Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

Soren exited the room with aching muscles and a tired body, but managed to walk straight outside. He didn't question why Vincent had the ability to enter his space — most likely; the King gave the key to him.

"You..." Getting a closer look at Soren's disastrous appearance, which was combined with the reeking scent of blood and sweat, Vincent's stone face showed some abnormality. "What were you doing?"

Soren lazily glanced at him. "Is it any of your business?"

"You plan to go to his room like that?"

"Didn't you say immediately?"

"Well, yes."

Soren squinted. "Then is there time to change?"

Vincent paused and regained his senses. There was no person who wouldn't be shocked seeing a person drenched in blood walk about so calmly, especially considering it was his youngest brother, the one person who seemed to not know the definition of 'hard work'. "Yes, you are correct. Follow me."

The exhausted young prince nodded and quietly trailed behind. Even if he was tired, he didn't forget to keep a close eye on his surroundings, mapping every turn in his mind.

Not that it would do much for his disastrous sense of direction.

But if he got lost and ran into somebody unpleasant... the only thing he'd be able to do would be to ask for help. Of course, Soren wouldn't hesitate doing so, but he'd rather not. He didn’t have a hobby of bothering people who dislike him.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive in front of another grand room, quite the distance away from Soren’s.

Before long, they arrived in front of a room far away from Soren's. 

Vincent stood at the side, waiting.

Soren asked, "Aren't you entering?"

Vincent shook his head. "He wishes to speak to you alone."

"I see. Thank you, First Prince, for leading the way." said Soren politely after some thought, pushing the door open and leaving behind a slightly startled man.

When Soren entered the room, he saw Deimos lying down, covered in bloody bandages that went up his neck, while his attractive face was now black and blue with bruises. He closed the door quietly and entered, sitting in a chair that had been pulled up by Deimos' bedside.

'This event... did not occur in the novel.'

There was no mention of the second prince experiencing a life-threatening incident, and if he had truly been in a state as worse than he currently was, there was no way it'd be unmentioned.

Thus, there were two possibilities.

One. The incident was covered up for some unknown reason.

Or two. Soren's appearance in the world had changed the progress of events.

If the latter was the case, then Soren had failed in paying his debt to the original. It wasn't save one, kill the other, but save one, and let the others be.

In a case like that, Soren would have to consider it more deeply.

Since the possibility existed, he would need to find a way to salvage the situation. That being said, if Deimos' situation was incurable, then there would be nothing he could do. Soren could not defy life, nor could he share his undying body.

However, he did not think Deimos would die. 

Even looking as horrible as he did.

"..so..r...en?" a low, raspy whisper came from the bed, and Soren looked up. 

It sounded as if it had been put through a grinder and boiled until it was nothing but a mess.

"Yes?"

"You... actuall...y... came." The Second Prince seemed to be gathering his words together, slowly forming more correctly, though his raspy tone didn't change. "I'm surprised."

Soren blinked. "Did you not ask for me?"

"…I did."

"I was told to come immediately."

"That... seems to be the case."

"So?" pressed Soren, shifting in his seat. "What's the matter?"

"That..." Deimos tilted his head slightly to get a better view of Soren and instantly stiffened. He could only make about splotches of deep red where Soren should be, from his blurry vision that wouldn’t stabilize for a while.

"You... what did you do?"

It was a familiar reaction.

Soren glanced at his clothes and apologized. Of course, it wasn't polite to visit an ill patient when coated in blood, no matter who it was. He wouldn't have, if Vincent hadn't urged him. "I came back from training, sorry. I planned to chang—"

"Wait." said Deimos, before bursting out into a fit of coughing. "That isn't the problem right now, little brother. I'm asking, why are you covered in blood?"

"Oh. Like I said, I was training."

"What kind of training warrants that sort of wound?"

"For somebody in critical condition, you sure speak a lot." stated Soren bluntly, though he could hear the strain in Deimos' originally honey-smooth voice.

Deimos smiled and almost laughed — if not for his injuries. "I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

"You're my little brother."

Soren stared at him quietly. Those words were a little too late, for the recipient had already left the world. Soren had conflicting feelings toward Deimos, who had not been cruel, yet only now showed this obvious brotherly love after all the years. But most likely, the original would want to save his life the most.

'More trouble.’

“How did you get injured?” asked Soren, changing the topic.

Deimos’ face turned sour as he grimaced in pain from the slight shift in movement. “Did you know I attended the auction?”

“I did.”

“The things I warned you about — I was attacked after I bought a weapon at the auction from somebody who wanted it.”

Soren frowned. A noble with the ability to surprise the mysterious, yet undoubtedly powerful illusionist, Deimos? What sort of weapon would urge somebody to go to such lengths to hire somebody that powerful?

“What weapon?” asked Soren.

Deimos smiled and shook his head stiffly. “A simple weapon, but perhaps there was some importance behind it to the attacker.”

Soren’s gaze almost pierced through Deimos, searching for signs of lie. However, deciphering human’s facial expressions wasn’t part of his expertise, and he found no faults.

“Prince Deimos, I didn’t know you needed a new weapon.” commented Soren casually, looking through half-lidded eyes.

“Oh, I was planning to train with a new one.”

“What kind of weapon?”

“A new sword that was selling during the auction.”

Soren’s gaze intensified before he leaned back and muttered a half-hearted, “Oh.”

There was little to be known about Prince Deimos, even with the addition of Soren’s memories, but there was one thing: 

Prince Deimos could not hold a sword.

It had been another casual remark from Vincent during his conversations with Raphael.

[“Your brother can’t hold a sword?” repeated Raphael, leaning on his elbows with interest.

Vincent nodded calmly. “There was an incident when he was young which left him useless with the sword. It’s not so extreme that he can’t look at them, but he absolutely refuses to use them.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Would he never consider using them?”

“Definitely not.”]

What incident had traumatized Deimos; only Vincent knew. But it was a fact that the likelihood of Deimos using a sword was small — though he doubted the original host would know. 

That’s why using an excuse like the sword would sound reasonable to anybody who didn’t know the truth. After all, wasn’t the sword one of the most common weapons?

Soren said nothing else about it and instead asked, “So, what was the reason you called for me?”

Deimos hesitated. “That... have you heard of the third religion?”

“I have.”

“Be careful of them.”

“That’s the important information?” 

“You have to be careful, they’re dangerous.” stressed Deimos.

Soren tilted his head. “The reason you’re saying that... is because they were the ones that attacked you.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Deimos heard it.

There was no room for denial. Under Soren’s knowing glance and the pressure from those cold, frosty eyes, Deimos could only nod.

“If you understand, then please avoid them, little brother.”

Soren tilted his head. “So what’s the chances of you dying?”

“.....” 

Deimos answered honestly. “It’s only 75/25.”

“Oh, not bad.” 

In his old world, a 25% chance of living was extremely good, so he thought little of it.

However, the Second Prince’s face turned sullen at Soren’s lackluster reply, but muttered, “...yeah, it’s good.”

Soren’s gaze trailed down the blanket and said, “Your legs won’t heal though.”

Deimos’ eyes strangely lit up.

“Yes... but don’t worry, little brother. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried.” stated Soren bluntly, not noticing Deimos’ depressed expression as his mind wandered off.

To live at the price of a few limbs — for most people, that was a luxury. However, that didn’t mean Soren would do nothing, not when he understood that the change in the storyline had a high possibility of being his influence.

Even though he hadn’t been flashy — though he made little an effort to be quiet either.

‘Such a troublesome body to reincarnate into.’ thought Soren once again.

Any other person would be better, whether rich or poor. The fifth prince of the Kingdom not only had four strange older siblings but also a high profile and many death flags. No matter who it was, they would think this was annoying, and Soren was no exception.

Regardless, he understood few things.

The Third Religion attacked the Second Prince. But the latter was lying about the reason behind the attack, and had also rushed to warn Soren regarding the issue. The person who attacked Soren in the beginning was also likely in league with the Third Religion, and the people who would oppose Raphael later were the same.

So the question was, what was the Third Religion?

And what was their relationship with the royal family? Or more specifically, Soren and Deimos?

[The Transmigrator's Last World] had been a story full of emotional turbulence, betrayal and journey. Soren wondered, in this world and his own, how uncommon was it for somebody to turn against you?

Soren was aware of most of the betrayals in the novel, but what if there was another person quietly waiting for an opportunity? That possibility couldn't be ruled out — after all, he hadn't completed the text.

Deimos, could he be trusted?

Even if he seemed to hide a large secret that almost risked his life?

It was almost certain to Soren that the relationship between Deimos' attack, his mysteriousness in the novel, and his treatment to Soren were all connected, in some way or the other. That much, even a child could figure out. What he couldn't understand was what exactly the secrets were.

Soren said, "I'm interested in swords lately. Can I see yours?”

Deimos seemed to have expected this. He weakly shuffled in the cotton white sheets and said, "Of course. Ask Vincent, he can show you to my room later."

"How much did it cost?"

"Not an amount that I couldn't afford."

"Do you like it?"

"Quite." said Deimos with a soft smile at Soren's inquiry. 

Soren looked at him through half-lidded eyes, looking as if he weren't paying much attention, although he was. Deimos, while continuing to speak to Soren, was getting noticeably paler, his voice slowly growing quieter. It seemed to be the Second's sheer willpower that allowed him to behave relatively normally in front of Soren, even in his critical condition.

Critical condition didn't mean Deimos had to be collapsed or unconscious. If he endured the pain, most wouldn't notice the truth. The attackers had been skilled, and Deimos must have used a sizeable amount of mana to fight — seeing as his magic ability was his weapon of choice.

There were only two problems right now. 

Vincent could likely find a method to preserve Deimos' life, since the Second Prince was not a useless character like Soren was. But even in life, Deimos would lose two things: his magic, and his legs.

His magic, however, wouldn't be completely depleted. They would simply they less efficient, less powerful.

Well, that was only considering Deimos wouldn’t die in a week.

"I'm leaving." said Soren suddenly, standing up as Deimos struggled to look at him.

"Ah? Oh... then, stay safe, little brother. Take heed of my warning, and ask if there's anything that happens, ok?"

Deimos was in no state to keep talking, and had called Soren all the way, resisting the pain for a simple warning. Soren really couldn't understand, but felt that the Second's words were genuine.

Soren paused, then nodded. "Okay."

He didn't look back as he pushed the door open, letting it close with a soft thud.

A solution existed for everything and for Deimos and there was only one thing that could help him: the Berserker Death Saint, Celine Isda.

If a saint was considered as gentle and innocent, Celine was the opposite. She was the saint of the Death God believers, but her personality was wild and voile, crude, to put it simply. She was like Brioc, who wildly painted the streets red, but she possessed incredible healing powers.

Raphael had spoken to her occasionally in the novel when asking for help, promising a duel in exchange for her powers. Celine, being who she was, could not have rejected.

Soren sighed. The fight would start soon, but he didn't know how long he could put off Deimos' legs.

He'd have to visit the Death God temple.

"Annoying." muttered Soren absentmindedly. 

"What is?"

Soren raised his head tiredly, realizing that Vincent had been waiting outside the entire time, his arms crossed and expression bland. Soren asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting."

"For?" Soren stopped, frowning as he considered something. "Are you waiting for me?"

Vincent's gaze turned chilly. "Why in the world would I do that? I need to check on Deimos' condition."

"I heard his chance of living was 25%."

"It's closer to 10%. He’s too optimistic. If there’s no cure, he’ll be dead within a week.”

Soren had assumed as much. The injuries were severe — but what kind of person was Deimos?

The young prince didn’t know, but he was certain that Deimos wouldn’t let his pain show... certainly not when he seemed to care so much for Soren, mysteriously so.

The amount of willpower the Second Prince had was hard to determine.

All the more importance to find Celine.

"So you didn't wait for me?"

Vincent scowled. "I did not."

"Oh." Soren wasn't ashamed at his misunderstanding — he was too busy being relieved that it was a misunderstanding. "Okay, bye."

"You..."

Soren stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"The illusion training room, you used it?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Vincent opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. He frowned deeply, rubbing his temples before he said, "Then go. Don't cause any more trouble, I can't clean up after you anymore."

Soren frowned, too. "You cleaned up after me?"

"On more occasions than you know." replied Vincent without hesitation.

"Thanks. But you don't have to do it again."

"What?"

"Because I don't know if the next trouble I cause will be as simple as my previous offenses." After all, he planned to take part in an illegal fighting ring, stole the book from the future protagonist, intended to run away and also involve himself on a large scale kidnapping of fox tribe members, while dragging Raphael to be his scapegoat.

There was quite the list, and Soren couldn't guarantee that he'd be able to keep out of trouble.

Vincent seemed speechless at his youngest brother's words and continued to furrow his brows. "You will be responsible for dealing with the aftermaths if you cause any more trouble."

"Okay." said Soren calmly, walking away without another word.

After settling his business with Vincent and Deimos, Soren felt rather relaxed. He would have to interact a little more with the Second Prince, but for the eldest, everything had been sorted out, and a line had been drawn.

But why was it that the princes seemed to attract death so often?

They were really unlucky.

Atlas' allergy which resulted in him contracting some unknown illness, Soren's murder while he was wandering and drinking, then Deimos' attack that would leave him immobile.

And now Soren had to deal with the two that neared death. 

"Damien." said Soren after entering his room.

The teenager appeared a few seconds later through the door, though who knew how long he had been following behind. It seemed that the fox cared less and less about acting as a normal human servant after witnessing Soren's change. Or perhaps he was readying himself to leave soon — he had already served by Soren's side for several years.

"Yes, master?"

"The information that I asked you to find, have you received news?" asked Soren as he flopped onto his bed, lazily leaning against a bedpost to look at the other.

Damien nodded, pulling out a pile of paper from Soren's desk and handing it to him. "Yes, all the information has been recorded here."

Soren didn't necessarily need to browse through it, since he already decided which of the locations he was going to go to. "Here. Make plans to travel to this town after the competition."

"If I may ask, why this town?"

"The Darkness Mountain is located nearby, isn't it? I'd like to look."

The Darkness Mountain had a cliche name, mainly because it had once been a normal, nameless place before the total area became shrouded in dark mana a hundred years back. Nobody knew the true cause behind it, but any who tried to venture up the mountain never returned.

More importantly, Tonio made a base at the bottom, far enough from the mana that they wouldn't go mad or lose their lives, but close enough that most wouldn't dare near. 

It was a perfect hiding spot for smuggling slaves.

Damien glanced at him lightly at this. "You wish to venture into the mountains?"

"No. I want to look at the bottom."

"...I see." The fox felt he understood this fake master of his, less and less as the time went by.

"Also, prepare the carriage for tomorrow. How long have I been in the illusion room for?"

"It had been a month and a half, master."

"The date of the competition is...?"

"The day after tomorrow."

Soren had already asked Damien to sign his name for the competition after revealing the news to the boy, so he didn't have to worry about anything other than showing up on the date. 

It had taken him longer than he had expected to complete the illusionary training, and Vincent's appearance had come at the perfect time.

However, Soren felt much stronger, more adapted to his body. Before, he was a soul in a vessel, similar to putting water in oil — it would always remain separate. But now he was like fruits and their seed, a complete part of each other. 

Like this, he could undoubtedly rise to the top of the competition.

"I see. We will go to the Death temple tomorrow, before the competition."

"Why is that, master?" inquired Damien.

Soren said, "To pray, of course."

"Understood. I will make preparations right away."

"Thanks. Now go, I want some time to rest."

Damien bowed and swiftly disappeared from his sight.

Now that he was alone, Soren fell against the soft confines of his blanket and stared up at the ceiling. Celine was not a complicated character, her interest in fighting obvious and honest. However, Soren didn't want to fight her, not when she was the type to grow interested in people who revealed any sort of skill.

Soren was confident — she would definitely have an interest in him after a fight.

After all, his movements were trained over a decade and more, unlike the taught skills of nobles in this world. There was an apparent difference between experience and textbook. 

So, of course, he wouldn't fight this fighting-addict.

But he could probably make a deal.

What was it that Soren, the broke prince, could bribe her with?

How about the locations of a certain strong protagonist who would undoubtedly grab her attention in the future?