The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 3

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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 3: The Executioner’s Way (2)
A crowd. People murmuring in different conversations, creating an energy that thrummed with life and movement.
Though every soul present was an imperial subject, it was a sight worth seeing.
Dateber had known such moments once.
‘Is this the Solar Plaza?’
A square held within the Imperial Palace itself, a space where national ceremonies were conducted.
‘Quite the gathering. Then again, considering Gebel’s tongue-work, it’s hardly surprising.’
Silvertongue. The master of the silver tongue.
An alias for Marquis Gebel—a man blessed with the gift of charming crowds through mere words alone, the Empire’s finest propagandist.
‘There’s still time. Best I survey the lay of the land.’
Finding gaps, then exploiting them—that was Zion Blije’s method. Old habits die hard.
Still, his feet carried him backstage of their own accord. He could see Magical Engineers and staff rushing about, orchestrating the spectacle.
“You there.”
“Who—! Ah! A subject of the Empire receives a Divine Being!”
They looked harried, so he pressed them deliberately, question after question.
“Distinguished guests will gather in numbers, yet your preparations seem appallingly lax. By my estimation, a single Magical Device would suffice to interfere with the stage entirely. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Not to worry, Your Highness. Everything has been calculated with precision. There are no variables save the shortage of time.”
Nitpicking, nothing more—a means to buy himself time to survey the surroundings.
From this backstage vantage, all the Magical Devices installed for the Inauguration Ceremony lay bare before him.
‘Formidable. Yet there are gaps.’
An Archmage’s eyes read the information and committed it to memory.
Good. He had everything he needed now.
Add to that the mana patterns Gebel had unwittingly revealed to him, and—
It would be more than sufficient.
“Your calculations are thorough, I’m certain. Trust in them. Nothing will go amiss.”
He turned, suppressing an inward laugh.
The meticulous calculations of men who couldn’t balance an equation without a counting frame.
“I’ve found the gaps. Now it’s merely a matter of waiting for the perfect moment.”
Zion’s lips curved into a grin, his expression twisting slightly—an old tic that still clung to his borrowed frame.
He took his seat in the honored gallery, positioning himself at the optimal point for casting magic.
‘Gebel. You were always like that.’
A memory surfaced—days when Gebel’s gait was better described as shuffling than walking.
A puppet king of a nation whose sovereignty hung by a thread, and the critical figure sent from a great power to oversee it.
Though any observer would have judged Gebel’s actual status superior, the man had never hidden his inferiority complex toward the late king.
“Your Majesty, this Gebel holds a doctorate in literature from the Empire’s greatest university and stands as a pioneer in a revolutionary synthesis of the emerging discipline of Magical Psychology with Magical Engineering for the purposes of propaganda.”
Even as young Zion sat upon his father’s lap, Gebel had unleashed torrents of invective at the child’s sire without hesitation.
“What, pray tell, do you possess as your distinguishing skill? Blije—that pitiful surname of your minor house and nothing more? Hehehehe.”
Remarkably, that memory had endured as something approaching joy.
Perhaps because of the pure curiosity of his childhood self.
“Father, Mother. All imperial subjects are tall, but why is that man small? And his hair color is dreadfully ugly too.”
The Ritania Empire, which prided itself as a nation of knights, revered imposing stature as a mark of superiority, and the higher bloodlines grew, the closer their hair tended toward gold.
“G-gg-gah……!”
The scholar who had been pontificating about his doctorate and revolutionary propaganda had immediately clamped his mouth shut, his face burning red as a coal thrust into flame as he bolted from the room.
‘Gebel. You are truly repugnant. No amount of rhetorical polish can hide what shows so plainly.’
In essence, his proposition harbored a single fatal weakness.
His reliance on Magical Devices.
Just as the torturer in the old prison had once demonstrated.
‘Authority theft through Magical Erosion. They’ll have countermeasures, naturally.’
Gebel was ascending the platform.
A height from which the entire plaza could be surveyed in a single glance. The moment their eyes aligned—
‘Quere Stellam Orbita.’
He whispered the incantation silently within himself.
‘Gears, cloak yourselves.’
‘I will sever even the traces of the degenerate.’
Multi-Chanting. A novice mage, one hour into the discipline, achieving a two-layered spell. That was what Zion had just accomplished.
‘Had I my original body, even a ten-layered casting would pose no difficulty.’
The Dateber Royal House’s secret art was an exceptionally refined magical system specialized in Multi-Chanting.
It was the reason Dateber had chosen isolation when the tidal wave of Magical Engineering revolution swept across the world.
There was no need for Magical Engineering.
…Yet in the end, obsolescence came anyway, and the nation fell into colonial servitude.
‘But there’s a reason I never gave up, even now. This is it.’
“Join me in this cry, beloved subjects of the realm!”
Now was the moment.
The very instant his speech reached its crescendo.
Magic took aim at Gebel.
“Silence.”
* * *
‘Quite the gathering. A multitude, swarming like ants.’
Repeat a lie a thousand times, and it becomes truth.
In five minutes, a hero can be recast as a criminal; a single sentence transforms anyone into a villain.
It was a creed Gebel had always spoken and held fast throughout his life.
Step. Step.
The staircase leading to the platform stretched long before him.
Truly, it had been a long journey.
From the lowest house—one scarcely worthy of the name nobility—to a rank that rivaled a duke’s station.
From the very bottom to the very top.
‘The age called out to me. Without it, I could never have risen. The age itself chose me…!’
Hair the color of excrement. A diminutive frame and a gaunt face.
In an empire where physical hierarchy must be displayed ostentatiously, he possessed a body that should have doomed him to failure—and yet no one could stop Gebel.
For an age had dawned in which Gebel’s talents could shine.
“Citizens of the realm, I present to you Paul Gebel—doctoral graduate of the Empire’s finest university in letters, pioneering scholar who gave birth to the discipline of Magical Psychology, and your aging friend. Well, ahem. You all know this already, but I thought I’d introduce myself anyway.”
A touch of wit layered atop an authoritative stance amplifies approval. Scattered chuckles rippled through the crowd.
“Today, I, Paul Gebel, wish to propound and present to you a new identity: the fanatical imperialist!”
He knew well that he was the embodiment of inferiority.
And so Gebel had made his choice.
To become a man who, in his ascent from weakling to strongman, deployed even self-indoctrination—offering endless reverence and loyalty to those above him.
To oppress and exploit those below, assuaging the shame of his lowborn origins while carving out the means to climb ever higher.
His eloquence was a gift bestowed upon Gebel, and the instrument by which he would realize his dreams.
“As a man of the Empire who dares claim he has learned all he needs to learn, this is what occupies my thoughts these days!”
Propaganda. Catchphrases.
The masses are foolish and forget easily.
So the pianist playing the masses as a piano must press only a single key.
The art of embedding a single keyword into the mind—that was the technique of persuasion.
‘Begin with the keyword, stimulate reason. Drive through stimulation, breathe madness into rationality.’
“Order is light, savagery is darkness! Salvation from savagery is the mission of civilization, and our Empire is—”
He made as if to thump his chest, then pressed a button on his ceremonial coat.
The Magical Device for magical incitement activated.
“Our Empire is that salvation, and this is the role of religion. In other words, our Empire is the object worthy of worship, and we must become fanatical imperialists! So cry out with me!”
He was pouring collective consciousness into them. Only then would the masses succumb to madness more readily. In this new discipline they call psychology, it goes by another name: mass hysteria.
“Glorious Empire! Glorious Ritania!”
The crowd echoed his opening cry.
“Glorious Empire! Glorious Ritania!”
Tears streamed down Gebel’s face. In this moment, he was the greatest pianist ever to conduct a multitude.
“Once more! Make the Empire great! Glorious Ritania!”
“Make the Empire great! Glorious Ritania!”
Yes, that was it.
Gebel was performing the ritual he had conducted countless times before—his own brainwashing.
Today, Paul Gebel would become colonial governor and depart to fulfill the mission of civilizing Dateber……!
“Crowd, once more!”
He raised both arms with all his strength.
And then he cried out:
“Everlasting glory to the Empire, Glorious Rita-ta-ta-ta……?”
“……?”
“……?”
“……?”
“……?”
Damnation.
Gebel’s face went deathly pale.
* * *
As this was a public inauguration ceremony, every manner of Magical Engineering safeguard had been put in place.
Penetrating the airtight security that blocked not only terror and assassination but all magical interference was nearly impossible.
“Gl-glorious Ritania and and and……?”
‘If I peer in from within and breach it, it feels like reading a problem and solving it.’
Not that I dislike it—it’s honeyed pleasure.
Through the layered gaps of dozens of overlapping defenses, a paper-thin opening.
Structured magical force following that thread-thin passage—magic itself—rendered Gebel mute.
“Ebeb, ebebebep? Bepep! Beeeep!!!”
Gebel thrashed wildly, clutching at his throat.
Every soul in the plaza watched his frantic display.
The inauguration address, needless to say, devolved into chaos.
“Kekekekeke.”
“Your Highness, your laughter is rather loud. I worry someone might hear and report it to Governor Gebel.”
Despite Rigert’s counsel, I kept giggling.
“He’ll be stripped of his governorship anyway. What does it matter?”
The Empire prizes dignity above all.
Tens of thousands of imperial subjects had witnessed a man rendered temporarily speechless, and that place had been his inauguration ceremony?
There was no possibility he could continue as governor.
Gebel, having suffered public humiliation of that magnitude, was no longer fit to be the face of the Empire.
At least, that was the Ritania Empire as Zion knew it.
“Y-yes? Stripped of his post? I don’t quite follow you……?”
Sudden unease crept over me.
Why does this bastard sound uncertain?
“Surely Gebel won’t be dismissed. Consider the network he’s woven with that eloquent tongue of his, and I’ve heard he disbursed a full hundred million pens in bribes alone to secure this appointment. As for the strings he’s tightened recently—why, they’re thick as hawsers.”
“…….”
Right. I’d momentarily forgotten.
The Empire cherishes rank and hierarchy above all.
Because of that, it permits—even overlooks—those who employ any means necessary to gain wealth and power, to a considerable degree.
Though bribery is officially a crime, it’s conducted openly and brazenly.
There was no chance Gebel hadn’t greased the right palms.
“Damn.”
Bitterness flooded my mouth.
After a body swap overnight and all that followed, my judgment had grown clouded—I’d overlooked this detail.
So did that mean I’d have to kill him after all?
In Zion Liobert’s body, assassination itself seemed feasible.
‘But could I survive the aftermath? …No, there’s no chance.’
“Your Highness. Marquis Gebel is approaching. Perhaps you might compose your expression…….”
The commotion had subsided somewhat, and Gebel was making his way toward the VIP seats.
Once today’s principal arrived, all the nobles would retire to the Banquet Hall of the Imperial Palace.
“Ah…… Your Highness.”
Upon spotting Zion, Gebel’s expression twisted with humiliation for a moment.
Then his lips curled upward with arrogant delight.
“How gracious of Your Highness to attend my inauguration. That one so exalted as a Divine Being would take such care of me—I am overwhelmed with gratitude.”
Ostensibly words of thanks, but laced with two layers of mockery. Zion made no reply.
“…….”
Gebel felt satisfaction watching Zion’s silent gaze.
Soon, once His Majesty granted him his official post, he would hold a rank equal to that of a royal prince.
A station higher than some mere runt of a ninth prince.
‘So as this Paul Gebel, I could even dare irreverent speech toward a Divine Being—and face no consequences……!’
In the moment Gebel smiled wickedly and met Zion’s eyes.
Blonde hair and bloodshot eyes. Yet something else flickered within them.
Suddenly Gebel fell prey to a strange illusion—that another Zion was reflected in those pupils.
Because of it, he altered his provocation.
“Allow me to share a story about Exon XIII, the last king of Dateber. That man resembled Your Highness greatly.”
In what way? In being utterly, contemptibly worthless.
“I recall his funeral. There were more empty chairs than mourners, despite his being a king!”
The ninth prince offered neither rebuttal nor any show of emotion.
He could not.
Because Gebel—had ascended this far!
His chest swelled with elation. As Gebel prepared to continue.
“Hm……?”
‘Why a wine bottle in his hand…?’
It was the same wine bottle that had provoked him to strike the servant.
Pretty enough, but large, heavy, and angular—the kind that would hurt like hell when it made contact.
Crash!
“Ghhhhhhk…!”
Marquis Gebel’s eyes rolled backward as he crumpled to the floor.
* * *
He had decided to kill Gebel.
An enormously risky move, yes.
But his mind was made.
‘How dare this bastard speak her name?’
“Your Highness. You mustn’t. No, no—?”
Crash!
And so, to minimize the risk… crash?
“Your Highness. Please, I beg you. My head will fly off, I tell you—no! No! No!!!!”
“Huh…?”
The sudden noise jolted Zion back to his senses. He lowered his gaze.
Marquis Gebel lay sprawled on the ground, felled by the wine bottle he’d swung.
His head had turned to the right.
Blood stained the wine bottle in his hand.
“Kyaaaah, the Ninth Prince has—!”
“My lady, you must keep your distance. Come here at once! One wrong step and you’ll be caught in this—!”
The nobles descended into panic. The common attendants, now doubly afraid, recoiled as though their very lives hung in the balance.
The Archmage’s keen intellect grasped the situation—a fraction too late.
‘So my memory has vanished, but the habits carved into this body remain. And chief among them: lashing out with violence whenever stress overwhelms me.’
This was bad. He’d just caused a major incident.
‘Will this… complicate matters?’
His thoughts suddenly shifted direction.
Hmm. Doesn’t profound discovery usually spring from such unexpected turns of perspective?
A revelation had come, unbidden.
It came from the stares of those around him.
‘The way Rigert just warned me not to hit him if I grew displeased—that actually meant the opposite. It meant Zion Riobert was a runt who’d beat someone senseless over the smallest slight.’
The nobles scattered as though he were plague incarnate, keeping their distance. Yet whenever his gaze fell upon them, they flinched and froze.
As though someone here had once been beaten half to death for letting the distance slip.
In short, to put it plainly.
‘They’re all afraid of me.’
Ah, yes. This body. This Zion Riobert.
Truly the Ritania Empire’s worst degenerate.
Suddenly he recalled what Gebel had said.
‘Think about your unique strength, he’d told me.’
He curled the fingers of his right hand, one by one.
A fist formed, tight with force.
Beyond the magic that Zion Blize excelled at, this version of himself now possessed an additional strength.
The talent of Zion Riobert that he’d overlooked until now was, in fact…
“Marquis Paul Gebel. You’ve insulted me.”
Unburdened by reputation, paradoxically free from fear of anyone’s judgment, his violence erupted like lightning.
Crack!!!

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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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