The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 15

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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 15: Terracard Farm (3)
It took Zion quite some time to collect himself.
“Father. Late King.”
Whenever he heard scholars of history dismiss his father as an incompetent ruler, there was one thought that always came to him.
The reason young Zion had accepted his duties so naturally, carried them so willingly.
Because he had watched and learned as he grew.
His father had always worked tirelessly for Deber.
“So do not diminish your finest efforts as mere death throes.”
He picked up the Gold Ore that had fallen to the ground and poured his power into it.
Impurities burned away in a fierce heat, and only the gold melted down, pooling.
Then came a single golden bead—from a fist-sized ore, he had extracted perhaps a bean’s worth of pure gold.
An astonishing concentration.
“The legacy you guarded shall become my strength, and be spent in defending Deber.”
The golden sphere melted once more, flowing across Zion’s palm.
Its destination: the middle finger of his right hand. The gold coated the Guide Ring.
“So please, find your rest at last.”
Time seemed to turn backward as the earth returned to its former state.
In that same moment, Zion released his hold, and the Polar Star Stem activated, returning him across the veil of space.
…He had made a decision.
Terracard Farm would become a sanctuary for the people of Deber.
Fwush—fwush—fwush!
Raven feathers danced on the wind.
‘Zion Riobeldt cannot afford to be seen looking after wretched Deberian prisoners. The first condition is absolute secrecy.’
A place where a worthless prince enslaved Deberian people and bled them dry to the bone—outwardly, somewhere far more dreadful than most prisons.
Yet in truth, a workplace offering generous wages to the poor and destitute of Deber, with nowhere else to turn.
Zion intended to shape it into a paradise so comfortable that one might doubt a more pleasant refuge existed anywhere in Deber under Imperial rule.
‘The real challenge will be how to maintain the secrecy.’
He had been absorbed in thought for days. In other words, when his mind cleared, he found himself already arrived in Seyel.
“Your Highness! Where on earth have you been!”
Had he been gone a week? In that time, Winter’s face had withered to half its size.
…He had clearly suffered much worry.
Zion felt somewhat guilty, if he was being honest.
And things were only about to get worse for the poor man.
“I bought the farm, so naturally I went to inspect it. But never mind that—I have a new order for you. What’s been done with the Deberian prisoners?”
“I’ve coordinated with Raizo, the farm manager. Everything is prepared.”
All of the Deberian workers under Raizo’s command could be transferred to Terracard Farm at any moment.
This Winter. Truly competent.
“Your Highness, we have just over three weeks remaining. How we’re going to secure seven million Ruon is something we urgently need to discuss together—”
Zion cut him off.
“Hush. Send every Deberian to my farm.”
Just looking at his face, Zion could guess what Winter was feeling right now.
One more word and the man’s head would explode from the pressure?
‘Can’t have that. I still haven’t figured out why the ring reacted to him. It’s likely connected to Marquis Remiconen somehow, though.’
Well, regardless. It’s not urgent at the moment.
“That’s an order, Winter. By any means necessary, make Terracard Farm the ideal space for remolding the people of Deber.”
“Remolding—which direction would you have in mind, sir?”
“Hmm, for now let’s set the concept as: outwardly a hellscape, inwardly a paradise on earth. We’ll provide maximum welfare while keeping the Deberian people trembling in suspicion and anxiety.”
Winter certainly wasn’t so dim that a vague explanation would fool him.
“Control your expression.”
“I thought it better than to voice the question outright.”
“Fair point. You’re curious why I’d do such a thing, aren’t you?”
“…Yes. Honestly, I can’t help but wonder…”
It had been one of the key points Zion had dwelt on during his journey.
Magic was one thing, but this kind of scheming gave him a headache. He’d need to delegate it to Winter, but how could he justify it?
In the end, he’d simply abandoned the pretense.
‘I’m ordering him. If he refuses, that’s his problem.’
“Take a guess, Winter. Discern my true intentions, if you would. Should you prove correct, I shall grant you any reward you desire.”
“Truly, sir?”
“Yes. Even if your wish were the ruin of some traitor, I would grant it.”
Winter’s eyes shone with sharp intensity.
“Your words, my lord. I shall engrave them deeply in my heart. Please, grant me your trust.”
“Very well.”
Though I’m sorry to say, there’s no chance they’ll ever guess.
Who in this world could possibly foresee that Zion Blize had taken root in the body of Zion Riobeltz?
In any case, the strategy worked perfectly—a masterful performance of casual competence, subtle confidence, a hidden card glimpsed but never revealed.
‘Now then, Winter. Work like a dog in my stead.’
Zion himself had other matters to attend to during that time.
Thinking thus, he toyed with the ring on his right middle finger.
The pattern inscribed there, laid over with gold, caught against the edge of his nail.
“Well, that’s all. Get to work.”
“One moment, Your Highness. How much budget did you have in mind?”
Winter calculated that fulfilling the prince’s command would require no small sum.
Perhaps even his entire fortune of five million Ruon might not suffice.
‘I still haven’t the faintest idea what he’s planning, but one thing’s certain—he didn’t ask for a shoddy job.’
There’s no such thing as “shoddy” in that prince’s vocabulary.
One need only recall that he spent five million Ruon on a single night’s indulgence.
‘…The Divine Bloodline, and a direct imperial prince at that—such a sum might be pocket change for him. And yet there was no hesitation whatsoever when it came to his entire fortune.’
One thing was crystal clear: the Ninth Prince, Zion Riobeltz, possessed a truly magnificent sweep of generosity.
“Budget? Spend it all. That’s an order. Don’t leave a single coin.”
Just as expected. A decision made with breathtaking abandon.
The trouble was that he gave no thought whatsoever to the consequences.
“Raizo, the manager—twelve million for him. You haven’t forgotten, surely?”
“Ah. Right.”
The next instant, Winter’s eyes went wide.
Gold ingots came cascading from the hem of the prince’s robe.
“I’d forgotten. I’ve never given much thought to a few coins here and there.”
Counting them, he estimated at least thirty kilograms.
An impossible weight for a lean-framed prince to carry about casually.
‘A Magical Tool, then. So the rumors of X-ray vision were only part of the truth. The gossip’s proven unreliable once again. Penniless and cast out, my foot.’
Perhaps he had hidden away hundreds of millions—no, tens of hundreds of millions in Ruon.
The fact that he vanished so abruptly and returned laden with gold ingots made it certain.
Perhaps…all of this was merely the passing whim of one graced with the Divine Bloodline.
Winter steeled his resolve anew.
‘Now that I’ve seized the rope, I’ll hold fast to it to the end. I’ll climb higher than him, higher still—even if I must wag my tail before a so-called failure of the Divine Bloodline.’
* * *
“Get up this instant!”
“Move, move! Quickly now!”
Military police brandished cudgels against the iron bars and swung whips, creating an atmosphere thick with menace.
The dormitory was already crumbling; one wall gave way entirely under the assault.
This was the Deber prison quarters, reserved for convicts, situated at the far edge of Raizo’s farm.
“You worthless rats, get moving!”
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Crash!
The Deberians scrambled onto the cargo bed of a large transport vehicle, trembling with fear.
None of them asked where they were going. The guards, already frazzled from being mobilized at dawn, looked eager for any excuse to crack skulls, and they didn’t want to provide one.
Instead, they huddled close together, shaking.
“Tell me, do you know why they’re rounding us up?”
“No idea. Looks like we’re being moved somewhere, though…”
“Could they be taking us to some remote place just to execute the lot of us?”
“Impossible. Grim as it is, we’re free labor. They wouldn’t bother killing us after slapping labor sentences on us all.”
At that, a young Deberian spoke up, shaking his head.
“That’s true enough. But there are those who kill regardless of whether they have reason to.”
“What? Do you actually know where we’re being dragged to?”
“Not for certain. But…you know I have a supply line for contraband from the outside.”
Wherever prisoners gathered, forbidden goods like tobacco found their way inside through clandestine channels.
On this farm, the young man’s resourcefulness was unmatched.
“I’ve heard a troubling rumor. That someone’s been collecting Deberian convicts.”
“Who on earth…?”
“The Ninth Prince. Zion Riobeltz.”
……
……
“…….”
An ominous silence hung over the air.
The Ninth Prince, Zion Liobelt. His infamy had spread far and wide, even across the sea to Deber.
“Oh-hhh……!”
Someone’s pitiful wail. A creeping anxiety that drifted through the vehicle.
The scattered houses that had appeared earlier grew fewer and farther between. A barren landscape with low hills began to stretch before them.
After several hours had passed, a farm came into view.
It looked even more desolate than the original one.
Screech—the truck came to a halt.
“Get down!”
“Guard, is this our destination?”
Thud!
“Ow!”
“Shut up and get out!”
After hurling the Deberians out like cargo, the vehicle tore away down the road it had come.
Late evening, with the sun gradually sinking. It was still the cold season.
“W-well, first let’s find somewhere to stay.”
“Since this appears to be a farm, there ought to be people about, shouldn’t there?”
“Let’s go inside…….”
That was when it happened.
“Dad!”
All the Deberians were male, and most were of an age where they might have a child or two.
A commonality born from their penal labor sentences.
Nearly every prisoner’s head whipped around, and one man broke free from the group.
“Aine! Aine! Why are you here……?!”
“Why did you come so late, Dad? I’ve been waiting—I counted on my five fingers the whole time.”
Several more figures emerged from behind the girl. From their dark hair, they all appeared to be Deberians.
“So the last ones have arrived.”
“The last? Do you mean we’re the last of the group?”
“The last for what, exactly?”
“Come now, you must be famished—let’s go inside and have supper while we talk.”
They had been starving all day, crammed in the rattling cargo bed of the truck.
Hungry enough to chew raw grass, what awaited them for supper was…….
“M-meat……?”
“Pork! Not chicken—that smell is definitely pork……?”
A space that might be called a dining hall—or rather, a mess hall.
It was warm.
And filled with aroma.
An aroma so rich that merely breathing it made your stomach trumpet with hunger.
And that wasn’t even all the surprise.
“Dad!”
“Dad!”
“Father!”
“Whee!”
“Wait—Menion! What are you doing here?”
The prisoners were all reunited with their families.
All except one.
Since receiving their labor sentences, they had been unable to see their families—some for mere weeks, others for years.
Sobs began to rise from all corners of the room.
“Young man. It seems you have no family here.”
An old man approached the one standing alone. A youth who had quietly served as leader among the Deberians, now orphaned—his mother had passed.
“Yes. That’s how it is.”
“Then dine with me. There are no ration restrictions here—eat as much as you wish.”
Though dozens of questions burned in his mind, the youth picked up his tray.
At his age, hunger faded fast into urgency. He could bear it no longer.
“Ahhh. I’ve never tasted food this delicious in my entire life.”
“Four out of every five people here have said the same thing. I hear the ingredients used here are several times more expensive than what Deberians normally eat—premium provisions prepared with great care.”
Another question added itself to the growing list.
Who in the world would offer such luxury to Deberian prisoners?
“Honored elder. Would you tell me what’s really happening here?”
“Whew, where do I even begin? It’s terribly complicated, you see. First and foremost, everyone here was either exploited under that vile swine Raizo or is a member of his family.”
The old man paused to drink, gathering his thoughts.
Vroom!
A crisp engine note sounded from outside, and presently a lavish automobile gleamed into view, its chassis adorned in brilliant aquamarine and gold.
A luxury the young man had never seen in his life. His eyes widened in astonishment.
Click.
A fair-haired youth stepped from the car attended by an ash-haired attendant, then entered the dining hall.
Golden eyes blazed with their characteristic light.
“Are you all enjoying your meal?”
The faces of several prisoners who had arrived that day hardened.
They recognized the bloodline markers of the Imperial house.
Divine Bloodline.
Here stood a member of the Empire’s royal family—despised Litania itself, embodied.
“The subjects of the Empire… bow before the great Divine Bloodline….”
Before the bow could be completed, Zion waved his hand dismissively.
“This Prince commands it. You are all excused from the formality during meal times. Rise and eat your fill.”
There was no pleasure in hearing the people of Deber call themselves subjects of the Empire, exalting the Divine Bloodline.
‘Suspicion might arise if I refuse outright, but I can at least minimize the frequency.’
With such thoughts, Zion gazed contentedly at the scene before him.
These people, ground down by poverty and the weight of defeat, now savoring abundant meals.
The prisoners of Deber—all innocent souls sentenced to penal labor after petitioning for Zion Blizet’s release, once exploited by Raizo—they all deserved a peaceful life.
Therefore, Zion himself bore the obligation to grant them one.
Money? What did it matter how much it cost?
It was merely fulfilling a duty.
‘Besides, I’ll be fabulously wealthy soon enough.’
The third-largest gold vein in all of Deber, the land famous for gold!
Once he established a mining consortium and began extraction, the money would flow like a printing press.
‘For now, though. Admittedly, funds are a bit tight.’
If necessary, he could always resort to his final option to fill the gap.
“The prisoners from the last farm should have arrived by now, correct?”
Winter, who had been standing at attention, unfolded a document and replied.
“That is correct, Your Highness.”
“Good. Excellent. You’ll need an explanation, I imagine?”
Tap. Tap.
He stepped onto a chair and climbed atop one of the dining tables.
“Effective immediately, you are all sentenced to penal labor at Terracard Farm. The duration of your sentence is indefinite. Collective Punishment will be applied—your families will all be treated identically. Bear that in mind.”
“……!”
“……!”
Horror rippled through the crowd like a wave.
“Indefinite…? Y-you mean for life?”
“What grievous crime have we committed that we must toil for a lifetime!”
“Dear heavens, forgive me. If I don’t return, my children will starve, oh no, no….”
Protest and wailing—the natural response.
“You there.”
The middle-aged man who had been singled out flinched.
“You said your children would starve if you don’t return.”
“That is….”
“Your children are here.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
He suppressed a smile with effort.
‘Worry not. You will all live far better lives here than before.’
“Labor incentive pay is ten thousand Ruon per month. For those whose output ranks in the top ten percent, I myself shall deposit an additional ten thousand Ruon as savings.”
Every prisoner who had arrived that day stared wide-eyed.
The words made no sense to their minds.
“Labor… incentive pay?”
“Is such a thing even possible in this world?”
Moreover… the wages were far higher than their previous work.
And now they were being told that even as penal laborers, if they performed well, savings would be deposited for them?
“Furthermore, you ideological criminals will be granted no rest whatsoever. I mean that even collapse from illness cannot be permitted. I shall cram food down your throats until your bellies burst, building you into constitutions so robust that collapse becomes impossible.”
“……?”
“……?”
“……?”
Isn’t that a good thing?
Life outside these walls—cramped hovels, landlords hounding for rent, wives and children laboring just to scrape together one, maybe two meals a day—that’s the lot of the lower classes in this empire.
Same misery in either place, really.
Murmurs began to ripple through the crowd.
“You worked as a carpenter, didn’t you?”
“That I did. The buildings here are rather rundown… but there’s some sturdy timber in the nearby forest.”
Zion seized the opening perfectly.
“Heavy timber to haul and stack—now that’s labor worthy of the name. Heh, how delightful. Winter! Starting tomorrow, tear down one of their dormitories each day!”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
One per day? With this many hands gathered here, that was more than manageable in twenty-four hours.
They wouldn’t have access to mana circuits or street lamps, the usual amenities of the city…
But the picture painted itself clearly enough.
A picture that brought unexpected peace of mind.
“Enough! Let all of you understand: you stand convicted under His Highness’s authority, subject to harsh punishment. Should anyone venture beyond the farm’s borders, it shall be deemed an escape, and you will face summary execution. Furthermore, collective punishment will apply to your families.”
‘But there’s nothing but wasteland out there anyway.’
‘Walking to the nearest settlement would take at least two days.’
‘On the way here, I kept watching the landscape. It’s got to be four days minimum.’
Which meant this.
You couldn’t leave, but your family was here with you.
Labor awaited, yes—but a monthly wage of ten thousand Ruon was a fortune that would take three or four months of work to earn out there.
And lodging and meals included?
“This… this isn’t a bad employment contract—no, I mean, not a harsh labor sentence at all, is it…?”
“Silence!”
Stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp!
Zion’s feet hammered against the ground, deliberately freezing the atmosphere, before he bellowed his reprimand.
He masked his true intentions, letting amusement slip through where anger should have been.
“You wretches dared petition for the release of Zion Blije! For life! Beneath this prince! You will labor like dogs and atone for your sins!”
‘Forgive me. My reach is limited, and this pittance is all I can truly offer you.’
* * *
It came that night.
In a moment both dream and waking, neither quite one nor the other, a solemn voice resonated through the void.
「The second clause of the covenant activates now.」
「The Guide is granted sight of the branching paths.」
The Guide Ring had trembled each time, offering those fractional glimpses before.
The ability’s name was—he somehow simply knew—the Guide to Branching Paths.
Something about that feeling rang true.
「Choose.」
「Which path will you walk?」
Before thought could follow, his vision inverted.
Images flickered and blurred in rapid succession.
At last, a single scene resolved.
———————————
The Imperial Palace. The very square where the Marquis Gabel had once held his inauguration ceremony.
Instead of a dais, a massive gallows had been erected.
Dozens of condemned prisoners knelt in restraints.
Even caked in filth, their faces were unmistakable at a glance.
‘Arista! Reyanna! My comrades in the Order—why…?’
Comrades facing their execution. His mind burned, blazing with heat.
The vision pulled back, and the Third Prince’s face came into view.
The perspective moved as one might in a moving picture or cinema—those strange new inventions he’d only heard whispered about.
“Fools, every last one. From Zion Blije to every member of the Liberation Order. The face of the execution changes, but it’s rather an improvement.”
Then someone spoke, wonder threaded through their question.
“How did you know he hadn’t escaped to rejoin the Order? If he had, this would have been a catastrophe.”
“I couldn’t be certain. So I had the newspaper print news of the Crown Prince’s execution, and watched how the fish moved. It was bait and verification in one.”
“Ah, so that’s how it was done. Truly, Your Highness’s wisdom is beyond measure.”
Another flatterer pressed forward eagerly.
“You even turned it into an opportunity to multiply your wealth, did you not?”
“To consider multiple outcomes in all things—that is the virtue of a sovereign.”
“A move I couldn’t have dreamed of in a thousand years. You’re telling me to buy Brown & Company securities? They’ve risen at least four times over. Hahahahaha!”
Bright laughter. And against it, a cutting wind.
A sharp signal pierces the silence.
The massive guillotine blades fall in unison.
———————————
* * *
A sharp breath drawn in.
“Hhnngh!”
Exhaled as if retching.
“Phwoah!”
Zion jolted upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat.
He didn’t indulge in the tired refrain of wondering if it was just a dream.
‘The execution of my comrades. The bait is me—Zion Blije. Every scene… ‘
A vibration felt through his fingers.
The Guide Ring.
‘It’s real. Or rather, it’s the future.’
A murmur escaped with his sigh.
“Maybe I should buy some stocks too, damn it.”

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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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