The Scoundrel Prince Sold Out the Empire - Chapter 8

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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 8: Winter Flowering (1)
The 3rd Prince’s office was exceedingly spacious, yet somehow appeared far smaller than its actual dimensions suggested.
There were simply too many concealed corners.
From one of them……
Crack!
Blood sprayed across the floor.
“Gag—ugh……”
The 3rd Prince was always attended by three young, handsome boy servants.
Not two, not four—always three.
But now only two remained.
The oldest had collapsed, blood pouring from his severed throat.
“Clean it up.”
The 3rd Prince wiped the blood away with a handkerchief and picked up his documents again.
Unlike before, his mind was perfectly serene.
“The 1st Prince. So this is what he shows himself to be.”
Blood of the Divine Race though he carried, this kinsman was no lion of fearless courage—only a raccoon, cunning and scheming.
The 3rd Prince had suffered another political defeat at the 1st Prince’s hand.
Revenge, then, became necessary.
“Head Attendant. Has the 9th Prince arrived in Seil?”
The Head Attendant, who had been standing motionless as a corpse, slipped from the shadows.
“Yes, Your Highness. Our watchers report that everything has proceeded according to your design.”
The 9th Prince—stripped of his rank and all his wealth—had been cast into the Deber Capital.
In other words, the bomb was about to detonate.
“My brother oversees colonial administration; I oversee colonial development. Such is the scope of competition that His Majesty has divided between us.”
Which meant that if disorder erupted in Deber, he could hold the 1st Prince accountable for insufficient capability.
‘He must be seething with rage by now. Go ahead and thrash about, 9th Prince. Even if you end up dying at the hands of the Liberation Army or hostile nobles, so be it.’
“Stoke the flames, Head Attendant. I have no patience for delay.”
The moment the spark touched the fuse of that bomb—boom!
Deber would become a hellscape.
It wouldn’t take long.
‘Zion Riobert, there’s no way you’ll sit quietly as a penniless wretch.’
* * *
“Damn it. No money and now I’ll be sleeping on the street?”
That thought came after being turned away four times when he’d asked for just one night’s shelter.
Living in struggle for one’s nation’s liberation meant that wherever you lay your head became your bed.
Homelessness was simply the everyday.
The weather was turning nicely from spring toward summer anyway—why not lie in the grass and use the night sky as a blanket and enjoy a bit of romance?
“Maybe I should head to the Governor-General’s residence and get treated like a distinguished guest… Ah, forget it. Enough. A penniless prince begging for shelter—now that’s ridiculous.”
Right now, there was no one he could approach.
He’d made it to Deber with his princely station, and he wasn’t about to squander the power that title commanded.
Show weakness, and you’d be looked down upon.
The Ritanian people were especially prone to such attitudes.
It meant that opportunities, no matter how royal the blood, would only dwindle.
‘I hate looking pathetic. My purse may be empty, but my pride certainly isn’t.’
Rubbing his aching knees, he pressed deeper into the labyrinthine Back Alley.
“Phew. So this is the Shantytowns, then.”
The riverbank that cut across the southern edge of the Deber Capital—beneath the bridges and along the slopes of the river.
Hovels called shanties clung together like clusters of barnacles on rock.
Deep holes dug into the muddy earth, precariously covered with flimsy branches, straw mats, and burlap sacks—barely keeping out rain and wind—and tens of thousands of people clinging to life in such conditions. All of them Deber natives reduced to poverty by the Empire’s systematic plunder.
On the far side of the river, by contrast: Luminous Street, glowing brilliantly, its splendor mocking the Shantytowns with every blazing light.
The space between the Shantytowns and the prosperous district was where Zion was headed.
‘Perfect. Wherever you go, there’s always a dim Back Alley lurking between the bright district and the slums.’
Need money? Then earn it.
And Zion knew how to find quick cash better than anyone.
“Oh my, handsome thing. Want to play with your older sister?”
Handsome—in his dreams. The hood of his robe concealed his hair and face completely.
‘The moment that blond hair or blood-red eyes show, chaos erupts. I have to be careful.’
He brushed past the soliciting woman and walked toward a neon-lit sign.
A seedy tavern by the look of it—he’d sit down with some cheap rotgut and wait.
And when trouble came……
Ding!
“Huh? This isn’t a bar?”
A thick plume of cigarette smoke rolled out.
The atmosphere reeked of a raccoon’s den.
An illegal gambling house.
“Kid, this isn’t a place for children. Get out.”
“But I don’t want to.”
Thwack. “Listen—let’s do this the easy way while I’m being nice, yeah?”
He looked up at the burly thug with a broad grin.
His mouth twisted into a familiar smirk, the habit clinging to him like a second skin.
“So you’re picking a fight with me? How generous.”
‘Time to make some money.’
The thug’s expression darkened as he watched the scrawny kid—hood pulled low, lips curling in that insolent twist—stand his ground.
“Alright then. Guess I’ll have to take you out for a proper lesson. Come on.”
That was when it happened.
“That’s no way to treat a customer.”
“Boss.”
The thug straightened and bowed respectfully to the young man emerging from the back room.
This time it was Zion who frowned.
‘What’s this now? Why is this someone interfering with my money-making scheme?’
“Young friend, have you worked with cards before?”
Though the young man’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and both hands were visibly empty, he produced several cards in the blink of an eye and offered them to Zion.
‘Impressive. A professional-grade gambler.’
His Sleight of Hand was exceptional—so much so that even Zion’s eyes had caught only a blur of motion.
It was the kind of skill that justified saying, without hesitation, that the hands moved faster than the eye.
“Well, I do enjoy cards well enough. But in a dingy place like this? Hmm. Cards are all about trust, aren’t they?”
A thin line formed between the young man’s brows.
Pride wounded, clearly.
“For someone to speak that way before Winter Flowering himself—I wonder, young friend, are you remarkably bold or simply ignorant? Which is it?”
“Oh, Winter Flowering?”
“You’ve heard the name then. Hehehehe.”
Winter Flowering laughed with a leisurely air. It struck Zion as almost pathetic.
Like a young upstart basking in his own success, full of pretense.
Running a gambling den in the Back Alley like some two-bit operator.
The reason Zion knew of Winter Flowering, despite his small-time status, was that his name appeared on the Liberation Army’s roster of key figures.
Though Zion suspected the man himself had no idea why he was on that list.
‘A gambling man, then. Picking him clean should be easy money.’
And when it came to card games… he’d grown confident in them recently.
Born and raised, he’d played maybe five or six hands in his entire life, barely knowing the rules—but he couldn’t lose even if he tried.
No matter how refined Winter’s Con Gambling technique supposedly was—the best in Deber, they said.
‘Quere Stellam Orbita.’
“Hey. Winter Flowering.”
“What is it, young friend?”
“I’ve heard your name around. They say you’re quite the card player?”
He smiled and casually let a lock of deep golden hair fall into view for just a moment. Winter’s eyes shifted.
Among Empire citizens, the closer one’s hair color leaned toward gold, the higher their station.
“Play a few rounds with me, will you? Tonight I’ll be your only customer, so know that going in.”
It sounded like he was offering to lose enough to cover the house’s entire day’s take single-handedly.
The exact opposite of what he actually meant, but what did it matter.
By the looks on their faces, the act had worked perfectly.
‘A sucker just walked through the door.’
“So you’re not just a young friend—you’re a generous gentleman of means, I see.”
Winter reached into his pocket and produced something.
A high-end magical artifact, worth about as much as a cheap car. A Magical Detection Sensor.
“Not bad—an illegal gambling den with all the trimmings?”
“In a place where cards are played, there’s always some sneaky bastard or two trying to cheat, you understand. Hehehehe.”
Zion felt a twinge and started rationalizing.
‘Here’s this guy using Sleight of Hand for Con Gambling, and meanwhile he’s lecturing me about honesty.’
A good idea occurred to him.
Honestly speaking, isn’t honesty itself the best deception?
“Winter Flowering. Actually, here’s the thing—I can see straight through the front and back of cards. Impressive, right?”
Winter laughed as if he’d heard an amusing joke.
“Ha ha, is that so? I can do something similar myself, you know.”
His relaxed posture showed no sign of tension whatsoever. He seemed delighted at the prospect of fleecing this naive young lord.
“I warned you fair and square. No complaints later.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
Well. He’d declared it openly and honestly.
He could use Clairvoyant Magic without shame.
* * *
A common joke among gamblers.
The cards were enchanted with Time Distortion Magic.
Time passed, and passed again—roughly six hours had elapsed.
“…….”
“…….”
“…….”
“…….”
“…….”
One of Winter’s subordinates, a bald man, wiped his gleaming scalp with a handkerchief.
The handkerchief was already damp with sweat.
‘The boss is… losing. How many years has it been? And why won’t he stop?’
Over the last six hours, Winter hadn’t won a single hand.
Not one.
And yet he pressed on relentlessly, round after round.
He was even setting enormous bets as bait—the complete opposite of his original goal of fleecing the young lord.
“Raise. This time I’ll go triple what you called.”
“……Hah.”
Winter, teeth clenched, glanced at the Magical Detection Sensor.
…Silent.
His piercing gaze shifted to Zion.
“The sensor’s quiet, so how the hell do you keep pulling the Best Hand.”
Literally the best—the kind of hand that was damned near miraculous.
For a gambler of Winter’s caliber, a Best Hand meant a Made hand that let you toy with your opponent by the thinnest of margins.
“Best Hand? Not really.”
Bang!
Eyes that dwelled somewhere between wildness and madness.
Winter snarled.
“You raise triple and then say it’s not? Fine. Call.”
Stacks of chips tumbled forward with a violent sweep. The sound of them cascading down was deafening.
‘That level of skill? He could pass for the greatest gambler in Deber. His Sleight of Hand is remarkable.’
Winter had swapped out whole hands instead of just one or two cards to change the game’s course.
And that still wasn’t enough—he’d rearranged the deck’s card order exactly as he pleased.
If the game continued like this, he’d lose with 99% certainty.
‘Then I’ll have to seize that remaining 1%.’
“Is it my turn for a Change now?”
Change. A unique rule exclusive to Ritanian card games.
Some ritual where you wager the will of fortune itself on the outcome of the hand?
‘Thank goodness for a superstitious nation…!’
“I’ll take this card.”
Change, put simply, was a rule that let you swap one of your opponent’s cards for one of your own.
Winter’s eyes went wide as his best card was stolen and replaced with his worst.
“How… how are you doing this….”
Winter looked at the sensor once more. Only silence answered.
It was an eerie, suffocating quiet.
“Your turn, Winter Flowering.”
“……That’s it. I’m done.”
“Oh!”
Zion laughed gleefully and stretched.
Then he picked out ten chips from the towering pile and tossed them to Winter.
“Whew, that was fun. I’m getting tired, so I think I’ll head out. Here’s ten for what I borrowed at the start. As for the rest, I’d appreciate it if you’d cash them out for me.”
“…….”
Winter rose quietly from his chair, his expression hardening into something rather threatening.
“You want to know why I kept betting even after I spotted the Con Gambling in thirty minutes flat?”
Beyond the gambler’s hunger to uncover the trick, he’d had no intention of paying out a single coin.
“Young friend. You’ve got quite the entertaining skill there.”
“Your tone just shifted.”
Rather than answer, Winter crushed a chip between his fingers.
It seemed to suggest what awaited shortly—but Zion paid it no mind.
“I told you from the start. I have Clairvoyant Magic.”
“Yeah… there’s no other explanation. I haven’t heard of any magical artifacts capable of fooling sensors, though. So you really are a high-ranking official’s child, aren’t you?”
He still didn’t believe him.
“Hah. A magical artifact? If I used one, that’d be Con Gambling, wouldn’t it? I staked everything on my ability alone.”
At Winter’s gesture, a cluster of thugs swarmed in and formed a perimeter.
“I’m a bit upset, you see. Depending on your background, keeping your mouth shut might suffice… but let’s rough you up first and hear slowly what trick you used. Go on, teach him a lesson.”
“Yes, boss.”
Watching the thugs approach, Zion twisted his lips into a grin.
‘So it comes to this. How should I handle it?’
The organizations in the Back Alley were ultimately parasites feeding on the poor.
Those running gambling dens were considerably better quality than drug dealers and water merchants, though.
‘Hmm. Difficult decision.’
It was the moment he was contemplating this.
Whirrrrrr—!
A vibration. He felt it in his hand.
The source of the tremor was the Guidepost Ring.
‘What on earth…?’
A phenomenon he’d never encountered before. Following the invisible current he felt, he turned his gaze.
Winter Flowering. The Guidepost Ring was vibrating in response to Winter Flowering.
‘Why? How? Suddenly? For what reason? Out of nowhere like this?’
This ring only responded to direct royal blood.
Therefore, Winter Flowering couldn’t possibly be carrying royal lineage.
‘If he were, he’d be living as a sorcerer, or at least a mage engineer. Not as a back alley gambling den boss.’
Those born with royal blood couldn’t lack magical talent.
So why did the ring respond?
Since his body changed, it’s been one incomprehensible thing after another. The sudden emergence of Void Attribute included.
‘I was planning to half-kill them all and rob the place blind before leaving. Looks like I need to adjust my plan.’
“Hey. Winter Flowering.”
Without waiting for an answer, he yanked off the hood.
Brilliant golden hair and deep crimson eyes. Even under the dim lighting, the colors stood vivid and unmistakable.
“…!”
“…!”
“Those eye colors—?”
“B-blood red eyes! …Boss! Look at his eyes!”
“…I’ve already seen them. Everyone shut it.”
Winter’s face hardened like stone.
Watching him, Zion smiled wickedly.
“What are you all doing? Aren’t you going to pay your respects?”
For reference… according to Imperial Law, failure to perform the great obeisance to the Divine Race carries a minimum sentence of execution.
“We, the subjects of the Empire, pay homage to one of the Divine Race!”
“We, the subjects of the Empire, pay homage to one of the Divine Race.”
“We, the subjects of the Empire, pay homage to one of the Divine Race!”
……
……
……
“We, the subjects of the Empire, pay homage to one of the Divine Race.”
“We, the subjects of the Empire, pay homage to one of the Divine Race….”
The backs of heads, some unwashed and matted.
Backs of heads with patches of missing hair.
Shiny, gleaming bald spots.
The back of the room was full of them—every tough in the gambling den on bended knee.
It was a sight that never failed to feel strange.
“What are you doing? Now that you know who I am, stop what you’re doing and bring me the money. I’ve won enough chips to fill this much, hahahaha!”
With a cheerful shout, he scattered chips in every direction.
Colorful chips rained down like a downpour, tumbling through the air.
“Ah, that’s right. You’re not short on funds, are you?”
He already knew the answer, having glimpsed it through Clairvoyant Magic.
Winter had never intended to pay in the first place—he’d been playing all along on borrowed stakes that exceeded what the safe contained.
“If you’re short, we can write a Promissory Note. I saw the interest rate this gambling house charges per day, and… phew.”
He’d read the notice posted near the entrance and let out a low whistle.
“I’ll take exactly double that amount. By the way, you can pay me back in other ways instead of money if you want. What’ll it be?”
Zion smiled as he finished speaking.
His lips twisted in that old familiar way his body remembered.

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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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