The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 47

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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 47: His Return (10)
The day after seeing the future, and the day after that, and the day after that.
Winter was exactly the same as always.
Did this bastard not receive a recruitment offer from the Liberation Army at this point in time?
No. He might have received one and just isn’t showing it.
The kid’s poker face is exceptional, after all.
‘Grateful. Infuriating. Grateful but infuriating and wanting to punch him.’
So I punched him.
Thwack!
“Ugh! Why did you hit me!”
Instead of answering right away, I glowered.
‘And why did this bastard introduce himself as Winter Remicónin back then?’
Winter Flowering—he’d attached his mother’s surname to his own name all this time, yet in that moment he’d spoken his father’s name aloud.
A surname he’d ground his teeth over his whole life. Why would he say it with his own mouth?
There were mountains of things to interrogate him about.
“Damned brat.”
“What did I do wrong now, sir?”
“You’re too cocky for your own good.”
……
Winter could sulk or not—I folded my arms and kept glowering.
The future the guide showed me wouldn’t leave my head.
Winter aiming a gun at me—me in the body of the Ninth Prince.
Winter turning the barrel to shoot Reyanna in the forehead.
Grateful, once more.
Infuriating, once more.
‘I need to hit him again.’
Thwack!
“Ah! Why!”
Right. There must be circumstances. There probably are.
But that’s not the problem.
No matter how close to a hallucination that future sight was—how dare he shoot our Reyanna?
Reyanna is Merin’s sister.
The one and only sibling of the woman who baked the most delicious honey bread in the world.
Thwack!
“Ow! At least tell me why before you hit me!”
“Why before you hit me? Did you really just speak to a Divine Being with such insolence?”
“Didn’t you tell me to speak casually just now!”
“Whimsy. Why, you got a problem with that?”
Zion asked gravely, shaking out his fist.
“And when a noble Divine Being’s hand touches you, you should prostrate yourself in gratitude—not cry out?”
“That was a fist, not a hand, sir?”
“You had the leisure to make that distinction? Another punch should clear things up.”
Thwack!
“Ow! Ow!”
Winter wrapped both arms around his head and curled into a ball.
Watching him take a beating without understanding why, my anger ebbed a little.
But my anger subsided while my irritation lingered.
Zion called over to Reyanna, who had been standing rigidly in one corner of the room.
“Reyanna! Come here and hit him too!”
“What?”
“Hurry! This is the Ninth Prince’s command!”
Reyanna’s eyes darted between Winter and Zion.
“Um… yes!”
She clenched her fist earnestly and drove it straight into Winter’s solar plexus.
A strangled gasp escaped him.
Winter’s body bowed like a bow, his feet lifting half a span off the floor.
Then, clutching his stomach, he slowly crumpled down.
Their first true physical contact had been rather violent.
A proper proper introduction, you could say.
“Reyanna…?”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Cheerful and prompt.
I could tell right away she was deliberately playing innocent.
That’s not her usual character at all.
Does she have some kind of grudge against Winter?
“Well… yes. Though I do think the solar plexus was a bit much.”
“It’s the most efficient point to subdue someone. And at my previous job, I didn’t stop at the solar plexus.”
Previous job?
I suppose that makes sense.
Her old work had mostly involved strapping on explosives and terrorism.
Winter, who’d crumpled to the floor, slowly raised his hand.
“Your Highness. Next time, please… specify the target area.”
“Still alive? Thank goodness for that.”
“…I’ll submit a medical bill for injuries sustained in the line of duty.”
“Do as you please.”
Knock, knock, knock.
All three of us turned toward the door at once.
The hotel staff member poked his head in cautiously.
“A subject of the Empire pays respects to a member of the great Divine Beings. Your Highness, you have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“It is Nok Si Runa from the Elpia Federation.”
Nok Si Runa? Out of nowhere?
I glanced at Winter.
“We received no prior notice of a visit.”
In other words, an unannounced visit—hardly befitting someone of her station.
“Let her in, then.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Nok Si Runa entered the room just as Winter was dusting himself off from the impact of my strike.
“Your Highness. Good evening.”
“Ah, yes. Do you perhaps understand the concept of advance notice?”
Nok Si Runa tilted her head to one side.
“You don’t bother with that sort of thing, Your Highness.”
Ah, so because I don’t stand on ceremony, neither do you?
How rational of her.
“I’m returning to the Elpia Federation in four days. This is a farewell.”
“Is that so? Safe travels.”
“You’re not showing any regret.”
“There’s nothing to regret.”
“You could at least look sad about it.”
“Farewells are best done with a smile.”
“Then smile for me.”
Zion pulled the corners of his mouth upward.
Old habits remained; the smile came out twisted.
“Is that what smiling looks like?”
“My laugh has always been a bit ugly. But why are you complaining so much? You can’t smile either.”
“Rubbing salt in a wounded person’s wound? But it’s fine. I can smile too.”
Nok Si Runa pushed up the corners of her mouth with both index fingers.
Her face remained unchanged; only her lips lifted at the ends.
“…That looks strange.”
“So our smiles are both strange, then.”
“Hm? I suppose that works.”
“Anyway, Your Highness. What about thanks?”
“Thanks…?”
“The outcome matched our hopes, but either way, it was thanks to my father that we could move the execution to Deber. Though you didn’t even bother to watch it yourself.”
Well, I suppose I am grateful.
I’d already given her a necklace and thanked her for moving the execution—now she’s coming back asking for payment?
‘Ah, does she suddenly remember wanting to recover her losses? Probably because she never got to have a proper conversation with Zion Blizzard after all.’
“I’m grateful. That’s enough, isn’t it? Be thankful for the generosity of this prince, who responds cheerfully even to unexpected requests.”
“No. Thanks should be given with something physical. That’s what Father said.”
“This prince gives thanks from the heart.”
“The heart has no weight. You can’t put it on a scale.”
“You didn’t leave a single word unsaid.”
Well, that was a joke.
I owe her.
I owe her dearly.
Thanks to her, I hold the finest future in my grasp.
Every achievement I gained in the execution ground began with her.
Grasping the Polaris Thread with certainty, saving my comrades, creating a present even better than the best future I’d originally foreseen.
‘It’s all thanks to Nok Si Runa’s gift.’
Without her, I could never have perfected the Soul Form.
What’s more, having mastered the Soul Form has even opened a path for me to move forward as Zion Blíje from now on.
“You’re right. I’ll repay you properly someday. But for now, go.”
“You’re not repaying me now?”
“I have nothing to give. Go.”
“Understood. I’ll go.”
Nok Si Runa turned and walked away.
Zion watched her retreating form, then closed his right eye.
‘Quere Stellam Orbita.’
The Star Eye implanted in his right eye shimmered faintly beneath the lid.
What had been obscure before now appeared as clearly as a flowing stream.
‘Just as I thought—it’s parched.’
Yet it wasn’t entirely absent.
The very vein of emotion still flowed.
But an immense chasm gaped in the depths, swirling like a whirlpool, drawing in everything as it rose.
The spring wasn’t dry so much as all its water was flowing elsewhere entirely.
Even the Star Eye couldn’t perceive where the chasm’s end led.
I hadn’t yet tamed it properly.
‘To truly fix it, I’d need to spend years at her side.’
That’s impossible in more ways than one.
Even if time were abundant, I can’t offer magical healing in Zion Liobelt’s body the way Zion Blíje could.
So I’ll settle for second best.
‘Quere Stellam Orbita. Plant a seed, Soul—take root.’
To let her taste, if only for an instant, the grain of emotion.
To make the seed sprout, however briefly, before it’s pulled into the maelstrom.
Zion recalled the execution ground from days ago.
The rush when the stage inverted.
The electric thrill coursing through his entire body.
Nok Si Runa could surely never know that same sensation in that same moment.
That immense joy.
‘Thinking of it that way, it breaks my heart.’
And so he prayed.
That one drop of color would gently touch her world—that grayscale photograph of existence.
* * *
Days later.
A silver-white-haired girl, floating in an airship and gazing out, suddenly opened the window.
“Runa. The wind is cold.”
Smarag’s words drew no reply from the girl.
A sharp wind swept past her nose, carrying several scents with it.
Sniff.
Nok Si Runa’s nose twitched.
“…It’s the same scent, after all.”
The execution ground, over a month ago.
Zion Blíje had flown over her head then.
She’d caught it clearly.
And then, days ago, there was Zion Liobelt.
How could two different people carry the same scent?
How was it possible?
Curiosity stirred in her.
Runa’s eyes widened at the realization.
She had felt curiosity—the thought formed clearly in her mind.
‘Did I…… actually feel curiosity?’
Thinking it over carefully, she realized she hadn’t truly felt it.
It was so faint that a fleeting thought had crossed her mind—that was the most accurate description.
But still.
That in itself was an enormous change.
‘Nok Si A. How did this happen?’
My own sister. My sister.
Unlike Father, she did not hate Nok Si A.
Rather, she cherished her.
‘Did you perhaps allow it?’
No answer came, but whatever the reason, the fact that she had felt even a glimmer of emotion—it was news that would bring Father tremendous joy, if he knew.
And suddenly, Runa felt another curiosity stir within her.
“Come to think of it, Nok Si A. Which Zion were you curious about? Now I’m curious too.”
For now, she would have to return to the Elpia Federation.
But she found herself thinking she would need to come back to Deber soon.
Because the living Zion Liobert remained there, and so did the traces of the dead Zion Blizé.
This news, if Father learned of it, would displease him greatly.
* * *
“Winter. Summon Remicónin.”
At the sudden order, Winter’s brow furrowed.
“All of a sudden?”
“Since when have you become so talkative?”
“I’m becoming an even more perfect aide.”
“We’re going to Teraguard Farm. So don’t waste time—just call him.”
“Why are we going to the farm?”
“There’s been too much going on lately. I want to relax a bit. Enjoy some quiet scenery and come back.”
“You’re insisting on going with your father?”
“Yes. We need to get closer. That way he won’t be able to back out of the game. Right?”
“I suppose that’s true, but…….”
“Write an invitation letter. With your own hand.”
Winter’s expression grew troubled.
“Must I write it myself?”
“The Duke has been wagging his tail so affectionately trying to win you over. Isn’t it time you gave in a little?”
“I was planning to draw it out longer.”
“Enough. Start with ‘My dear Duke’ and make it nice and graceful.”
“Dear? You’re asking me to write that sentence with my own hand?”
“End it with ‘With respect and affection.’ It must be an invitation from you, not from me.”
“I’d rather take another punch to the gut.”
“Reyanna!”
“Should I hit him?”
Winter immediately grabbed a fountain pen.
‘That wasn’t a summons to hit me. That last time must have hurt quite badly.’
“Reyanna. When we first arrived, there was some suspicious fellow watching me. Remember?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Is there still someone like that these days?”
“There is not.”
‘Right, there wouldn’t be.’
Strictly speaking, there wouldn’t be going forward either.
Because as Zion Blizé, he had already tipped off the Liberation Army.
To watch those watching Zion Liobert.
That counter-surveillance itself would become a useful source of intelligence.
Of course, there was a deeper purpose beneath it all.
‘It’s time to start dealing with matters I’ve been sitting on.’
Literally, the time had come.
The time to ‘accidentally’ discover the Gold Vein sleeping beneath Teraguard Farm.
The reason for bringing Remicónin along was simple enough.
‘Since we’re going to be building an entire mine, it’ll cost an astronomical amount.’
Tunneling, hiring workers, even constructing a smelter.
Developing a mine required people, equipment, and above all, an astronomical sum of money.
And fortunately, there happened to be just the kind of fool willing to bear all those costs.
The Marquis Remicónin.
He was the very man who had recently been caught in a weakness—Macalister Remicónin—and now he would serve as the financier and strategist for this venture.
“I’ve had a change of heart! We depart at once, Winter! Prepare the Imperial August!”

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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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