Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Supreme Treasure
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'Talent is one thing, but if that talent never blooms, how tragic is that?'
Thinking of Isabella, Izar gave a faint smile.
Until last year, Isabella had been just one among his many siblings.
He knew she was secretly swinging a sword, dreaming of becoming a knight, but he figured she'd give up eventually. Once she faced reality head-on, she'd settle down.
But after returning from the imperial palace, she'd changed completely.
She hired the female mercenary Samilia to devise swordsmanship tailored to her, then waged a fierce battle against the family elders without yielding an inch.
He grew intrigued. Isabella stood apart from her stuffy siblings.
And even to his eyes, she brimmed with talent for the sword.
Izar decided he had to help that talent blossom.
'She brimmed with such confidence in the family, yet she shrinks the moment she stands before Crown Prince Reinhardt.'
The problem was Reinhardt.
Isabella had learned from Reinhardt how to fight against prejudice.
They'd even vowed to be friends.
But when he actually entered her sight, she lost her nerve.
She seemed deeply ashamed of herself for having accomplished nothing yet.
'My precious little sister, lovely enough to cherish like the apple of my eye... but matters of the heart are no place for a third party to interfere.'
So Izar had given her a choice.
One path: enter the Imperial Dragon Knight Order as an apprentice through Reinhardt.
By competing with the dark elf Arell and seeing him, talking to him constantly, her feelings would solidify.
Of course, she couldn't become a proper knight that way.
Who could swing a sword properly with someone they're conscious of nearby?
But if she could win Reinhardt, it would be the best outcome for both the family and her.
Yet Isabella chose to become a proper knight.
'She's probably arrived by now.'
Izar had entrusted her to Mercenary King Karbal.
Mercenary King Karbal was ruthless.
Gender meant nothing to him; he trained his mercenaries like a cold-blooded machine.
You couldn't become a knight coddled like a flower in a greenhouse.
Above all, in this era, a woman aspiring to knighthood needed to reach Sword Master level at minimum. Otherwise, she'd have to hide her gender.
Short and brutal. In about six months, she'd emerge shaped into something formidable.
He'd spent most of his hard-earned savings on this deal, but he had no regrets. It was an investment in a talented sister.
Even in business dealings, Karbal was meticulous about money.
He'd delivered commensurate results, so Izar simply wished her luck.
Besides, he himself had to stay in the capital for a while.
He couldn't linger on the frontier forever.
'And the atmosphere feels exactly like the calm before the storm. Perfect.'
The imperial family was the empire's heart.
The capital lay eerily quiet now, like the hush before a gale.
A storm seemed poised to erupt around the crown prince.
He hoped his bet would pay off.
It was a full-life wager.
If this lifeline proved rotten, they'd all face a purge.
To that end, he first needed to demonstrate his own capabilities.
By making Laurel Tailor Shop the most standout establishment in the imperial capital.
At that moment, a woman's teasing voice pulled Izar from his reverie.
"Izar? What are you thinking so deeply about?"
"Ah, my apologies, lady. Your eyes are so captivating, I lost myself."
"Oh my. Are they really that pretty?"
"They remind me of a tranquil lakeside at dusk. A line from a poem just sprang to mind—may I recite it?"
"I'd love that."
What was the name of the woman before him again?
Daughter of the marquess family that owned the most land in the capital.
That was detail enough. He cared for nothing more.
Izar recited the poem with a roguish smile.
*
The warden of the Special Prison scrambled to his feet, mustering the guards to await at the entrance.
'I heard the crown prince was named director... but now?'
The appointment had come months ago.
Yet the crown prince hadn't once set foot in the Special Prison.
This place housed only those whose treason threatened the empire.
Like other imperial folk, perhaps even he shrank from entering.
From the warden's view, that suited him fine.
In a tigerless mountain, the fox reigns as king.
"He's—he's coming!"
"Attention!"
Spotting the imperial carriage in the distance, the warden bellowed.
'But it's surprisingly modest.'
Just one carriage.
Escorted by a single coachman and knight.
Austere for an imperial crown prince's retinue.
Past directors from the imperial family always brought full knight orders to shield against the vile criminals.
'It's not some leisure stroll...'
The warden tsked inwardly.
Crown prince or not, this was the Special Prison.
Come lightly, and regret would follow.
"We greet Your Highness the Crown Prince."
"We greet Your Highness the Crown Prince!"
As Reinhardt descended, nearly a hundred guards snapped to attention in salute.
Reinhardt then addressed the warden.
"I seem quite late."
"Not at all, Your Highness!"
Late he was.
New directors typically appeared within the month.
"In any case, His Majesty the Emperor entrusted this place's management to me, so today I intend a full tour of the prison."
"I shall guide you personally, Your Highness."
Reinhardt nodded.
The warden steadied his breath.
He'd fretted over the mad crown prince moniker, but this seemed milder than past directors.
'Let's get him through safely.'
Steer him through safe zones only, send him off, and reclaim his kingdom.
No crown prince would scour every corner in detail.
A mere show, at best.
But realization dawned quickly that he was wrong.
"Is that all?"
"Yes, Zone 1 is fully covered."
"We'll tour all the way to Zone 3. Lead on."
"Your Highness, Zone 2 onward is truly perilous."
Sweat beaded on the warden's brow.
Somehow he knew—the Special Prison divided into three zones.
Zone 1 held the safest inmates.
Mostly hostages from imperial exigencies.
Zone 2 and beyond crammed with brutal fiends.
The worst lurked in Zone 3, hermetically sealed—a place even guards dreaded.
"Lead on."
Yet as warden, orders were orders.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
'Zone 2 alone should change his mind.'
That notion crumbled swiftly too.
*
The Special Prison was a lawless waste.
Zone 1 saw some management, but Zone 2 onward transformed utterly.
Reek of rotting flesh. Eyes like beasts.
They received no human treatment.
Rations scarce, they devoured bugs, subsisted on fetid water.
Most deserved such degradation for their crimes.
Still unslain and confined here solely because they were nobles.
The Special Prison served as the nobility's punitive contrivance.
Zone 1 housed the deep-pocketed or redeemable; Zone 2, the kill-hesitant irredeemables.
The empire's sole noble tribunal.
A state body feigning equal justice under law.
Born of anti-discrimination ideals, yet ironically exempting the imperial house.
Only the emperor could punish imperial blood.
In effect, the emperor punished none.
Thus, sentenced nobles filled the Special Prison.
'The Special Prison's true purpose lies in Zone 3 alone.'
No overstatement—the noble punishment system existed for Zone 3.
Keepers of imperial secrets.
Even a phantom thief who nearly ransacked the Imperial Treasury, foiled at the final door.
And the Void Mage to boot.
Tendons severed, mana induced to rampage, reduced to invalids.
Seven doors barred escape.
"An utter shambles."
Having toured to Zone 3, he summed up.
Back in the director's office, the warden eyed him warily.
"What precisely is a shambles, Your Highness?"
"Ample imperial funds flow here—where do they leak? An imperial organ, yet bereft of upkeep or repair. Outrageous."
"N-no, Your Highness. All operates normally."
"Indeed? Fetch the ledgers."
Ledgers too?
The warden's throat parched.
Imperial funds never ran straight.
Past directors squandered them; remnants split among warden and guards.
Months without crown prince oversight.
That untraced coin filled their purses.
Ledgers now? Improperly kept, needless to say.
No prior demands...
'Discipline crackdown?'
Distinct from predecessors, certainly.
Fine, play along.
"Here, Your Highness."
"Hmm."
He scanned them.
As expected, falsified rot.
Absurd sums for phantom maintenance.
Food allotments alone stunned—enough for daily meat feasts per prisoner.
Headcounts bloated double, triple.
Imperials deemed finance-blind, hence the padding.
True, nobles dined sans price fret.
Least of all royalty.
"Other ledgers? Surely not all."
"Why... Your Highness?"
"Cross-verify. Probe every supplier merchant too. Compare, confirm."
The warden's eyes bulged.
'Doomed!'
Full probe spelled exposure.
Unfair, though.
Leaks empire-wide—not here alone.
All did as he; why prod this nest?
Caught, heads literally roll.
"M-mercy, Your Highness!"
He groveled.
Futile.
"Misuse of imperial funds for private gain. All implicated face legal due."
A bloodwind howled through the Special Prison.
*
Word reached noble ears in a flash.
The Special Prison bloodwind.
All guards rotated. Warden and select few executed as warning.
Yet more followed.
Embezzlement spanned beyond staff.
Linked nobles hauled to trial.
Bribers easing imprisoned kin's lot—prime targets too.
Nobles raged.
"Is he truly deranged?"
"Empress, this won't do. Me, in the dock?"
"Please intervene—for our family's longstanding bond!"
To their imperial patrons.
Power brokers like empresses among them.
Emperor unapproachable, so rouse empresses against Reinhardt's lunacy.
"Crown Prince, deciding such grave matters solo, sans counsel?"
"Cease this, Your Highness."
Threats slid off Reinhardt.
No noble strings bound him.
Beyond the emperor, no leverage.
Soon, doors barred, ears deaf.
Silence from Reinhardt and emperor alike left empresses seething.
Thus swept a typhoon through the palace.
All oblivious to the Imperial Treasury ransack.
*
[... Hacking completed.]
[Security disengaged.]
Kiiiiiik—.
The colossal door of the vast Imperial Treasury finally yawned open.
Coaxing the phantom thief who'd reached it yielded blueprint-grade maps, easing entry beyond expectation.
Palace Treasury, buried imperial depths.
Treasure hoard by the founding emperor a millennium past!
Password lock for emperor alone. Deus refreshed codes routinely.
This door despaired even Zone 3's thief—no method prevailed.
Freedom bartered for stealth-path sketches drew his scoff.
Last door impassable, he claimed.
Yet it yielded.
'As anticipated. Akin to the holy land's seal.'
Resembling the dragon's holy land barrier, Zero seemed apt.
Spot on.
Door breached, treasures avalanched into view. Treasure mountain veritable.
I strode past, ignoring.
Past ascension as emperor, the vault half-plundered already.
Deus dispatched Croft for choice relics, presumed.
Now, intact even those.
'... There it is.'
A smile tugged my lips unbidden.
Present.
The supreme treasure, spirited away lest it fall to me or Carlos Grand Duke.
[Supreme Treasure] End