Chapter 10. The Pledge of a Professional Power Abuser (2)
"Whipping…?"
An unexpected plea came from the maid.
Rakiel froze, taken aback.
Whipping? What is she talking about? It's just a cup that fell and broke. Just a little honeyed water spilled.
And yet, for such a trivial mistake, the maid was flattened on the floor, terrified of being whipped.
His expression hardened.
Don't tell me…
Could it be that the original owner of this body—Crown Prince Rakiel—had actually whipped his maids before? Judging by the maid's frightened attitude and reaction, it didn't seem impossible.
He asked, just to be sure.
"Have I ever whipped you before?"
Please say no.
Please tell me I wasn't that kind of trash.
He prayed fervently inside.
Perhaps his wish reached the heavens.
"N-no, Your Highness."
The maid shook her head vigorously.
"Your Highness has never personally held the whip."
"…Huh?"
He had never personally held the whip?
Wait a second—don't tell me.
"Then… did you have someone else do it?"
"..."
"Seriously?"
"Th-that was only because this lowly one committed a grave mistake. I beg your pardon, Your Highness."
Perhaps she thought she was being interrogated.
The maid's face grew even paler.
Rakiel's expression stiffened as well.
"So it's true."
He had suspected it—but it was real. He had ordered others to whip a maid.
Crown Prince Rakiel.
He thought he was just some sickly guy.
What the hell had you been doing?
Countless questions swirled in his mind.
He looked at the maid again.
"Then let me ask one more thing. What mistake did you make back then that you were whipped?"
"Th-that is…"
"It's fine. Go on."
"I splashed a drop of water…"
"What?"
"On Your Highness's sleeve… a drop of water splashed… and the sleeve got wet…"
"Hold on."
"..."
"Don't tell me—you were whipped because a little water got on my sleeve?"
"I-I beg your pardon."
"Hah. Seriously."
Judging by her demeanor, she didn't seem to be lying. And hearing it spelled out like that—it was absurd. Beyond absurd.
What the hell, Crown Prince Rakiel? You were that kind of guy?
Suddenly, the novel "Demon Sword Emperor" came to mind.
In that story, Crown Prince Rakiel was nothing more than a minor character who appeared briefly at the beginning. Because of that, his appearances and mentions were scarce.
How he lived his daily life. What kind of person he was to those around him. None of that had ever been described in detail. He was simply summarized as a sickly man plagued by various chronic illnesses who died young.
That was why—
He had imagined him as merely frail and pitiful.
That was the extent of the character he had expected. But now, peeling back just one layer of that shell and catching a glimpse of his finer details…
This guy might've been more of a piece of trash than I thought.
A maid trembling in fear over the smallest mistake. Just looking at her, he could guess what kind of person Crown Prince Rakiel had been in everyday life.
He clicked his tongue bitterly.
"Tsk. That's enough. Stop begging and get up. I'm not going to whip you."
"…Pardon?"
"Didn't you hear me? I said get up."
The maid sprang to her feet at the speed of light. Still, as if unable to fully believe it, she kept glancing at him timidly, her body stiff.
"I'm fine, so just clean up the broken cup and go."
"Y-yes, Your Highness."
The maid moved in a flurry. She seemed slightly flustered, as though she hadn't expected to be forgiven so easily. Watching her, Rakiel couldn't hold back and added one more remark.
"If you rush, you'll hurt your hand."
Flinch!
The maid's hand, which had been reaching hurriedly for the broken glass, jerked back.
"You can just use a broom. What if you rush and try to clean it up with your hands and get hurt?"
"...I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I nearly dirtied the precious floor with my filthy blood."
"That's not what I meant—"
"Even if I bleed, I will absolutely not let it drip onto the floor, Your Highness."
"That's not it—"
"So please, anything but the whip—"
"That's… not what I mean…"
As the misunderstanding deepened, only the frantic sound of sweeping grew louder.
After clearing away the shattered cup and the spilled honeyed water, the maid retreated in a fluster—no, she fled like the wind. When told there was no need to bring more honeyed water, she even teared up as she thanked him repeatedly.
"...."
That fleeing .
She looked exactly like someone who had escaped after being imprisoned by a deranged, personality-defective lunatic.
What the hell was Crown Prince Rakiel like, anyway?
At this point, he was genuinely curious. Fortunately, there was still someone nearby who could answer his questions.
"Sir Gardin."
"Yes, Your Highness. You called for me."
"Yeah, I did. But listen."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Why are you looking at me with such a strange expression?"
It wasn't his imagination. For a while now, Sir Gardin's gaze had been oddly subtle—like someone who had just witnessed an unexpectedly heartwarming scene.
That made Rakiel even more uneasy.
"And one more question. What was with that maid just now?"
"Well, would it not be because she was deeply moved by Your Highness's generosity and withdrew in gratitude?"
"Tsk. Don't give me some canned response."
"Pardon?"
"She said earlier, didn't she? That I'd ordered others to whip her before."
"Yes, that is correct."
"The truth is, I've been pretty sick lately, so my memories are all jumbled. That's why I'm asking. She said it wasn't some huge mistake—just splashing a little water on my sleeve."
"...Yes, that is correct."
"So let me ask again. Did other maids and attendants go through similar things?"
"Your Highness."
"Answer the question first."
"...Yes, they did."
"I made them whip each other? I did?"
"Yes, Your Highness... However, we believe in you."
"Believe in me? In what way?"
"When Your Highness was young, you were widely known for your generosity and kindness."
"Sounds like you're saying I wasn't like that when I got older."
"No. That was not Your Highness's fault."
"Then whose was it?"
"It was because of the dreadful illness that tormented Your Highness and clouded your mind."
"Tsk. That just sounds like an excuse."
"No, Your Highness."
Sir Gardin shook his head vigorously, firmly denying it. Still, no matter how you looked at it, it sounded like a nicely packaged attempt at damage control.
Rakiel's expression turned serious.
"Honestly, since I've been in poor health lately, my memory's really taken a hit. I can't recall past events clearly. That's why I want to hear this in detail."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"What kind of person was I? To you, and to the maids and attendants here."
"Your Highness was, of course—"
"Be objective. Don't lie. I'll ask others too. And if there's even a little bit of falsehood, then I'll brew up some weird potion, bubbling away, and gulp it down right in front of you. Deal?"
"Y-Your Highness?"
"What I put in it will depend on my mood."
"Your Highness…?"
"Alright then, speak. What kind of person was I?"
"Th-that is..."
The effect of self-hostage blackmail (?) was tremendous.
Sir Gardin's mouth loosened, and the words came pouring out.
♣
About half an hour later, the story ended.
Countless testimonies and eyewitness accounts.
Objective evaluations and recollections.
Listening to it all, Rakiel was able to reach a cold, clear conclusion.
Crown Prince Rakiel… that guy was a hypersensitive, top-tier power abuser.
He wasn't rotten to the core.
Apparently, in his childhood, he'd been fairly decent.
But as he suffered under illness, he gradually became more and more irritable.
At first it was just mild sensitivity, but later on, it seems he crossed the line constantly.
According to Sir Gardin's testimony, the Crown Prince Rakiel he glimpsed was the embodiment of hysteria. If even the slightest thing rubbed him the wrong way, he would explode in rage.
He'd shout at the top of his lungs.
Throw whatever was at hand.
Vent every ounce of his irritation.
He even had maids and attendants whipped. Since he lacked the physical strength to do it himself, he ordered other maids or attendants to carry it out.
As a result, the servants of this detached palace couldn't even breathe properly whenever the Crown Prince passed nearby, terrified they might incur his displeasure and be struck by sudden disaster.
That was how severe Crown Prince Rakiel's hysteria and abuse of power had been.
Whipping people because the sound of their breathing annoyed him. Keeping them awake for two days because he heard someone sneeze while he was sleeping. Starving the cook and all the attendants for four days because one type of sauce was missing at a meal. Slapping them because he didn't like the sound of clothes rustling. Good grief. Is that even human behavior?
There was no abuse of power quite like it.
And from the victims' point of view, it was even worse—this was abuse on the level of royalty, something they couldn't argue against or resist.
The worst of the worst.
Only now did he fully understand the maid's reaction earlier. He also recalled the night not long ago when, while testing his circle slots, he'd detonated a water bomb—and how readily the guards had accepted his flimsy excuse back then.
I said I smashed the bottle in a fit of anger. But Crown Prince Rakiel actually did things like that all the time. No wonder the guards believed my excuse so easily.
Of all things, the excuse he'd used happened to match the Crown Prince's usual behavior. It was such a strange coincidence that a bitter smile crept onto his face. Still, there was one part he couldn't quite understand.
"By the way, Sir Gardin."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"I've listened carefully to what you said. Thanks for being honest with me. But there's still something I'm curious about."
"Please ask, Your Highness."
"Right. I get why the other attendants and maids are afraid of me. But why aren't you?"
"…Pardon?"
"Think about it. You said I treated people horribly. But even so, you've never really seemed intimidated or afraid in front of me."
"That's because I trust Your Highness."
"What?"
Sir Gardin answered instantly, without even a second's hesitation.
Rakiel was dumbfounded.
"Trust me? In what way?"
"Well, um… because you were originally a kind person…"
"And?"
"I believed that once I cured Your Highness's illness, you would return to your former character. And lately, I feel I've begun to be rewarded for that belief."
"Rewarded?"
"Your Highness, as you are now."
"...."
"I don't know how you'll take this, but you've changed. You are changing. Ever since that day—when you collapsed coughing up blood while writing in your diary."
"Ah, that day?"
That was the very day he had entered Rakiel's body. But unaware of that truth, Sir Gardin continued, his voice tinged with emotion.
"From that day on, Your Highness changed. Your manner of speaking and your behavior became a bit… rough, and you strayed from proper etiquette. But even so, you never once took your irritation out on me, or on the maids and attendants. Not even once."
"Hm. So you liked that?"
"It moved me deeply."
"You were touched?"
"Even now, I thank the heavens for it."
"The heavens? Shouldn't you be thanking me?"
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"That's right. Exactly."
"...."
"Anyway, you're glad I've changed?"
"Of course, Your Highness."
"Even when I stab myself with needles and all that?"
"Ah, th-that is…"
"Even when I boil poisonous herbs and down them in one gulp?"
"...."
"Must be great for you, Sir Gardin."
"...."
Sir Gardin's face crumpled instantly.
And yet, oddly enough, the corners of his lips still held a faint, warm smile.
I'm probably the same, aren't I.
That seemed likely.
He teased him like this, but he was grateful. There was no way he couldn't be, in the face of such sincere loyalty. Rakiel carefully tucked those true feelings away and put on a mischievous grin.
"Anyway, what a mess to make in the middle of a meal. Let's at least finish the bread. By the way, Sir Gardin, have you eaten dinner?"
"Not yet, Your Highness."
"Want to eat together?"
"…Pardon?"
"There should be some bread left."
"Your Highness, I—"
"Just take it."
"...."
He broke the bread in half and handed it to him. Sir Gardin stood there, holding the piece, completely at a loss.
The sight made Rakiel smile once more.
And quietly, he made a vow.
Sir Gardin of the novel—who had stayed by his side out of sheer loyalty, only to meet his end by execution. Here, he would not let him suffer such misfortune.
Neither his own death, nor Gardin's death from taking the blame for him—he would allow neither to happen. He would survive. He swore it, again and again.
And then, the next day—
A summons from the Emperor arrived at the detached palace.