The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 17

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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 17: The Scheme of Two Zions (2)
Word was spreading through the upper echelons of how the Empire’s greatest wastrel had caused such a scandal and earned himself exile to Daber.
He had beaten a deputy governor into a coma, no less.
It was precisely the sort of thing that made Winter shake her head and click her tongue the moment she heard of it.
Zion Riobeldt was the first Divine Being whom even the Imperial Household had abandoned, issuing him the Foreign Land Exile Sentence.
And yet.
Crack!
As Winter watched Zion’s hand connect across Dachion’s cheek, she could not help but marvel with genuine admiration.
How could such brutish conduct be carried out with such grace?
One could not help but think: a Divine Being truly is a Divine Being.
“Dachion, I asked if you have ten million Ruon. Keep playing dumb like this, and you’ll have the honor of receiving the gift of a dumb man’s life from this prince’s own hand.”
And yet she found herself marveling once more, though in an altogether different sense.
The one doing the beating was now extorting compensation from the one being beaten?
Only the Empire’s greatest wastrel could conceive of such an outrageous abuse of power.
‘Not that I’d think of stopping him. Well done, Your Highness! Earning money, I see!’
A scheme born from the union of “the Empire’s greatest wastrel” and “a Divine prince.”
Violence that answered to no one’s judgment.
Or more precisely, it might be defined thus:
‘The freedom to do anything whatsoever—or rather, pure unchecked license.’
“Ten million Ruon. Hand over the money and slip past this quietly, or else begin to pay the true price for your crime. Choose.”
Though he was indeed causing a commotion throughout the Exchange, Dachion was technically exercising his legitimate authority.
Yet against such a man, Zion had not merely struck his cheek; now he was extracting ten million Ruon under a pretext that barely warranted the name.
‘Whoever did something like this would end up with the worst possible reputation, shunned by society.’
The upper classes ran on connections, and reputation management was rightly called one of an aristocrat’s duties.
But.
For Zion Riobeldt, such concerns did not apply.
Why? His reputation was already in ruins.
“Your Highness… I shall provide whatever you ask. However, I have no funds at the moment, so if we might arrange another meeting in the future…”
What gall this traitor had, running his mouth like that.
It was obvious he would make excuses the moment the immediate crisis passed.
“I’ll accept a check.”
……
“If you claim you have no checkbook, then each check I discover will cost you ten million more.”
Ten million Ruon—enough to purchase an entire modest enterprise outright, enough to employ over a hundred workers for a full year.
To have such a sum wrung from him by force left Dachion’s blood boiling with fury.
“Ah, from the look of you, you seem quite angry? I understand your heart well.”
Zion let out a soft laugh, his gaze turning toward Winter.
“Winter. Go fetch a sword. It seems this prince must personally execute justice upon a criminal.”
Ritania was a nation of knights, and summary execution was commonly carried out by the blade.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The anger that had flickered across Dachion’s face transformed into pure terror in mere breaths.
This was the man who had beaten even a marquis—scheduled to become a colonial governor—into a vegetative state.
So Dachion could only think one thing.
If this wastrel took a wrong turn, he would absolutely swing that sword.
“I’ll provide it! A check, I have a check!”
Drawing out his checkbook and pen with shaking hands, Dachion wrote faster than he ever had in his life.
“Hmph. Should have done so from the start.”
Zion snatched the check from his hands and waved it mockingly before his face.
“Now scurry off, pig. Don’t let me see you again.”
“……My apologies. I beg you to forgive my inadequ——”
He turned sharply on his heel. Whatever Dachion muttered behind him, Zion no longer cared to listen.
His attention fell upon the gray-haired gentleman still kneeling on one knee, and he spoke to him.
“What is your name? Ah, you need not bow.”
“I—thank you, Your Highness. I am Rumio Blen, sir.”
He had gathered the general situation during his exchange with Dachion.
The shabby suit, the document briefcase clutched as though it were a treasure, the scholarly bearing.
What treasure could this man of such modest circumstances possess that had drawn Dachion’s greed?
“Winter! Go purchase some Grain Commodity Securities.”
The moment he called out his command, murmurs began rippling through various corners of the Exchange.
Those stationed here throughout the day understood at once what it meant when a Divine Being began investing in the grain market.
If I keep this up a few more times, I should be able to squeeze more money out of Rejo—or rather, secure more generous funding.
“Rumio Blen.”
“Oh—yes, yes, I’m here…!”
…What?
Rumio thrust forward the document briefcase he’d been clutching like treasure.
A strange discord washed over Zion.
It was clear Rumio had jumped to the conclusion that refusing to hand over the briefcase would land him in the same trouble as Dachion, and he’d panicked accordingly.
‘I was only going to suggest we have some tea together….’
“Ahem. Come along.”
Naturally, the Exchange maintained a VIP lounge for high-net-worth clientele. Zion claimed one of these rooms, Rumio in tow.
“Blen Industry. You’re the proprietor?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Rumio handed over a document.
‘Rumio Blen. An unusual resume indeed.’
He’d completed elementary, intermediate, and even advanced schooling—a substantial investment in education—yet had not attended university.
And yet Rumio had managed to operate a magical engineering supply shop, and had even gone further still, inventing a respectable technique and filing for patent protection.
‘So he taught himself Mage Engineering without formal higher education and reached an expert level.’
At that moment, Winter entered the VIP lounge, her securities dealings concluded.
Zion gestured to Winter, indicating Rumio, then spread the documents out in earnest.
“I’m Winter Flowering, assistant to His Highness. Shall we have a conversation? Ah, should I address you as President Blen?”
Within the hour, Winter would have extracted every detail of the situation, summarized it, and delivered her report. In the meantime, Zion intended to examine the documents and patent technology at the heart of the dispute.
‘A theoretical foundation for cold production based on mana? Interesting. Cold is a notoriously difficult property to manipulate. Impressive work indeed.’
Heat could be generated with relatively little energy expenditure, but cold required manifesting the ‘inverse’ of heat, or ‘absence’ itself—a fundamentally different undertaking.
This was why magical implements employing cold were so rare.
‘The design isn’t without its gaps. The technology is still incomplete. Moreover….’
The structure of the theory made it clear.
Rather than a technique developed from pure foundation-building starting from zero, this looked far more like a sophisticated imitation.
Which meant—
“Your Highness.”
It was Winter. She’d already extracted the full account of Rumio’s circumstances.
“Tell me.”
Her report, condensed, went as follows:
First: Dachion had been a generous patron, paying handsomely whether Rumio transferred equity or sought investment, but two months ago he’d stopped returning his calls and begun displaying naked greed.
Second: Dachion intended to seize the patent technology alone, wielding his massive loan debt and position as primary investor as leverage, leaving Rumio not a copper piece.
Third: If Rumio couldn’t settle all debts within roughly two months, Dachion would acquire a controlling stake, and the patent would be stripped from him—the outcome was effectively already sealed.
“In other words, the technology could change hands at any moment unless he can achieve rapid commercialization. Cold-type magical implements have solid profit margins too—a genuine shame.”
Rumio answered in a pitiful voice.
“Yes…. If all had gone according to plan, I was to commercialize and sell a cold circulation device—for installation in rooms of the wealthy. I’ve already named it: the Air Conditioner.”
But plans are merely plans.
The operational lifespan fell short of projections; manufacturing costs hadn’t been reduced to a commercially viable level; and the hourly cold production output itself remained below target specifications.
The current technology had inherent limitations for magical implement construction.
‘Hmm. If I remove this section and layer the circuit three times in series, then adjust the magic circle geometry to a geometric progression… it shouldn’t be difficult at all.’
The magical prodigy who used to twist mana circuits and formulas around when bored was none other than Zion Blez from years past.
A glance at the schematics was enough for his mind to conjure solutions to the technology’s shortcomings.
And then, like lightning in his thoughts, came the revelation.
‘Wait. I could complete this technology anytime I wanted.’
For Zion, who possessed the greatest magical talent in Daber’s history, this derivative of magic—no, he had to admit it now—
this new form of magic, Mage Engineering, was merely an easy discipline in which he could reach the pinnacle whenever he chose.
During his years with the Liberation Army, he’d poured all his time into refining his magical mastery; Mage Engineering had never held his interest.
But circumstances were very different now.
‘My magical prowess can be restored anytime given enough time. The environment itself is different from my days with the Liberation Army, when any developed technology couldn’t be sold.’
Zion Blez. Zion Riobelt.
Two Zions had become one.
That is, each possessed the strengths the other lacked.
‘I haven’t yet fully grasped the extent of the new power I’ve gained.’
Whether it was the Air Conditioner or anything else, any cold-type magical implement would inevitably be profitable purely on the basis of its rarity.
If Zion Blez’s knowledge and capability were applied to rapid commercialization—
The tangled web of debt, investment arrangements, and equity disputes entangling Blen Industry? Zion Riobelt’s status could demolish all of that in an instant.
‘The result would net me three things. A respectable business enterprise. Massive ruin for that traitor Dachion. And one thing more.’
The corners of his mouth rose. Old habits died hard—his smile twisted into that familiar, cruel shape.
‘The source technique he mimicked during the development of Cold Production. If my prediction is correct…….’
From the morning that began with a dream foreseeing the worst future, the entire day had been filled with frustrating troubles.
The weight on his shoulders had grown heavy with the emergence of tasks that absolutely had to be accomplished.
But thanks to the revelation just moments before, that burden lifted like a feather.
“Winter.”
Having finished her business and returned, Winter—who had been standing at attention—answered.
“Yes, Your Highness. What are your orders?”
“I’m thinking of investing in Rumio. To make Blen Industry into a proper tech firm that owns its own factory, how much would be needed—no, never mind.”
Seeing Winter’s expression darken, he felt too guilty to ask for details.
“There’s no need for me to know the exact amount. Handle it yourself.”
“Your Highness. Wouldn’t it be wise to settle the farm payment first? The transaction with Rejo won’t proceed until we’ve monitored the Grain Commodity Securities market.”
Winter spoke in careful, roundabout language because Rumio was present.
Rejo’s promised support was still far off, there were no sources of income flowing in, so she was warning against opening new channels for money to flow out.
“Hmm. Rumio, I haven’t been in Daber long, so liquidity is a bit tight for now. First, let me ask—will you accept my investment? I promise the terms will be quite generous.”
Rumio, looking utterly dumbfounded, nodded his head.
“Very well. So all I need to do is find the investment capital.”
Watching Winter press her forehead in exasperation, he broke into a quiet chuckle.
“Don’t worry, Winter. I just opened up a source of funds a moment ago.”
He held Dachion’s check between his index and middle fingers, waving it playfully back and forth.
“Let’s go make a partnership proposal.”
Winter gasped silently in shock.
Going to find the man they’d just beaten up and extorted money from, only to propose a business partnership?
He was always a prince who exceeded all imagination.
* * *
Crash! Smash!
Inside the ornate mansion, glass decorative pieces that had adorned the interior sat atop the furniture—now shattered to fragments.
“Aaaaaaah!”
Crash!
Only after destroying furniture and artwork worth hundreds of thousands of Ruon did Dachion finally bury himself in the sofa.
“The 9th Prince…… I will repay today’s humiliation a thousandfold. Steward!”
Dachion turned to his butler, whose face had gone deathly pale.
“Freeze the account connected to the check I gave the 9th Prince. Go to the bank and make sure he doesn’t receive a single coin when he tries to cash it!”
He intended to show that even a mere commoner could make a fool of a Divine Being.
The 9th Prince would soon discover the check was worthless and rage in fury, but that hardly mattered.
‘After all, he’s a prince whose thread has been cut. With my connections and backing, I can stand against him easily enough.’
Dachion drew a deep breath and continued his thought.
He would make the 9th Prince pay the price for attempting to extort the wealth that he had accumulated by selling off even the nation itself.
Rendering the check worthless and erasing the loss wouldn’t be enough—he needed to find a way to make the 9th Prince feel that same burning rage he felt now…….
“Master. A distinguished guest has arrived.”
“A guest? I had no appointments today. Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Dachion’s eyes bulged from their sockets.
The 9th Prince had burst through the door, revealing himself.
“Dachion. I wish to bestow upon you the honor of becoming my business partner. Surely you’ll accept?”
“…….”
His jaw dropped, too bewildered even for words.
Before that speechless Dachion, Zion tossed the check at him.
“Consider this a return. It’s only courteous between partners, wouldn’t you say? Hehehehe.”
The check he had so carefully rendered worthless was now back in his hands.
“…….”
Dachion remained silent for a long while, unable to find words.

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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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