The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 58

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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 58: Wings of the Bat (3)
A morning when the sunlight fell with peculiar beauty.
Macalister boarded a train bound for Seiel, dressed in his Naval Uniform.
‘Seiel… has it been seventeen years?’
The landscape blurred past the window. A bitter murmur escaped his lips.
“Nothing will have changed. Not a thing.”
Once he’d grown old enough to understand—once his mind had matured enough to grasp the true origin of everything he possessed—
Macalister had abandoned his studies and enlisted in the Navy that very day.
It was the only place one could escape to where food, clothing, and shelter would all be provided.
And so Macalister had fled the title and manor that his father maintained through treason, fled the House of Remikoning—filled with servants squeezed from poor Deber folk through loan-sharking—and found refuge.
Only then could he breathe.
The jibes about a man who despised his father for defecting to the Empire, yet enlisted in the Empire’s military? They felt like nothing.
Compared to the weight that had pressed down on his chest so suffocatingly that he could barely draw breath, they were insignificant.
‘Why is the Imperial Prince calling for me?’
He’d heard rumors, brief though they were, that his father had recently been trying to attach himself to the Prince.
So the man truly earned his epithet—the greatest wing of Deber.
‘Whatever the reason for this summons, I will offer you no cooperation, Your Highness. I am not my father.’
Such were his thoughts as he walked.
But then—
“Your father smuggled Morphia into the Empire.”
A single sentence drove itself like a nail into his heart.
Macalister opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
Not even breath.
The old suffocation returned—that familiar tightness in his chest.
“Through… through what channel was it smuggled?”
“The very fact that you’re asking about the channel tells me something occurs to you. Military Vessels.”
He closed his eyes and recalled something from not long ago.
His father had asked if any of his classmates had been delayed in promotion.
After arranging for his son to receive an early promotion, his father—worried about the possibility of jealousy—had written a letter saying he wished to sponsor a few trustworthy classmates.
Macalister had always ignored his father’s letters, but this time, seeing classmates struggling without promotion, he had written back.
‘Father. Is this the result? Is this even defensible?’
“Your Highness. Among the military insiders involved in the smuggling… are there any from my graduating class?”
“Every participant in the scheme was one of your classmates who visited the Marquis’s estate some time ago.”
“…”
He ground his teeth. Blood filled his mouth.
Your father’s voice echoed: “I simply wish to open the way forward for your friends, late though it may be.”
“Do you not understand this father’s heart? How long will you disappoint me so?”
He had wanted to believe.
That his father still possessed the nobility befitting a great house of Deber.
And this was the fruit of that belief.
By his own hand.
He had given his father the opportunity to seduce his own classmates.
“One thing troubled me, though. Why did the Marquis tempt your friends rather than approach you directly?”
“…”
“Had he done so, you would not have accepted. Isn’t that right, Colonel?”
“…”
“Let me ask again. How should we deal with the Morphia smuggling?”
Macalister had answered in silence until now.
“Summary Execution.”
This time, his answer came swift and immediate.
He spoke with such speed that even the Prince seemed taken aback, and then he continued:
“They must be brought before a Military Court. Morphia is the devil’s plant that can sicken even vast Gizkal in a single blow. It must be punished with utmost severity.”
The Prince made no reply. Instead, he asked something else.
“It seems you’re not curious why I told you this first?”
“I am not curious. Nor do I believe it proper to be.”
Macalister rose stiffly to his feet and turned away from the Prince.
He stood before royalty.
Proper decorum demanded he offer a bow.
Yet his tongue would not move.
If I open my mouth, something will spill out.
So I can’t even lower my head.
Scrape. Scrape. Military boots dragged across the floor.
The measured stride had fallen into disarray.
The moment my toe caught the threshold and I stumbled.
The door slammed shut.
Bang.
Zion touched his jaw and stared at the door through which Macalister had departed.
“Your Highness. That man dared to leave without permission. Shall I apprehend him and press charges?”
It was Reyanna who spoke. She looked ready to bolt after him at any moment.
‘Feigning excessive loyalty while harboring no real conviction—typical. Still, she’s desperate to earn my trust sooner rather than later.’
“Never mind. Learning of his father’s disgrace would be a shock. But tell me, Winter—you pretended not to know?”
“Yes. The Marquis Remikoning did not appear to reveal his identity to that man.”
Winter replied flatly.
“I suspected as much, but it’s as I thought. However, this isn’t the crucial matter, is it? Why did you tell him the truth? The Marquis will take immediate action.”
“Well. I believe the Major won’t relay this to the Marquis. And even if he does, I don’t think the Marquis will abandon his smuggling operation.”
“I can’t speak to the former, but I agree with the latter. Once that man feels he has a good card in hand, he absolutely cannot let it go.”
Whether Macalister told his father or not, the Marquis’s ruin was already decided.
So for now, perhaps I could afford to look elsewhere.
My attention had turned to this newly discovered possibility.
“Winter. I’m going for a walk. Finish your work while I’m gone.”
“……At this hour, you say?”
“I’ve always enjoyed night walks.”
“I shall accompany you, Your Highness.”
I stopped Reyanna from immediately following.
“Don’t come. Rest instead. I’m going to sit with a woman, and it would be awkward with you along.”
“Ah…… I see. I accept your command.”
Reyanna responded readily enough. Beneath the surface, though, she was surely suppressing disgust.
But there was no better excuse I could conjure on the spot.
‘I can’t exactly tail Macalister with Reyanna in tow, after all.’
Stepping outside the Hotel, Zion half-concealed himself in the darkness and moved his lips.
“Quere Stellam Orbita.”
The clouds hung thick overhead.
With neither moon nor stars visible, the night was perfect for shadowing someone.
‘Let’s see. Where might our Major be headed?’
It didn’t take long to find Macalister in a tavern, perhaps ten minutes’ walk away.
‘He followed me out less than thirty minutes ago, and he’s already on his second bottle?’
What’s more, he was drinking straight from the bottle without a glass.
Zion pulled his hood low as he entered the tavern, then sat down at a distance with his back turned and ordered a drink.
Listening carefully, he caught Macalister’s muttering.
“……I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. So it’s not my sin. If I can persuade him. My father is human too—if his son pleads, perhaps…….”
Glug. Glug.
“Right now, we could burn it all. Destroy everything—and it would be as if nothing ever happened.”
Though no one was listening, Macalister spoke as if giving a report and making an appeal to someone unseen.
“If we act immediately, we can stop distribution. We can destroy the entire shipment before any victims emerge. So…….”
His head dropped forward, then jerked back up suddenly.
“Yes, Your Highness. Now that you’ve revealed the truth, it falls to me to decide what must be done.”
His father’s crime.
The tainted hands of friends.
And he himself stood in the middle, the connecting link.
To whom could he shift the blame?
Macalister stood.
‘He’s thoroughly drunk.’
His gait was no longer that of a disciplined soldier.
Anyone watching would have seen nothing but a drunkard.
The man staggered out through an alley.
His steps were unsteady, wavering—but his direction remained certain.
The moment Zion realized where he was headed, a smile tugged at his lips.
The residence of Marquis Remikoning.
“Father!”
The darkened manor blazed to life all at once, like a cascade of falling dominoes igniting as they tumbled.
A door swung open moments later.
“Young master! At this hour, what’s—goodness, how much have you had to drink!”
The middle-aged maid greeted him warmly, but
Macalister shouted again.
“Father!”
Shortly after, the Marquis appeared at the main entrance, his face dark with displeasure.
“What is this commotion, Mac? You, who are to inherit House of Remikoning—how dare you conduct yourself with such shameful lack of decorum.”
“Burn all the Morphia. It’s not too late.”
“……Who has filled your head with such nonsense?”
“Does that matter?”
“It matters greatly! It’s a trap. Whatever you’ve heard, it’s a snare to bring me down!”
“Then I suppose I shall have to act on my own.”
The Marquis’s voice softened abruptly.
“We need only weather this storm. Mac, I who have enjoyed everything this world offers—what could I possibly lack? I’ve done all of this for you. This house, this fortune, one day it will all be yours……”
“That’s what frightens me most.”
“……What did you say?”
“The things you do for my sake. All of them. I don’t need them. They terrify me. Please, stop.”
Silence fell.
Cold and sharp as glass.
The Marquis broke first.
“Do you understand what becomes of me if I stop?”
“……”
“Do you understand what becomes of this house you will inherit!”
“I have no wish to inherit it! Stop burdening me with shame! Please, I beg you—stop!”
The Marquis recoiled as though struck, clutching the back of his neck.
“You worthless wretch!”
Crash!
The sound of breaking glass shattered through the window.
“Get out! And you dare call yourself my son? Get out of my sight!”
The Marquis slammed the door shut behind him and disappeared inside.
Macalister did not leave, nor did he follow his father.
He simply stood there, vacant and still, staring up at the clouded night sky.
‘A dog has given birth to a tiger.’
Zion laughed quietly from the shadows.
Macalister Remikoning.
I wonder what he will do from this moment forward.
Can he truly prove the worth of his bloodline in a way his father never could?
‘Either way, I shall watch.’
* * *
Zion’s wait lasted only a single day.
Or more precisely, some six hours.
“Your Highness.”
Winter, who stood before Zion to deliver his report, wore an expression quite unlike his usual impassive mask.
“Lieutenant Colonel Macalister has filed charges against the Marquis Remikoning.”
“What? What are the allegations?”
“He’s revealed everything. The Marquis brought Morphia into the country via military vessel, working with a disgraced Empire businessman. Active naval officers cooperated in the operation, and the person who introduced those officers to the Marquis was—”
Winter paused for a beat before continuing.
“Himself, as he wrote at the end of the indictment.”
“He’s laid bare the entire operation. And since the contraband is Morphia, he’s sealed his own death warrant too.”
“It appears he’s made his peace with that.”
Just as I thought. A dog truly has sired a tiger.
Without days of hesitation, he returned to Ainchen and denounced his own father in one stroke.
“What’s the Navy’s reaction? The Headquarters should be in upheaval.”
“There is none. They’re hushing it up, handling it quietly. The senior officers don’t wish to lose such a lucrative side venture.”
“Interesting.”
Something inside his chest opened up, vast and hollow.
The thing the Marquis held most dear in all the world.
It could only be his son, Macalister.
And that most precious thing had now struck the final blow—the period mark on his ruin.
‘Could there be words more thrilling than these?’
And yet something felt wrong.
Something far greater than that thrill rose up within him.
‘Macalister Remikoning. You are a righteous man.’
Born beneath a traitor.
Raised by a father who loved his house more than his country.
And from such stock, such a son emerged.
The day of the execution surfaced in his mind unbidden.
A white naval uniform stepping forward through the smoke.
Those quiet eyes that had claimed all responsibility as their own.
“I cannot help but admire him.”
Zion drained his cup in one long draught, then tilted the empty glass toward the window, toward some distant point.
Toward Ainchen, toward the direction where a certain colonel with ash-grey hair would be.
“I agree entirely, Your Highness. One could never imagine him to be the Marquis’s son. Though, if I may say so—we do not share a mother, after all.”
“That’s true.”
“In fact… might it not be that we do not share a father either?”
“You speak of depravity as though it were nothing at all.”
“It is merely a rational deduction.”
“Rational it may be. Hmm.”
He pushed himself to his feet.
Had he drunk too much while listening? The room tilted slightly.
He’d need to cast a detoxification spell on the way out.
“We’re leaving, Winter.”
“Where are we headed, sir?”
“Where else? There’s only one place worth going to now.”
Tonight, the personnel at Ainchen Naval Headquarters would have their work cut out for them.
Upon notification of the sudden royal visit, they would have to scrub away every speck of grime accumulated over the past decade.

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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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