The Whisper of Treason
This bastard—surely not? Treason.
In that world or this one, in every form of nation that had existed since time immemorial, treason was a capital crime punished without exception. That was only natural. Whether monarchy, democracy, or republic, it struck at the very foundation of the system that held the collective called a nation together. Especially in a monarchy, treason was the ultimate trigger; even joking about it could see an entire family line wiped out, and one would simply have to accept it. It was a word no one, not even a member of the imperial family, should ever utter lightly. And if the suspected ringleader was another imperial, the danger multiplied.
That was why history books were filled with endless accounts of siblings slaughtering one another over power. For a single moment, the air in the heart of the capital felt colder than the eternal winter of the northern front.
‘A prince is plotting rebellion.’
Crushed beneath the weight of those words, countless thoughts flooded my mind, yet I forced myself to remain calm and whispered back to Beatrice.
“…This doesn’t seem like the sort of conversation to have here.”
“You’re right. Let’s go to my palace. It will be a long story.”
Beatrice nodded as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. To speak of her own brother’s treason without so much as a change in expression—she truly was a difficult woman.
Before I could even gather my thoughts, she gave me a light glance and extended her hand with graceful poise. The gesture seemed abrupt at first, but considering the imperial guards lined up around us and the meaning behind her earlier words, the answer came quickly.
‘She wants me to act as though we’re close.’
Having already survived more than ten years in this romance-fantasy world where even battlefield scenes were fought with words rather than swords, I could not afford to miss such a signal. In a noble society rife with power struggles and schemes, failing to read this much would mean certain death. Especially now, with suspected treason inside the imperial family, any spark could fly. She wanted to display the strength of our alliance while gathering as many allies as possible.
There was no reason to refuse. Beatrice had always been the most dangerous character in the original novel, a top-tier bomb. I had approached her since childhood precisely to keep her under close watch. If she chose to rely on me now, that was hardly a loss for me either.
“As you wish.”
With that thought, I linked arms with Beatrice and escorted her. Then—
“……!”
—Pinch!
She shot me a startled glare and dug her nails hard into the inside of my arm. Typical of someone born in this world; she was a professional at expressing displeasure without drawing attention.
“My, how affectionate the two of you are.”
“The atmosphere around the imperial family has been strange lately. For Her Highness the Third Princess to openly display closeness with the army’s rising star… perhaps…”
To outsiders, it must have looked as though we were whispering sweet nothings.
“Are you insane…!”
“Your Highness?”
“You idiot! Who said to link arms? I only meant for you to follow quietly! You muscle-brained fool…!”
In truth, it had been nothing more than a scene of power-based gaslighting. This was rather unfair. Her gesture had clearly been an invitation to escort her. Still, what could I do?
“My apologies.”
No matter how much influence I had gained by leveraging the knowledge of a transmigrator, before the imperial family—the apex of this status-based society—I was nothing more than a firefly before the sun. The weak had no choice but to kneel quietly.
“…Fine. There are more important matters right now, so I’ll let it pass. But I won’t forget this.”
—Squeeze.
She was furious enough that her slender arm trembled with strength, and even the tips of her ears had turned faintly red. From experience, this was a dangerous sign. I chose silence over excuses. Once Beatrice latched onto a pretext, she would hound someone until they were drained dry—and the terrifying part was that she often did it purely for amusement, not because she was truly angry. What a wicked woman.
“What are you doing? When helping a lady into a carriage, you’re supposed to support her waist carefully. Have you forgotten all etiquette after a few years in the north?”
“…Yes.”
“Tsk. Honestly.”
There was no such etiquette. Was this some new trend that had emerged in the capital while I was away? The complaint rose to the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. Beatrice was the undisputed queen of high society. She could invent nonexistent fashions on a whim, so arguing with her was pointless.
‘Dear God. Are you messing with me again?’
All I could do was stare at the sky and scream silently. And so, fresh from discharge, I found myself fitted with a new leash and obediently dragged toward Beatrice’s detached palace—along with the nuclear-level bombshell called treason. Discharge really did come with a spicy aftertaste.
* * *
Feeling like a cow being led to slaughter, I arrived at the palace.
“Everyone out.”
The moment the maids set down a simple tea set, Beatrice issued an expulsion order. Then she snapped her fingers and personally erected a soundproof barrier. Regardless of her own magical talent, this was an imperial detached palace. Magic cast within the imperial domain, using an imperial’s mana as a medium, carried absolute effect. From now on, not even the Tower Master could eavesdrop on our conversation. There was no risk of the discussion leaking.
—Slurp…
Beatrice pressed a teacup to her lips, her throat apparently parched from scolding me so enthusiastically. I watched her quietly before speaking.
“Tricksi.”
Using her nickname instead of formal address was partly to emphasize closeness, but more importantly, it signaled that I wanted her to speak with maximum honesty, without any roundabout phrasing.
“Treason? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Exactly what I said. It seems my dear brother has lost his mind.”
“Hah…”
I had known it wasn’t a joke, yet hearing it confirmed still left me speechless. The crown prince had no reason to rebel—he would become emperor anyway. With only three legitimate heirs, that left only one candidate.
“Why would His Highness the Second Prince…?”
The problem was that, no matter how I thought about it, the Second Prince had no reason to plot rebellion at this point. He had never been particularly ambitious. Even if some latent instinct had suddenly awakened and set his eyes on the throne, he of all people would understand that timing and justification were essential for a coup. As far as I knew, the empire would face no major crisis or upheaval this year—at least, not after I had personally cleaned up one of the potential causes on my way back.
But the more I heard, the more absurd it became.
“My brother… no, Heinrich, that lunatic—I don’t know what suddenly drove him mad, but he’s apparently doing everything in his power to claim one of the free cities for himself.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
Free cities were territories under direct imperial control. Not merely in name, but true sanctuaries where only the emperor’s authority held sway. In exchange for functioning as the emperor’s private facilities, resorts, or personal coffers, they were granted autonomy no one else could touch. The weight of that arrangement was anything but light. Free cities were the cornerstone that allowed the emperor to reign as an absolute monarch rather than merely the head of feudal lords. Touching one was not a minor indiscretion like skimming a few coins from father’s wallet—it was equivalent to laying hands on the deed to the house or the bank account itself. In short, it was genuine treason.
“No matter how much His Majesty values family, this is not something that can be overlooked.”
As my expression grew grave, Beatrice furrowed her brow and sighed.
“I think so too. That’s why I said he must have lost his mind.”
“So, which city did he target?”
“Schtuka.”
“Ha.”
Even after hearing the name, I could only let out a hollow laugh. You Who Are Like Sunlight was set in a world roughly equivalent to the Belle Époque after the Industrial Revolution. Aside from replacing the era’s key technologies with magitech, it was strikingly similar. Capitalism had already taken root, and imperialistic thinking was beginning to stir. Culture and fashion were a chaotic mix of eras, but that was simply the average for romance fantasies, so I moved on.
At a time when all manner of fantastical inventions were appearing in real time and the empire was already running on a somewhat capitalist system, what asset would the emperor value most? Obviously, his treasury.
“This is undeniably treason.”
Geographically located just below the capital, Schtuka Free City sat at the golden crossroads of east, west, and south. It was the crown jewel among the emperor’s coffers. Not only did it siphon the empire’s gold like a black hole, but it also spat out the latest technologies. Its importance and influence were comparable to the capital itself. If the capital was the administrative heart, Schtuka was the economic one. And now the Second Prince—not even the crown prince—was trying to claim it as his own? That was impossible. The only conclusion was that he had truly lost his mind.
“Could it be that some foreign race or high-ranking magical beast approached His Highness the Second Prince and clouded his judgment?”
I had softened the phrasing of “Did that bastard Heinrich get drugged?” Beatrice’s voice grew increasingly weary, as if merely discussing the impossible topic was exhausting her.
“I wish that were the case.”
Even just hearing the summary left me dazed. How must Beatrice have felt, receiving real-time reports through her subordinates? The matter was so grave that, for now, it had not yet spread beyond the imperial family. But if things continued like this, a bloody storm was only a matter of time. And if that storm originated from within the palace, Beatrice would be the first to be caught in it.
Her crimson eyes, looking strangely forlorn today, lingered on my face.
“I’m glad you came back, at least.”
In this calm before the storm, I was a card she could not afford to lose: freshly returned from the northern front, capable of projecting considerable influence in both politics and high society, and—if necessary—able to wield military force. That was why she had gone so far as to mobilize the imperial guards to greet me. She must have worried I might be swayed by the Second Prince or, worse, read the situation and disappear entirely.
Honestly, it was a little irritating. But Beatrice was simply struggling with all her might to avoid being swept into the coming tempest. She was fighting to survive. When I thought about it, I had approached her right after transmigrating and volunteered to be her childhood friend for the exact same reason. I had no right to criticize her.
“……”
While I gulped down the now-cold tea, Beatrice watched me with uncharacteristic caution. Suddenly, an ominous thought flashed through my mind.
‘Wait—Schtuka?’
That was also the original heroine’s hometown. Heinrich, you bastard—don’t tell me…?