The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 50

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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 50: No Touch! Don’t You Dare! (3)
Zion stood on the plot of land the Marquis had marked.
The very same spot where the explosion had betrayed the presence of the gold vein.
He scuffed his boot across the earth once.
‘Tch. He didn’t bite.’
The reason he’d detonated the explosives precisely here.
A gambit aimed at the Marquis.
He’d let slip that he already knew of the gold vein’s existence—so naturally, he’d assumed the Marquis would choose a different location.
By the way, this place was the heart of the gold vein.
In other words, if mining operations proceeded from here as planned,
the Marquis would have been thoroughly duped.
“Well, not that it matters now that I’m involved.”
Even the moon had slipped behind clouds—there was no eye to witness what he did.
He’d deliberately chosen tonight for this.
Before the Marquis’s surveyors came tramping about to drive their stakes and summoned the mining experts, he meant to be done with it all.
‘The boundaries of the promised land… roughly from here to there.’
Until now, Zion had extracted gold by magic twice, pouring it in heaps before Winter’s eyes.
If the Marquis had chosen one of those two locations, there would have been no need for further action.
But what of it.
If he’d picked elsewhere, Zion could simply make this place match that fate.
Extract every last grain of gold and squirrel it away.
‘Well, extracting it all is impossible, of course. But that’s all right. I can leave the deep sleepers alone.’
The surface layer—that’s all he needed.
Just enough to leave the Marquis under the impression that the land he’d been granted was worthless refuse, barren of even a speck of gold.
The territory promised to the Marquis was no small parcel.
A span that would take one man’s hands ten years to work through.
Tools, therefore, were necessary.
“Polaris Stalk, come forth.”
Space fractured, and the silver staff coiled into his grasp.
By now, every member of the Liberation Army knew he was its summoner—there was no need for caution.
‘Marquis. The gold vein is the Royal Family’s inheritance.’
The last hope that the land of Dever has cherished for its final resurgence.
‘There is no world in which I would permit a single fragment to pass into the hands of such a repulsive traitor.’
The staff’s tip pressed against the earth.
A low vibration rippled outward beneath his feet.
The grain of gold buried in the soil registered against his senses.
From dust-thin particles of gold to ore chunks the size of a human torso, streams of different radiance converged into a single current within the black soil.
“As the rightful heir Zion Blije commands, let the earth hear: Quere Stelam Orbita.”
Whoooosh!
Black, translucent mana rippled outward from the staff’s tip in waves.
“Swallow and conceal.”
Crunch-crunch-crunch.
Waves of earth rolled downward, drawing the surface gold ore into the depths below.
‘Ugh. Sinking it down is twice as exhausting as pulling it up.’
Without Noksiluuna’s gift, he could never have hidden the gold vein.
The mana he’d absorbed from the essence of magical power allowed him to outfox the Marquis this way.
By the time his swollen reservoir of mana drained to its bottom, every glimmering thing had sunk into darkness below.
‘And over this.’
He resealed the old barrier.
The Concealment Spell that the Royal Family once wove into the earth with a black hand, to shield their legacy from grasping fingers.
It would never be found.
Not by some mere mining expert the Marquis dragged along—absolutely not.
‘A vivid sight indeed.’
Soon, this land would be graced by experts numbered among the empire’s finest.
They would plant detection magical devices in the soil, tilt their heads in bewilderment, plant them again, then wipe cold sweat from their brows and report:
Your Grace the Marquis, we must regret to inform you—there is no gold on this land.
‘Marquis. When you realize that no matter how much you dig, nothing emerges, I do look forward to seeing the expression you wear.’
He meant to keep the Marquis digging at this earth for at least half a year.
Such time would be necessary for the mine to take proper form.
In essence, he intended to bleed the Marquis dry the entire while.
“You’ve done well. Dismissed.”
As his hand opened, the silver staff melted away into the space beyond sight.
With that, the preparations for what he would give to the Marquis were complete.
Or more precisely: preparations to ensure there was nothing to give at all.
‘I wonder how much gold the Marquis will pour into this. Ideally, he’ll end up indebted to me.’
Making Seiel’s moneylender into a debtor was one of his objectives.
Because it would be exquisitely satisfying.
In any case.
‘So what’s left now is the mining itself.’
According to Winter’s plan, they’d break ground within a month.
Which meant gold would come pouring out every single day.
Of course, excluding the Marquis’s land entirely.
‘You said no touching, didn’t you, Marquis.’
I’ll honor your wish.
You’ll never lay your hands on a single piece of that gold.
* * *
Four days later, in Seiel.
Winter entered the hotel’s reception room carrying an armful of documents.
Zion struck first.
“I’m not reading those, so you look them over. You handle all the approvals too.”
“…And what if I commit embezzlement in the process? Sigh.”
“Winter Flowering. Do you dare sigh before this prince?”
“Your Highness. Your Highness. Mining development for Zion-ia Mining has become impossible.”
Straight to business. Stop joking around, that’s what this was.
Well, the content was serious enough that joking hardly seemed appropriate anyway.
No wonder his shoulders looked so heavy.
“Why?”
“The development application was rejected. More specifically, the Land Category Change Permission was denied.”
All the land at Terrahard Farm was classified as agricultural land.
Therefore, before they could excavate a mine, they needed Land Category Change Permission first.
For the upper echelons, it would normally be mere formality—but rejection, no less.
“Permission denied? By whom?”
“Here, see for yourself.”
Winter handed him the documents, and right in the center of the first page was stamped a red rejection seal.
The color itself was enough to sour his mood before he’d even read the text.
Zion’s lips twisted downward.
“Winter, tell me. Who is this person trying to block my business?”
“If you look at the documents, you’ll see, Your Highness.”
“I can’t be bothered to look. Just tell me.”
“…Who else. The Reclamation Company under the Agricultural and Commercial Management Bureau of the Governor-General’s Office.”
The Reclamation Company. In a word, the outfit that swallows up Dever’s land through paperwork.
They hide behind glossy names like reclamation and development, but their main business is arbitrarily seizing land, redrawing its boundaries, and handing it over to Imperial citizens.
‘…This is strange.’
They’re picking a fight with the Empire’s worst scum—over mere papers?
Either they’ve got enormous gall, or they’re brainless.
If it’s neither, then there’s another reason lurking behind this.
First, he needed to confirm.
“Do they not know that Zion-ia Mining belongs to me?”
“With a name like Zion-ia, how could they not know?”
“Then why? And more importantly—what is the Marquis doing? Did I include him just so he could make soup from connections?”
He’d put the Marquis—someone well-connected to the Governor-General’s Office—into the game specifically to prevent nuisances like this from cropping up.
The Marquis wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain.
“Actually, the Marquis is the source of the problem.”
…So he was playing the opposite role?
“According to what Cleyna found out, there’s someone seated in the upper ranks of the Reclamation Company who has a grudge against the Marquis. When they spotted the name Marquis in the application documents, it seems they jumped at the chance to cause trouble.”
“Hmm… Isn’t the Governor-General’s Office all part of the First Prince’s faction? Why would the same faction obstruct each other?”
“Wouldn’t they just splinter into smaller groups within such a vast territory as Dever?”
That was a fair point.
In any case, he’d caught collateral damage from something aimed at the Marquis.
“Either way, I’m sensing some deliberate obstruction here, aren’t I?”
“There’s bound to be. The Crown Prince keeps his distance from the existing power structures within the Governor-General’s Office, and a gold vein is far too tempting a prize, isn’t it?”
“Hmm. What’s the mood among the miners?”
“Quiet for now. Wages are being paid on schedule. But rumors travel fast. The moment word spreads that we can’t proceed without permits, the entire weight of the contract I laid before them comes into question.”
“Your reputation is on the line?”
“Zion-ia Mining’s reputation.”
A troublesome situation by any measure.
“So—what’s the solution?”
“We can file a formal protest through proper channels.”
The empire may have its privileged classes, but it is, at least in principle, a rule of law state.
Though some men stand above the law, officially they must not.
“The problem is, at best it takes six months.”
“Six months.”
Zion’s fingers tapped against the table—tap, tap.
He’d spent months waiting after finally locating the vein, prepared everything for extraction, and now—what? Six months more?
Six months.
“What if we ask the Marquis to clear it?”
“It would be more efficient for you to act directly, Your Highness. You could also put the Marquis in his place. I suspect that if you simply stepped in and made a show of good faith, the matter would be resolved swiftly.”
Good faith.
Pretty wording for “pay a bribe,” wasn’t it.
‘That’s not happening.’
Zion rose from his seat.
“Let’s go.”
“I beg your pardon? Where are we going?”
“Where else. The Governor-General’s Office.”
Winter’s expression hardened with subtle menace.
“And what exactly are you planning to do there, Your Highness?”
“What do you think. Have a gentlemanly conversation.”
Winter stared at the Crown Prince’s hands. If he meant to have a conversation, why was he cracking his knuckles?
“Then I’ll give them advance notice. There are procedures, after all.”
“Why bother? If they’d followed procedure, they shouldn’t have rejected our documents in the first place.”
……
Your Highness.
The rejection was, procedurally speaking, entirely proper.
Left speechless, the aide watched as Zion threw on his coat.
“What are you doing? Get the engine started.”
Vroom!
The Mage-Powered Automobile pulled up before the former royal palace, now the Governor-General’s Office.
White stone buildings stood in formation, rooted in the heart of the royal capital.
Officials passing through caught sight of the golden hair and blood-red eyes of the man descending from the vehicle, then hastily averted their gaze.
“The subjects of the empire honor the presence of the Divine Race.”
“The subjects of the empire honor the presence of the Divine Race.”
Zion ignored them and walked forward.
“Your Highness, the Agricultural and Commercial Management Bureau is this way. Since the Reclamation Company falls entirely under its jurisdiction, if you’ll proceed here, the bureau chief will—”
“No. Not that way.”
“Your Highness? That is the correct direction. Or rather, the other way would be the Governor’s office…surely not?”
Before Winter could finish his sentence, Zion drew in a long breath.
“Governor Maizelon!”
Moments before, scores of officials had been bustling about.
At a single shout, the entire lobby froze.
The receptionist, pen still clutched in hand, went rigid. A clerk descending the stairs stopped mid-step, documents tumbling about him.
Faces registering disbelief—had they heard correctly?
But upon spotting the golden hair and blood-red eyes, those same faces crumpled with confusion—had they seen correctly?
“Stop gawking. Get back to work!”
“Y-yes, Your Highness! At once, Your Highness…!”
Winter, observing the scene, kneaded his stiff neck.
‘I’d steeled myself for roughing up the official in charge.’
His resolve was on the wrong scale entirely.
He’d meant to grab one man’s collar, not the collar of an entire building.
‘And he goes and summons the Governor himself without warning.’
Whether Winter’s displeasure mattered or not, Zion drew another long breath.
Since I’m making a scene anyway, I might as well let it echo all the way to the top office—loud enough for everyone to hear.
‘Troublesome back-and-forth won’t solve anything. A single, decisive blow is far more efficient.’
“Maizelon, Governor-General! I, the Crown Prince, shall grant you the honor of an audience with me. Present yourself at once!”
It’s an old rule: when an inferior starts trouble, you go above their head and settle it there.

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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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