The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 28

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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 28: Prince of High Society (4)
“A subject of the empire pays respects to a member of the Divine Race.”
What kind of clothing is woven from black fabric with white cloth overlaid, featuring clean lines and neat proportions, conveying restraint through the stark contrast of black and white, free of ornament or frills?
Answer: a maid uniform.
Zion stared at the girl kneeling before him, utterly bewildered.
“Yes… do get up.”
“Yes, sir!”
Winter elaborated.
“She appeared a few days ago, so I detained her for questioning. Suddenly appearing to claim that the prince—a prince, no less—had helped a mere maid. Can you imagine the suspicion?”
His expression was one of exasperation.
When Zion gave him a withering look, Winter continued as though aggrieved.
“The prince turned out to be such a good man that I couldn’t help but wonder. And there she was, introducing herself as a maid of House Gebel.”
Now that he mentioned it… hmm.
“It seemed too suspicious to pass, so I detained her for verification. But it turned out to be true.”
The girl in the maid uniform, Daien, had genuinely crossed mountains and rivers, traveled a thousand miles to a foreign land, all to serve a worthless prince.
Or rather, since she was from Deber, should he say she had returned home from across the world?
“We must have crossed paths at the ceremony for the governor’s inauguration?”
“You remember me?!”
The girl’s eyes gleamed with light.
“I came to repay a debt of gratitude. Please, allow me to serve you, my lord.”
So, to summarize.
She endured a journey of nearly a month—all just to serve him?
Winter’s suspicion was justified, then.
“Why?”
“Pardon? Why, you ask?”
“Answer me. Why did you wish to serve this prince?”
“Because… you stood against House Gebel for my sake.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. The prince would never have done such a thing.”
Winter spoke with absolute certainty.
This man?
“No, sir. You smiled at me then, I’m certain of it.”
‘Hmm. Did I smile then? I can’t quite recall…’
“In the chaos of imminent death, you likely hallucinated. The prince does not smile—at most, his lips might twist slightly.”
As Zion reflected on the past, Winter reached his conclusion for him.
This man again?
“Please, accept me… If I’m taken back to House Gebel, I’m as good as dead. Your Highness, I beg your mercy…”
So her name was Daien? She seemed to have mistaken Winter’s nonsense for the prince’s true intentions.
“Taken back? What do you mean, running away?”
“That is… I saw the marquis wake up before I fled.”
Zion’s eyes widened considerably.
“Gebel awoke?”
He had taken measures to ensure he would never wake. How was this possible?
If it were true, Daien’s arrival would be a blessing brought forth by his past kindness…
“Yes. Though he died immediately after.”
Ah.
Well, that made sense.
‘I placed such heavy Curse Magic on him—there’s no way he should have woken at all.’
Though his magical power at the time had been extremely limited.
But if the caster were a Grand Mage, the story would be quite different.
A Grand Mage is the sort of being who can build a house from a handful of sand.
“I see. The marchioness must be trying to conceal Gebel’s death. Certainly, without my protection, you’d already be a corpse.”
House Gebel was, in no exaggeration, built by Gebel himself.
In other words, the patriarch’s existence accounted for more than half the family’s standing.
“The marchioness is the daughter of a prominent house—a woman Gebel chose to further his career. However, it’s said that House Gebel has since far surpassed the main family’s influence.”
A timely interjection from Winter.
No wonder she looked plain—it was a political marriage.
“Daien. In the empire, do people believe the marquis will wake someday?”
“Yes? Yes, sir. They continue to use healing Magical Tools for him.”
He had cast the curse specifically to prevent any possibility of consciousness returning.
Though he had miscalculated his power and the marquis died instead.
“The head of House Gebel is dead. No funeral will be held.”
“It seems she’s unwilling to relinquish power. If she repeats the lie that he’ll awaken someday, she can maintain control for a while longer.”
“Perfect timing.”
He recalled the expression on the duchess’s face when they’d met at the Seaellia Social Club.
That smug, insufferable look—as if she’d already claimed victory.
“This works out beautifully.”
His lips twisted into a wry smile, an old habit dying hard.
“Um, Your Highness?”
“Hmm? Oh, don’t worry. As of today, you’re my direct maid-in-waiting.”
Before settling the price for such valuable intelligence, he couldn’t simply abandon a girl from Deber facing death.
“Thank you so much! Though there’s something else I should tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Before Gebel died, he left behind a will. He mentioned a hidden fortune….”
He shot up from his seat.
“What?!”
Now that was something worth listening to.
* * *
Apart from inquiring about Gebel, Daien proved herself remarkably capable.
Exceptionally capable, in fact.
“Voilà! As I thought, black and gold suits Your Highness best. My eye was spot on, tee-hee.”
Golden hair and crimson eyes.
To match them, formal attire embroidered with gold thread on black silk.
Daien had personally arranged the commission through Madame de Gallerie.
‘It seems to have eased Kreyna’s attitude just a touch.’
At the time, Kreyna had asked why he was keeping another ash-haired commoner at his side.
But unlike her words, she hadn’t wrung her hands.
“Your Highness, would you turn around and take a look?”
“Hmm? Oh. Yes.”
He simply stood there while Daien fussed with this and that, smoothing everything into place with practiced efficiency.
…It was comfortable.
‘So this is what it’s like to be attended by a proper maid.’
Seven years old? He hadn’t experienced it since then, so he’d forgotten.
Remarkably comfortable.
Genuinely comfortable.
“All done. You’ll be the star of the party in that.”
“Preparations are complete, Your Highness. You may depart whenever you’re ready.”
Winter folded the newspaper he’d been reading and rose. The front page bore a large headline about an Elpia Federation envoy’s visit.
Today was the day the Governor’s Residence would host a reception welcoming the elves.
“My shoulders feel heavy.”
He deliberately made light of it. Truth be told, he was somewhat tense.
“I need to walk in there, command everyone’s attention, and pull the whole gathering away from the Seaellia Social Club toward my own reception.”
He had to make at least half of them accept his invitation.
And he absolutely had to bring the elves.
By any means necessary.
It was rather daunting, if he was honest.
“Well, if it fails, there’s nothing to be done. Isn’t that right, Winter?”
“Indeed, sir. Though failure seems unlikely to me. This concern is unnecessary.”
Winter shrugged his shoulders with absolute certainty.
Suspiciously unwavering confidence.
“I didn’t know you believed in me that much.”
“In other matters, perhaps, but in this sort of thing? There’s no room for doubt. Take a look in the mirror.”
He tilted his head slightly.
A brilliantly adorned prince with golden hair and crimson eyes stared back at him.
It had been three months now since he’d inhabited this body. Through consistent care and training, he looked far better than before.
But regardless.
He couldn’t fathom the basis for Winter’s confidence.
“Your Highness, there’s no one who shines brighter than you. Not even an elf.”
Daien said it while finishing the adjustment of his attire.
Well, in any case.
All preparations for departure were now complete.
“Shall we be on our way, then?”
* * *
Elvish aesthetic sensibility is renowned throughout the world.
There is reason they are called the Race of Beauty.
Any luxury brand worth its name keeps an elf designer on staff.
‘Quite beautiful, indeed.’
Smarag Eldrich, chief delegate of the Elpia Federation mission.
A man of staggering wealth and equally exacting taste, yet even he found the Governor’s Residence banquet hall remarkably lovely.
It could hardly have been otherwise.
This place had been the palace of a dynasty accumulated over centuries before it became the Governor’s building.
‘How crude—to seize the sovereign’s dwelling and make it a symbol of conquest. Ritania’s taste leaves much to be desired.’
He wished to share these observations with his daughter.
But that was impossible.
His daughter, Noksiruna, could not feel emotion.
Aesthetic contemplation? Such a luxury was hardly befitting a child robbed of her very capacity for feeling.
“Ah, truly exquisite! Is that one of those Bisque Dolls the Elpia Federation is so proud of? Or a mechanical construct? Ha ha, remarkable indeed. So lifelike!”
In that instant, Smarag’s face froze like stone, and the high-ranking official from the Governor’s Residence turned to ice.
The Bisque Doll was a living, moving work of art famous for its breathtaking beauty.
In other words, an Automaton—a mechanical construct.
The level of Magical Engineering required was so extraordinarily high that only a handful of nations on earth could produce one.
Even Ritania Empire was incapable of it.
So there was surely no malice behind the flattering remark.
Yet it was utterly unforgivable nonetheless.
“Governor Maizreon.”
Maizreon, the current colonial governor of Deber—a goateed man of middle years—quickly spoke up.
“Assemblyman Smarag, I offer my apologies. You there! What nonsense in the presence of the young lady of the Eldrich Family!”
“A thousand deaths would be too light a punishment for my transgression.”
“Out with you at once! Go reflect on your words!”
The governor issued the expulsion order to his subordinate, then watched Smarag’s face carefully for any sign of approval.
In truth, the governor was the most powerful man in all Deber.
But to Smarag Eldrich, he was merely someone of the minimum rank necessary to warrant proper courtesy.
“Just a moment.”
Smarag halted the official’s hasty retreat, then fell silent for a long time.
…….
…….
…….
The silence was brutally heavy.
“Noksiruna. What do you think should be done?”
“The mistake requires a price. That is what I believe.”
The answer came back devoid of feeling.
Not an emotional reaction, but a rational judgment—that punishment proportional to error was the logical and appropriate course.
“You are right. Luna, you are not a doll, but a person. Though admittedly beautiful enough to be mistaken for a Bisque Doll.”
“You’re wrong, Father. He simply did not observe me carefully. Or perhaps he spoke thoughtlessly, without even understanding the difference between a Bisque Doll and a human. Had he wished to make a good impression on you, he should have made the effort to conduct at least minimal inquiry. To attempt to enjoy the fruit without establishing fundamentals—that is how this mistake came to be. Only through paying a price can the lesson truly be learned. Perhaps he will feel some resentment now, believing a small slip is being held against him. But in the long view, it will surely benefit him in the years to come. With high probability, when he nears the end of his life, he will find reason to thank us.”
No—that would never happen.
Humans were creatures of emotion, after all.
Emotion was what made right into wrong.
And yet his daughter voiced her logic and reasoning with absolute certainty.
Because emotion did not exist within her.
Still, Smarag himself harbored no particular desire to consider the other man’s feelings either, so the conclusion remained much the same.
“I see. Governor, did you hear your daughter’s thoughts on this matter?”
“Ha, ha ha. Indeed. A wrong committed must be punished accordingly. I shall ensure he receives a fitting penalty…….”
Smarag cut the governor off.
“I have heard that Ritania Empire has a tradition in which one preserves honor by paying for one’s crimes through voluntary departure from this world. Is this true?”
…….
…….
…….
Silence fell once more. Brutally, piercingly cold.
Leaving all present steeped in agonizing quiet, Smarag gazed upon his daughter in silence.
‘Yes… indeed. My Luna truly is…….’

In truth, there was nothing strange about mistaking him for a mechanical doll.
A single rule, established since the first contact between different races thousands of years ago.
The world had decided to call all sentient beings—humans, elves, dwarves, and the rest—”people.”
For regardless of different races, cultures, and systems of thought, they possessed hearts all the same.
But here was the question.
If that was the reasoning, then what distinguished a person devoid of emotion from a mechanical doll that walked and moved?
‘Luna, my daughter. Soon. Very soon.’
Such doubts would end before long.
In time, she would be able to share in everything alongside her daughter.
“Just a jest, Governor Maizreon. The reception was growing rather tedious, so I thought I’d lighten the mood. Ha-ha.”
“Is that so? How fortunate, Member Smarag. Ha-ha-ha-ha……”
Watching the governor laugh a touch too loudly, Smarag immediately seized upon the opening he had created.
The reason he had deliberately abandoned restraint just moments before.
A feint to ask freely about Zion Blize, the reverse scale of the empire.
“To dispel the tedium, perhaps you might share an amusing story. There is something I have been curious about for some time. I hear there exists a rather famous figure in this country?”
“For a member to take such interest—I shall have the entire Security Bureau under the Governor’s Residence mobilized to discover the answer. Please, speak freely.”
“Zion. I am curious about him.”
Governor Maizreon’s face stiffened.
Zion.
The bearer of that name was beyond investigation by either party.
Even if one were the most powerful figure in Deber.
‘Zion Blize. Zion Riobelt. I would have preferred he were merely a dissolute prince rather than a Legion Commander of the Liberation Army.’
The former was a figure difficult to speak of carelessly, even as the most powerful authority in Deber.
One of the previous governors had even been assassinated by him.
Merely the thought of his existence sent waves of disgust and dread surging through.
“Do you speak of the empire’s Ninth Prince?”
Smarag shook his head.
“The most famous figure in Deber would surely be the Raven of Deber, would it not? The sole Grand Mage of this age.”
The governor nodded while swallowing hard.
From the start, the name Zion Blize carried a peculiar significance for those of the Eldrich Family.
One of seven—Eldrich.
The house of Eldrich descended from one of the seven founders of Magical Engineering.
And so, for being a mage alone, Zion Blize could not help but register as a figure of consequence.
‘It is only natural that he would take interest.’
The governor spent considerable time explaining Zion Blize.
“Remarkable, then. A single individual capable of orchestrating bombardments of such scale as to alter imperial policy.”
“Surrounded by so many troops, and yet he broke through and escaped? Magic’s weakness lies in endurance and sustainability, yet truly impressive.”
“Though magic may be the remnant of a bygone age, one cannot ignore its possibilities, ha-ha-ha.”
As the elf continued to marvel with each question about Zion Blize’s exploits and the explanations offered, the governor felt a deep unease.
For the achievements of the Liberation Army’s Legion Commander were invariably the empire’s losses and defeats.
And included among them were blunders of his own doing.
“Ahem. After all, it was merely the fluttering of a raven’s wings. In the end, His Imperial Highness the Ninth Prince, Zion Riobelt, broke those wings and brought the matter to a close. The Prince himself offered himself as bait in aiding the capture of Zion Blize.”
An attempt to redirect the conversation.
But it had backfired entirely.
“Ah. The empire’s royal family… they are called the Divine Race, yes? I have developed some interest in them as well. Might I inquire? What manner of person is this Prince?”
He regretted it at once.
There was nothing to gain from elves showing interest in the empire’s greatest disgrace.
Worse still, Zion Riobelt had not even been invited to today’s reception.
“It is that… the Prince, you see…”
“Where is he, then? It would be better to make his acquaintance directly and converse.”
Smarag suppressed a smile as he watched the governor perspire.
‘How worthwhile the preliminary investigation has proven.’
Information obtained incidentally while investigating Zion Blize’s captivity in the empire.
Indeed, the Ninth Prince was proving to be a weakness in the empire’s armor.
“Where is the Prince? Surely he has not failed to attend the reception.”
This reception was held to extend diplomatic courtesy to an envoy of a great power. In matters of diplomacy, the absence of a high-ranking official is in itself an affront, and is often perceived as a gesture of refusal.
‘Governor, you never knew I was aware of the Prince. Though I suppose it makes sense—elves are said to take little interest in humankind.’
It was truth enough. Had it not been for his connection to Zion Blize, he would have remained ignorant that the Ninth Prince had even been exiled to Deber.
‘Still, the Prince is exiled, no less. One a national hero. One a national disgrace. Bearing the same name, yet poles apart.’
Smarag pressed again, masking his derision.
“The Governor? But he said he wished to speak with His Imperial Highness……?”
“Councilor, I…….”
And in that very moment.
“Father.”
Noksiruna, who had called out to Smarag, turned her head.
They stood in the heart of the Royal Palace, a chamber that in ages past would have been called the Throne Hall — the Grand Hall where the king once sat upon his throne and the assembled ministers of state deliberated the kingdom’s affairs.
Across the vast expanse, light began to flow through an enormous grand gate, its surface adorned with intricate magical patterns of breathtaking beauty.
Creak.
The doors opened.

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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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