The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 38

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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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Chapter 38: His Return (1)
The girl ran across the night sky.
It was a sentence that should not have been possible, and yet it was.
Beneath her feet, a wind spirit laughed and built invisible stairs, which the girl ascended with light, dancing steps.
“Shh. It’s a secret, everyone.”
A secret the elves had lost—or rather.
More precisely, a secret art the elves had cast away.
Spirit Magic.
The girl was one who commanded spirits.
‘How beautiful!’
The bright moon hung high above, surveying all creation below.
How could one not marvel at such a sight?
The world was beautiful.
So very beautiful.
It was a shame not to revel in it every night.
“Ahahaha!”
Her laughter, which had been slicing through the wind, suddenly curved into something mischievous.
“You don’t remember, do you, Zion.”
That boy who had once broken a street thug’s arm for her, and even bought her skewers and sugar bread.
“You were so gentle and kind when you were small. Quite violent now, aren’t you?”
The girl had recognized him at first sight, but he had not recognized her.
Well, there was no mystery in that.
‘A year for me would have been ten years for him.’
And besides, her own time had flowed for more than a year as well.
Shoulders that bore the weight of long years.
They had grown taller.
They had grown wider.
Unlike hers.
“The skewers… they were delicious. The sugar bread too.”
The murmur slipped through her black hair.
“I should have eaten more.”
On the far bank, chimney smoke from Tomak Village still lingered.
She had left all the remaining food with that boy—the one who had once stolen a skewer and fled—at his home.
Now she could return to where her father was and eat her fill of whatever she pleased.
After running and running, she slipped into the annex of the Governor’s Office where the elf delegation lodged.
Eluding the guards’ eyes required only a handful of the spirits’ mischief.
The girl slipped into her room and ran her fingers through her tousled black hair.
“Father… I miss you.”
But she could not go to see him.
Her father would not want to see her.
Sorrow surged up, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
The girl quickly wiped her eyes.
“Still… sneaking a look shouldn’t hurt, right?”
She stepped onto the wind in the empty air again, walking toward the place where she sensed her father’s presence beyond the corridor.
From inside the door came Smarag’s solemn voice.
“Even the elixirs crafted with Eldrich’s Secret Magical Engineering, even the sap of the Sacred Relic, could not heal that child. We could not even restore her feelings. All that remains is one last hope, clinging to the thread of karmic connection.”
Her father too seemed to be thinking of her.
Though what he was thinking was quite the opposite of what she wished.
She held her breath.
Somewhere in her chest, something tingled sharply. This was the name of loneliness.
It was something only she could feel, taken from Luna as it had been.
“Father. I’m sorry…”
‘Oh no!’
She had let out a sound by accident. It was small, but he might have heard.
Which meant she had to return to her room.
‘Still, Father. I was happy—to hear your voice after so long.’
She crept back to her room with soft, careful steps.
Or should it be called Luna’s room?
‘I am Luna, and yet I am not Luna.’
“Hehe. I hope you get better soon, Luna.”
She ran a fine-tooth comb through her dark hair, and as the strands fell into place, her sharp ears and delicate face came into view.
It was Noksi Luna’s face.
“That was entertaining, at least. It’s been so long. When will it happen again, I wonder.”
Now it was time to return to daylight.
The girl closed her eyes.
Her jet-black hair slowly drained of color.
From that deep, night-like hue to the distinctive silvery-white of the Eldrithi.
What she lost was not merely color.
The wellspring that laughed easily and wept easily.
Her emotions too faded to gray, and she became once more a parched and empty well.
……
Noksi Luna fell silent for a moment, looking around the room.
‘Why am I standing in my own chamber?’
Her last memory was not of this room at all.
Which meant.
“Did you have an amusing time playing, Noksi?”
It was the moment she murmured softly to herself.
Knock-knock-knock.
The door opened to the sound of knocking, and her father stepped inside.
Smarag the Eldrithi.
A man of such power that even the Empire’s Crown Prince deferred to him—he released a sigh of relief the moment he confirmed his daughter’s silvery-white hair.
“Noksi went out and came back.”
“……I see.”
Smarag’s face hardened.
The relief had come far too soon.
‘Luna. My Luna.’
She was not Noksi Luna. She was simply Luna.
To Smarag, that child of the night was nothing more than an illness.
A malignant curse that had seized the laughter and tears that ought to have belonged to his true daughter.
“It’s late. Sleep, Luna.”
Her father left with only those words.
Luna obeyed, lying down upon the bed.
Her eyes, fixed on the ceiling, held no warmth whatsoever.
And yet.
“Zion……”
Unexpectedly, a name slipped past her lips.
Luna covered her mouth with her hand.
‘What did I just say?’
Zion.
Why had that name escaped her?
Luna loses the memories of Noksi, but Noksi remembers everything of Luna.
‘Are you curious about Zion Belize, Noksi? Or perhaps…… Zion Riobert?’
Which of the two it was.
Only Noksi would know.
* * *
Four days since the terrorist attack.
Zion was perfectly fine.
He had been thrown dozens of meters by the blast, yet the only mark on his face was a single scratch—the whole extent of his injuries.
It was magic that had caught his body as it flew from the epicenter, though the public had been told he survived thanks to a Protective Magical Tool he kept on him.
‘A scratch like this? Spit on it and it’ll heal. So what.’
“It’s fair to say I wasn’t hurt at all, wouldn’t you say?”
“Hardly, my lord!”
A young maidservant had appeared at some point, a medicine box in her hands.
The culprit behind every morning’s fuss over a mere scratch—Dien.
“It’s completely healed.”
“Healed it may appear, but there’s a long way to go. A wound doesn’t close in four days—not on a person. Please, just sit still.”
It truly was completely healed.
He’d used a Recovery Magical Tool.
But the reason Dien still fussed so persistently.
“And on the face, no less. Even if it looks fully mended, scars can suddenly appear later. Please hold still—if you keep moving about before the scab even forms, it might……”
It was while he was receiving care from the ash-haired attendant.
“Your Highness. The morning report.”
Winter entered, the Ledger tucked beneath his arm.
“There is good news and troublesome news. Which would you hear first?”
“The good news.”
“My congratulations. Your entire fortune has doubled in merely four days.”
“Hmm?”
“Brown Defense. Surely you haven’t forgotten?”
“Ah. Right. I’d let it slip my mind.”
Doubled.
When word spread that the Crown Prince had been hurled skyward by an explosion, capital hungry for the scent of war came flooding in.
Zion nodded slowly.
That was all.
“You seem less pleased than one might expect. Your entire fortune has just doubled, after all.”
“I am pleased. Truly pleased.”
‘Yet the Third Prince must be spinning wealth dozens of times over. Playing the same board, breathing the same air, moving far greater sums.’
His fortune might have doubled, but the gap between his stakes and the other’s had widened by tens, perhaps hundreds of times.
Four days ago, he might have laughed at this.
Now, laughter would not come.
‘How do I convince the Order’s companions? If I let them keep hunting the Ninth Prince, nothing will get done.’
“Will you hear the troublesome news as well?”
“Tell me.”
“Bodyguards.”
“Not necessary.”
“They are necessary.”
A low sound of protest escaped him.
Zion frowned, but Winter did not yield.
“A Crown Prince of your station wandering about unguarded and getting himself blown sky-high by a bomb. My heart burned through ten years’ worth of beats that day—I’ve surely lost a decade off my life.”
“So have I. Yes, yes.”
“I’ve bet everything on Your Highness. If you go and fold on your own, it causes me considerable difficulty.”
“It does cause difficulty! And a Crown Prince of your station absolutely requires at least one guard knight!”
“Dien. Nowadays the title of knight cannot be used carelessly, so it shall be bodyguard. Mind your words. Your Highness, we will begin accepting bodyguard applicants starting tomorrow.”
The decision fell before he could protest.
Zion surrendered, waving his hand in defeat.
“Do as you see fit. The two of you pick well.”
The real knot in his mind lay elsewhere anyway.
Night fell.
Until only the soft glow of a lamp remained, Zion turned over thought after thought.
‘How do I turn the Liberation Army’s purpose aside?’
He’d barely managed to delay them, but it had all come to nothing. He would have to make them abandon the assassination of Zion Riobeldt once more.
The problem was that no method came to mind.
‘No matter how I think about it, there’s no target easier or more important than myself.’
Deposed or not, he was the Emperor’s son.
Such a person left without a single guard—the Liberation Army would salivate at the prospect.
Assassination attempts would not cease.
Not until the Execution Ceremony took place.
This meant even a simple walk became impossible, let alone any work outside.
In other words, if he spent all his strength fending off assassination attempts, he would not be able to stop the Execution Ceremony itself.
‘If only I could reveal my true identity.’
I am the Crown Prince.
One word would settle it—but he had no means to prove that single word.
‘As things stand now, they would never believe me.’
Even if he recited every secret and attempted proof, they would only think the Crown Prince had been tortured into revealing everything.
If the Magical Power Pattern remained unchanged, things would be different.
Every mage possesses a unique Magical Power Pattern.
The problem was that this body bore Riobeldt’s pattern.
Proof itself was fundamentally impossible.
Zion Riobeldt could never prove that he was Zion Blije.
“Well then, at least buy time.”
Whether it turned to gruel or rice, he had to say something to the Liberation Army.
The Magical Power Pattern had scattered, leaving him unable to use his usual secret communication channels. Fortunately, he wasn’t entirely without means.
“Quere Stellam Orbita.”
If proof couldn’t be offered, then it simply wouldn’t be offered.
All he needed was to become someone else entirely—not Zion Blije, but a third party.
He reached out his hand.
“Come.”
The air shimmered.
The familiar weight fell into his grasp.
“Hmm?”
His palm felt something rough.
A bundle of paper, wrapped in oil-treated cloth, hung from the handle.
As he carefully unwound the fabric, a single folded sheet emerged from within.
The handwriting was both familiar and strange.
‘Aristh.’
To the benefactor who returned the Sacred Relic to me.
This old man bows in gratitude.
I dare not ask who you are. Yet when the Sacred Relic is called away again, might you grant me advance notice? Each time it vanishes, this old heart grows thinner.
And though I make a shameless request, I beg you—grant me the chance to see your face and offer my thanks in person.
“Curse it.”
A chill ran down his spine.
The North Star Stem was a Sacred Relic of the House of Deber, serving even as a Royal Seal.
How many times had he summoned it thoughtlessly?
‘Of course the old man watched it vanish and reappear right before his eyes. He must have been frantic each time. I wasn’t thinking.’
Still, it had given him a perfect excuse. He picked up his pen and wrote on the back of the letter.
From the heir, to the heir.
The letter had taught him something: the Liberation Army was already prepared to believe.
An unknown benefactor who had recovered the Sacred Relic. Someone connected to the royal house, judging by their command of the North Star Stem.
‘A scion of the nameless royal line. Another warrior laboring for liberation.’
He would send his reply under a third name—neither Zion Blije nor Zion Liobelt.
There is something you must know: I am executing a plan to free the Crown Prince from his cell.
Release the Ninth Prince Liobelt from your grasp. He is the only door leading to His Majesty. Should the door be broken, the path crumbles as well.
When the time comes, His Majesty shall walk forth of his own will.
The discourtesy of showing you no face, I shall repay without fail in days to come.
A scion of the nameless royal line.
As he bound the finished letter to the Stem, Zion read the final sentence once more.
‘When the time comes, His Majesty shall walk forth of his own will.’
A promise that could never be kept.
Zion Blije’s body existed nowhere in this world.
Without feet to walk on, what miracle could accomplish it?
‘But… there was no choice.’
Even a false hope was necessary now.
If only he could turn the blades of his comrades aside, he would settle the debt of deception later.
Zion opened his hand.
“Go. Back to where you came from.”
* * *
Light flared at the center of the six-layered seal.
“S-Sub-Commander! The Stem! The Stem has returned!”
At the guard’s cry, people rushed into the Secret Chamber.
The note tied to the Stem had vanished. Something else hung in its place.
“A reply.”
The chamber fell silent.
Aristh unwound the cloth and unfolded the paper.
His eyes read the first line, halted at the second, and trembled at the third.
“What… does it say?”
“…”
“Sub-Commander?”
“The spirit has not died. The essence of Deber yet lives.”
Aristh spoke the contents of the letter aloud, his voice fracturing with emotion.
Cheers erupted immediately.
It could be no other way.
So there’s another righteous soul outside helping the Crown Prince escape?
What’s more, this mysterious benefactor is skilled enough to have recovered the North Star Stem from the imperial vault itself.
“Then we might actually be able to save the Crown Prince together with this person!”
“It seems likely enough.”
Aristh surveyed the room in silence for a moment, then spoke with grave authority.
“Listen. As of this hour, The Order commits all resources to executing the Crown Prince rescue operation. First priority: Reyanna.”
“Yes, Vice-Commander.”
“Go to the Ninth Prince, Zion Liobelt.”
At the summons, a tall shadow standing near the wall stepped forward.
A cloak draped across his entire frame. A black mask covering his face.
Somewhere beneath the cloak, the scent of explosives lingered.
“…Yes?”
A voice like scraping metal faltered for the first time.
“As I suspected.”
Aristh’s gaze returned to the letter.
“We must keep watch over the Ninth Prince. Go, Reyanna. I charge you to monitor him from the nearest vantage, always prepared to end his life should it become necessary. I trust you with this.”

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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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