CHAPTER 13: ROBBING THIEVES

Aric slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight streaming through his window. He shifted under the sheets, trying to escape the brightness, but it was no use. A soft glow danced on his face, and his head throbbed—the telltale sign of a hangover.

Regret washed over him as he recalled the excessive drinking from the night before, despite leaving immediately after his conversation with his father.

He still remembered vividly the emperor’s order but thought it better not to dwell on it just yet.

Pushing himself out of bed, he was greeted by a familiar sight—his daily subquest panel, floating in front of him, waiting to be completed. Despite the pounding headache and fatigue, he was determined to follow through.

Dropping to the floor, he began his push-ups.

---

Nearly an hour later, sweat pooled beneath him. But this time, there was no blood—only sweat.

"Am I... done?" Aric asked, glancing at the completion panel for reassurance.

"Yes. Today’s S-quest has been successfully completed," the guide floating beside him confirmed.

He could hardly believe it. Not only had he finished with relative ease, but he hadn’t even suffered the usual nosebleed. Impressed by his progress, Aric cleaned himself up and left his room.

Outside, the estate guards—what little remained of them—stood at attention, vigilant in their duty. The moment they saw him, they swiftly saluted, greeting the fourth prince with utmost respect.

Aric chuckled inwardly at the change. Though these three had never openly disrespected him, they had never shown this level of reverence either.

"Good morning," Aric replied. He pointed to two of the guards—one with dark, disheveled hair and a scraggly beard, the other with bright emerald eyes. "You two. What are your names?"

"Zahai, Your Highness," the first replied.

"Meholt," said the second.

Aric already knew the third guard’s name—Alan—from his past life, as he had been the only one Aric truly trusted.

"Both of you, take off your armor. We’re going to pay someone a visit."

---

Aric, accompanied by Zahai and Meholt, arrived at the Imperial Exchequer—a grand structure of marble and granite, its facade carved with precise artistry. Imperial guards patrolled the premises. While it lacked the sheer wealth of the Imperial Treasury, the Exchequer still held considerable sums, hence the protection.

This was where the accountants managing the empire’s and royal family’s finances worked.

As they entered, the three were saluted by guards, while onlookers whispered and stared. They crossed the vast lobby, walked down a polished corridor, and stopped before a massive door. Carved into the granite beside it were the words: Fiscal Court of the 4th Prince.

This office was supposed to handle all monetary matters for the fourth prince—supposed to.

Aric pushed open the door. Disgust washed over him at the scene inside. The supposed accountants lounged about, drinking, gambling, and indulging themselves with courtesans.

The stench of cheap wine filled the air. Some men blinked in disbelief, others were too drunk to register reality, but there he was—the very prince they were meant to serve, striding through the debauchery.

Without slowing, Aric burst through a smaller door at the end of the hall, entering a confined office.

The man inside, mid-thirties, froze in shock as Aric and his guards stormed in.

"Aric..." he stammered, eyes flicking between the prince and the two guards.

Aric sat casually across from him. Zahai and Meholt flanked the desk, looming menacingly.

"Devan, my trusted treasurer," Aric said lightly. "It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

Devan’s shock melted into fear. Rumors of Aric’s beheading had reached him—this visit could mean nothing good.

"Y-Yes, Your Highness," Devan stammered.

"Well, I don’t have much time. Where are my funds?" Aric asked sharply.

"I—I’m not sure what you mean," Devan lied, trying to maintain composure.

Aric’s smile vanished. He shook his head. "Wrong answer."

Zahai slammed Devan’s head into the desk. A sickening crunch echoed as blood poured from his broken nose.

Unmoved, Aric repeated, "Where are my funds?"

Clutching his face, Devan lied again. "There is no such thing. The Imperial Court stopped funding your estate long ago."

Aric sighed. "Wrong again."

This time Zahai smashed his head even harder, shattering what remained of his nose. Devan’s scream tore through the office.

"Maybe third time’s the charm. Where are my funds?"

Bloodied and trembling, Devan hesitated. When Zahai raised his hand again, Devan broke.

"T-The third prince, Your Highness!" he cried. "He ordered all your funds moved to his fiscal court!"

Aric smiled faintly. "So... you’ve been stealing from one royal house to give to another. Interesting. Though I doubt the court needs that last detail before sending you to the dungeons."

"The Imperial Court is aware," Devan sneered through bloody teeth. "They know your house is a waste."

Those bastards.

Aric didn’t doubt it was possible. Which was why he had come prepared.

Leaning forward, he asked, "And you’d stand before the tribunal with that defense?"

Devan shook his head frantically. "I acted on the third prince’s orders!"

"Do you think Darius would admit to that?" Aric’s voice turned cold. "You know how he guards his image. In the end, whose word would they take—Darius, the sinless third prince... or a thieving treasurer?"

The frown on Devan’s face revealed the truth: Aric’s words had landed.

"What do you want from me?" Devan whispered.

"I know you’re now the main treasurer for the third prince," Aric said.

Devan flinched. "How do you know that—"

"Don’t ask stupid questions. I want everything he stole from me returned. Down to the last coin."

"That’s impossible!" Devan protested. "If I do that, I’ll face the tribunal anyway—and Darius will destroy me. I’d rather risk stealing from one prince than two!"

Aric laughed softly. Killing him would be satisfying, but useless.

Instead, he pulled a folded letter from his inventory and tossed it onto the desk.

Devan read it. His face drained of color.

"That, Devan, is a love letter you wrote to the wife of the Grand Duke of Harzaine. You describe, in revolting detail, how you planned to touch her body—and how you already had."

"H-How did you get this...?" Devan’s voice shook.

"Does it matter?" Aric leaned in. "If I deliver that to the Duke, not just you, but your entire family, will suffer a fate worse than death."

Panicked, Devan snatched the letter and shoved it into his mouth, swallowing it whole.

Aric only grinned—and pulled out another. "I have plenty more. Do you want another snack, or are you full?" His eyes narrowed. "Now. Will you return my funds, or should I pay the Duke a visit?"

Devan wavered, torn. Then, trembling, he opened his drawer, pulled out a stamped sheet, and drafted a signed order from the third prince’s fiscal court: a release of twenty million gold coins to the fourth prince’s vault.

With a shaking hand, he passed it across the desk.

"Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?" Aric rose, turning to Zahai and Meholt. "Have a conversation with Devan about why theft is a terrible habit."

Both men nodded as Aric strode out.

Back in the main hall, the courtesans were gone. The accountants—still half-drunk—stood stiffly, scrambling to look presentable.

Before they could speak, Devan’s bloodcurdling screams echoed through the door behind Aric.

"Please, don’t be alarmed," Aric said casually. "They’re only having a light discussion."

*******

A/N:

IMPORTANT: In this book, the term gold coins refers to a coin currency that is not made entirely of gold, though it is designed to appear as if it is. Two million gold coins (and any other future monetary amounts) should not be understood as equivalent in value to actual, pure gold.

If I ever intend for it to mean literal gold, I will make that clear.