The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 34

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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 34: The Prince of High Society (10)
Governor’s Office, Banquet Hall.
“Haha! The prince’s insight is truly a gift from heaven itself. This old servant’s eyes are finally opened after so long.”
“A servant, you say? A servant indeed. This prince does possess the talent to make anyone’s eyes go wide. Don’t I shine even in my face?”
“Your Highness, you are too much! Ahahaha!”
A lord (in blood) and an enemy (in spirit) laughed together, their shoulders nearly touching.
Beside a pillar in the banquet hall, Winter stood motionless, watching the scene unfold.
Poker Face. The man had once gained entry to the Empire’s most prestigious university but was expelled for his origins; afterward, he’d walked straight into the back alleys of Deber, determined to become the finest gambler in the city instead. It was a face worthy of such a path.
Flare.
His nostrils flared with barely suppressed tension.
‘He swore he’d bring about our ruin.’
Half an hour ago. Half an hour ago, those lips promised destruction itself.
That same mouth was now laughing in hearty camaraderie with the very instrument of that ruin.
Fine.
Bend a hundred times backward—suppose it’s possible. Suppose this is simply how the high and mighty amuse themselves.
But why.
‘Why such warmth from those lips?’
It was a smile of affection Winter himself, as his aide, had never once received.
Was the father’s shoulder softer than his own? Well, true—his shoulders were hard. But surely his tongue, his flattery, surpassed them in skill.
Regardless of that.
“That wretch of a man…. I’ve kept him close, running this way and that like a madman….”
Winter was consumed with a sense of injustice so profound it bordered on agony.
Meanwhile.
“So Deber does have talent. Men like a marquis ought to be in the imperial capital, not here.”
“It is an honor merely to hear such words from Your Highness.”
“Haha.”
“Hehe.”
Zion watched the marquis’s smiling face and thought to himself.
‘Revolting.’
Every inch a noble—the bearing impeccable, the manners faultless, even straw-colored hair meticulously combed and slicked with thick pomade.
‘From crown to heel, nothing but the Empire’s fashion. If you wanted to be an Imperial so badly, why didn’t you kill yourself and aim for a better life next time, Marquis?’
The very existence of such a man turned his stomach.
“But, Your Highness, I had no idea you would invite me to the banquet tomorrow! To be invited to a Divine Race banquet by the honored guest himself—the Divine Race in person extending such an invitation! It is an honor beyond measure, truly, hehe.”
Truly devoted. If not for the fact that such devotion had been used to obliterate his own nation, there would be nothing to fault.
The straw-colored hair was proof of it. A shade utterly distant from the ash-grey or black hair natural to Deberi—a deliberate lie written into every strand.
In short: dye. He had chosen to alter his natural color. Given the chance, he would probably have grafted new follicles from their roots.
‘Even Magitech Engineering couldn’t manage that.’
Still, his hair remained remarkably thick.
Bah. Let him suffer premature baldness.
Of course there was calculation even in this show of kinship.
A man who couldn’t breathe without scheming. A wretch who would do anything if it meant profit. A creature who calculated and calculated until the world itself became his ledger.
The proof lay in how he had cast out the woman who bore his own seed.
In other words, it came down to this.
“Marquis.”
He stripped the smile from his face abruptly, and spoke with cold seriousness.
“Our conversation was brief, but long enough for me to take your measure. You hold no official position, I’m told?”
“Ahem… I am ashamed.”
‘Ashamed? Hardly. You couldn’t bear the indignity of taking orders from a commoner—from someone who isn’t even nobility. Likely a commoner of Imperial birth would be appointed over you. Yet here you are, a traitor to your own people, with eyes set high as the heavens.’
So Remikonin the Marquis had to ascend higher and higher, to ever greater power.
“In my judgment, a loyal subject such as yourself ought to occupy a position of great influence in the Empire. As for how the nation’s affairs are managed—tsk.”
The Empire must become a place where bad coinage drove out the good.
He would make it so.
For the higher men like Remikonin rose, the more the Empire would rot from within.
A nation where the capable and principled were driven out, where tongues wagged not in honest counsel but in endless flattery alone, where only sycophants prospered.
That was the Empire Zion sought to create.
* * *
The price of keeping one arm around a traitor’s shoulder for a single evening came due before the night had ended.
The high Divine Race prince had shown such warmth to someone of Deberi blood that those harboring even faint hopes made the journey from Seiel to the beaches of Ainchen, several hours away.
Their numbers seemed to comprise nearly half of those who had attended the Governor’s Office banquet.
Yet the expressions of the Seiel delegates as they descended from their carriages were uniformly bitter.
[A Welcome Banquet Commemorating the Visit of Zion Liobelt, Ninth Prince of the Great Divine Race.]
[— Sponsored by Aitar Kremiz, Founding Chairman of the Gionia Social Club —]
[For inquiries regarding club membership, contact this location →]
An elaborately decorated signboard.
“So I’ve ended up in Ainchen after all.”
“Shh. They’ll hear. Well. It was a banquet sponsored by President Aitar, wasn’t it?”
Seiel and Ainchen had poor relations. While the upstart port city had swelled rapidly, Seiel had scarcely grown at all.
Of course, Seiel’s economy was still several times larger than Ainchen’s, but to the proud elite of Seiel, it was galling to watch these seaside provincials carry themselves as though they’d risen to equal standing.
‘If it bothers you so much, then don’t come. Why show up just to complain like that?’
They’d thought they were out of earshot when they muttered, but magic carried every word.
Not that they’d wanted to come. In their hearts, they would’ve turned their backs on this place entirely. Impossible though that was.
All the elf dignitaries requiring diplomatic courtesy had come to this White Beach. There was no avoiding it.
Zion reclined in the place of honor, watching the streams of visitors pass with unhurried ease.
“Your Highness. This Aitar is genuinely impressed by your presence.”
Aitar approached and dropped to one knee, bowing low. Despite having prepared all night, his face gleamed not with fatigue but with radiance.
In fact, Aitar harbored a painful history of humiliation from Seiel.
What did Seiel society call those from Ainchen? Provincials. Nouveaux riches. Jumped-up upstarts reeking of fish sauce.
After enduring such treatment, merely hearing Seiel’s name made his teeth grind. The day he went to meet Zion, he’d steeled himself considerably.
He could have obtained an invitation to the Governor’s Office banquet easily enough—it was precisely because he hadn’t wanted to go that he’d stayed away.
But today was different.
‘So many Seiel society figures coming to wait in line at Aitar Kremiz’s banquet! Hehehehe!’
The old magnate’s shoulders kept trembling with barely contained glee.
Brilliant blue sky. The sun beat down mercilessly, and heat was beginning to shimmer in waves.
Music drifted across the sound of the waves, and the sea breeze carried the smell of roasted meat and the sweet perfume of countless drinks.
And at the very center of it all.
“Those of you feeling warm, please come collect a drink!”
Against the backdrop of the beautiful sea stood a pristine row of treasure chests.
A procession of elegant white boxes.
Thirty-six Refrigerators—the marvel Blen Industry had unveiled to the world—gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight.
“Please, feel free to look around, and take whatever you like! Blen Industry’s pride and joy—the Refrigerator! Taste winter in the midst of summer!”
A dispatch worker called out incessantly, and people gathered thickly around the Refrigerator doors.
“My, what remarkable treasure is this? Spirits this cold? I haven’t even seen these at the grand bazaar.”
“It’s a new product!”
Each time a door opened, white chill poured out like steam, and inside lay bottles and fruit beaded with frost, stacked deep.
A glass of ice-cold liquor tasted on a summer beach.
Aitar drifted close to Zion and whispered in his ear.
“As you instructed, all beverages have been stocked inside the Refrigerators.”
“Well done, Aitar. And Winter?”
“The same as yesterday.”
Still sulking, in other words.
Clicking his tongue, Zion rose and walked to a nearby Refrigerator, pulling the door open.
White chill spilled down over his hand.
“New Beer… where’s the Red Wiser… ah, here it is.”
Crack. Pop!
He drained it in long gulps, then issued an order.
“Tell them not to serve drinks. Let the guests fetch them with their own hands. No attendants.”
“But… surely the dignitaries shouldn’t have to…?”
“Watch.”
The Refrigerator was full of ice. He pulled one piece out and held it up.
Frozen at low temperature in an instant, it was clear and transparent. Sculpted like a jewel.
Stacking ice in a crate wouldn’t maintain this beauty.
While it would take considerable time to melt entirely, its shape would become misshapen within ten minutes.
“Doesn’t it feel like drawing a crystal from a treasure chest? I intend to sell them winter itself, box and all.”
…or so he’d instructed Winter to say.
“Ah…”
Aitar exhaled a sound that was somewhere between wonder and admiration.
He was a merchant among merchants, after all.
The moment the door opens and cold pours forth, the moment a frosted bottle adheres to the palm of the hand.
The moment that first cold sip slides down the throat.
He already understood that the wealthy would open their purses without hesitation, just as these people were doing.
“The response has been excellent. We should have no trouble opening distribution channels. My congratulations.”
“Thank you. I grant you the honor of raising a glass with this prince.”
Beer bottles clinked together.
“How goes the Seielia Club’s banquet these days?”
“The grounds are charming. Peaceful, mostly because there’s no one here.”
Aitar laughed, sharp and bright.
“Your Highness. This old man has lived his entire life for the pleasure of counting money.”
The hand holding the glass tilted toward the sea.
“Tonight, I wish to forget counting altogether.”
“Already drunk? That won’t do. We have much more celebrating to do.”
It was then.
A familiar face shouldered through the guests, rushing forward in obvious haste.
Silk robes clung to him, drenched with sweat.
“Your Highness! I, Gaigen, have ridden all the way to Ainchen just to see you!”
Gaigen.
Owner of Seiel’s first department store.
And a member of the Seielia Club, no less.
“Gaigen. No invitation, yet here you are. What brings you?”
His face went rigid in an instant.
Ah, lovely.
“I merely wished to offer my belated congratulations, Your Highness…”
Zion tilted his glass and smiled at ease.
The real business was written all over the man’s face.
He’d heard about the Refrigerator and decided he simply had to stock it in his department store.
“Your congratulations are welcome. But tell me, storekeeper—”
“Yes, yes! Your Highness!”
“That letter the Seielia Social Club sent me. Inside it was a word I’d never seen before. ‘Rejection,’ perhaps? Something like that.”
Gaigen’s face drained of all color.
Zion raised his glass, gesturing toward the rows of Refrigerators.
“Those devices won’t be going into your department store. That’s what ‘rejection’ means.”
“Y-Your Highness!”
“Thanks to you and yours, I’ve learned the word. Now, shall I show you how well I’ve learned to use it?”
……
“Be on your way.”
Gaigen backed away, his face crimson, and was swallowed by the crowd.
‘One debt repaid.’
Refreshing. Zion finished his drink.
“Quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you say?”
A clear, ringing voice accompanied a silver-haired pair as they approached the place of honor.
Smaragd seemed to be in excellent spirits.
“I never imagined an evening by the sea could be so enchanting, Your Highness.”
“I’m glad it pleases you. There’s Elpia Fruit Wine inside if you’d like, though I suspect you won’t. Let’s stick with beer.”
“That sounds lovely.”
Few people who traveled abroad would choose to drink their homeland’s wine.
Smaragd retrieved two bottles of beer from a nearby Refrigerator.
He turned the frosted bottle over in his hands with curiosity, then spoke.
“It’s cold. Colder than I expected.”
“You have Magitech Engineering to thank for that.”
“A Refrigerator, you called it. Have you no intention of selling these to Elpia?”
“To elves? You’d think you could manufacture them yourselves.”
Smaragd regarded him with a puzzled look, then understanding bloomed across his face.
“It seems you’re unfamiliar with the technical capacity of our subsidiary enterprises. Achieving this level of cooling efficiency isn’t something the Elpia Federation manages easily.”
Ah, right.
It should have been impossible, originally.
Blen Industry’s prototype was a useless thing—it devoured an entire Mana Stone just to freeze a single block of ice.
Who had tinkered with those circuits one idle night? Just erasing a few lines here, redrawing a few strokes there, and the efficiency had jumped tenfold—no, a hundredfold.
The casual sketching of an Archmage had breached the continental walls of engineering.
And all of it authenticated before an expert from the very family that had founded Magitech Engineering itself.
‘An elf—the keeper of Magitech Engineering—now waiting in line to buy devices made with Magitech Engineering.’
The lands of the elves lie close to the sun. Cold and ice are treasures beyond measure.
A sales channel had opened up on its own, one he’d never even expected.
No, more than just a sales channel.
‘An item elves will buy. That single sentence is all the advertising we need. The wealthy across the continent will line up of their own accord, and then the Refrigerator boom is… guaranteed.’
He pressed down the smile threatening to spread across his face with a sip of beer. Ah, the sound of things falling into place. Cooler than ice itself.
The pleasure loosened his tongue, and a joke tumbled out.
“I heard the Elven Continent floats in the sky. You’ll have to carry ice chests all the way up there?”
“We have airships for that. It’s a simple matter of clearing out one cargo hold entirely.”
The answer came without hesitation.
He’d tossed out a witticism and received a logistics plan in return.
Zion’s lips twitched.
The largest deal in Blen Industry’s history was on the verge of being struck over a single bottle of spirits at a beach party.
“Consulting is welcome anytime. Though the first shipment goes to my people first.”
“If you’ll grant me the second position, I ask for nothing more.”
That was when it happened.
“Your Highness.”
A sleeve tugged gently at his robe.
He turned to find Nokshiruna gazing up at him with eyes like glass marbles.
‘Ah. She wants me to talk about Zion Blaise.’
It was a pity for her, but there was another here who didn’t know how to wait his turn.
“A subject of the Empire pays his respects to a member of the illustrious Divine Race! Ha ha, forgive my tardy arrival, I beseech you.”
It was Marquis Remikonin.
With his straw-colored hair swept back to a gleam, he executed a bow that might have been clipped straight from a manual of etiquette.
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m delighted you’ve come!”
He was still bantering with the Marquis, performing the role of one in high spirits, when he caught sight of Winter approaching through the layered waves of laughter, a fresh bottle of spirits in hand.

After a brief glance, Winter turned away without a sound and walked out beyond the crowd.
He’s sulking. Definitely sulking.
There was no mistaking that gait.
“Marquis.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
“Our conversation has been such a pleasure I’ve lost all sense of time. Ah, hem. Where was the restroom again?”
“Eh? Oh, in that direction, in the annex…”
He pressed his cup into someone’s hands and rose to his feet.
* * *
The far end of White Beach.
Where the light from the banquet barely reached, the waves gnawed at the twilight and bore it away.
“Winter.”
“Your Highness.”
The answer came at once. His voice was that of his usual aide.
Which was precisely how Zion could tell something was wrong. Badly wrong.
“I have a question.”
“Ask.”
“You said you would bring about his ruin.”
The words came out flattened, pressed thin. Pressed so hard that you could hear what was seething beneath.
“You made that declaration, and thirty minutes later you had your arm around his shoulders. Today you invited him to the banquet. And just now… you were matching his rhythm while he spun jokes about me.”
“And?”
“I’m wondering if ‘ruin’ in Your Highness’s dictionary is spelled differently from the ‘ruin’ I understand.”
Zion answered with a question of his own.
“Winter. How does a gambler kill a man?”
“Pardon?”
“A mage kills with magic bombardment. A prince kills with his fists. So how do you kill?”
“…”
“Do you cut at the throat? No. I’m asking: if you wanted to bring someone to ruin, how would you do it?”
Winter’s brow furrowed.
Zion raised his cup toward the sea where the sunset was drowning.
“You’d seat him at the table, wouldn’t you?”
“… Yes. I would draw him in with a smile and have him lose.”
Deep in the chair. Trading his entire fortune for gambling stakes with his own hands.
Drunk on cards, intoxicated by possibility, playing until the very end—until he hangs himself. That is the execution by hanging a gambler ordains.

“Marquis Remikonin is the mark that the Crown Prince has chosen, Winter. So you know as well as I do. Smile with that Poker Face of yours and press your lips to the back of your hand. And in return—”
“…….”
“Your father’s everything. I’ll make all the gambling stakes yours.”
Winter’s eyes hardened with resolve.
“I’ll deal the cards.”
A gambler becomes most dangerous when he takes the deck into his own hands.
It was Winter’s way of declaring, in his own language, that he would give his all.

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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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