Chapter 3
The Scumbag’s Way (2)
A crowd. People creating a vibrant, bustling atmosphere, each engrossed in their own chatter. Even though they were all Imperials, it was a fine sight to behold. There was a time when Devere was like that, too.
‘So this is the Sun Plaza.’
It was the main plaza contained within the Imperial Palace, serving as the venue where state events were conducted.
‘Quite a crowd has gathered. Then again, considering Marquis Gabel’s silver tongue, I suppose that makes sense.’
Silvertongue. The master of the silver tongue. That was Marquis Gabel’s nickname. He was the Empire’s top propagandist, possessing the talent to entertain people simply by wagging his tongue.
‘Since I still have some time left, shall I scout the terrain first?’
Setting off explosions if there’s a opening… wait, that’s Zeon Bleeze’s way, isn’t it? Even so, out of habit, he headed toward the back of the stage. He could see magic engineers and staff members in charge of the stage direction busily running around.
“Hey.” “Who—ghasp! A humble subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race!”
Knowing they looked busy at a glance, Zeon deliberately asked them a few things.
“A horde of precious figures will be gathering, yet this looks far too defenseless. From where this Prince stands, it seems like a simple magic artifact would be more than enough to interfere with the stage.” “It is quite alright, Your Highness. We are making preparations under strict calculations, and barring a lack of time, there are no variables.”
It was mere nitpicking, intended only to buy time to scan his surroundings. Since he was behind the stage, the magic artifacts installed for the inauguration ceremony were fully visible.
‘Tightly guarded. But still, there are openings.’
The eyes of the Archmage read the information and stored it in his mind. Great, I’ve grasped it all. If I add the mana pattern I acquired thanks to Gabel letting his guard down earlier… It’s more than doable.
“’Strictly calculated,’ you say. I shall choose to trust that nothing will happen, then.”
Turning his body around, he chuckled inwardly. A “strict calculation” by those who can’t even calculate basic formulas without a calculator, huh?
“Now that I’ve found the blind spot, all that’s left is to wait for the optimal timing.”
Zeon pulled his lips up into a smirk. Perhaps a lingering habit of the body, his mouth twisted into a crooked sneer. Arriving at the VIP seats, Zeon took a seat. It was the best location to cast magic.
‘Gabel. You said it yourself back then.’
Memories from a time when describing his movements as wiggling his legs suited him better than walking surfaced in his mind. A puppet king of a nation that didn’t know when it might lose its sovereignty. A core figure in a key position who had come over from a powerful nation. Even though he clearly held the superior status in practical terms, Gabel had been unable to hide his inferiority complex toward the late King.
“King, this Gabel is an intellectual with a doctorate in literature from the Empire’s finest university, as well as a pioneer who has achieved a new horizon in propaganda by fusing the newly emerging field of psychology with magic engineering.”
Even though little Zeon was sitting on the late King’s lap, Gabel had not hesitated to spew verbal abuse at the child’s father.
“On the other hand, what can you boast as your specialty? Bleeze—you have nothing except that pathetic royal surname, do you? Khekhekhekhe.”
Surprisingly, the memories from that time remained pleasant even now. All thanks to his young self’s pure curiosity.
“Father. Everyone from the Empire grows big, so why is that man so small? And his hair color is hideous, too~.”
The Empire of Ritania, which advocated itself as a nation of knights, regarded a sturdy physique as superior, and the higher the bloodline, the closer the hair color tended to be to gold.
“Y-Y-You…!”
Gabel, who had been spouting on about being a doctor of literature and a pioneer of propaganda, immediately clamped his mouth shut and stormed off, his face burning red like charcoal thrown into a fire.
‘Gabel. You are far too disgusting. No matter how skilled you are at packaging, it’s impossible to hide the stench completely.’
Anyway. To sum it up, there was one fatal flaw in his propaganda. It was the fact that he utilized magic artifacts. Just like the torturer at the prison did in the past.
‘Authority hijacking through magical erosion. Though precautions must have been taken…’
Gabel was stepping onto the platform. An altitude that allowed a bird’s-eye view of the entire plaza. The moment his eye level aligned exactly with his target’s—
‘Quere Stellam Orbita.’
He chanted softly in his mind.
‘May the gears envelop.’ ‘I shall sever even the trace of the fool.’
Double chanting. An achievement equivalent to a beginner magician of one hour successfully overlapping two spells.
‘If it were my original body, even ten-fold chanting wouldn’t have been difficult.’
The secret art of the Devere Royal Family was a superior magic system specifically tailored for multi-chanting. It was also the reason why Devere had chosen isolationism in an era when the world was shaken by the waves of revolution brought on by magic engineering. Because they didn’t need magic engineering. …Though as a result, they ended up falling behind and becoming a colony.
‘Still, there’s a reason why I couldn’t give up until the very end.’
“I ask of you to shout together with me, subjects!”
Now. Right now, as the speech reaches its climax. The magic aimed at Gabel.
“Silence your voice, Silence.”
‘Quite a crowd has gathered. The masses, creatures no different from a swarm of ants.’
A lie repeated a thousand times becomes the truth. Five minutes is all it takes to turn a hero into a criminal, and a single line of text can transform anyone into a villain. These were the words Gabel always said, and the belief he had held his entire life.
Tap. Tap.
The staircase leading up to the platform felt exceedingly long. It had truly been a long journey. From a bottom-tier house unworthy of even being called nobility, all the way to a position equivalent to a Duke. From the very bottom to the top.
‘The era called for me. Had it not, I could never have ascended to this spot. The era… has chosen me…!’
Dung-colored hair. A frail physique and a gaunt face. Despite his physical conditions making it impossible to succeed in an Empire where outward displays of rank were mandatory, no one had been able to stop Gabel. For the era had arrived where Gabel’s talent could shine.
“Subjects of the Empire! As a doctor of literature from the Empire’s top university, a scholarly pioneer who birthed magical psychology, and your old friend, Paul Gabel greets you! Well, hum. Though I am sure you all know me, I thought I’d introduce myself anyway.”
A hint of wit added to a position of authority triggers an amplification of favorability. Chuckles and laughter could be heard here and there.
“Today, I, Paul Gabel, wish to advocate and introduce a new identity to you all. A blind imperialist!”
He knew full well that he was the incarnation of an inferiority complex. That was why Gabel made his choice. To transform from a weakling into the strong, he used self-brainwashing to become a figure who pledged endless respect and loyalty to those above him. He oppressed and exploited those below him to soothe the humble background of his origin and secure the means to climb even higher. His brilliant eloquence was a talent bestowed upon him, and his tool to achieve his dreams.
“What this Gabel, an Imperial who prides himself on being well-educated, has come to think recently is as follows!”
Propaganda. Catchphrase. The public is stupid and forgets easily. Therefore, the pianist who plays the piano called “the public” must strike only a single key. Imprinting a single keyword into their minds was the very essence of the art of propaganda.
‘Start with a keyword to stimulate their reason. Drive that stimulation to instill madness into their reason.’
“Order is light, barbarism is darkness! Salvation for the barbaric is the mission of civilization, so our Empire—”
Pretending to thud his chest, he pressed a button on his ceremonial uniform. The magic artifact designed for magical incitement activated.
“Our Empire is salvation, and this is the role of religion. In other words, our Empire is the rightful object of worship, and we must become blind imperialists! So, let us shout like this!”
Instill a collective consciousness. Only then would the public be more easily swept away by madness. What the new field of study called psychology referred to as “mass hysteria.”
“O, glorious Empire! Glorious, Ritania!”
Following the lead, the crowd chanted in unison.
“O, glorious Empire! Glorious, Ritania!”
Tears welled in Gabel’s eyes. At this moment, he was the greatest pianist conducting the masses.
“Once more! Make the Empire great! Glorious, Ritania!” “Make the Empire great! Glorious, Ritania!”
Yes, that was it. Gabel was currently conducting the ritual, the self-brainwashing he had performed countless times before. Today, Paul Gabel would become the Governor-General and set off to fulfill the mission of civilizing Devere…!
“Masses, once more!”
He raised his arm with all his might. Then, he bellowed out.
“Eternal glory to the Empire, Glorious Rita-do-do-do-dop…?” “…?” “…?” “…?” “…?”
Oh, dear. Gabel’s face turned deathly pale.
Although all kinds of magic engineering defenses were in place since it was a public inaugural address… And although penetrating the ironclad security that blocked not only terror and assassination, but all magical interference was close to impossible…
“Glorious Rita-do-do-do-dop…?”
‘Looking through it from the inside and breaching it feels like solving an exam while looking at the answer sheet.’
Not that I mind—it’s sweet as honey. Amidst the dozens of overlapping layers of defense, there was an extremely faint gap. Using that thread-like gap as a pathway, the structured mana—in other words, the magic—rendered Marquis Gabel mute.
“E-beb, e-be-beb? Be-beb! Be-e-ep!!!”
Grabbing his throat, Marquis Gabel went wild like a madman. The entire crowd of Imperials in the plaza witnessed his disgraceful display. Naturally, the inaugural speech was completely ruined.
“Kahahahaha.” “Ninth Prince, your laughter is a bit too loud. I worry someone might hear and report it to Governor Gabel.”
Despite Riegert’s advice, he continued to snicker.
“Who cares? That guy’s going to get fired from his post as Governor-General anyway.”
The Empire valued prestige immensely. A scene where he became mute, even temporarily, was witnessed by tens of thousands of Imperials—and at an inaugural ceremony, no less? There was no way he could carry out his duties as Governor-General. Having been publicly humiliated, Marquis Gabel could no longer be a face representing the Empire. At least, that was the kind of nation the Empire was according to Zeon’s knowledge.
“Pardon…? Fired? What on earth do you mean…?”
Suddenly, an uneasy feeling crept up. Why is a question mark attaching itself to this guy’s face?
“There’s no way Marquis Gabel would get fired. Do you know how vast the network of connections he built with his flamboyant gift of the gab is? I even heard that the bribes he showered for this inauguration amounted to a staggering 100 million Pen. The lifeline he grabbed onto recently is so thick it’s practically a hawser.” “…”
Ah right, I had forgotten for a moment. The Empire placed immense value on status and hierarchy. For that reason, even if one used any means necessary to acquire wealth and power, it was tolerated and overlooked to a certain extent. Even though bribery was officially a crime, it meant it was openly practiced. There was no way Marquis Gabel hadn’t greased the wheels.
“Ah. Dammit.”
A bitter taste filled his mouth. After experiencing so many things in a single night—including switching bodies—his judgment must have been clouded; he had overlooked this. Does this mean the only option left is to kill the bastard? Even with Zeon Liobelt’s body, the assassination itself seemed doable, but…
‘Can I handle the aftermath? …As if! No way in hell.’
“Your Highness. Marquis Gabel is approaching. Please manage your facial expression…”
Once the commotion had settled down to some extent, Marquis Gabel was walking toward the VIP seats. Since he was the main character of today’s event, all the nobles would move back to the Imperial Palace’s banquet hall once he arrived.
“Hmm… Ninth Prince.”
Upon spotting Zeon, Marquis Gabel wore a humiliated expression for a brief moment. However, he soon raised the corners of his mouth triumphantly.
“To think you would attend my inauguration ceremony. I am deeply touched that a member of the noble Divine Race has personally attended to me like this.”
Though it sounded like an expression of gratitude on the surface, it was a taunt laced with double sarcasm. Zeon did not reply.
“…”
Gabel felt a swell of pride as he watched Zeon silently sending a gaze his way. In just a moment, once he received his title from His Majesty, his status would officially be equal to that of a Prince. It could be considered a higher rank than a mere trash of a Ninth Prince.
‘Therefore, the current Paul Gabel… even if I utter impudent words to a divine being, it won’t be a problem…!’
The moment Gabel, who thought as much, gave a sinister smile and met Zeon’s eyes— Golden hair and blood-red eyes. Yet, another color seemed to peek through. Suddenly, Gabel fell into the illusion that, for some reason, a completely different Zeon was reflected in the Ninth Prince’s eyes. Because of that, he changed his intended provocative line.
“Allow me to tell you about what happened with the last king of Devere, Exon XIII. That man was remarkably similar to Your Highness.”
Specifically, in the sense that he was a terribly worthless human being.
“I am reminded of his funeral. There were far more empty chairs than mourners—despite the fact that he was a King!”
The Ninth Prince offered neither a rebuttal nor an emotional outburst. He couldn’t. For he, Gabel… had ascended all the way to this height! With his heart swelling with excitement, just as Gabel was about to continue speaking—
“Hmm…?”
‘Why is he holding… a liquor bottle in his hand…?’
It was the very bottle used as the excuse for slapping the maid earlier. It was pretty, but it was large, heavy, and angular—the kind of bottle that looked like it would hurt if you got hit by it.
Clang!
“Guaaaaakh…!”
With his eyes rolling back, Marquis Gabel collapsed to the ground.
I decided to kill Gabel. It’s an extremely high-risk action. But my mind is already made up.
‘How dare this bastard speak of whom?!’
“Your Highness! You mustn’t! Uh? Uh??”
Clang!
Therefore, a way to minimize the risk… wait, clang?
“Your Highness! Please, ah, please! My head is going to fly off—uh! Uh-oh! Uaaaaagh!!!” “Huh…?”
A sudden noise. Coming to his senses a moment too late, Zeon lowered his gaze. Struck by the swung liquor bottle, Marquis Gabel lay collapsed in a heap. This time, he turned his head to the right. A blood-stained liquor bottle was held in his hand.
“Kyaaah! The Ninth Prince finally did it!” “My Lady, you must step back! Come this way, quickly! If you stay there, you’ll get caught up in it…!”
The nobles were starting to fall into a panic. The commoner servants went a step further, showing reactions as if they felt an immediate threat to their lives. …The Archmage’s brilliant intellect analyzed the situation quickly, albeit one step late.
‘My memories were wiped, but habits engraved into the body remained. Specifically, the habit of venting through violence whenever stressed.’
I’m in trouble. I’ve gone and caused a massive incident.
‘Ah. Does this make things complicated… or wait, does it not…?’
Suddenly, the direction of his thoughts flipped 180 degrees. Hmm. Great discoveries usually stem from a shift in perspective, don’t they? A sudden realization dawned upon him. It was all thanks to the gazes of the people around him.
‘The fact that the bastard Riegert warned me not to beat people up just because I’m upset… conversely means that Zeon Liobelt was a scumbag who beat people up over the slightest annoyance.’
The nobles were backing away as if he were the source of a plague. Even so, if their eyes met his, they flinched violently and froze in their tracks. As if there was someone in the past who had gotten the living daylights beaten out of them for getting caught trying to keep their distance. In short, to put it in one phrase:
‘Everyone is terrified of me.’
Ah, right. This body. This guy, Zeon Liobelt. He was the worst scumbag in the Empire, wasn’t he? In an instant, the words Gabel had spat out earlier came to mind.
‘He told me to think about my own specialty, didn’t he?’
He folded the fingers of his right hand one by one. Clenching his hand tightly, a solid fist was formed. In addition to magic, which was Zeon Bleeze’s specialty, the current him possessed one more weapon. The specialty of Zeon Liobelt that he had been overlooking all this time was none other than…
“Marquis Paul Gabel. You brought me dishonor!”
Without a reputation to protect, the violence of a man who paradoxically had no need to care about anyone’s opinion erupted.
BAMMMM!!!
