The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 12

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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 12: The Price of Extravagance (3)
“Your Highness, what’s the matter?”
Zion dropped his hand from where he’d been scratching the back of his head.
“Just got itchy all of a sudden. Someone must be talking about me behind my back.”
“People gossiping about Your Highness?”
“I’ve got good instincts.”
Back when he was alive as a living war machine, the Empire had called him far worse than a demon.
Meanwhile, Winter was worrying about what would happen if the 3rd Prince ordered him to find the culprit.
To root out everyone talking behind the back of the Empire’s most notorious scoundrel—there would be hundreds of suspects, at minimum.
“Times like these call for a drink… Ahhh. They say one glass of this costs a commoner’s yearly wage, and you can feel the difference the moment it touches your lips.”
He was savoring something he must have enjoyed without a second thought before, yet here he was, delighted as if it were his first taste.
If there was one person on earth who couldn’t live without luxury, it would be the 3rd Prince right in front of him.
There had to be at least hundreds of people talking behind his back—how was Winter supposed to find the culprit?
Ding-ding.
The bell rang.
“Your Highness, the Imperial August has arrived.”
The attendant’s voice echoed from the Hotel Suite Room. Zion, who had been sprawled across the sofa, jolted upright.
“The car’s here, the car!”
He bolted outside the hotel and there it was—a sleek foreign automobile gleaming in the light.
A magnificent vehicle that seemed to embody imperial dignity itself, as befitted its name.
“Hahahaha!”
As he laughed with unbridled joy, Winter’s grumbling drifted into earshot.
“That car alone costs enough to—”
The rest was too quiet to hear clearly.
“If money’s tight, just bring me more. What’s with the complaining? It’s pathetic.”
“I have much I could say, Your Highness, but to cut to the point—I can’t.”
“What? Why not?”
“Would any gambling den add someone who won ten million Luon in a single night? He won it all without thinking ahead, and I have no shame left to go begging for another favor.”
Had Zion only won five million Luon as Winter had originally suggested, there might have been some way to leverage the situation further.
Ten million Luon in one night. Even in a den reserved for VIPs, that was a sum most wouldn’t let slip easily.
If the 3rd Prince had acted directly, it might have been different, but Winter was merely an agent.
“So what you’re saying is, your greed cut off one of our money sources?”
……
Winter, left with nothing to say, shifted his gaze away and fell silent. Zion, watching him, broke into a grin.
‘Three birds with one stone, eh?’
Buying whatever he wanted and indulging in luxury.
Training Winter by skimming money the man had hidden away.
And finally, delivering a considerable boost to the Liberation Army’s finances.
He’d literally thrown one stone and caught three birds.
‘Though I’m not sure if I’ve actually caught the third bird yet.’
He patted the hood of the Imperial August, his future beloved steed, with a satisfied rhythm.
‘I was captured and locked away for a year. The Liberation Army’s situation must have changed from what I knew.’
That’s what made him think this way. The Liberation Army’s reaction was different from what he’d expected.
By now, word that the Empire’s most notorious scoundrel had appeared in Deber should have reached Aristhe through Creyna, yet everything was oddly quiet.
Well, no harm in taking the good as it came, but something felt off.
Best to poke around and see what shakes loose.
‘There’s work piled as high as mountains.’
He’d been inhabiting this body for about a month now.
Thanks to moving quickly on several fronts, he’d crossed into Deber safely enough, but this was truly just the beginning.
His goal was to make Zion Liobert into the most powerful figure in Deber—beyond the meager credentials of a deposed 3rd Prince and an impoverished Divine Being.
‘To seize power, I need to go where power gathers.’
But there was a problem. Without the prestige of a 3rd Prince—that is, without wealth—the current Zion couldn’t access the places where the ruling class and upper echelon congregated.
The first hurdle was quite formidable.
Well, since it wasn’t a hurdle he’d have to jump himself, it didn’t matter.
“Winter. Since you’ve exhausted one money source, you’ll need to find a new one. Identify a few wealthy marks and bring them before me. Ideally, they’d be members of the Seiel Social Club.”
An order delivered casually, yet startling in its implications.
‘This is ridiculous. Anyone overhearing this would think it was the 3rd Prince who came from the underworld, not me.’
Though to be fair, it wasn’t entirely a misunderstanding.
Not the underworld exactly, but the streets—that much was true.
“Your Highness. How would I even know members of the Seiel Social Club?”
The Seiel Social Club is where the highest echelon of Deber’s elite gather—the very pinnacle of social society.
It had even been established directly by the former colonial governor himself.
“Winter.”
“Yes.”
“Does the prince need to know that you saw it?”
…….
“You know as well as I do that’s not right. Get going. You have one day.”
Tch…….
The rough-edged street habit slipped out before Winter could stop it. Catching Zion’s gaze, he hurried to correct himself.
“I beg your pardon! I shall depart at once, Your Highness!”
As Winter fled—no, departed to carry out his orders—Zion found himself laughing despite himself.
“What was that about? Since when do you mutter like that before a prince?”
Well, Zion Blige had never been the type to take offense easily.
At any rate, he was alone for once.
Which meant only one thing.
“Now I can finally practice Magic properly.”
There was so much to do.
So very much.
* * *
“Creyna. I have come to think of you as a sister.”
The mistress Creyna had once served was more beautiful than anyone she had ever known.
So beautiful that she would have gladly given her body, heart, and soul alike.
On that dreadful night, she had wanted to die in her mistress’s place.
‘I felt the same, I confess. Despite my station as a mere handmaid, I dared to show her such affection—and she responded only with that gentle smile.’
The only legacy her mistress had left behind: Crown Prince Zion Blige.
That was why Creyna could not carry out Aristhe’s order with a true heart.
Click.
An order transmitted through secret channels. When she pressed the seal at its center, a shimmer of light took the shape of a man’s figure.
— Creyna. It has been more than ten years since I last beheld your face. I am forever grateful for all you have endured.
Aristhe’s visage, aged by a decade, materialized before her. Creyna traced her hand across her own, studying him in silence.
— All the officers of the Secret Society have deliberated. We shall execute the 9th Prince, Zion Riobeldt, without fail. Yet not now—we shall choose the optimal moment, when it is safest and most effective. That day shall be his execution.
Zion (O’blige) Blige.
The youngest Grand Mage in Deber’s history.
A boy who refused to turn away from the burden of fate that weighed upon his shoulders, who chose to live not as a man but as a symbol.
A lord who grew brilliantly and earned the recognition of every soul in the Liberation Army.
That young master of hers.
Was the son she had borne in her heart.
That was why Creyna could not truly accept Aristhe’s and the Secret Society’s decision.
“Aristhe. The 9th Prince is his sworn enemy. My young master suffers unspeakable torment, trapped in the Empire’s prisons because of him.”
Had the 9th Prince not been the Empire’s most worthless degenerate.
Had he not been cast out by the imperial family, confined to a villa on the outskirts.
Then my young master would never have launched that assassination attempt, never have fallen into that trap.
— The 9th Prince is a plague upon the Empire. Therefore, we of the Liberation Army believe that by using him, we can reach our nation’s liberation all the sooner. Creyna, I pray you share this conviction.
“You know that is impossible.”
Aristhe was wise. Unlike before, he had woven Magic into the order to project his image—proof of his shrewdness.
It was his way of knowing she would resist, of attempting to console her.
But still….
She reached for a bottle of perfume, poured a small amount, and smoothed it into the back of her hand.
She could feel it—the faint trace of a scar.
— I am grateful once more for your sacrifice, Creyna. I ask that you bear this burden a little longer.
The nobility never speak in plain terms.
Aristhe was of the direct line of the Leisyal ducal house, counted among Deber’s most distinguished families.
“Aristhe. Instead of having me kill the 9th Prince whom I despise, you wish to keep him close and watch over him.”
How could she decide? Yet her heart had already tilted toward one answer.
It was at that moment.
Ding!
“Miss Creyna. Greetings. Do you remember me?”
Remember him? The adjutant who had served the 9th Prince.
By the color of his hair alone, it was highly probable he was Deber-born.
In other words: a Traitor.
It was also why Creyna had hurled insults at Winter not long ago.
“Did the 9th Prince send you?”
At his tone—as if addressing a servant—Winter’s eyebrow twitched.
“No, madam.”
“Then be gone. Madam de Gallery is no place for the lowborn to tread.”
Creyna had murdered her sham husband and stolen the title of an Imperial baron.
So she had every right to treat a traitor like vermin.
“Then allow this lowborn one request, madam.”
Her spine bent at a right angle. Yet her head held high, rigid as steel.
Her eyes gleamed—bright and unwavering.
The hand that had been stroking her arm stilled, abrupt as a halted heartbeat.
“His Highness wishes to cultivate cordial relations by exchanging favors with several businesspeople from the Seiel Social Club. My connections don’t reach that far, so I’ve taken the liberty of seeking you out.”
‘So he’s not a mere opportunist clinging to the Prince’s name.’
More precisely: a traitor with genuine competence.
The proof lay in his never approaching Creyna herself from the start.
He’d spent time laying groundwork for an impossible order, sacrificing effort and sweat to prove his diligence if not his capability—a common enough tactic among those who know they’re expendable.
‘So he’d betray the Empire despite possessing talent. The 9th Prince and this one both need to be crushed in their cradles.’
How fortunate the timing. If she appeared to grant the Prince’s request, she could harm him without arousing suspicion.
“Tell His Highness I’ll arrange introductions tomorrow—two promising bourgeois entrepreneurs whose names are already on the club roster. I’ll see them properly established.”
Creyna studied Winter’s expression as she finished speaking.
“Thank you, Creyna.”
Bourgeois entrepreneurs. He’d heard the words clearly enough, yet his reaction was nil. His face remained unchanged.
This man Winter seemed oblivious to the contempt the rising bourgeoisie harbored toward the highborn—those who wielded power by birthright alone.
‘Those who’ve seized power through their own ability despise the likes of the 9th Prince, who possess nothing but inherited authority.’
And the 9th Prince, stripped of his entire fortune and stripped of his title besides, was a particularly choice morsel.
He would become ideal prey for the bourgeoisie.
‘And the Empire’s worst miscreant cannot endure even the slightest humiliation without exploding.’
A commotion would erupt. Through it, the Liberation Army would reassess the 9th Prince’s danger and alter their position.
For the Liberation Army was the faction that prioritized Deber’s interests above all else.
‘…And after that, by my own hand.’
Creyna smiled and saw Winter to the door.
“Mind yourself well. And convey my wishes to His Highness for a peaceful evening.”
‘I’ll give you an unforgettable night, 9th Prince.’
There was one thing, however, that Creyna had overlooked.
“I hope you also have a peaceful evening, Creyna.”
Winter turned and quickened his pace.
His poker face abandoned, a scowl etched deep across his features.
* * *
“What? Creyna said she’d introduce two businessmen?”
“Yes. A messenger came earlier and delivered a letter—she’s apparently already selected them.”
Leyjo, manager of a grain shop operating a farm so vast it was famous throughout the surrounding region.
Gaigen, proprietor of a department store opening for the first time in Seiel.
These were the two entrepreneurs Creyna had chosen.
Zion couldn’t help but wear a baffled expression.
“Why?”
“Why, Your Highness? How could she possibly refuse when you’ve made a request?”
No—that wasn’t what he meant.
Why would Creyna, the Liberation Army’s spy, be helping me, the 9th Prince?
It would be strange if she didn’t move to kill me immediately.
In fact, that was one reason he’d made contact with Creyna as soon as the money came through.
To avoid assassination by his own comrades.
‘I—Zion Brizhe—made Zion Riobert a prisoner of the Empire. I’m the one to blame.’
He’d squandered five million Luon on luxuries partly to ease the Liberation Army’s finances, and partly to escape that wretched fate—the shame of fleeing to the governor’s office begging for his life, hounded by assassination attempts.
But he hadn’t expected this kind of reaction.
‘From Creyna’s behavior, it seems the Liberation Army decided not only to spare me from assassination but to actually help. Did things get that desperate over the past year?’
He couldn’t say. Well, what did it matter.
He’d bought everything he wanted, his purse was still fat, he’d relieved the Liberation Army’s finances considerably, and now he’d gained their indirect support as well?
“I didn’t kill three birds with one stone. I killed four.”
“Your Highness?”
“Just thinking aloud. Now then, Winter—start thinking about how to squeeze money out of these two businessmen. You’re from the backstreets, so extortion’s your specialty, isn’t it?”
Winter exhaled a quiet sigh, making sure Zion didn’t notice.
“Your Highness. Before we discuss methods of extracting money, there’s something else you need to prepare first.”
“Mm? What is it?”
“The businessmen will become hostile to you. Very likely.”
“What? How dare they oppose me? I’m a Divine Being. A prince.”
“The 3rd Prince—one of the Empire’s three most powerful figures—stripped you of your entire fortune, revoked your princely title, and exiled you abroad. A historic first for a Divine Being in Imperial history.”
How does he know all this?
Word spread that fast?
“It was in the newspapers.”
“Ah.”
“Are you familiar with the Bourgeoisie? In turbulent times like these, those who’ve seized wealth and power through ability harbor an immense animosity toward the old ruling class—those who lack talent yet cling to status.”
Which made Zion Riobert the perfect prey.
It figured.
“Is Creyna trying to set us up?”
“I couldn’t say for certain. In truth, Your Highness needn’t concern yourself with such trivial matters.”
“Trivial? Squeezing money from enemies who already want your blood isn’t exactly simple.”
“Your Highness.”
Winter tapped his chest with unmistakable confidence.
“As you said, extracting money is precisely what I excel at. Trust me with this. I’ve already devised a complete strategy. Both of these individuals need Branding, you see.”
Branding? He’d never heard that word before.
“What’s that? Is it good?”
“A concept from management science—this new field the Bourgeoisie revere. If I may, I’d prefer to save the detailed explanation for later? That way tomorrow will be far more entertaining for you.”

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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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