The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 53

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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 53: No Touch! No Touch!(6)
The Imperial August slid out through the Governor’s Office’s front gate.
Winter, at the wheel, spoke up.
“Light work it may have been, but casino operating rights are no trifling matter, Your Highness.”
In truth, it was the right to conduct gambling legally in an empire where gambling itself was forbidden—a privilege scarcely to be found.
In the capital of Seiel, there were only three establishments; across all of Deber, fewer than ten.
“Congratulations. Such a place is now yours.”
……
Winter’s mouth opened and closed. After a moment of choosing his words carefully, he spoke again.
“You’re serious? Not joking?”
“Yes. All shares in your name, all operating costs from my purse. Enjoy it—a gift given to you in full.”
What does a legal casino mean to a gambler?
Until now, Winter had been merely an advisor. The wastrel prince, infamous for his capricious whims, would discard him like a worn cloth, leaving him to tumble back into the shabby life of a back-alley gambler. That was the bitter truth of his station.
But not anymore.
“Build the finest casino Seiel has ever seen. From now on, when you introduce yourself anywhere, say this: Winter, proprietor of Zion’s Casino.”
Now, even if Winter stepped down as advisor, he could remain as the proprietor of one of Deber’s few legal casinos.
Perhaps he would come to wield considerable influence in those circles.
Word had it that a legend had already spread about him—how in a single night at the VIP tables, he’d swept up a fortune.
“Your Highness. Is this your way of tying my feet to you?”
“What if it is?”
Zion laughed—a soft, brief sound—and Winter gazed quietly at his hands on the steering wheel.
Two hands that could shuffle cards more deftly than anyone else’s.
Truth be told, what he’d wanted to hold in these hands was a pen.
And a casino proprietor’s position would be one that allowed him to hold both cards and pen alike.
“You should have demanded something more useful. I’m already bound by a leash, as it stands.”
It was Winter’s way of revealing his true thoughts, wrapped in jest.
“I think it’ll prove useful enough. Deber’s finest gambler at my right hand—consider the money you brought in a single night.”
“To Your Highness, it’s hardly a sum worth mentioning.”
Is it, though…
Small change it may be, but for Zion Riobert, it was.
“In any case, explain it to me. What did you tell the Governor?”
“Which part of the conversation, sir?”
Honestly, he’d barely followed half the exchange in the Governor’s reception chamber. He’d simply nodded along as Winter arranged the pieces.
“The tin mines and the Governor, and—what was all of it, basically?”
“Surely you didn’t follow none of it?”
“That’s why I keep you around.”
Back in the Liberation Army days, he’d left all the thinking to others.
“The tin mines are a cover hiding a gold vein.”
“I know that much.”
“The tin itself—we thought it best to keep the gold hidden, so we arranged it with Marquis Remikoning. If the Governor’s Office learns the true scale of the vein, they’ll reach for taxes or a share. We plan to have gold discovered gradually, in small amounts.”
Planned to be discovered.
A familiar turn of phrase, that.
“What did you tell the Governor?”
“Bluffing.”
Winter’s fingers played an invisible hand across the steering wheel.
“Your Highness intends to unite the navy, Deber entrepreneurs, and peripheral business interests to build a new faction outside Seiel.”
“I do?”
Since when?
“I improvised a bit of bluster, and it landed well enough. So I made him believe it.”
“The Governor’s no fool, and he believed that?”
“There’s a saying in securities markets: ‘Buying and selling driven by panic always ends in ruin.’ Spinning a single man into betting faster and more heavily than the rest—that’s my specialty.”
He said it so easily.
“Truth is, it’s not an impossible notion. Scattered factions that would clearly grow stronger if unified, and a prince’s title becoming the rallying point that brings them together—?”
The Governor had been moved by that possibility and showed goodwill in advance.
An investment, one might say, made in hope of greater returns down the line.
“I had no idea.”
“You needn’t. This sort of work is what subordinates are for, isn’t it?”
“A subordinate handling the Governor? Your nerve’s grown considerably, hasn’t it?”
“When one serves a prince himself, surely the leeway is justified. In any case, we’ve obtained leverage through intimidation, so we can use it freely whenever it’s needed later.”
Winter let out a low, bitter chuckle and continued.
“For a Governor, you’re remarkably naive. Building a city, no less—ha! What kind of fool pours that kind of money into empty ground?”
“I am. What about it?”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“A city. I’m going to build one.”
A sanctuary and paradise for those Zion wanted to protect and ought to protect.
“…In Teragrad, sir?”
“Where else would I build it?”
“It’s wasteland.”
“That’s precisely why we build.”
“It would require considerable funding.”
Winter’s tone remained characteristic, yet carried an undercurrent of bluntness.
They’d been together long enough, it seemed.
The subtle shift was unmistakable.
“So it will. Then use someone else’s money. Go on, Winter. We settled our division of labor ages ago.”
“I have no recollection of such an agreement.”
“No, we did. I commit the acts. You clean up after me.”
A long sigh escaped him.
“Now you’re sighing openly. You devil—do you want a taste of this prince’s severity?”
“It occurs to me that now, even a sigh might slip by without royal displeasure.”
Well. That was fair enough.
In truth, with Reianna alone—even when no one was watching, my back bore the marks of her hand.
Fussing endlessly that I eat properly.
“Gambling is everywhere humans gather, sir. Since we’ve obtained casino rights, we might as well construct a gambling city in Teragrad, or some such. Though I confess, I’ll need to explore other avenues as well.”
“Rejected. Build the casino in Seiel instead. Make it the finest, most magnificent establishment. Let every person in the industry envy that Winter Flowering is proprietor of Zion’s Casino.”
“…Yes. If you command it.”
“That is my command, Winter.”
“I shall obey.”
Winter obeyed, genuinely.
Emotion stirred his mind, and strategies began pouring from him in a torrent.
Since the Governor held him in favor, he’d extract reconstruction funds from the casino budget.
With a Divine Clan member personally undertaking such specialized city construction on the frontier, he could petition the relevant departments for specialized district infrastructure appropriations.
Furthermore, this meant he shouldn’t minimize the gold vein’s scale—rather, he should publicize it somewhat and draw maximum attention.
‘Every strategy worth merit.’
An act of national betrayal, squandering imperial funds, and simultaneously an act of patriotism, building the motherland’s reserves.
It was in the midst of such thoughts.
A faint hum.
The Guide Ring on his right middle finger began to vibrate subtly.
‘It’s been a while.’
When the ring first reacted to Winter, he’d even entertained the notion that perhaps he was a hidden heir to the throne.
But after acquiring the function of Branching Point guide, he understood otherwise.
This vibration merely indicated the right direction.
‘If you are the right direction for me.’
Ever since witnessing that scene—Winter firing a gun at Reianna—his thoughts had been turbulent.
Yet now it seemed unnecessary.
Since when had he deliberated before acting?
He should simply charge straight through.
“Winter. Has the Liberation Army approached you?”
Screech!
‘Ah. Too direct after all.’
The car slammed on its brakes. Zion, having driven his head hard into the back of the front seat, slowly lifted his face.
No apology was forthcoming.
Winter remained rigid, silent.
His nostrils flared.
‘…As expected. They’d already made contact.’
Our dear comrades certainly do move with remarkable speed.
Remarkably fast. Inconveniently so.
Zion exhaled and pressed on.
“What did you tell them?”
“Your Highness.”
“Answer me, Winter.”
* * *
At that same moment, in Madame de Galerie in Seiel.
Rumio Blen touched his collar for the third time.
“Isn’t it a bit too high?”
Krayna adjusted his collar for him directly.
“I’ve left enough room for a finger. It won’t be uncomfortable, I assure you.”
“Well, perhaps, but…”
It felt wrong.
Here he was, utterly ordinary, looking like some prosperous bourgeois.
“Formal wear isn’t meant for comfort, Rumio. It’s meant to impress and to present oneself properly.”
“Present what, exactly?”
“That varies from person to person. Once I finish taking measurements, we’ll be done in no time. Just stand easy.”
Rumio Blen adjusted his collar awkwardly once more.
He’d never been one to concern himself much with appearances. He’d spent his entire life modestly, running a small Magitech shop, researching and inventing.
“About the Magical Tools, though—”
“If you start discussing business because of your discomfort, you risk negotiating from a weakened position.”
Rumio’s face flushed.
He’d been grappling with the nagging doubt that he was sorely lacking as a manager.
And it was all because Refrigerators were flying off the shelves like mad.
The fact that he’d come to Madame de Galerie at all said it all—securing Refrigerator distribution channels mattered far more to him than acquiring formal wear.
“For now, let’s start with thirty units. That works, yes? Since you’re a partner to my partner, the First Prince, we can keep things balanced. How does this figure look?”
The number Krayna wrote out and showed him was exactly what Rumio had in mind.
But should he really accept so easily?
If his suppliers thought him easy to push around, good fortune would never follow.
“Your shoulders are too tense. Yes, formal wear constricts, but the wearer themselves should feel reassured by the wrapping around them, not imprisoned by it. So, relax.”
The moment her touch reached him, the tension melted away.
It made sense now why upper-class patrons never stopped coming, why she was counted among the finest entrepreneurs in the luxury trade.
“The figure is good. And thank you for the advice.”
“Think nothing of it. Right now we’re customers to each other. And partners to partners, as well.”
The guileless Rumio flushed once more, and Krayna caught the glimmer of rational affection blooming in his eyes.
Noting how easy he was to manipulate, she smoothly shifted the conversation.
To extract what she was curious about.
“But tell me—what is the First Prince like, now that you serve him and see him up close? So many rumors, but few know the truth.”
“The First Prince is…”
The Empire’s greatest wastrel, Zion Riobert.
If Rumio Blen had to summarize him in a single sentence—
“He transcends ordinary understanding.”
His disposition wasn’t particularly pleasant, which doubtless contributed to the wastrel label, built up through misunderstanding.
But his essence is not that of a wastrel.
The many facets Rumio has witnessed prove it.
“Those beneath him—yes, though the term ‘beneath’ feels strange in this age—”
A man who makes you think of yourself as beneath him.
“In thought, in character, in every way.”
…
Krayna studied Rumio quietly.
Transcends ordinary understanding. Makes you think of yourself as beneath him.
Both answers were so far from what she’d expected.
‘Not a lie. Not flattery. Neither. It’s genuine.’
Rumio continued.
“By listening to conversations between the First Prince and Advisor Winter, I’ve come to understand that in just a few months of being in Deber, he’s acquired an extraordinary amount.”
Krayna arranged the pieces chronologically in her mind.
It began with subduing a notorious gambler from the back alleys in a single night and making him his right hand.
Arriving in Deber with nothing, the First Prince had amassed his current wealth and influence in mere months, in that short span.
“Truly impressive. If I were in opposition to him, my blood would run cold.”
Rumio laughed at her jest.
“But we are partners with the First Prince, are we not? How fortunate that is.”
Watching the ashen-haired middle-aged man call servitude to the First Prince a blessing, Krayna suddenly grasped something.
Now that she thought about it, everyone around the First Prince had ashen hair.
The gambler, the inventor, the maid, the laborers he employed—all of them.
‘Even Marquis Remikoning.’
Not a single person from the Empire.
A strange coincidence, perhaps.
Or…….
I need more information.
“Rumio, surely you feel wronged? In the end, you’ve lost almost all of Blen Industries’ shares.”
“Not at all.”
Rumio waved his hand dismissively with genuine sincerity.
“The shares were worthless to begin with. Our refrigerator could only come into existence because an exceptional Magitech Engineer under the First Prince refined the core technology. We have him to thank for that.”
‘A talented Magitech Engineer serving the Empire’s greatest wastrel? …That can’t be right.’
A face flickered through her mind.
Her young master was a genius who could have ushered in a new era, even if she had chosen Magitech Engineering over magic itself.
‘Could it be. She escaped, yes, but while imprisoned—did that fool exploit the Crown Prince?’
It wasn’t entirely impossible.
Krayna’s eyes flashed with sharp intent.
Since her young master’s escape, much of her contempt for that ninth prince had faded.
But this needed checking.
‘I can’t just let this slide.’
* * *
“Let’s move past it, Winter.”
“…Your Highness?”
His voice could have wavered, but it didn’t—steady as ever.
‘I have to give credit where it’s due. That poker face is something else.’
“The Liberation Army approached you; you didn’t join them. So it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re my right hand.”
“Your Highness.”
He meant it.
Besides, he already knew what he needed to know.
In one of the futures the ring had shown him, when Winter stood before the Liberation Army’s guns, he turned the barrel not toward Zion, but toward Reianna.
‘Whether it’s the future or now, when you act like that, it only complicates how I feel.’
It had been only a few months, but he’d grown fond of the man.
He didn’t want to burden Winter with worry and inner turmoil.
“Do as you wish. Choose whichever side—it makes no difference to me, and won’t affect me either way.”
“…Do you truly mean that?”
Even behind the poker face, Winter’s disbelief was written plain.
“What if I receive orders and try to assassinate Your Highness?”
“Then I’ll let you off once.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And I’d even laugh wh—hell!”
An unexpected curse slipped out.
Winter, just about to be moved by emotion, flinched as if doused with cold water.
Zion, for his part, scratched his head with a serious expression.
‘Winter was approached by the Liberation Army. Whether as a double agent or for other reasons, it’s certain he’ll be following their orders in some future. Which means……’
He’d overlooked it. In some future moment, Winter Flowering levels a gun at the prince.
In other words, in that future, Zion Riebert was cornered.
‘Why. Why again. What’s the problem. Why does the Liberation Army keep trying to harm Zion Riebert again.’
For gods’ sake, just stop trying to kill him!
He’d already told Zion Blije to use him instead, not kill Zion Riebert, so why!
‘There’s no choice. This is the last resort.’
“I need your cooperation, Winter.”
As Zion spoke, Winter’s expression shifted in subtle, strange ways.
The reason was simple.
“Have you ever done any spying?”
“That’s hardly possible……”
“It’s fine. It’s not that difficult.”
……
Winter exhaled a long sigh.

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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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