Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

"Sorry to keep you waiting." said Soren calmly as he sat across from the woman, moving into a comfortable position.

She studied him for a moment and smiled cheerfully. "Your highness, it's my pleasure to serve you today. I would've never imagined being given the opportunity to be in your presence like this."

Lydia Jones.

The tall woman sitting across from him today with her cropped chestnut hair and welcoming red lips was the 'Lydia' part of the name. 

A tricky person with a skillful tongue was the description given to her in the novel.

The interesting thing was, even though Raphael discovered the secret of 'Jones', the second person never made an appearance.

Perhaps they would've latter, had Soren found the missing pages.

“I’ve searched high and low to prepare the most exquisite variety deserving of your title, your highness.” said Lydia as she gestured to the open bags on the table, each filled with a different sweet.

"You prepared it quickly." remarked Soren casually.

Lydia said, “Of course! I prepared my best possible selection for you, your highness, the fifth prince. It was my greatest honour to do so, and imagining the joy across your brilliant expression would undoubtedly give me luck for many eons!”

The ability to sprout endless comments and sugar-coated words was an outstanding talent, well-suited for a merchant. However, for Soren, who cared little about flattering remarks and sweet kindness, it mattered little. 

He simply stared back indifferently, tiredness in his eyes. Such a scene was truly boring.

Despite his lackluster appearance, Lydia continued to beam pleasantly and spread out her hands. “Be my guest, your highness, to try any of these that are to your liking.”

Soren's frosty gaze swept over the dozen bags carelessly before they flickered between three.

Unlike the attractive sparkling colours of the other candies, the first one was a dreamy blue, with a white center which spiraled in a short stick, the second one resembled a lollipop, a mixture of inky black and midnight blue while the last one was a simple stick, with a plain yet appetizing flower at the top.

Lydia's eyes gleamed as she watched him narrow down his options, stretching an idle finger towards each bag, slowly dragging them before him. 

Lydia seemed to expect something.

Perhaps it was to judge whether she could make a sale, or maybe it was something else.

Soren didn't really care.

He reached into the second bag, popping a piece of the candy into his mouth and biting down, sweetness filling his mouth. It was a lollipop — or similar to one — but licking it would take too much time.

It was mellow, easily melting on the tongue into syrupy sweetness.

The prince paused, then reached into the first bag. He took a bite out of the stick, then another, and another, until the swirl of colour disappeared into his mouth, trailing down his throat as he swallowed.

A refreshing feeling washed over his soul, easing the throbbing pain that often plagued him, like soaking in cold water after a hot summer's day. It was sweet, with a bitter tinge that made one's taste buds flare.

Soren squinted at the bag and asked, "This candy... where is it from?"

Lydia glanced at it energetically and asked, "Do you like it?"

"Where is it from?"

“Unfortunately, our suppliers are a secret." said Lydia with a smile, raising a slender finger to her lips. "I apologize, your highness, but I can guarantee that it is from a safe and reliable source. However, I cannot reveal my sellers' information."

After saying this, she leaned forward slightly, eyes glittering as she observed his every move. 

More often than not, when she refused to explain, most nobles would lose their temper and throw a fit, believing in the ridiculous notion that they deserved to know everything. If she considered the rumours, the fifth prince should be even more ridiculous than any customer before..

Although Lydia didn’t expect it, not after observing him with her own two eyes.

As expected, Soren nodded. "Oh. I'll buy it then, send me a dozen bags every month, whatever price it is."

"Prince, pardon my rudeness, but are you sure it's wise to believe in my words as it is?"

Soren frowned. "Are you saying you'd dare lie to me?"

Lydia said quickly, "Of course not."

"Then why would I bother about 'what ifs'?" asked Soren, pulling the bag of candy into his arms as he waved at Damien to bring him the paper. "I'll directly give you the money. How much?"

She looked at him with her pretty, soulful eyes and said, "This time, it's on me, your highness."

For a second, Soren felt like he would be swallowed by those beautiful eyes. On his side, Damien tilted his head curiously at the woman’s bright eyes, glancing down at this master who soon regained his calm.

"I refuse."

Lydia froze for a second before her smile seemed to burn even brighter.

"I insist!" said Lydia, spreading her hands. "It's a complimentary gift for my most valued customers, praying to continue working together in the future as well."

"I'm not so poor to promise cooperation with a gift." said Soren, sinking into the couch with a nonchalant expression.

Gifts held other intentions and meanings, one that the receiver did not always know of.

Who was Lydia?

The face of the most brilliant merchant, 'Lydia Jones'. She was the one who knew more about the tricks and games in business than most people on the continent, Soren included.

To take her lightly would be to greatly overestimate oneself.

At his words, Lydia's smile grew a little sharper. "Are you cautious, your highness?"

"I trust in your abilities." remarked Soren cooly as her eyes flickered.

Her abilities.

Not her.

That implied that Soren indeed thought she may have ulterior motives, and he didn't doubt her skill to create loopholes and tricks. At this moment, Lydia realized.

'The fifth prince has changed.'

Thinking this, her demure changed from an originally relaxed and flattering aura to a prickly, alluring one. Soren didn't show any reaction, but Damien continued to look curious on the other side.

Lydia said, "The rumours of you seem to be very inaccurate, your highness."

Soren stared at the wall blankly. "No, they're quite accurate."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well—"

"Is that all?" interrupted Soren, glancing at the delicate watch wrapped around his wrist, clear eyes bored. "I haven't all day, Lydia Jones."

Lydia blinked, then laughed warmly. "Yes, of course. My apologies for disturbing you, your highness. I pray for a successful cooperation. Any requests you have I will do my best to meet." 

Soren remembered a text in the novel at her words.

[Lydia Jones had two ways of talking to her clients.

To those she could make money from and use, she would tell them: "Thank you for trusting my business, and I pray for a successful cooperation."

But to those who she viewed on an equal standing, for whatever reason she had, she would say: Any requests you have, I will do my best to meet."

What was the difference?

Only for the latter would she willingly use all her resources and reveal her genuine talents, but for the former, she would use her glib tongue and flattering language to avoid requests she did not want to accept.]

To think that Lydia would somehow find something in his words or mannerisms interesting enough for her to offer her hand to him. Soren couldn't figure out a reason — but then again, her cooperations listed in the novel were also quite random, with no similar points.

Soren stood up, glancing at her figure, which smiled up at him. "Thank you for your time, Lydia."

The woman's gaze darkened momentarily before she smiled and nodded, silently pondering. 

Lydia. 

Not Lydia Jones.

If it were any other person, she would assume it was a coincidence, despite how rare it was to be called by the first part alone. But for this disguised, notorious prince....

Her red lips curved up further, staring at the closing doors in deep thought.

From the other side of the closed oaken doors, Damien asked, "Are you satisfied, master?"

"Yeah. I got what I wanted." said Soren, biting into the chewy candy casually as he stuffed his hands in his pocket. "Is the carriage ready?"

"Yes, master."

"Okay." He started towards the exit, wandering around for a few moments in confusion before he said, "You walk ahead."

Damien glanced at him. “You don’t think it’s improper?"

Soren said, "I don't care."

Thus, Damien took the lead towards the entrance, walking in the opposite direction Soren had wandered to earlier. The prince quietly recorded the turns and landmarks as they walked, not saying a word. Whether Damien realized he was directionally challenged was a matter he didn't want to consider.

The carriage he had requested was low key, yet elegant and clean, fitting of a noble. He stepped inside, resting on the soft cushion before looking at Damien, who had turned the other way.

Soren, "?"

Then Damien jumped into the front to start the carriage.

'Oh, impressive.’ thought Soren as he leaned back lazily, only now remembering that the difference between master and servant was quite large. 

The ride was steady, earning another quite round of applause from Soren. Other than a few sudden twists, which Soren had the right to believe were intentional, and a couple of rocky grounds, everything went well. Soren hadn't been in a carriage before, so he was curious about the experience.

Reading about such a thing differed vastly from experiencing it on your own.

“We've arrived, master.” said Damien, opening the door in front of the grand theatre. 

The building had an old elegance to it, carrying a vast sea of history and memories that were vividly felt upon seeing it. 

Its delicate carvings ran up the pristine walls, a stone pathway leading to the large oaken doors.

‘Wow.’ 

Soren hadn’t seen something so grand in his lifetime. During the apocalypse, even a simple house was a luxury. Someone had ransacked or collapsed most during fights, glass and debris everywhere.

Damien wore a peculiar expression and asked, “What do you think of the building, master?”

“It’s beautiful.” said Soren honestly.

“You’ve never been here before?”

Soren paused, looking at Damien calmly. While the teenager’s words were simple and spoken normally, Soren could feel the probing. For the fifth prince, would he look at this building and think it’s beautiful?

Not only that, he’d probably have seen more magnificent structures. 

Did Damien want Soren to panic and admit to visiting the building, in fear of being discovered? 

If he really did panic, he might admit it in a rush — the likelihood of a prince having been to this building seemed high. Only, Soren was a lazy, flirtatious scum.

There was no need to hesitate.

Soren said, “I haven’t.”

Damien moved his gaze away. “I see.”

The minute the pair stepped into the halls, Soren felt the scorching weight of a dozen pairs of eyes piercing through his soul. He ignored it as he walked forward, waiting on the side as a young lady hurriedly approached him.

"Good evening sir, may I see your invitation?"

Soren gestured at Damien, who stepped forward, holding a delicate invitation card.

He smiled mildly, sharp eyes unsmiling and cold as he said, "This is my master's invitation."

As soon as the girl saw it, her eyes widened in surprise and she swung her head up, inspecting the person before her.

"T-this...!"

Soren lowered his eyes, the serene blue vibrant against the midnight mask pressed over his pale skin.

The girl swallowed nervously, her eyes wandering up and down. The man was extremely handsome, with an aloof and distant feeling that was both mysterious and enduring. His ebony hair was brushed neatly into a ponytail, the tip gently scraping against his shoulder while his clothes outlined his body and added to the imposing air.

Soren said, "Count Raphael. I am here in the steed of Prince Soren."

All nobles received an invitation, and it wasn't hard to get one if you had the right connections, but for commoners or anybody less than the highest class of people, it was near impossible. The only exception was for talented and respected individuals who built their name from scratch.

For a noble to have somebody else buy goods for them, it was a normal sight. If anybody questioned his identity in the future, he would simply shift the blame onto the protagonist. That was the use of his name, after all.

And if Raphael heard about it, what would he do? He didn't introduce himself to Soren, so he wouldn't dare imagine the person behind the identity to be Soren.

"O-oh, I see." stammered the girl, clearing her throat. She had rushed around all day that she paid little attention to anything, but after seeing the man in front of her, it was hard to look away. However, she still had a professional sense in her. "Please come this way Count, I will introduce you to the highest seating."

"No need. Show me to the private booth." said Soren, not wanting to accidentally encounter one of the other princes.

The girl nodded. "Yes, right away Count."

There were three areas in the auction hall. The highest seating was reserved for royalty and their representatives, the private booths which weren't as grand, but allowed for a sense of privacy, exclusive to high-ranking nobles and well-respected individuals, while the regular seating was on the ground level, among the many seats. 

Soren still wanted privacy, so he chose the private booth. With the invitation for 'Prince Soren', most of his requests wouldn't be rejected, lest the staff anger the prince.

"Here we are. If there is any trouble, please ring the bell, Count."

"Yes, thanks."

He moved forward, sitting on the velvet seat as he peered at the stage below. Besides him, on a table were simple condiments and a button. It was programmed to bid a specific amount of gold on top of the previous bid. If one wanted to say a larger number, they would press the button and call out.

Soren leaned back and asked, "How much is there?"

"Five million, master." said Damien, standing behind him quietly. 

Five million was a rather large number, although it would quickly disappear during the auction. Most items started in the hundred of thousands, but larger items would often start off in the millions. 

However, for the items he wanted, five million would be sufficient.

Soon after he sat down, the auction begun. 

The auctioneer stood on the stage with a booming voice and a wide smile — no doubt expecting the amount of gold he'd make in a few moments.

Soren sunk back into his chair in a daze as items were sold, one after the other. He really had no interest in most of the items, including typical powerful weapons or other luxurious items that were a rarity. 

Then, "Next up! We have a stunning chain whip, perfect for use and long lasting! Ladies and gentlemen, our seller discovered this while exploring in the Forest of Beginning and Ends, an unbreakable chain! Who knows what other mysterious properties lie within this simple metal?"

"Furthermore, a little hidden secret for you all! The team who found it grabbed this treasure while standing on death's door — what do you think? This beautiful chain, did it save them or did something else happen?"

It was an obsidian chain, the deepest abyssal shade, decorated with jagged spikes and finally attached to a simple black scythe that gleamed under the spotlight. It wasn't complicated, but elegant and charming all the same.

In the novel, a random noble had bought it for 200 thousand gold.

Several had bid on it, but compared to the more luxurious things with well-known properties, few nobles were willing to pay large amounts to get this seemingly simple chain.

There was something they didn't know.

The actual name of the chain was [The Wrath of Uriel], a weapon tied to the archangel Uriel after she committed the sin of wrath, and a portion of her power thrown into the mortal realm as punishment. It belonged to the 'Cursed Tattoo Set', a power dropped by one of the seven archangels or seven deadly sins in the mortal world. 

Raphael collected several of these in the novel, and if Soren remembered correctly, the 'God' behind the third religion had also obtained several of them.

The noble who had bought it attempted, only to be driven mad by the weapon's bloodlust and burning anger. It was similar to the blades Damien had gifted Soren, but it wasn't pure insanity, unlike the blades.

It fed off of memories of violence and wrath, forcing the user to find more memories if there weren't a sufficient amount. For Soren, that wasn't a problem. He had memories of the original, which were full of unreasonable moments of extreme anger, and his own memories, dyed in a brilliant red.

He moved forward slightly, gazing down at the stage.

"Starting on 50 thousand gold! Anybody?"

"Okay! 50 thousand gold for number 87!"

"100 thousand for number 45!"

"Oh? Is that 150 thousand for number 53!"

“Wow! 200 thousand for number 39! Going once... going twice.. and...!"

"One million." a cold, youthful voice echoed in the hall from above. 

Everybody looked up in surprise, and even the auctioneer was surprised before he continued, "One million for number 99! Going once, going twice, and.... sold! Sold for one million to number 99! Please pick up your purchase after the auction!"

Above Soren, in a luxurious private booth, Vincent frowned. 

If he had heard this voice two weeks ago, it would only be familiar, but still unrecognizable. After all, his youngest sibling never carried traces of imposing command and dominating indifference in their voice. However, he had heard it several times as of late, and remembered it well.

He turned to the girl who had just brought him a glass of wine. “What is the name of the noble behind number 99?"

The girl looked up in surprise before lowering her head. Identities were confidential, but she could not refuse royalty. She remembered the charming man she had showed to the room and said, "The owner's name is Count Raphael, your highness."

"Raphael?" a magnetic tone wondered from the shadows.

The girl stepped back in surprise, and a hooded figure stepped out, posture lazy but arrogant. He seemed to be smiling, but the darkness in his gaze made people take a step back.

Vincent glanced at the man and gestured the girl to leave before asking suspiciously, "Do you know him?"

The man's bottomless dark eyes flickered to the prince and then drifted back to the stage. He crossed his powerful arms together, back lazily pressed against the wall as a curious smile played at his thin lips.

“Well,” said Raphael, with an interested look. “I wonder?”