The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 52

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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 52 No Touch! Not a Single Touch!(5)
At the very moment Zion arrived at the Governor’s Headquarters, Marquis Remikoning was also drawing out a card he’d been saving, hoping to overcome the crisis.
Not in the office of the Governor himself, mind you—but in the office of the Governor’s Assistant.
‘Land reclassification permits and such trifles, if Kishinian himself would step in, they’d be resolved in a heartbeat.’
“Governor’s Assistant. I trust you are well—”
The marquis had begun with these pleasantries the moment he stepped in, but his words trailed away just as quickly.
Regardless of who entered, Kishinian, the Governor’s Assistant, kept his eyes fixed on the documents before him.
‘I’ll need to wait awhile, it seems.’
The Governor’s right hand, the de facto gatekeeper of the Governor’s Headquarters.
The man who stood between the office door and the Governor himself, acting as his deputy, turned the page with his pen tip several times over.
Only after a considerable pause did Kishinian look up and inquire the purpose of the visit; the marquis outlined his predicament in abbreviated form.
Just as he was about to make his plea for assistance, a reply came back, swift and preemptive.
“Colonial Company matters fall under the Colonial Company’s purview. This is not something I should involve myself in.”
A lie. His subordinate was already tangled with the marquis, and he simply had no interest in the tedious affair.
Marquis Remikoning had sold his nation for a price, yet preserved his noble station; and under the current Empire, the circumstances of the old Deber nobility were precisely thus.
‘I declined an official post to spare myself this sort of humiliation, and received monetary compensation instead.’
Though his jaw ground silently with anger, the marquis kept smiling outwardly, even laughing lightly.
“Yet surely the Agricultural and Commercial Administration Bureau falls under the Governor’s Headquarters, does it not? With but a single word from the Governor’s Assistant, those children would move with such diligence.”
“Hmm.”
The Governor’s Assistant ordered an aide to retrieve the relevant documents and read through them.
His pen stopped.
His eyes remained on the papers.
“Zion Blije—no, Zion Riobert. Start by explaining what’s written here as the name. What could be the reason for rejection?”
His expression suggested his mood was not favorable.
It was a reaction the marquis had anticipated.
After all, it was the marquis himself who had carried out the Governor’s Assistant’s order to obstruct the Ninth Prince.
‘What politician concerns himself with such a trifle?’
Aleon Remikoning did not let his smile falter.
It was a face he had spent a lifetime perfecting.
If facial skin could depreciate, he thought, he would lose half a year’s worth in the span of today alone.
He smiled.
It was precisely the kind of smile that warranted the phrase “obsequiousness written on one’s face.”
“If the Governor himself—or rather, he who shall soon be addressed as such—were to offer but a word, the Agricultural and Commercial Administration Bureau would gladly review the matter once more.”
“The Governor?”
“Who stands closest to His Excellency’s will? Following the tradition of predecessors, the heir to that office is already decided, is it not? You, whose achievements are so remarkable that even the children of Seiel know the name Kishinian—surely you are the next Governor.”
This flattery must return with profit. At the very least, he needed to break even.
He could not abide a loss.
With such thoughts, the marquis pressed a hand to his chest.
In his breast pocket lay an Anonymous Bill of Exchange worth ninety million Luon.
He was gauging the moment to produce it.
‘If I’m too early, I’ll have paid too high a price; if I’m too late, this gift will have lost its purpose.’
“So, you wish me to exert my influence?”
“How could I presume such a thing? I merely request a fair re-examination.”
Kishinian’s hand stilled.
“It was examined fairly—and was rejected.”
“Your Excellency.”
“The grounds for reclassification are thin, at best. A tin mine, no less. A small one at that. I cannot alter the use of such vast lands for such a trifling thing.”
“I shall supplement whatever documents are needed.”
“Do so, then.”
“Then you will order the re-examination?”
“I merely told you to supplement the documents.”
It seemed he would have to spend money after all.
As the marquis cursed silently to himself—
“Governor Maizelon! This prince grants you the honor of an audience! Come out at once!”
A shout pierced through three layers of wall.
The marquis’s hand, which had been reaching into his breast pocket, went rigid.
‘What did he just say?’
The Governor’s Assistant and the marquis dashed out as one.
The corridors of the Governor’s Headquarters’ annex opened onto a square gallery that ringed the central lobby.
And there, spread before their eyes, was a sight of utter shock.
Zion stood in the center of the space the officials had cleared, forming a wide circle around him.
“The Ninth Prince, Zion Blije.”
Kishinian’s aide had one reason for trying to check the Ninth Prince.
He had arrived in Deber without once showing his face at the Governor’s Headquarters, which governed the entire province.
Discarded as he was, stripped of his title as he had been, he dared to treat the Governor’s Headquarters and its authority with such contempt.
“Aide, surely the Governor will—”
“Appear? Impossible. There is no one more scrupulous in matters of protocol than His Excellency!”
The marquis thought, though not protocol—authority, surely.
‘With stakes this high riding on this venture, and him acting like this? I’ll have Winter drive home his true position soon enough.’
A prince he may be, but he had been deposed.
Whatever the blood of the Divine Clan might claim, whatever station such lineage might suggest, without power it was merely shadow.
Those elves who’d seemed so warm before had walked away without a word, without lifting a finger—that was proof enough.
So for the Governor to pass the railing and turn toward the stairs—it would not—
“What—His Excellency—!”
The Governor had appeared and was descending the staircase.
What followed was even more shocking.
The Governor, having reached the Prince, bent at the waist.
He bent at the waist.
“A subject of the Empire pays respects to one of the great Divine Clan.”
In that instant.
The marquis understood.
‘The ninety million Luon in my pocket—it’s all worthless now.’
“Marquis.”
It was Kishinian.
“That matter we were discussing earlier—the change in mining rights. I’ll put in a word with my Colonial Company. There are procedures, so it will take time, but it will be done.”
The map of rank and power was being redrawn before his eyes.
‘The Prince. He was never merely a useful card. He was a rope—a rope far thicker and strung far higher than I’d imagined?’
He had forgotten, obscured by the Prince’s manner and words.
That the Divine Clan was the Divine Clan, and a prince was a prince.
That the Empire was such a place.
A man who could make Deber’s most powerful figure bow his head—such a prince was his business partner.
The contract that shifted all mining development costs onto himself had always gnawed at him.
‘But large transactions demand large advances. Now that the gold vein is confirmed, recovery is merely a matter of time.’
So there was no cause to begrudge the money.
This was the moment to move quickly, to seize greater wealth.
‘I’ll invest more in mining equipment. Hire more workers. The moment the permits are granted, we work day and night without cessation.’
Let the Prince gain his gold faster, in greater quantities.
In his excitement, he would be eager to offer even more.
Besides, in this age, was making money from money not the new way of things?
Winter, the Prince’s aide, would need to be handled more carefully as well.
Mixed blood or not, he stood beside the Prince now.
It might do well to dangle succession rights before him.
‘Money grows best when it’s attached to people.’
The principle by which Remikoning had built his life around finance.
With the gold mine as collateral, he would lend the Prince a substantial sum.
Even if the Prince had no intention of borrowing, it mattered not—he would slip the gold into the Prince’s pocket himself.
After the Governor and Prince took their leave, and Kishinian returned to his seat, the marquis remained lost in thought for some time.
Seeing this, a servant appeared from the end of the corridor, judging their business concluded.
“Marquis, shall I have the carriage prepared?”
“Yes, see to it.”
“I’ll bring it to the main gate of the Governor’s Headquarters. Shall I assume you’re returning home?”
“No.”
Remikoning glanced toward the office where the Governor and Prince remained.
Slowly, as if practicing, he bent at the waist in a carefully measured angle, then straightened.
“We leave at once for Teragrad. I need to conduct another inspection and revise our development plans to scale up operations significantly.”
* * *
Zion watched Winter in conversation with the Governor, arms folded across his chest.
Winter Remikoning. What scheme was this?
‘Does he need a status other than the Prince’s aide?’
Or to give his words greater weight?
I’m not sure.
“Your Highness, does the Governor know? Kishinian, his aide, attempted to harm you.”
‘When?’
The Governor’s expression grew grave.
“Kishinian tried to do that? Tell me more.”
Winter explained that behind the Prince’s rejection from several social clubs—Seiel among them—stood Kishinian.
‘I had no idea.’
The Governor’s face betrayed equal parts discomfort and regret.
In other words, he was searching for a way to repay a debt—and Winter saw it coming.
Tap-tap.
Fingers brushed against his back.
An unplanned signal, but its meaning was crystal clear.
‘Time to make our play.’
“Governor, if I may be so bold as to speak.”
“Go ahead.”
“My father’s legitimate son—that is, my half-brother—serves as a colonel at the Naval Headquarters in Aincen. Furthermore, Your Highness has staffed his household—advisors, guards, and attendants alike—entirely with grey-haired personnel. Beyond that, he has not set foot in the Governor’s Headquarters until the state banquet for the elf dignitaries, and he has arranged to receive patronage from a certain prominent family in Aincen.”
With each line, the Governor’s fingers moved more rapidly across his teacup.
“Ah… His Highness harbors such grand ambitions.”
‘What? How do you know things I don’t?’
“Though I hold public office, encountering designs of such magnitude stirs the heart of any man. Should the Governor’s Headquarters lack anything, do speak of it. I shall endeavor to assist.”
As if he’d been waiting for those words, Winter seized the opening.
“Expand the scope of land-use conversion permits significantly.”
“The scope?”
“I intend to build a city beside the mines. A city for His Highness alone.”
Zion stiffened.
The plan to make Teragrad into a sanctuary and stronghold for the Liberation Army was supposed to be secret—completely secret.
‘Did I slip up somehow?’
He sipped his tea quietly, watching Winter’s face.
But Winter’s poker face was impenetrable; there was no hope of glimpsing his true thoughts.
“A city, you say. Ha, ambition on a grand scale.”
The Governor did not deliberate long.
A city rising from wasteland would add to the Governor’s Headquarters’ list of achievements.
A profitable exchange—settling a debt born of a subordinate’s error with change to spare.
“You’ll have the documents within days.”
“On behalf of His Highness, I am deeply grateful for your magnanimous support, Governor.”
Winter bowed respectfully.
The pleasantries that followed grew smoother, and it was clear both parties sensed it was time to conclude.
Winter had gotten what he came for; to press further would spoil the hand he’d played so well.
‘Winter, you bastard. In so many ways, I owe you.’
Winter had been the first person Zion met upon arriving in Deber, and he’d proven invaluable.
He felt anew just how fortunate that meeting had been.
He owed Winter a reward.
Effort deserved recompense, and one goaded a horse faster with carrots than with the whip—all true enough. But before such calculus, Zion simply wanted to give, because he was grateful.
“Governor, didn’t the casino collapse during the execution ceremony?”
The Prince interjected abruptly, and the Governor hesitated before answering.
“It did, yes?”
“It collapsed because of me, so I’d like to rebuild it myself. But in return… you know what I mean?”
“Ha, there’s no question of it. Such a thing is hardly difficult. Let it be done as Your Highness wishes.”
The Governor laughed readily and assented.
His expression suggested it was a trivial request.
Handing over a ruined lot—what was the difficulty in that?
‘But for him, it’s different.’
Zion glanced at Winter.
‘As I thought.’
Winter maintained his perpetual composure.
Yet now, at the corners of his eyes, the faintest tremor rippled through.
A casino.
What could a legal casino mean to a man who’d once ruled the underworld gambling dens?
“You’re the proprietor, Winter.”

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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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