnessing it.
“Winter. Bring the Money Pouch.”
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
Winter strode forward, received the pouch from his subordinate, and waited for Zion’s next command.
“There. Set it down.”
“Yes.”
Bang!
Craina stared silently at the Money Pouch now resting on the table before her.
“Five million Luon. All of it to be spent at your gallery.”
……
“Why aren’t you moving? On the honor of this Crown Prince, I command you: if you fail to spend every last Luon of those five million by day’s end, you’ll face my punishment.”
“…Then I’d best get to work. I accept your command, Your Highness.”
Now Craina moved. She was no longer stroking her hand.
Shock had swallowed rage.
“Your Highness….”
“What?”
“Nothing, sir. My apologies.”
Winter, proud as only an alley-born man could be, no longer protested Zion’s extravagance.
‘So Madam was counting on provoking him all along.’
That’s why he’d given in. Five million Luon.
He’d fallen neatly into her trap, but it didn’t matter.
‘At last, I’ve kept my promise, Madam. Or should I say, head chambermaid.’
Craina—who had served a queen of a distant kingdom long ago as her chief lady-in-waiting.
And at once a comrade who had never abandoned her duty to a fallen nation, who had lived her entire life as an intelligence asset and financier for the liberation forces.
Zion had made one promise to her, ages past.
“Your Highness, when you’ve grown, you must promise to let me tailor your first proper robes. You won’t forget, will you?”
Never once in all his years had Zion worn proper court dress.
After fleeing the palace as a child, he’d spent his whole life hunted and in hiding—there had been no occasion for formal robes.
So, though I’m late—quite late—I mean to keep my promise even now.
“Madam, have a formal gown made for me as well. Something refined.”
Today’s extravagance and excess shall fuel the resurrection of the Deber Liberation Army.

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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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