The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 51

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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 51 — No Touch! No Touch!(4)
Just before the Ninth Prince’s cry shook the Governor’s Office to its core.
A letter from the Homeland had already arrived at the topmost floor’s office.
It was from the First Prince, Rieron Liobelt.
The one nearest to becoming the next Emperor—one of the Divine Clan itself.
Maizreon felt a chill at the radiant seal his fingertips could sense, and before tearing open the envelope, he offered a brief prayer.
‘If only a single line of encouragement.’
His prayer proved futile. The very first line was censure.
Expedite the aftermath of the execution-ground incident.
Restore public order, which had grown lax, to normal within the year.
Recover the lagging tax revenue within the next quarter.
‘Every sentence drips with reproach….’
Dressed up in courtly classical prose, it boiled down to one line.
If you’re going to govern like this, relinquish your post.
The Governor removed his glasses and pressed his temples.
There was no shortage of grievance to harbor.
Was it the Governor’s Office’s fault that the execution platform collapsed and a traitor who should have died flew through the sky?
‘The military had troops stationed all over from the start, and yet such a thing occurred.’
But the Homeland doesn’t care about such circumstances.
Everything that erupts in Deber is the Governor of Deber’s crime.
In a way, it’s the obvious equation, isn’t it?
“Neither encouragement nor reproof. How amusing.”
Only orders.
Sometimes such absences speak louder than words.
“Listen here.”
A junior aide under the Governor’s Deputy—currently absent from his post—responded.
“Yes, sir.”
“I hear rumors circulating from the Homeland about my successor.”
“……It is, it is merely rumor, sir.”
“Merely rumor? And what of the rumor that your head shall be forfeit!”
“I, I beg your pardon!”
After venting lightly, Maizreon leaned back slowly against the chair’s rest.
The chair of the previous Governor.
And now, the armrests worn to fit his frame perfectly.
Ten years prior. He recalled the very day his lord—the previous Governor—lost his head.
“Zion Blije…….”
Layers of siege, hundreds of magical weapons, artifacts worth millions for personal protection—none of it had stopped a single man’s rampage, nor prevented a single man’s death.
And so Maizreon, who had been the previous Governor’s right hand, found himself planted in the Governor’s chair.
One month after that. One year. Ten years.
Time enough for lessons to accumulate.
The undeserved post had become a possession he had no wish to lose.
“Not a single line of praise even at the end.”
Reading the letter once more, he grasped the fact.
What was absent was not merely praise for the Governor himself.
There was also no mention of the Ninth Prince.
Despite his credit for eliminating Zion Blije and being the most loudly discussed name in Deber at present.
‘Of course—the man is called the next Emperor, so how could the royal family give thought to some disgraced whelp cast out by them.’
This was also why the Governor had never extended a hand to the Ninth Prince.
There’s no reason for those below to bet first on a card indifferent to those above.
When the Ninth Prince first entered Deber, he had failed to visit the Governor’s Office immediately, so the Governor had simply severed his interest entirely.
To what extent? He was entirely ignorant of the minor schemes concocted by Marquis Remikoning or Governor’s Deputy Kishinian.
In truth, they were not matters that should reach the Governor’s desk.
‘Now, however…….’
The Governor swept his palm across the worn office desk.
Crafted from royal wood, the finest desk in Deber.
Ten years in this seat, and ambition had taken root.
Maizreon’s fingers gripped the armrest.
“Now I find I wish to remain a while longer.”
Originally, Governor Maizreon was scheduled to retire the moment Gebell took office.
But Gebell died.
In the Ninth Prince’s hands.
So the term extended, silent and inexorable.
‘A man seizes what fortune grants him. I shall not rise from this seat save for my own retirement ceremony.’
The authority to appoint a governor rested solely with the First Prince.
Maizreon harbored not the faintest thought of rebellion or betrayal toward one so noble.
And yet.
‘The letter makes no mention of it, so as a subordinate, I ought to spare my lord needless trouble and handle such trifles beforehand.’
Building even a shallow rapport with the Ninth Prince and laying the groundwork was simply the mark of a flexible subordinate managing affairs wisely.
‘Truth be told, he’s done me a kindness as well—he’s the one who disposed of Gebell.’
Besides, at a banquet not long ago, he’d seen with his own eyes how those celebrated Eldrich elven dignitaries suited the Ninth Prince perfectly.
Maizreon watched directly as Smarag and Noksirruna laughed alongside the Ninth Prince, saw them locked in grave conversation with him.
To discard him based merely on rumors of degeneracy seemed hasty—the hand, so to speak, had been dealt rather well.
One might even say it differently.
‘The earliest wager always wins.’
The problem was finding the opening.
Their factions differed; there was neither pretext to send an invitation nor reason to accept one.
‘How to bridge them naturally….’
It was precisely as the governor sat stroking his beard in thought—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The office door shuddered as though it might splinter.
“G-Governor! The Ninth Prince, he’s in the Lobby, and he’s demanding directly that you…….”
“Catch your breath first.”
“He’s shouting that you come at once! We tried to show him to the Reception Hall, but His Highness insisted that the Governor himself must come out…….”
The junior aide trailed off, watching for a reaction.
By rank, prince and governor were equals—and the prince had moreover been deposed. By any logic, the one who owed deference seemed to be looking down at him instead, yet Maizreon found his mood unexpectedly good.
“Have tea prepared.”
“Pardon?”
Passing the bewildered aide, the governor paused before a mirror to groom his goat beard carefully.
Hospitality is won or lost in the first impression.
“Boil water while I’m coming down.”
* * *
Zion had declined the suggestion to wait in the Reception Hall for the fifth time.
“Your Highness, surely it would be better to wait inside…….”
“Then you alone go in and wait.”
“How could I presume to leave Your Highness unattended…….”
“If that displeases you, hold your tongue. Two choices—see how merciful this prince is.”
Zion planted himself in the center of the Lobby, his gaze fixed upward on the staircase.
His lips moved silently as he whispered Magic, and the murmuring of those who’d gathered at the commotion drifted down.
‘My apologies. It’ll be difficult to slip past quietly. I’d recommend clocking out early.’
The Governor’s Office, top to bottom, belonged to the First Prince Faction.
Which meant the possibility that the governor himself—or someone under his command—had blocked the mining permit to checkmate the Ninth Prince could not be entirely dismissed.
Either way, this wouldn’t end pleasantly.
Which left only one method.
‘Establish dominance.’
If you can’t win affection, inspire fear instead.
Men who are flattered begin to haggle over their worth; men who are frightened drop their prices unbidden. Human nature mirrors commerce, and thus human relations resemble a merchant’s negotiation.
This was why he refused to wait anywhere but the center of the Governor’s Office Lobby.
The prince honors them with a visit, and the governor cowers in his chambers?
Impossible.
The governor must come himself.
And Zion would receive his bow before all eyes.
To receive the governor’s bow of respect in the heart of his own office.
Wouldn’t that alone freeze the hands of every clerk poised to stamp documents red?
“My, Your Highness…… you’ve entered the lion’s den and now demand the lion come out. Are you prepared for the consequences?”
“Winter. Correct one thing for me.”
“Of course.”
“This prince is the lion!”
“……Then what does that make the governor?”
“We’ll see once he shows himself.”
Winter rubbed the back of his neck.
“What’s wrong with your hand?”
“My neck is a bit stiff, Your Highness.”
“From the weight of the First Prince’s presence bearing down on you?”
…….
Just then, commotion erupted from the top of the staircase.
Officials in formal dress retreated to either side.
Between them emerged a middle-aged man with a goat beard.
Governor Maizreon himself.
‘He’s here.’
Zion lifted his chin slightly.
The next sequence was clear enough.
The Governor would dismiss his subordinates and try to preserve face.
In front of everyone, he’d exchange greetings and then request they speak privately inside.
Zion would reject that plea and demand the Bow of Respect immediately.
‘Even a Governor is bound by Imperial Law to show respect to the Divine Clan.’
Seizing the initiative from the start was crucial.
He drew breath, about to cry out with full voice.
“A subject of the Empire greets one of the great Divine Clan.”
The entire Lobby froze.
The Governor had offered his respects two paces before the Prince.
And it was no perfunctory nod of the head.
The Governor—First Prince Faction, ranked as a Duke—had bent his upper body in a proper, if somewhat awkward, Bow of Respect.
The surrounding officials gasped in belated alarm and hastily lowered their bodies in unison.
“Your Highness graces us with your personal visit, yet I was late in receiving you. My oversight is unforgivable.”
Zion stood with his arms crossed, blinking.
His prepared words had nowhere to land.
‘……Hm? Why did he kneel right away?’
“Please, come inside. Let this old man offer you some tea, heh heh.”
Winter whispered softly from behind Zion’s back.
“Your Highness. Isn’t this a trap?”
My thoughts exactly.
Suspicious as it was, I decided to go along and see where it led.
‘Now that I think about it, if this is the Governor’s Office…….’
It was indeed a familiar place.
An antiquated, ornate space.
……The study where Father, the Late King Exeon the Thirteenth, once conducted his affairs.
While lost in reverie, Maizreon brought out tea.
“Doesn’t it smell wonderful?”
Zion sat in the old royal chair, crossing his legs.
“I’ll ask plainly. Someone in this building dared stamp this First Prince’s business documents with red disapproval.”
The Governor blinked as though he understood nothing, then gestured quietly.
“See to it.”
The young aide went pale and bowed deeply.
“Yes! I will take firm measures so that the Ninth Prince need never trouble himself with such trivial matters again!”
Watching the young man hurry out, it was Zion’s turn to blink.
‘What?’
He’d come prepared to cajole, seize, squeeze—ready if necessary to overturn a desk or two.
So why was this so easy?
He hadn’t even specified what he wanted done, yet the man was promising to handle it swiftly, cleanly, perfectly on his own?
“A week should suffice.”
A six-month timeline had just become one week.
Without bribes, threats, or force.
‘This is too smooth. Is this even right?’
Zion did not reach for his teacup.
“I’ve heard there’s an expectation that the First Prince demonstrate his sincerity to the person in charge.”
“The Ninth Prince has come in person—surely that is sincerity enough? Everyone’s lacking in perception. I do wish you’d given me a hint beforehand, heh heh heh. It would have been a chance to show my mettle as Governor and to demonstrate my sincerity to Your Highness.”
Though he employed the diplomatic phrasing of indirect inquiry about business matters, his expression was not one of genuine curiosity.
He kept the conversation flowing, as though dialogue itself were the purpose.
And somewhere along the way, the end of his sentences had grown subtly shorter.
A weighing of scales of some kind?
He was about to answer when Winter beat him to it.
“The Zionaia Mining Company. A tin mine, sir.”
Zion blinked hard again.
‘Tin?’
This bastard—when had he cooked up another scheme like this?
Either way, Zion had no intention of playing along with the Governor.
Cut to the chase. Skip the pleasantries and get down to business.
“I’m curious about something. You must know that the First Prince killed Gebell. So why are you being so accommodating?”
That was the moment.
A finger touching his back, quiet and unnoticed.
A signal he and Winter had arranged beforehand.
“His Highness wishes to be more thorough about this matter, Your Excellency.”
‘What? Me? About what?’
Zion was doing his best to mask his bewilderment, but Governor Maizreon’s face had noticeably relaxed—as though he’d found it far easier to speak now.
“Hehe, I see. I’d forgotten how straightforward you are. And your name is?”
“Winter Remikoning.”
“Hmm…?”
Governor Maizreon’s eyes widened slightly.
Zion’s did the same.
‘Remikoning? Not Flowering?’
Look at that.
It seemed he might be able to piece together a clue about the scene within the Turning Point after 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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