Not a mere noble but the appearance of a member of the Divine Race, no less.
Every ruffian in the gambling house trembled in terror, foreseeing the horrific future of execution.
Not even Winter could be an exception, but even so he was the calmest among them.
"We have committed the offense of failing to recognize a member of the Divine Race. I beg your forgiveness."
"No, that's wrong. It isn't right. That won't do."
You should have named the crime of operating an illegal gambling house first.
That's the heaviest crime, isn't it.
This place was a back alley located between Luminous Square, the entertainment district, and the dugout village, the slums.
Given the gambling house's location, it meant that impoverished Deberians were included among these bastards' targets.
'Feels good, living off swindling your own countrymen?'
He couldn't shout that sentiment openly.
Still, he could discipline them in another form, couldn't he?
"Everyone, into push-up position!"
"......?"
"......?"
"Would you rather be executed, or get down?"
"......"
"We shall get down!"
Zion, leaping up onto a nearby card table, did an impression of an army instructor.
"On one, going down, of the poor; on two, coming up, we shall not covet the money! Repeat after me, one!"
"Of the poor!"
"Two!"
"We shall not covet the money!"
Their pride was probably taking quite a hit. Everyone who scrapes by in the underworld stakes their life on pride and face.
Acting like they're Litanians themselves, honestly.
After making them do roughly a hundred push-ups, bastards started flagging one by one.
"Haugh. Haugh, haugh."
"You lot make your living with your bodies and you're this feeble? Go easy on the drinking and smoking from now on."
It was then.
"May I stand up?"
It was Winter Flowering. A calm, expressionless face. The poker face peculiar to gamblers.
It was a guess, but hadn't he likely been knocking around gambling dens from a very young age?
"And if I say no?"
"It will not be entertaining for you. And I can think of no reason for an august personage to do this sort of thing other than diversion."
"Oho?"
Look at this bastard.
Befitting a man called boss at a young age in the back alleys, he had considerable nerve.
'Every bit of it is barking up the wrong tree, though.'
"It also makes sense that you possess an undetectable magitech device."
Winter continued composedly. He had thrown himself into gambling dens from a young age and seized his present success, and he carried the pride of being one of Deber's foremost gamblers.
"May I ask your name. I have never heard tell of a member of the Divine Race visiting Deber."
For such a Winter, composure and a poker face were more powerful weapons than anything.
Even now they were shining like so......
"Me? Zion Riobelt."
The weapon snapped.
Rather than shining, its shine faded.
"Your Highness."
Thump!
Well now? He had only just stood up and he was right back in position.
And this time both knees, at that.
'Then again. Even among the Divine Race, a prince of the direct line is a different story.'
"Only spare my life. If you do, I shall do anything."
He looked down at the back of the man's head for a while, sunk in thought.
The reason the ring had responded to Winter. For now he had no guess whatsoever.
Should he keep the man close and run some experiments while analyzing it?
"Winter, you. Be my dog for the time being."
He delivered the offer to become a subordinate in the worst possible form.
Since Winter was playing boss in the underworld at a young age, it was partly to establish dominance from the outset.
He had also learned that winning loyalty by coaxing and soothing might work for Zion Bliese but was impossible for Zion Riobelt.
As a trash prince, if only because of the reputation the body had built up, simply browbeating was the efficient route.
'Still, going on about being a dog is a bit of a pang to the conscience...... but if he's been knocking around the back alleys too, he'll have to take it.'
In fact Winter felt no insult at all at being told to be a dog.
"Why would a member of the Divine Race take a mongrel in as a pet dog?"
"......Huh?"
He hadn't said it that harshly.
Judging by the man's manner of speech, he really seemed to feel nothing at all.
"If you keep a worthless bastard like me at your side, your inborn......"
'Hm?!'
"......nobility might be tarnished......"
He cut the man off.
"Winter Flowering. Quiet."
Ah. Too late. It was already gone.
But he had seen it clearly.
A certain scene that had flickered past for an instant.
'Today really is nothing but matters I can't make sense of.'
The figure in the scene. He did know the bastard.
He muttered the man's name despite himself.
"Remiconin...."
The twelve traitors who sold Deber out to the Empire.
Among them Marquis Remiconin, one of the five called the Five Enemies Within the Palace.
'Why did a vision of the bastard suddenly appear?'
At that very moment.
Winter, eyes going wide, shouted.
"Everyone out!"
"Boss?"
"Why so suddenly?"
"I said get out. And absolutely do not come in until I call."
After the subordinates edged their way out. Winter asked in a low voice.
"How did you know."
......He still didn't know.
For now he bluffed.
"You want to know?"
"Obviously. Even that fellow Remiconin himself doesn't know."
"If you want to know, hand up."
His face going bright red in an instant. His forearm rising, unable to contain his fury.
"What's that hand?"
"Hup!"
Winter, coming to his senses with a start, stretched.
"My body stiffened from the tension. Hahaha... I never imagined Your Highness would know who my father is."
Ah. So it was his father.
His father?
"You bastard. You were a traitor's son?"
Winter's gaze turned peculiar.
"Well, setting aside for the moment that ours is not a harmonious father-son relationship. The word a prince of the Empire would use is......?"
Whoops.
Change the subject, change the subject.
"Winter. If you do not swear loyalty this instant, this prince is going to the Governor-General's Office."
"......"
"Go ahead and ask why I'd suddenly be going to the Governor-General's Office."
"......Why are you going."
He smiled spitefully.
"To report illegal gambling."
Winter let out a sigh despite himself.
"I'm joking. I'll swear it. There will be no occasion for this prince to hold you to account for your crimes."
'You may be wallowing filthily in a filthy place, but you too are a citizen of Deber.'
Meanwhile.
Winter's inner state was nothing but thoroughly complicated.
'This prince seems like a man who has resolved to live his life recklessly and exactly as he pleases.'
He couldn't get a read on the flow of the conversation at all.
Ever since throwing himself into gambling dens at a young age, Winter had made it a basic principle of life to engage in a battle of wits in everything and to calculate the opponent's inner state.
Which was why Zion's words and conduct, with their enormous gulf between surface and interior, were in themselves anathema to Winter.
'The behavior I'm seeing now being entirely an act... no, rather, bluffing designed to make me feel that way?'
And so misunderstandings accumulated.
'Even a spoiled noble brat suddenly grows up when his house falls.'
The Ninth Prince was known in the wider world as a delinquent whom even the Imperial house had given up on. But his having grown into an unfathomable piece of trash meant that he had a solid backer covering for him no matter how much chaos he caused.
At least within Winter's bounds of common sense it did.
If he had lost that backing, then it stood to reason his attitude would differ from before.
'Or, surely not...! Was he concealing his true self within a reputation as a delinquent?'
What had accumulated were misunderstandings, but as a result he had hit upon the correct answer.
"......Your Highness."
"Yes. Have you made up your mind?"
Winter set the mood.
'If you know my father... then you must also know how I regard the man, Prince.'
And yet he comes alone and openly resorts to threats?
Meaning that in the hand opposite the whip there is tasty meat prepared for the dog.
However, precisely because of that, he had to place a wager even if the other party was a prince.
Because the meat Winter wanted to chew on was already determined.
It was a judgment befitting a man who prided himself on being one of Deber's foremost, no, its very foremost gambler.
"You told me to throw away everything I have built up thus far and be Your Highness's lackey? Fine, fine. But here is the thing. If I stake my life on Your Highness, what changes, and how much?"
A bet that settled the contest by putting forward manly forthrightness!
For Winter it was the best possible move.
But.
"Nothing changes."
"......?"
"Stake what? Don't stake anything, I don't need your life. Just wait on me until I tell you to stop."
"......"
"When I don't need you anymore I'll let you go nicely. That's no lie, mind."
He meant it. Because he intended to throw the man out the moment he found out why the Ring of the Guide had responded.
"Now then, you've agreed to wait on me, right? Start by bringing me a meal."
"......"
Winter, who had been frozen for a long while, spoke with difficulty.
"Preparing a meal...... I do not know whether lowly food will suit your palate."
"When you have no money you eat whatever there is."
For a moment Winter doubted his ears.
"You have no sugar, you say? Hey, you lot! His Highness says his blood sugar has dropped, so go buy some chocolate!"
For reference, chocolate was a luxury dessert that had recently begun being imported from a faraway nation of another race.
It was his own manner of effort to accommodate a prince's elevated palate.
"Hey, hey, what chocolate. I told you I have no money."
"Money. So you did say money. I heard correctly, then? So it was possible for a prince to have no money."
Zion grinned.
'Turns out it really was good not to go straight to the Governor-General's Office?'
If even this Winter bastard reacted like this, the high officials at the Governor-General's Office would have been worse.
"I caused an incident and got exiled. Stripped of my princely rank and all my assets confiscated. Not one maidservant, and a single measly luggage bag is everything I own."
Winter had lived over half his life as a gambler, and was a man more accustomed to a poker face than to any other expression.
And that Winter flared his nostrils wildly and gave off violent emotion.
There had been exactly two times in his life when he was sincerely astonished.
When he learned who his father was, and now.
"So even if I had polished you up a bit, you couldn't have gone to the Governor-General's Office? Being in a position with nothing whatsoever."
"Your manner of speech is exceedingly impertinent, but your expression is funny so I'll let it slide."
"......Hooooooo. I shall present a meal for now."
Winter, scratching his head vigorously, sent him a look for a while and then continued.
"It may be a leash, but since I have grabbed hold of the rope, no, been grabbed by it, I intend to make a proper go of it myself... could you stay quiet for a few days?"
"Hm."
Wooooong!
'Meaning the present outcome is the right path.'
The vibration in his finger. Zion smoothly raised the corner of his mouth.
"Very well. But, Winter Flowering. If this ends up having wasted several days of this prince's time, you will pay a price."
Having finished speaking, he thought to himself.
That he had to find out the reason the ring had responded as soon as possible.
***
When he first resolved to get himself exiled to Deber, the plan had been very different from now.
For one thing he hadn't imagined total confiscation of assets and being stripped of his princely rank.
'The station of direct-line Divine Race remains, but... to make proper use of it I need a minimum of face and pretext.'
The problem was that the standard for the 'minimum' was that of the Divine Race.
Take Winter alone, hadn't he been thinking that a member of the Divine Race should spend about the price of one night at a top-class hotel on a single meal.
"The best way of earning money I know is shaking down shady bastards in the underworld... but the problem is when I'd ever earn that kind of fortune."
Earning it himself would erode his face, since a member of the Divine Race performing labor is a loss of dignity, and there was nowhere to borrow from.
Holding out a hand to the Governor-General's Office was tantamount to donating a weakness to the First Prince.
In Zion Bliese's body he'd have tried robbing a precious-metals transport train, but his current body's magical standing was too low for even that.
"Hnng. If only I had money I could go from strength to strength. Fastening the first button really is hard."
Staying at this gambling house was a matter of a few days at most, ten at the outside.
'Absolutely not a place to stay long. And that Winter bastard isn't to be trusted either.'
Zion's assessment of Winter Flowering was cold.
A bastard with four healthy limbs who nonetheless gambles in the back alleys.
He had the guts to be called boss at a young age, but that was all.
So presumably the ring had responded to the bloodline.
To the blood of Marquis Remiconin from the scene the ring had shown him.
'That was what he'd been thinking, but......'
Perhaps not.
Kuuung! Clink!
"Your Highness, I have secured funds."
"......"
The heavy sack Winter set down.
Anyone could see it was full of gold coins from the way it clinked. A paper like a receipt was tied to the knot at the mouth.
But the amount...... for a moment he doubted his eyes.
Had he miscounted the zeroes?
"Your Highness?"
If it's a 5 in front with six zeroes......
Ah. He had miscounted.
"You won five hundred thousand Luon?"
"Pardon? Rounding off the odd change it is a clean five million Luon."
...So he had counted correctly.
Words wouldn't come out.
Sincerely.
"Five million... Luon?"
'That's the price of a decent mansion. To have won a fortune like this in a single night, am I supposed to believe that.'
The problem was that the proof was before his eyes.
Clink, the sack of gold coins swaying of its own accord.
"Barely a day has gone by, so how?"
"Word of Your Highness's exile has been quietly spreading through high society."
"And?"
"There is a casino VIP salon that only the very highest class may attend, with an entry fee of roughly the price of an automobile."
"And so?"
"That is all? I went in pretending to be a gambler in Your Highness's employ and swept the place."
"...I already know your gambling skill is outstanding. But how was proxy gambling possible without this prince's permission?"
Winter smoothly held something out. It was a gold-colored identification tablet, ornately decorated.
'What the, when did he take that?'
The Divine Race bloodline is strictly managed at the level of the Imperial house.
For instance, pure-blooded Divine Race members are issued an identification tablet engraved with the Imperial crest, and naturally Zion, being a prince, also possessed a divine-blood tablet.
And that divine-blood tablet was what Winter smoothly held out.
"The hand is faster than the eye. I made good use of it."
Taking the tablet, he fixed Winter with a steady gaze.
'I'd been shut in for days absorbed in analyzing the ring. So he pulled it out of my luggage.'
Look at this bastard.
When you adopt a grown dog rather than a puppy, the dog picks fights over rank.
He could feel the man subtly gauging him and walking the line.
If you don't get a firm hold in the early days, you suffer for it endlessly.
"Will you reprimand me?"
He kept his mouth shut and looked down at his hand.
More precisely, at the Ring of the Guide.
"Nope? Bwahahahaha!"
He lunged at the sack of gold coins. He frantically untied the knot at the mouth.
Looking at a heap of gold coins really was dazzling.
Yellow. Sooo yellow.
"I'm rich now! Bwahaha!"
He grabbed a fistful of gold coins and scattered them in the air.
It was indoors anyway, so they wouldn't fall far.
He scattered them once more.
"Winter, you bastard, if this was the plan you should have just asked for it! You should have taken me along!"
Winter was the one thrown off by Zion's reaction. Because rather than being scolded, he was being delighted at far too much.
"Your Highness... please compose yourself. Why are you acting as though you were seeing gold coins for the first time."
"It's my first time seeing money this big."
"Pardon? You are a prince. Does that make any sense?"
Well, the interior is the crown prince of a fallen nation!
"I had assumed you would spend something like five million Luon as roughly a month's dignity-maintenance expenses... you appear more frugal than I expected."
This time Zion's eyes went round.
Perceptions of the luxury a prince indulges in ran that high?
Hold on.
Total confiscation of assets...... that Third Prince bastard!
"Aide Winter. No, Butler Winter? Anyway, congratulations. I'll promote you to my right arm."
For a moment Winter's expression changed completely.
In place of bewilderment, which hid itself away, a sneer instead revealed itself.
"Don't make that face. This prince has not gone back on his word. He has switched his posture."
"I understand."
Winter continued in a blunt voice.
"Because august personages do that easily in front of their underlings."
The reason is simple.
Because the higher you are, the less you see underlings as people.
Marquis Remiconin, who cast his mother, that pitiable woman, aside without mercy when she became pregnant, was the proof.
"Never mind. How could a mere dog become a prince's right arm."
"Hm? What's wrong with a trash prince's right arm being a dog."
"......"
Winter opened his mouth and closed it.
An answer that had come out as though it were nothing. An answer entirely unanticipated.
"Are you serious?"
"Hm? Yeah."
Trash and a dog did suit each other rather well.
Though no other prince would ever think such a thing.
It was nothing much to say, and precisely for that reason it felt like it resounded deep in his heart.
"A pet dog ought to be equally cute and precious to begin with. Whenever I see a bastard fussing over purebred this and mongrel that, it makes me want to hit him."
"......"
Winter kept silent for a long while, rolling a chip between his fingers inside his pocket.
An old habit engraved into him at some point.
'Purebred and mongrel, the same. To think such words would come out of a prince's mouth.'
"Don't want to be an aide? Would you rather just be a dog?"
"No."
The corner of his mouth curling up. The light of ambition switching on in his eyes.
"Very well. This Winter Flowering shall dare to serve as aide to the Divine Race of the Divine Race."
He had been offered the position of aide, but the other party was a prince.
There would be nothing strange about a commoner scraping by in the back alleys being discarded at any moment.
And besides, didn't the man hold the weakness of the secret of his birth.
'So I shall have to prove myself, and prove myself again.'
"Please, your command. I shall do my utmost to attend upon Your Highness."
"Then shall we start by going to buy a car?"
"......?"
It goes without saying that magitech-powered automobiles are exceedingly expensive.
Being a product of cutting-edge technology, even a low-priced model exceeds the price of a decent house.
"Riding in one of those cars, I found it comfortable and stylish and good. I'll have to buy one, a foreign one, dwarf-handcrafted if possible."
"......"
"And buy some clothes. And some jewels. Hm. What else should I buy? Ah, right. And some liquor that costs the price of a house per bottle. Heh heh heh heh."
Retract that. The price of dozens of houses.
Perhaps five million Luon wouldn't cover it?
"Your Highness."
"Huh?"
"Were you not penniless until I won the money?"
"I was."
"And the first thing you want to do once I earn money is luxury spending?"
Zion's face hardened.
"Come now! Luxury, indeed. I have no personal hobby of indulging in luxury. It is merely that this prince has a duty to maintain his dignity at all times."
"......"
It was a truthful answer without a shred of falsehood mixed in, but.
Winter merely kept silent.
Of course Zion paid it no mind and issued an additional order.
"As it happens I know one proprietor with a good hand for luxury goods. There's someone called Baroness Creina, so look her up."
A single strand of thought bloomed in Winter's mind despite himself.
He knows nothing whatsoever about anything else, and yet he knows a luxury-goods merchant down to her name?
He had been briefly fooled by the unexpected behavior, but the prince before him was the Empire's worst piece of trash after all.
'Hnng. Coaxing and soothing while serving him is going to make me sweat going forward.'
Still, what could he do. He had made up his mind and the flames of ambition had already caught.
"......I shall attend you. I beg you to spare a thought, at least once before paying, for the fact that this is money I earned through hardship."
"Come now. Put that way it sounds as though this prince spends money on frivolous things."
To say it once more, Zion Bliese does not enjoy luxury.
Having entered this body he would have to start enjoying it now, if only to play the part of Divine Race, but at least not yet.
There was a separate reason for going to see Baroness Creina.
'I told you, didn't I, Madam. That I would shop at your gallery someday without fail.'