The Wastrel Prince Becomes Ruthless-Chapter 14

Chapter 14
Barely two minutes.
That was all it took for two lives to vanish—far too brief a time for death.
That was how long it took Yuwon to dispose of the two assassins.
He wiped the blood from his hands and dagger onto one of the corpses, then began to rummage through their clothes.
‘It’d be nice if they had something useful….’
Even if they were disposable pawns, they must have been hired by someone.
Several items far too fine for men of their skill spilled out from their garments.
Yuwon smiled faintly, satisfied with the spoils laid out on the floor.
“Good. This is excellent. Better than I expected.”
Three daggers, each slightly different in design and use; two small glass vials filled with poison; and about a dozen throwing knives, perfectly balanced for precision.
Every piece was crafted with skill—it showed even at a glance.
‘It’s fortunate I didn’t let them strike. My hunch that they’d be carrying poison was right.’
After quickly taking what was of use, Yuwon searched their bodies once more.
‘Wait—what’s this?’
Inside the inner breast pocket of the assassin whose wrist had been crushed by the steak knife, he found another small glass vial containing what looked like beads.
‘What could this be?’
He lifted the vial, inspecting its contents. It was soaked in blood from where it had rested against the assassin’s chest, yet by some stroke of luck the liquid inside was untouched.
‘An antidote? A toxin? Or maybe… a narcotic?’
It was something that existed in neither Yuwon’s memories nor Yurion’s. He cautiously removed the stopper.
Holding the vial at arm’s length, he waited. About ten seconds passed before Yuwon drew in a shallow breath.
‘So far, so good.’
He focused on his breathing, slowly increasing the intake as he brought the vial closer.
Soon it was right before his nose. This time he grew bolder, waving a hand over the opening to stir the air within.
Then, carefully, he inhaled.
‘What is this? Somehow… familiar?’
He could barely catch the faint scent unless he was nearly pressing his nose to it, yet there was something oddly recognizable about it.
‘Where have I smelled this before?’
While he was tracing his memory—
Tatadadak—!
Urgent footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Not just one person—many. The attendants of the Prince’s Palace were rushing over.
“What are you all standing for! Run! There’s been an uproar in His Highness’s chambers! Move, quickly!”
That voice—how could Yuwon forget it?
The sharp tone of Chief Attendant Marcellus.
‘That was fast.’
Yuwon hastily shoved the daggers and throwing knives under the bed, carefully tucking the vial away.
The glass bottles that needed delicate handling were hidden beneath the blanket.
Moments later, a frantic voice came from just beyond the chamber door.
“Your Highness, are you unharmed? It’s Marcellus! Forgive me, but if you do not respond, I fear I must commit an offense and enter without permission—”
“It’s open. Come in.”
There had never been anyone who entered his room without leave, so he hadn’t bothered locking the door.
Hearing the Fifth Prince’s steady voice, Marcellus exhaled a deep sigh of relief.
“Ohh…! You’re safe, Your Highness. Thank the heavens! Truly, what a relief! My word!”
Bang!
But as the door burst open and Marcellus stepped inside, his gasp turned into a shriek—he stumbled backward in shock.
“Chief Attendant, are you alrigh— Ugh!”
“Kyaaaah—!”
Those who followed him reacted no differently.
What greeted them was the sight of two corpses sprawled on the floor, drenched in blood—and the Fifth Prince himself, his body splattered with it.
The darkness of the room made it hard to see clearly, but the metallic stench filling the air left no doubt that what they saw in the shadows was indeed blood and death.
Marcellus, trembling, forced his voice out to ask after Yuwon’s safety.
“Y-Your Highness… what in the world happened here? Are—are you unhurt?”
With his back to the light, Yuwon spoke softly.
“Marcellus.”
“Y-Yes, Your Highness?”
“Don’t make a fuss. Nothing happened.”
His tone was calm—flat, even.
The next morning, the entire Imperial Palace was thrown into chaos by the news from the Fifth Prince’s Palace.
And as always, the first to hear of it was the Emperor.
“…So, no one else was harmed?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I heard that aside from the two assailants, no one was injured.”
“And the says the two men fought each other to mutual destruction?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. That is exactly what was conveyed from the Fifth Prince’s Palace.”
The Emperor’s face twisted in displeasure at such nonsense.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“…My apologies, Your Majesty. I have no excuse.”
“It’s fine. You merely repeated what you were told. I don’t blame you.”
Even the Emperor knew how absurd that explanation was.
The minister exhaled shakily in relief at the mercy shown.
“Your grace is boundless, Your Majesty.”
“Summon the Fifth Prince. I’ll speak with my son myself.”
Blindfolded and pretending ignorance—whatever scheme the Fifth Prince had for concealing the truth, no one could guess.
Of the three people involved in the incident, two were dead, and the one who survived spoke lies. It was inevitable that no one would know the real story.
But one thing was certain: not a single person in the palace believed the tale of two assassins killing each other.
The Emperor least of all.
“I anticipated as much, so I’ve already confirmed his whereabouts.”
“Oh? Then bring him here as soon as possible.”
“The thing is… though we found where he was, he left early this morning.”
“Left? At this hour?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Thinking you might summon him, I made inquiries at his palace earlier. The attendants there said the Fifth Prince rose at dawn and went to the Imperial Library.”
The Emperor raised his brows in surprise.
“The library? Him?”
A baffling boy indeed.
For years he’d lived like a wastrel, only to draw the White Dragon Sword and shock everyone.
Now, after being attacked in his own chambers, he calmly headed to the library a few hours later.
The Emperor, who had heard the news of the attempt before anyone else, had worried that the Fifth Prince would come running to beg for his life.
Had he done so, the Emperor would have readily become his shield.
‘But that would have been the end. He’d keep his life—but forever lose his claim to the throne.’
Yet, instead of crawling to the Emperor, the boy never even showed his face until summoned—
and when at last the Emperor inquired, he learned the boy was quietly sitting in the library.
“Shall I send someone to fetch him at once?”
“No. Leave him be. I’m sure he has his reasons.”
The Emperor, rarely one to smile, let out a soft chuckle of disbelief. He had been smiling more often these days.
“The library… so he hasn’t changed completely after all. Still fond of books, that one.”
* * *
Two hours earlier—
Yuwon, who had risen at dawn and shaken off his drowsiness with light exercise, sat alone at breakfast, deep in thought.
‘Yesterday’s ambush made it clear. The other princes see me as nothing more than a bug they can crush anytime they wish. A bug so weak it wouldn’t even twitch if stepped on.’
Being underestimated by an enemy wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. But being seen as something too pitiful to resist—that was dangerous.
‘At this rate, I’m in danger.’
He needed to build strength—quickly.
He had planned to dedicate himself to sword training and then, in secret, begin earnest martial cultivation. But that plan had changed.
‘That poison from yesterday! I know it. I definitely know it.’
He had no memory of it, and yet he knew.
It was strange, but true.
The poison didn’t exist in either Yuwon’s or Yurion’s memories, yet there was something hauntingly familiar about it.
He had never seen such a poison before—or perhaps he wasn’t even sure if it was poison. Still, his body remembered it.
Yuwon wanted to uncover the truth behind that poison.
‘Something stinks about this. That poison is deeply connected to Yurion. I need to find out what it is… and while I’m at it, I should build up some basic knowledge.’
Even now, people were waiting for a chance to take his life. To survive, he needed a foundation of knowledge and information about this world.
Though he could freely access Yurion’s memories, that alone wasn’t enough.
‘The memories this fool left behind aren’t nearly enough.’
The recollections of a scoundrel who hadn’t opened a book since the age of ten were worth little more than nothing. For Yuwon, the best option left was books.
The thing that made humans something greater than beasts—writing and books!
Across all ages and lands, the development of writing had shaped civilization itself.
‘And it’ll help me in this new life too.’
Books would allow him to gather quality information without arousing suspicion.
No matter how convenient the excuse of amnesia, he couldn’t go around asking about everything he didn’t know.
Fortunately, as a prince, books were easily within his reach.
From Yurion’s memories, Yuwon recalled the existence of the Imperial Library.
‘So this brat actually read quite a bit before he turned ten.’
That thought made Yuwon chuckle softly before he stopped thinking.
Perhaps it was Yurion’s old fondness for reading before becoming a wastrel, but at the thought of books, Yuwon felt strangely drawn.
“I suppose I can find the library easily enough… no reason to sit here wasting time. I’ll go myself.”
The morning after the attempted assassination, Yuwon set out early for the Imperial Library.
The Bartlett Family.
Since the founding of the Empire, they had never once failed to produce the librarian of the Imperial Library—a most peculiar lineage.
From the moment they were first granted a title, they had been assigned the curious duty of serving as librarians rather than ruling over land, and even after hundreds of years, the family still clung to that single role.
A strange house indeed—one that had never once sought power throughout the Empire’s long history.
Other nobles mocked them, saying that a noble without lands or subjects to rule was hardly a noble at all. Yet the Bartletts, treating librarianship as a sacred calling, showed no interest in such wealth or glory.
The current Imperial Librarian, Baron Hastings Bartlett, was much like his ancestors.
Except for the fact that, having lost his parents young, he inherited both the family headship and the librarian’s position at the comparatively young age of twenty-six.
As usual, Hastings began his day early, heading toward the Imperial Library.
The weather was fair, the sky clear, and a cool breeze stirred the air—perfect for light spirits and quiet reading.
It felt like the kind of day one might find a truly good book.
The day had begun well.
Thud—
Before long, Hastings arrived and pushed open the heavy doors of the Imperial Library. The sound echoed through the vast, silent hall.
‘Another day begins.’
Opening the library for the day, Hastings moved about the interior, drawing back the curtains.
Shrrk—!
The brisk sound of fabric followed, and soon warm sunlight streamed through the windows, filling the library with light.
‘Direct sunlight is bad for the books! I’ll just air the place out lightly while the morning sun’s still gentle, then close them again. The weather’s perfect for it today—just the right humidity, too.’
Everything about the day was almost unnervingly ideal. Normally, there would be at least some small thing amiss, but today, everything was perfect. A tune hummed from his lips.
“Hm-hm—”
Hastings hummed as he set a kettle to boil. The water soon bubbled.
While the tea steeped, he picked up the book he hadn’t finished the night before. Moving to a sunny window seat, he held it up to the light and took a slow sip of tea.
When he lifted the cup, the gentle fragrance of tea leaves rose with the heat and filled his senses.
‘Mmm… perfect. Just the right strength.’
Setting the cup down, the faint aroma of leather and aged paper replaced the tea’s scent.
The rich, mellow smell of timeworn pages mingled with the binding’s leather, tickling his nose.
“Well then, I’ll finish this chapter and sort through the new arrivals from last night.”
Few people ever came to the Imperial Library, so there wasn’t much work to do.
He was, after all, the administrator of the library—not a janitor.
Cleaning and menial tasks were beneath his duties. With such leisure, time was something he had plenty of.
Hastings, well aware of this, fully indulged in his slow morning.
‘Good… very good.’
Above him, warm sunlight streamed through the high windows; below, the entire library stretched out in view.
The highest seat in the library—the best one there—felt to Hastings like a throne.
And indeed, it was. To him, this small kingdom of books suited him far better than the blood-stained imperial throne ever could.
Seated on his own throne, Hastings read slowly, savoring the pages he had left unfinished the night before. It was a peaceful morning, the same as always—
At least, until an unexpected visitor arrived.