The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 2

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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 2: The Way of a Madman (1)
Inside: Zion Blize, freedom fighter of Deber.
Outside: Zion Riobelt, crown prince of Litania.
But nothing has changed.
‘That bastard Gabel as Governor of Deber? I won’t stand for it—not while I draw breath.’
A colonial governor commanded the rank of a duke. It meant becoming one of the empire’s five most powerful figures.
He had to be stopped.
Beyond personal hatred, for Deber’s sake—it was necessary.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Your Highness. It is time to depart. We have prepared the Mana-Powered Automobile for you.”
“Lead the way.”
Two days now since settling into this body. He’d grown accustomed to it quickly enough.
‘The missing memories are troublesome, but since I’m such a reckless fool anyway, they likely excuse whatever strangeness I show. A mercy, really.’
Besides, there was another detail worth considering.
‘I slept for over thirty hours straight before the possession took hold.’
He’d gleaned this carefully from the butler and the maidservant.
On the day the original Zion Riobelt stormed the prison, he had not been killed.
Unusually silent and without a word, but he’d returned whole to his chambers.
Then he’d lost consciousness, and some thirty hours later, Zion Blize had awakened in his place.
‘So effectively my original body has vanished—they’ll chalk it up to Zion Blize escaping from prison and call it settled. Huh.’
Admiration escaped him unbidden. The Mana-Powered Automobile provided to the crown prince—or automobile, for short.
More luxurious and smoother-riding than he’d imagined.
‘Dwarf-made? Handcrafted? The price of one of these could buy ten houses.’
A fallen king’s heir typically lived poorer than most commoners.
His first time riding something this expensive.
“Since it’s banquet day, there will be traffic. We should arrive at the Imperial Palace in roughly an hour, Highness.”
Add checkpoints to that—easily another three or four hours.
With the destination being the Imperial Palace itself, he’d be stopped and searched multiple times over.
‘I should be exhausted just thinking about it, shouldn’t I?’
He wasn’t.
“Salute to the heir of noble blood!”
“Glory to the sun!”
From the first checkpoint onward, the automobile had not stopped once.
Checkpoint guards saluting as they caught sight of the imperial banner streaming overhead.
……
A memory surfaced: when the Liberation Army had infiltrated on a mission and been stopped at a checkpoint.
He’d nearly died when they discovered he was Deber’s crown prince.
But now……
“Salute to the heir of noble blood!”
“Glory to the sun!”
‘Does the prince pass through without question or check?’
A gap this wide in the empire’s defenses? In all that ironclad security and vigilance?
Remarkable.
“Your Highness. We have arrived. I shall wait with the automobile. Call if you require anything.”
“Hmm? You’re not coming with me?”
“……Your Highness……”
Ah. That fool must have said something about finding it embarrassing to enter with an old man?
“I was joking. Of course you’re coming.”
He felt a twinge of guilt, but it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t afford suspicion.
In any case.
The Banquet Hall swarmed with high-ranking officials.
‘That one’s ranked 87……. That one’s 43……. Oh, there’s a 26 as well.’
For reference, the numbers he was counting were assassination targets by priority.
The Banquet Hall overflowed with people who deserved killing.
“Eek, ah, ah!”
A single, sharp cry from across the room. A young maidservant, hurrying through, had tripped over something and was falling.
“There.”
He caught her wrist lightly, steadying her before she hit the ground.
Ash-grey hair. Ash-grey strands.
Unmistakably from Deber.
“Be careful, even if you’re in a hurry.”
He released my wrist and moved on.
Merely lending an ear was enough to glean the latest intelligence on imperial officials.
‘This is extraordinary. Has it been ten minutes? The quality and quantity of information I’ve gathered so far would have cost the Resistance Network a man or two’s life to obtain.’
It was just then.
“Prince Zion! You’ve arrived! It’s been so long since I last laid eyes upon you, haha!”
A young nobleman suddenly approached and greeted me with remarkable informality.
The ornamental cane he held in his hand was striking.
Substantial enough that it might serve other purposes quite well.
‘From his face alone, he’s one of the inner circle. Did we know each other before?’
I offered an appropriately measured response.
“It has been a while.”
“Haha, how gracious of you!”
He pressed close beside me and chattered on without pause.
His words were so insubstantial that had he been anyone else, my lack of memory would have been exposed on the spot.
He was so vapid that I still hadn’t caught his name.
Though if we’d been close friends originally, introducing ourselves by name would have been absurd anyway.
“Ah! By the way, sir, this way if you please. I’ve already scouted some lovely young ladies for you.”
“…….”
The proposal laid bare exactly how Zion Riobelt had lived his life.
“Not now. Later.”
“Oh, come now, sir. I’ll take excellent care of you.”
“I said not now.”
“……What?”
Rigert’s face paled noticeably.
“Your Highness, wait—I’ve even hidden something special on the Terrace! You’ll be quite pleased, hehe.”
Hmm. This scheming wretch. He’s hiding something.
Based on my years in the Liberation Army, I’d stake my life on it—this bastard is up to something.
‘It’s convenient that Zion Riobelt is such a degenerate.’
I can simply ask point-blank without hesitation.
“What’s this about? Who ordered you to do this?”
“What? Your Highness……. I’m Rigert. The Rigert whom you cherish and favor most.”
There’s no way to tell if that’s true.
Already frustrated by my missing memories, hearing such things only added to my burden.
Irritation flared, and I stared him down.
“Your Highness…… Surely you know the Third Prince wouldn’t ask me to do something like this…….”
With nothing more than a glare, Rigert’s face crumpled and he began spilling everything, begging for forgiveness.
Just how much of a wreck was Zion Riobelt?
“So the Third Prince ordered this?”
‘Garion Riobelt taking care of Zion Riobelt? Why on earth?’
I had no idea.
Given that my opponent was far too powerful, I momentarily thought it wise to retreat and assess the situation.
But something in me rebelled against that course.
Instead, a stubborn pride surged up—I wanted to do the exact opposite.
I’d come to meet Marquis Gabel in the first place, and I wasn’t about to slink away now.
“Even if I’m going to drink, shouldn’t I at least offer my congratulations to the guest of honor at this banquet?”
Rigert’s face went ashen.
“Your Highness, please……. You may not realize it, but I could truly die, please……!”
I’d only just met him today—I couldn’t have cared less what happened to him.
I strode forward, scanning the crowd in search of Marquis Gabel.
‘It’s so sprawling it’ll take a while to find him. Hmm, there he is.’
Fortunately, I found him quickly.
In a distant corner of the Banquet Hall, a voice raised in stern rebuke toward someone.
“Worthless creature. Do you know what that woman has done?”
Though the distance was considerable and the hall was filled with noise, the voice carried with unnatural clarity.
“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Marquis. Please, just this once, forgive me…….”
A maidservant, her face drained of color, staring down at a single drop of wine that had spilled on her hand, and Marquis Gabel with his eyes upon her.
The space around them was packed with nobility.
‘That young maidservant……. She’s the one who nearly stumbled earlier.’
In other words, a young fellow countryman working far from home across the sea was being oppressed by the empire’s powerful.
“Tell me what mistake you made.”
Gabel’s tone was remarkably refined.
He expressed his anger while maintaining his dignity.
It was the manner of someone renowned as a master of persuasion—a wielder of rhetoric that few could match.
Yet another reason why he had to be stopped from taking the position of Governor.
‘The man has a gift for charming people. If a propaganda expert of his caliber extends his influence across all of Deber unchecked, there’s no telling what might happen.’
Then it occurred.
Crack!
“Eek!”
The Maidservant crumpled to the floor. Zion’s hand twitched.
“You can’t even pour wine without spilling it. This single drop costs more than your entire worth.”
“The aroma is so potent that I…….”
“Is that so? Then you shall be punished. Drain this wine bottle entirely. Spill even one drop and you’ll receive lashes.”
The young Maidservant’s face drained of all color.
An entire bottle of high-proof liquor—she would be bedridden for days at the very least, possibly fatal at worst.
‘He punishes her for spilling a drop because it’s valuable, then orders her to empty the entire bottle as punishment. The contradiction was glaring.’
Yet no one around them dared point it out.
There was a power in Gabel’s voice that made even contradictory words sound plausible, convincing.
This was why Gabel was called the Empire’s greatest propagandist and had risen swiftly to his marquis title.
“P-Please, Marquis. I was wrong. Please forgive me just this once…….”
“Count to three. Decide by then.”
‘The Marquis……those repugnant habits of his haven’t changed.’
A vulgar sense of superiority etched across his features. Trampling the weak while flaunting rank disparities was one of the Marquis’s most detestable quirks.
“I’ll drink it.”
The moment Zion spoke, every head in the room turned toward him in unison.
At that very instant.
The nobles all pressed their fists to their hearts, bowed their heads, and performed the ritual bow simultaneously.
The commoner attendants went further still, dropping to one knee.
“The subjects of the Empire greet a member of the Divine Clan.”
“The subjects of the Empire greet a member of the Divine Clan.”
“The subjects of the Empire greet a member of the Divine Clan.”
“The subjects of the Empire greet a member of the Divine Clan.”
The Empire styled the imperial family as the Divine Clan.
As descendants of the Sun God’s lineage, they were supposedly worthy of reverence—or so the doctrine went.
‘Wrapping authority in mythology until it consumes the very concept. There’s a limit to such pretense.’
By that logic, the royal house of Deber was genuinely descended from a sorcerer who summoned a god?
Legends were mere legends.
Yet regardless, the ritual bow to the Divine Clan was encoded in the Imperial Law—it was the duty of every citizen, not merely custom.
Not mere habit.
‘Why didn’t Rigert perform it? Ah—was I lenient and excused him because we’re close?’
Well, it hardly mattered.
“Gabel. It seems you failed to notice I was present?”
Gabel had not performed the ritual bow.
Surely I hadn’t pardoned him as well?
“A provincial Governor holds Protocol Rank equal to that of an Imperial Prince, Your Highness. Yet within Imperial territory, I am entitled to the courtesies accorded to a Duke wherever I travel. Still, I confess I did not expect you to come directly. Hah hah hah—did this Gabel truly appear so disagreeable to you?”
What was this about?
This was when I needed to deploy the skill I’d learned from Kaironi, who often spoke in riddles I couldn’t decipher.
When in doubt, ignore it and change the subject. That was the wiser course.
“Maidservant. Bring the bottle.”
“That is…….”
The Maidservant’s eyes darted between Zion and the Marquis.
“Give it to him.”
He took the bottle and looked at the Marquis. Prominent cheekbones, hollow eyes. The whole face gaunt and angular.
The last time he’d seen him was at the funeral, when the late King passed away.
“Gabel. You’ve reached eighty-three this year, haven’t you?”
For what it was worth, eighty-three was considered prime years among the Empire’s elite.
“I didn’t know Your Highness would remember my age.”
I would know. I had to know. There was no way I wouldn’t.
‘Quite aged, yet unchanged for all that.’
What Gabel had done at that funeral came back to him.
……He tilted the wine bottle.
The wine poured out in streams.
“How much did you say this wine cost per drop?”
A brazen provocation. Gabel, whose compulsively ordered square beard twitched, walked forward quickly to close the distance.
Though his diminished stature forced him to crane his neck considerably to look up, Gabel was undeterred, his gaze piercing as it fixed on Zion.
“How amusing. Such an uncharacteristic display—I confess myself curious what psychological foundation motivates such behavior.”
“I don’t know. Wasn’t thinking of anything particular.”
“Is that so?”
Gabel’s cold stare turned toward the maidservant.
“Since Your Highness enjoyed the wine so graciously, it is now her turn. Fetch a fresh bottle. Should she fail to drink it all, she dies today.”
This bastard. What’s he doing?
“Your Highness, if you wish to spare her, you may purchase her. The price is ten million Pen.”
Pen—the Imperial currency. In the Kingdom’s Ruan, that would be a hundred million Ruan.
Enough to buy an entire massive city, yet he was pricing a maidservant at such a sum?
It was unmistakable mockery.
“I knew Your Highness was no ordinary man, but I confess this is the first time I’ve discovered you to be a fool. To approach me after slaughtering my subordinates—and on the very day I ascend to a rank equal to yours, no less.”
Only then did Zion understand the source of Gabel’s seemingly baseless enmity.
‘He held a grudge from the start.’
Two days prior, the torturer whom Zion had discovered to be Gabel’s subordinate and killed by laying a trap.
The hand he’d borrowed to kill that man belonged to none other than Zion Riobelt—the very body he now inhabited.
‘In the end, I’ve stepped in the very filth I spread.’
Damn. There was no way to have known this consciousness would suddenly inhabit this body.
“What will you do? Will you purchase her? Oh, but I’ve heard the Ninth Prince is renowned for his poverty—unable to even maintain his dignity without the Third Prince’s allowance. If you wish, I’ll reduce the price to one hundredth. Does that tempt your purse now?”
An insult profound enough that the original Ninth Prince Zion would surely have sought death from shame and contempt,
yet the current Zion felt no such wound.
‘Hmm, this fellow—or rather, now it’s me, isn’t it. So I was a pauper.’
Still, continuing a war of words with someone who wielded his tongue like a weapon seemed only to invite greater losses.
This was another skill Zion had honed through countless arguments with Kaironi.
“Eat your own shit.”
Shock crossed Gabel’s face.
“What?! Have you forgotten the nobility of your birthright itself?”
“I said eat your own shit.”
……
In those deep-set eyes, black pupils darting frantically within white fields, searching—as if seeking some hidden meaning in words that plainly held none.
He chuckled softly, watching Gabel probe for subtlety in a statement devoid of it.
Then Gabel began to laugh as well.
Clearly he had misunderstood the intent.
“So you cling to dignity through such vulgar means. Pathetic. I’ll offer you counsel nonetheless: find a skill uniquely your own.”
Gabel leaned closer.
“I, Paul Gabel, have risen to equal standing with you—a man possessed of nothing but bloodline—through eloquence and rhetorical art alone.”
Hair slicked back tautly. Impeccably groomed, yet the compulsion beneath could not be hidden.
One corner of his mouth curved into a pleasing arc.
A smile.
‘Utterly repugnant.’
“Thanks to Your Highness, my mood has improved, so I shall show mercy to this wretch. Now, I must prepare my speech before the inauguration ceremony. Farewell.”
Gabel withdrew.
Well, at least the maidservant’s death had been averted.
The nobles filed out in his wake.
Only Rigert remained at Zion’s side.
“Um, Your Highness. Shall we… retire to the terrace? Perhaps enjoy some more wine together. Haha. Hahaha……”
Rigert’s manner was exceedingly cautious.
Like standing beside a bomb on the verge of detonation.
‘But I’m perfectly fine.’
Gabel. Father’s enemy had just insulted him openly.
And yet.
Despite it all, Zion felt elated.
Meeting that man brought him nothing but joy.
‘Gabel, you told me to find my own strength. I’m sorry, but I already know mine well enough.’
So he was to give a speech at the inauguration ceremony.
An interesting image began to form in Zion’s mind.
To paint a picture, one needs pigment—or at least a pencil, however humble.
‘I need magic. My body’s changed, and my cultivation’s scattered to the winds, but so be it.’
He closed his eyes. He focused his mind.
Into the conscious world within his thoughts, he carved a pattern.
A Magic Circle. No—a Mana Circuit.
The Mana Circuit inscribed in consciousness breaches the material world.
Gossamer threads extending outward. The Circuit pioneers a path through flesh.
The human body is riddled with gaps—blood vessels, those channels through which life flows, now serve the Mana Circuit as well.
“Haaah.”
He opened his eyes.
For now, this was the best he could manage.
Still, he’d crossed the minimum threshold.
“Rigert. How much time has passed?”
“Pardon? You’ve had your eyes closed for roughly five minutes, sir.”
Five minutes ago, Zion Blize had been an ordinary man.
But now, Zion Blize was a mage.
What would take an ordinary person months to achieve—years for the mediocre—he had reached in a mere five minutes.
The overwhelming talent that made this possible still dwelled within him.
Magic is a discipline where the soul’s character matters far more than the body’s potential.
‘The Banquet Hall must be bristling with magical detection sensors…’
He swept his awareness outward—or rather, he gazed upon the Mana Resonance visible only to mages.
‘If I keep it subtle enough, I can manifest magic without triggering them.’
The mana pulses radiating from the Magical Tools wielded by high nobility. There were so many layered atop one another that minor magic would escape detection.
‘Duke. You want to know something? Your petty insults mean nothing to me. But seeing your face—I’m just so delighted, so thrilled.’
Having entered the body of this worthless fool held at least one advantage.
He now possessed the means to orchestrate a revenge worthy of legend.
And as for you, Duke—it seems you take such pride in your silver tongue, your greatest gift?
‘I’ll drag you down from your most radiant moment into the deepest darkness.’
Within Zion’s palm, a faint blue light traced out a specific pattern.
It was the circuit structure he’d read from the Magical Tool hidden beneath the uniform button—the one Gabel had thrust at him.

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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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