The Third Prince's office was exceedingly large, but relative to its actual size it did not appear all that large to the eye.
Because there were a great many concealed spots.
In one of them......
SPLAAASH!
Blood was scattered.
"Gkh, gaah......"
Behind the Third Prince there were always three young, handsome page attendants who followed him about.
Not two and not four, always three.
But now only two remained.
Because the eldest of them had collapsed, blood pouring from his slashed throat.
"Clear it away."
The Third Prince, having wiped the blood off with a handkerchief, lifted the documents once more.
Unlike before, his mind was tranquility itself.
"First Prince. So that is how you mean to come at me."
A blood relation who, despite inheriting the blood of a god, was not a valiant lion in the slightest but merely cunning like a raccoon dog.
The Third Prince had once again ended up taking a political loss against the First Prince.
So he would need to avenge the disgrace.
"Chamberlain. Has the Ninth Prince arrived in Seiel."
The chamberlain, who had been standing in attendance as quiet as death, slid into view.
"Yes. The watchers report that it has gone as Your Highness intended."
They had hurled the Ninth Prince, stripped of his princely rank and with all his assets confiscated, into Deber's royal capital.
Which is to say, a dung bomb was about to go off.
"My brother has colonial governance, I have colonial development. The scope of the competition His Majesty divided between us."
Which meant that if a disturbance arose in Deber, he could hold the First Prince to account for insufficient capability.
'He will be thoroughly incensed. Rampage, Ninth Prince. It would be well even if you were killed in the end by the hand of the Liberation Army or a hostile noble.'
"Fan the ember, Chamberlain. I have no wish to wait."
The instant the ember catches on the bomb's fuse, bang!
Deber would become a scene of carnage.
It would not take long.
'Zion Riobelt, there is no chance you will endure being penniless.'
***
"Ah, damn it, I've got no money, should I just sleep in the street?"
It was the thought that came to him after being refused four times when he asked for a single night's lodging.
Struggle for your homeland's liberation long enough and you end up living a life where wherever you lie down is your bed.
Sleeping rough had been everyday life, one might say.
The season was warm, right at the turn from spring into summer, so should he lie in a meadow and enjoy the romance with the night sky for a blanket?
"Should I go to the Governor-General's Office and get treated as an honored guest... ssseu. Never mind, never mind. A prince asking for a place to sleep because he hasn't a single coin would be laughable too."
Right now he must not go to anyone.
Because he had come all the way to Deber in a prince's body and had no wish to erode the power his station held.
Show weakness and you get looked down on.
Litanians were all the more that sort of people by temperament.
Meaning that even with a prince's station, the things he could do would gradually diminish.
'And I loathe being embarrassed. I may have no money, but that doesn't mean I have no pride.'
Beating at his aching knees, he moved his steps deeper still into the back alleys.
"Hoo. From here it's the dugout village, is it."
The riverside crossing the southern edge of Deber's royal capital, under the bridge and along the embankment slopes.
The scenery of pit dwellings called dugouts packed close together looked like a cluster of tidal rocks.
Tens of thousands of people, digging deep holes in the sodden ground and covering them precariously with flimsy branches, straw mats, or grain sacks, barely sheltering from wind and rain to survive. Every one of them was a Deberian who had been plundered by the Empire and reduced to poverty.
Meanwhile on the opposite side of the river, Luminous Street, dazzlingly gaudy with resplendent lighting as though mocking the dugout village.
Between the dugout village and the entertainment district was precisely Zion's destination.
'I've come to the right place. Wherever you go, a dim back alley always springs up between the entertainment district and the slums.'
If money is needed, then earning money is enough.
And Zion knew how to obtain quick cash better than anyone.
"Oh my, sweetie. You're really handsome. Want to play with big sis?"
Handsome my foot. He had his hair and face completely covered by the hood attached to his robe.
'The instant the blond hair and blood-red eyes are spotted, a commotion breaks out immediately. I'll have to be careful.'
Shaking off the soliciting woman, he walked toward a signboard flashing with fluorescent light.
It plainly looked like a low-quality tavern, so he could order some suitably cheap drink and sit there.
And then if someone picked a fight with him......
Jingle!
"Huh? It's not a tavern?"
Whoosh, thick cigarette smoke flowed out.
An atmosphere just like a raccoon dog's den.
It was an illegal gambling house.
"Kid, this isn't a place for children. Get lost."
"And what if I don't want to."
"Kkuh. Let's go nicely while I'm asking nicely. Hm?"
He looked up at the large thug and then smiled broadly.
As the habit remaining in the body dictated, the line of his mouth twisted.
"You're picking a fight right now, aren't you? How very kind."
'Now then, shall I earn some money?'
Seeing a slight little kid cheekily keeping his hood pulled down low and twisting only the line of his mouth, the thug scowled.
"Fine. Looks like big brother will have to step outside and play with you a bit. Let's go, then."
It was at that very moment.
"A customer has come; is that any way to treat him."
"Boss."
The thug bowed deeply in greeting to the young man walking out from inside.
This time it was Zion who scowled.
'What's that bastard now? Who's he to interfere with my revenue enterprise?'
"Young friend. Have you handled cards at all?"
Though his shirt was plainly rolled up to the elbows and both hands were plainly empty, the young man produced several cards in an instant and handed them to Zion.
'Oho, a gambler of some standard.'
The dexterity was considerable. Enough that even Zion momentarily lost track of the movement.
It was skill enough that one could say with confidence, literally, that the hand is faster than the eye.
"Well, I do rather enjoy cards. But to play at a low-grade place like this, hm. Isn't trust the lifeblood of cards?"
A fine line formed between the young man's brows.
His pride seemed wounded.
"To say such a thing before this Winter Flowering. Is it that your gall is large, or that you don't know anything. Which is it, young friend?"
"Uh, Winter Flowering?"
"So you have heard of me. Hoo hoo hoo."
Winter Flowering laughed at his leisure. It was rather laughable.
Like a man pleased with himself for having made it in the world at a young age. Putting on quite an air.
And this from someone playing boss of a gambling house in the back alleys.
For reference, the reason Zion knew Winter, who was merely the boss of a small-to-mid-sized organization, was that he was a figure included on the Liberation Army's roster of persons of note.
Though he doubted the man himself was aware of that fact or the reason for it.
'Anyway, since he's a former gambler, if I scrape him a bit at gambling it should be easy to squeeze money out of him?'
And as it happened, when it came to card gambling...... he had gained confidence a short while ago.
Had he played five or six times in his whole life? He knew nothing beyond the rules, but he couldn't lose even if he wanted to.
However much that Winter bastard possessed Deber's foremost skill at cheating at cards.
'Quere Stellam Orbita.'
"Hey. Winter Flowering."
"Why do you call me, young friend?"
"I've heard your name before. They say you're that good at cards?"
Smiling, he let his deep blond hair show naturally for just a moment. At that, the look in Winter's eyes changed.
For reference, among Imperials, generally the closer one's hair color is to blond, the higher one's station.
"Let's play a few hands. I'll be the only customer at this gambling house today, so understand it as such."
It would have sounded like he meant he would lose enough to fill a day's takings on his own.
He had meant the exact opposite, but well.
Judging by their expressions, the act had landed properly.
'Feeling like a sucker's rolled in?'
"Not a young friend but a magnanimous young lord, it seems."
Winter drew something from inside his coat.
An expensive magitech device worth about the price of a cheap automobile. It was a magic detection sensor.
"My, this should be an illegal gambling house, and you have everything you need?"
"Anywhere cards are handled, cowardly bastards gather one or two at a time, hoo hoo hoo."
Feeling a little stung, he began rationalizing.
'Says the man who cheats at cards with his dexterity. Ah, that's right.'
A good idea came to him.
If he said it honestly, that wouldn't be cowardly, would it?
"Winter Flowering. Actually, you know, I can see through both sides of a card? Surprising, isn't it?"
Winter laughed as though he had heard an amusing joke.
"Hahaha, is that so? I can do something similar myself, you know."
Judging by his leisurely posture he wasn't the least bit tense. He looked purely delighted at the thought of fleecing an immature young master.
"I warned you clearly. No going back on it later."
"Yes, yes. Let us do that."
Now then. Since he had even disclosed it fair and square.
It seemed he could use clairvoyance magic with a clear conscience.
***
One of the jokes commonly told among gamblers.
Cards are enchanted with time-distortion magic.
Time flowed and flowed, and about six hours passed.
"......"
"......"
"......"
"......"
"......"
A bald man, one of Winter's subordinates, wiped his gleaming scalp with a handkerchief.
The handkerchief was already sodden.
'The boss...... is losing. How many years has it been? And besides, why isn't he stopping?'
Over the past six hours, Winter had not won a single hand.
Not one.
And even so he was tenaciously continuing the game.
Going so far as to dangle enormous bets as bait, the exact opposite of his original purpose of fleecing the young lord.
"Raise. Shall we go three times the amount you called this time?"
"......Ha."
Winter, gritting his teeth, glared at the magic detection sensor.
...It was silent.
His fierce gaze shifted to Zion.
"The sensor is silent, so how are you catching the best hand every single time."
Literally the best, and a damnably good hand at that.
For a gambler on Winter's level, the best hand meant a made hand with which one could toy with an opponent by exactly one point's difference.
"The best hand? It isn't, though?"
BANG!
A look in his eyes somewhere between wildness and madness.
Winter growled.
"You raise three times and say it isn't? Fine, I call."
Chip stacks shoved forward roughly. The sound of them tumbling down in a heap was loud.
'At that level he could pass for Deber's foremost gambler? His dexterity is astounding.'
This Winter bastard, since swapping one or two cards couldn't change the state of the game, had swapped out his entire hand.
And not content with that, he had even rearranged the order of the cards in the deck exactly as he wanted.
If the game proceeded like this, he would lose with 99 percent probability.
'Then I'd better seize hold of the 1 percent.'
"Is it the change on my turn this time?"
Change. A rule unique to the Litanian-style game.
A ritual of staking the outcome of the contest on the god of fate, or something?
'Thank goodness it's a superstitious country...!'
"I'll take this card."
Change, put simply, is a rule for swapping one of the opponent's cards with one of your own.
Winter, robbed of the best card in his hand and given the worst one, went wide-eyed.
"H-how......"
Winter looked at the sensor once again. It was simply still.
It was a terrifying silence.
"Your turn, Winter Flowering."
"......This is as far as it goes. I fold."
"Oh!"
Zion, laughing merrily, stretched.
Then he picked ten pieces out of the heaped chip stacks and tossed them to Winter.
"Ah, that was fun. I'm tired so I'll be off? That's for what I borrowed at the start, plus a tip. Please cash out the rest."
"......"
Winter rose quietly from his chair. His coldly hardened face was fairly threatening.
"Do you know why I kept betting to the end even after realizing within thirty minutes that you were cheating."
In addition to a gambler's greed to uncover the trick, it was because he had had no intention whatsoever of handing over the money.
"Young friend. You have quite an amusing knack."
"The form of address has regressed."
Instead of answering, Winter crushed a chip between his fingers.
It seemed to hint at Zion's situation a short while from now. Naturally Zion paid it no mind.
"I told you from the start, that I have clairvoyance."
"Yes... nothing else would explain it. I hadn't heard that a magitech device capable of fooling a sensor had been developed. You are indeed the child of someone highly placed, it seems?"
Still not believing him, of course.
"Come now. A magitech device? Using an external object would make it cheating. I settled the contest strictly on my own ability."
At Winter's gesture, thugs swarmed in and formed an encircling net.
"I am rather angry, you see. Whatever your background, it should be enough to keep mouths shut...... so let's rough you up first and then slowly hear about what trick you used. Now, discipline him a bit."
"Yes, Boss."
Watching the approaching thugs, Zion twisted the line of his mouth.
'It comes to this after all. How shall I handle it.'
The back-alley organizations are ultimately like vermin gnawing at the poor.
Those running gambling houses are of far better quality than the ones peddling drugs and flesh, mind you.
'Hm. I'm torn.'
......It was the moment he thought that.
Wooooong—!
A tremor. He felt a tremor in his hand.
The source of the vibration was the Ring of the Guide.
'What is this all of a sudden......?'
The occurrence of a phenomenon he had never heard of. He turned his head following the formless current he felt.
Winter Flowering. The Ring of the Guide was vibrating in response to Winter Flowering.
'Why? For what reason? All of a sudden? Because of what? This out of nowhere?'
This ring responds only to the direct line of the royal house.
Therefore Winter Flowering had inherited the royal house's blood...... no, there was no chance of that.
'If he had, he'd be living as a mage, or at minimum a magitech engineer. Not the boss of a back-alley gambling house.'
Because it is impossible to be born of the royal bloodline and have no magical talent.
Then why had the ring responded?
Honestly, ever since the body switch it was nothing but matters he couldn't make sense of. The blank attribute appearing out of nowhere included.
'I'd been planning to beat them all half to death, strip their money, and leave. This means I'd better change the plan somewhat.'
"Hey. Winter Flowering."
Without even waiting for an answer, he flung his hood back.
Resplendent blond hair and deep blood-red eyes. Even under the dim lighting they boasted vivid color.
"......!"
"......!"
"His eye color?"
"B-blood-red eyes! ...Boss! Look at his eyes!"
"......I've already seen them, so all of you shut up."
Winter's face hardened rigid as a slab of rock.
Watching that, Zion smiled spitefully.
"What are you all doing? Not performing the salutation."
For reference... pursuant to Imperial law, failing to perform the salutation about the great Divine Race and so forth... the sentence for that is execution at minimum.
"A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race!"
"A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race."
"A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race!"
......
......
......
"A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race."
"A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race......"
The back of a head, matted from not being washed.
The back of a head with one bald patch.
A smooth, gleaming bald head.
The backs of heads everywhere. Because every last hulking brute in the gambling house was down on one knee.
A sight that made him feel strange no matter when he saw it.
"What are you doing? Now that you know who I am, stop what you were doing and bring the money. The chips I won come to this much, hahaha!"
Along with the cheerful shout, he scattered chips in every direction.
Multicolored chips pouring down like rain.
"Ah, that's right. Surely you don't happen to be short of money?"
In fact he already knew, having seen it with clairvoyance magic.
That Winter, who had had no intention of paying from the start, had continued the game beyond the money in the safe.
"If you're short, let's write an IOU. From the look of it the daily interest this gambling house charges on lending stake money is, ugh."
Reading the notice board posted near the entrance, he clicked his tongue.
"I'll take exactly double that. For reference, you may repay by another method instead of money. What will you do?"
Finishing his words, Zion smiled.
As the habit remaining in the body dictated, the line of his mouth twisted.