The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 60

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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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Chapter 60: The Bat’s Wings (5)
‘These damned fools. How dare they summon a senior officer with years more rank than themselves and use him as a rubber stamp?’
Renska, watching the kneeling figure of Remikoning, ground his teeth in silent fury.
The military was a hierarchy built on obedience, and rank was sacred.
Yet among all the generals gathered here, Renska himself stood furthest from power—and closest to retirement.
This, despite having no one his senior in age or rank among them.
“Brigadier General Renska. Simply keep your seat and remain silent. Understood?”
‘This ungrateful bastard Inger.’
They held the same rank now, but Inger had once served under him as a subordinate.
After showing such favor in those days, for him to stand equal now—such shameless audacity.
“Well? No answer, General?”
It was Major General Portion—one of the true powers at Ainchen Naval Headquarters.
He too held a lower rank than Renska and was younger besides.
“…Understood, sir.”
Renska’s body trembled with humiliation.
‘These wretched bastards. How dare they treat me this way?’
But beneath the anger and disgrace burned something stronger still: envy.
There was only one reason they’d brought Renska, a general adrift like a kite with a severed string, here for an immediate execution.
The black-market trading through naval vessels could never become public knowledge.
‘Ha! Kill everyone involved fast and bury it.’
The military was no different from any other organization. Officers began playing politics the moment they received their stars—or far earlier than that. By the rank of field-grade officer at the latest, one had to master it.
The difference between those with connections forged through bribes and favors, and those without, was immense.
Yet even a general’s military salary was meager.
Black-market trading through warships was an excellent path to advancement.
…Though Renska himself had never managed to profit from it.
Bang!
“Huh! Huh! L-loyalty! General! The Ninth Imperial Prince, Zion Liobelt, has deigned to visit!”
Which is why Renska welcomed this sudden turn of events.
For Major General Portion, it was a thunderbolt from a clear sky.
“What?! The Ninth Prince? Why is His Highness—”
“The exact details are unclear, but he’s heading straight here!”
Someone had revealed the location. Portion’s face darkened with rage.
“Who leaked classified information without headquarters’ consent! Seize them at once—”
“Peace, gentlemen.”
A low voice cut through his words.
The generals flinched as one.
The veteran’s body reacted first.
It was said that a beast’s roar carries subsonic frequencies that paralyze its prey’s muscles.
Perhaps this was a similar phenomenon.
“To spare you the trouble, this prince brought the one who leaked the information along.”
The voice came again.
But the speaker’s form had not yet appeared.
Instead, footsteps filled the silence.
Not the heavy tread of military boots, yet heavier still.
Thud. Thud.
The sound drew steadily nearer from down the corridor.
Unhurried stride, measured pace.
Like a leisurely walk through one’s own garden.
Or the tense, measured ticking as a cannon counts down the final seconds before firing.
“But here’s the thing.”
At last, the threshold.
The voice’s master stepped into view.
“Do you consider answering a prince’s question to be a breach of secrecy?”
Gold hair came first into sight.
Gold as bright as the sun itself, as if liquid amber had been poured and melted down.
Beneath it, eyes glinted in the light.
Crimson.
Blood Eyes swept slowly across the assembly.
That appraising gaze reminded them of a predator selecting its prey.
Gulp.
Someone’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard.
It was savage.
The savagery of a beast, or something worse.
A ferocity that could strike without warning blazed behind those crimson eyes.
The Ninth Prince, Zion Riobert.
The Empire’s worst degenerate.
That was him.
“What are you all doing.”
The prince’s mouth twisted.
“Not bowing.”
By custom, military protocol differed from civilian convention.
Regardless of rank or station, soldiers did not kneel, did not bow their heads.
Those who had dedicated themselves to the military need only offer glory to the Sun along with their salute—such was the Emperor’s decree and proclamation.
In other words, the ritual phrase “Glory to the Sun” coupled with a salute alone satisfied the military code of respect as defined in the Imperial Law.
But.
“A subject of the Empire receives one of the Divine Clan.”
General Renska, the first to move, dropped to one knee and bowed deeply.
He offered the most reverent bow to the Ninth Prince.
“Ho.”
The prince’s crimson eyes glinted.
He clearly relished the formal bow over a mere salute.
Then his gaze turned to the others.
No one possessed the nerve to claim military privilege while the Blood Eye of the Divine Clan fixed itself upon them.
Especially not after someone had already seized the initiative.
“A subject of the Empire receives one of the Divine Clan.”
“A subject of the Empire receives one of the Divine Clan…!”
“A subject of the Empire receives one of the Divine Clan!”
Like a starting gun firing, the salutes cascaded forward in sequence.
The ritual prescribed by Imperial Law swept through the Investigation Room.
* * *
After deliberately pausing to observe the generals’ backs.
Zion gave his order.
“Let him go, Reyanna.”
Reyanna lowered her gun and pushed the soldier away.
“As you command.”
When the prince arrived to inquire about the whereabouts of Marquess Remikoning, no one spoke.
As if something unspeakable was unfolding before them.
Not that he’d taken a hostage—he’d merely asked for directions and come here.
“Since I’ve brought myself, you’re spared the trouble of dragging him up. Aren’t you? So, what now.”
The general with “Portion” engraved on his nameplate appeared to wield the most authority in the room.
Zion met his gaze directly and continued.
“General. Do you intend to punish this soldier?”
His message was clear: hand down punishment, and he’d hand down something of his own.
“…I intend to grant him commendation leave for his excellent service to Your Highness. He handled such an sudden visit admirably, despite having no time to prepare.”
The answer was barbed. He understood it at once.
‘This one talks like a soldier playing dress-up.’
A soldier should speak plainly and directly—what Zion hated was this circuitous, evasive style.
“Should’ve sent word first?”
“Had you done so, we would have prepared a proper reception.”
In truth, he’d planned to give the Naval Headquarters a heads-up until the last moment.
Winter had talked him out of it, suggesting silence would serve better, so he’d changed his mind.
‘Good call listening to him.’
“My apologies for robbing you gentlemen of the honor of serving this prince so splendidly. But here’s the thing.”
He fixed General Portion with an intense stare.
“Advance notice seemed like it would drag this visit into postponement after postponement. It felt like it’d take days before I could actually reach these halls.”
The general’s expression slowly hardened.
He clearly hadn’t expected such blunt, unadorned words.
‘Military types. So predictably rigid.’
Though he couldn’t blame them, really.
The man looked like one of the real powers here—when had he ever received such treatment before.
Even if another prince had come, I would have shown him a certain level of respect.
After all, he’d done nothing wrong—there was no reason to strike him and make an enemy of him.
But.
‘I am Zion Liobert. I am different.’
“General. Tell me—did this prince harbor excessive concerns?”
“Surely, sir, we could not postpone a royal visit with trivial excuses. It seems there was a misunderstanding on our part.”
That’s right, isn’t it?
“Then, if this prince wishes, I may visit the Naval Headquarters whenever I please?”
A look of embarrassment crossed General Portion’s face.
“Of course, sir.”
“Good. Write me a pass. Now.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“I said to produce a pass bearing your name, General Portion. Arrange for the guard post to admit me whenever I present it.”
…….
“What is this, General? You should acknowledge the order. This prince—the Son of the Sun whom all the Empire’s forces revere—now stands before you. To remain silent in the face of my demand is itself an insult.”
General Portion’s face flushed with shame.
But he was already caught in this trap. There was nothing else he could say now.
More than half of military life was politics, yet with a mind hardened by years within such an insular institution, finding a way out was impossible.
“…I accept the order, sir.”
‘Humbling him is enough for now.’
Now for the real matter.
“I came here because I heard that Ainchen Naval Headquarters was attempting to kill a civilian without cause.”
He stepped closer to Marquis Remikoning.
“It appears what this prince has heard is the truth?”
“With respect, sir, there is a mischaracterization in your words. You cannot simply call an immediate execution carried out under Military Law an unjustified killing of an innocent, Your Highness.”
“Military Law. Military Law, you say.”
That wouldn’t do.
Today, Zion had come to save Marquis Remikoning’s life.
The reason was singular.
To prevent Winter from becoming the one who killed his own father.
‘So I must be the one to settle this, Winter.’
Zion strode forward and reached to seize the Execution Order in General Portion’s hand.
General Portion, unwilling to let him see the contents, quickly flipped it over and covered it with his palm.
“It is military classified, Your Highness.”
“Then I shall recite it myself. Morphia smuggling. Confession and testimony both secured. All parties involved to be disposed of through immediate execution. By now, you’re likely rounding up the other conspirators as well.”
General Portion’s brow furrowed sharply.
A prince who knew everything, come to this place.
He could guess what he wanted.
“You’re wrong.”
“…Wrong about what, sir?”
“So it was a prince who ordered the Morphia smuggling. The reputation of the Empire’s greatest disgrace travels far indeed. To think the wretch actually indulges in Morphia himself. Surely you weren’t just thinking such thoughts a moment ago.”
“That is a misunderstanding.”
“Is it? This prince seems to be misunderstanding often today. I must be losing my wits.”
‘Quere Stellam Orbita.’
A red gaze, sharp and piercing, bore down upon him as an intangible pressure.
Magical power detection sensors were surely installed throughout the room, but it didn’t matter.
Power that leaves no trace cannot be sensed by any device.
“Or perhaps you are dismissing all my judgments as entirely false.”
General Portion held his breath for a moment.
Without even noticing that his back had grown damp with sweat, the general thought to himself:
Never had he felt such presence even from those four-star generals who had experienced every trial and risen to the very top.
“I concur.”
Zion fought to suppress a smile, watching the general’s momentarily stupefied expression.
“Smuggling garbage like Morphia—they deserve execution. This prince respects your judgment.”
Thus they would find some measure of relief.
They had been bracing for the worst possibility: that the prince behind the smuggling would come raging to cover it up.
As expected, General Portion’s brow relaxed slightly and the tension in the room eased.
“Therefore, this prince shall deliver the sentence himself.”
The general’s face hardened once more.
For this was both a disregard for the military and an overreach of authority.
“That’s impossible. You have no authority to investigate nor to pass judgment, Your Highness.”
“So?”
What else could he do.
Did he think everything he’d done so far was within his authority?
Zion Liobelt’s greatest privilege was precisely freedom from such tiresome constraints.
“Remikoning dared not carry out my orders and instead undertook his own schemes. Therefore, I am now obligated to restore the honor of the Divine Clan from this injury.”
……
“I mean I’ll kill him with these hands myself.”
A red glint in his eyes, murderous intent flickering to life.
The Investigation Room seemed to have sunk to the depths of a warship, a place where even ventilation could not reach fresh air.
The senior officers found themselves unable to breathe quite freely.
“General.”
“The Prince’s words have merit.”
“Since Your Highness has said that the general’s decision is sound, perhaps this time…….”
General Portion finished his calculations swiftly.
Now that the Prince had come this far, for the sake of appearances, he would need to hand over the ringleader.
Yes, if he could just seal their lips, what did it matter who killed whom.
But the Prince’s next words threw the general’s calculations into disarray.
“Colonel McAlister, I shall take him as well. See that you understand.”
He could not hand over both the ringleader and the informant who was also an accomplice.
To humor the Prince’s high-handed intrusion, only to damage the Navy Headquarters’ own honor—that was unthinkable.
“We will transfer the Duke to Your Highness. However, Colonel McAlister is an active officer of the Golden Fleet. The crimes of those enlisted in the military must be judged by Military Law.”
Zion let out a soft laugh and tapped his head with his fingers.
“A memory from the past comes to mind. At the last execution ceremony, that is. I received a certain promise from a soldier.”
General Portion’s expression became quite remarkable to see.
As if struck by some ominous premonition, his face grew uneasy.
“The Military Police’s stray fire nearly killed me. So I meant to punish them, when one Navy officer blocked my path. He said he’d take full responsibility and asked me to cooperate with the Crown Prince’s arrest first, I believe.”
This time Zion walked to McAlister’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Judging by your expressions, the report never reached your ears? Colonel McAlister. Did you perhaps fail to file a report?”
McAlister’s silence prompted him to add a word.
“How disappointing. I thought you were someone who did not lose a soldier’s dignity.”
“……I filed all the reports.”
“Ah. Then it must have been lost in the channels, or else dismissed as insignificant and forgotten.”
“It’s come a bit late, but I thought I’d collect on that promise now. I trust you’ll cooperate with this as well, General Portion.”
……
“Ah. Of course, you’re free to refuse. Military Law must be respected, after all. Only…….”
Zion shrugged his shoulders and released a surge of magical pressure once more.
“It’s simply that I have a bad habit—when frustration accumulates, it tends to burst forth at some point.”
Everyone in the room recalled what had happened at the beginning of the year.
The incident where the Prince assaulted the provisional Governor.
“Don’t say something trite like ‘Are you threatening us now?’ You are, so let’s not pretend.”
That was right. Blackmail.
Blackmail directed at the Navy Headquarters that oversaw all of Deber’s seas.
Something without a single precedent until now.
‘I’m perfectly capable of it.’
A man like Zion Liobelt was the sort who could do such things and more.
And it would be highly effective at that.
He laughed inwardly, watching the senior officers’ faces harden.
‘It’s over.’
“Have the military dispose of the Morphia. I don’t need it.”
……
……
“Don’t worry too much. Those two will receive proper treatment.”
* * *
“Your Highness. You’re quite eloquent today?”
Winter offered the quip.
It was only now, with all the senior officers gone and just the two of them remaining in the Investigation Room, that such a tone was possible.
“Soldiers are convenient to handle.”
“True. Your rhetoric could use work, though.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant.
I’ve lived with the sound of the Liberation Army’s commanders in my ears long enough that military protocol comes naturally to me.
“Your Highness, I confess I do not know how this old man can ever repay such boundless grace.”
The Marquis Remikoning, still bound by rope, bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the floor.
“Hmm, Marquis. It seems you’ve misunderstood something. Winter, tell him.”
I drew a document from my pocket.
With magical-engineering measures added and notarization hurried through beforehand, it was the sort of document that could never be called a forgery.
“Your Highness, this is—!”
Winter’s eyes went wide as he skimmed the contents.
Seeing him react with such intensity, my gift seemed to have found its mark.
“Well? Do as I’ve told you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Winter knelt on one knee, bringing himself level with the bound Marquis, and extended the paper.
“Marquis. Read it, if you would.”
The Marquis’s eyes went wide.
“Who decided the heir to the title?”
“Who, indeed. The Prince who holds your life’s leash, of course.”
The document was a contract concerning the succession of the title.
And the designated heir was none other than—
“The assets are worthless once the debts are settled anyway, so never mind those. The Marquis title of Remikoning—you’ll transfer it to Winter. Do that, and I’ll let you live.”
The Marquis’s eyes bulged with excitement as he launched into one final desperate outburst.
“Winter! How could you do this to me! I was prepared to give you everything I have! The title, the fortune! You didn’t need to resort to this—I was going to leave it all to you anyway!”
He had invested considerable sums in the casino’s construction, so on the surface, the Marquis’s words seemed true enough.
But then—
“Colonel McAlister never knew I was his illegitimate son. The fact that he never revealed it tells me he disliked the uncertainty such a secret might cast on his legitimate heir.”
“…!”
Even now, McAlister could not hide the shock on his face.
He, who had seemed unmoved until this moment, was trembling visibly in his hands.
“Marquis. You said you would leave me everything.”
A smile played at the corner of Winter’s mouth.
Yet his eyes did not smile.
“I’m prepared to accept. But right now. Immediately.”
Winter had decided to make his father’s lie real.

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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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