The Crown Prince Who Raises a Side Character-Chapter 64: Phantom Thief Dauphin (8). Playing with the Law

A grief-crazed woman screaming out in rage is one thing. But a man who looked so plain and harmless, calmly stating it as though it were obvious—that hit differently.

As the bystanders glanced around uneasily, the man continued without a hint of hesitation.

“As for who might be second-most guilty, that’s a bit more debatable. Could be the lord of the domain, who’s ultimately in charge. Could be the company commander of the Guard. Or the legal official who declared the tax officer innocent.”

He addressed the old woman gently, even as he spoke blunt truths.

“I won’t say this Guard officer bears zero responsibility. But I will say, she’s certainly less guilty than those I just mentioned. Of course, I understand why she might seem like a convenient target. After all, those other people... if you’d thrown water on them, or brandished a knife—well, they would’ve probably had you killed on the spot. This young lady didn’t. In that sense, your choice was relatively wise.”

The old woman’s eyes trembled.

Having someone call out the truth she’d been trying not to face, her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed where she stood.

Her figure looked like a candle that had burned itself down to nothing. Bystanders shook their heads or clicked their tongues.

Then, the man leaned down beside her and spoke softly.

“And besides—Dauphin may have failed, but he hasn’t been caught. The ‘real villain’ you mentioned will eventually get what’s coming to him. Wouldn’t it be a shame if you didn’t stick around to witness that?”

The old woman’s eyes flew open.

It was as if he’d reignited a flame she had nearly let go out. The man straightened up with a shrug.

Right at that moment, nearby patrol guards noticed the commotion and approached, barking out.

“You there! What’s going on here!?”

The man adopted a strangely deferential tone as he answered.

“Oh, this elder here was just trying to give the young lady some gifts, but she was in a bit of a hurry and tripped, is all.”

“Hmph.”

The guards glanced around—the scattered fruit, the old woman sitting on the ground in stunned silence, and Dahlia, soaked to the skin with tomato dripping down her hair.

Dahlia wasn’t in uniform. One of the guards, not recognizing her, directed the question at her.

“Is that true?”

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

The shopkeepers around them all swallowed nervously.

They knew Dahlia well. She always treated them kindly. But none of that changed the fact that she was still a squad captain.

And not just any captain—the one rising rapidly in prestige lately. If she told the truth, the old woman—and maybe even they themselves—could get dragged into something ugly.

But Dahlia didn’t identify herself. She didn’t report the old woman’s actions either.

She simply nodded.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Yes. It was just an accident, no need to worry.”

“...?”

The guard looked momentarily puzzled at the sound of her voice, but since she wasn’t using the clipped tone she usually had on duty, he brushed it off.

“Hmph, well... if there’s no issue, we’ll be on our way.”

After the guards left—

Looking at the mess she’d become, the man turned to Dahlia.

“You could use a wash. I’m staying nearby—would you care to come with me?”

Dahlia looked at him quietly for a moment... then gave a slight nod.

***

In the city of Lebruk, the term “Upper-Class District” carried a double meaning.

On one hand, it simply referred to the areas where the wealthy and socially prominent lived—the “upper class” in terms of status. On the other hand, it literally described the neighborhoods built on the upstream side of the river running through the heart of the city.

Lebruk was a city structured around a central river and its bridges. The further upstream one went, the better the infrastructure became—clean water, sewage systems, filtration facilities, all in good order. But downstream? The facilities grew sparse and poorly maintained.

As a result, one of the simplest ways to tell a district’s status in Lebruk was to check whether the buildings had bathing facilities.

In the upstream neighborhoods, homes used water freely, with nearly every mansion boasting full bathing areas. But the further downstream you went, the rarer even drinking water became—much less a place to bathe. Not only did private homes lack such luxuries, but public bathhouses were practically nonexistent.

By that measure, the mansion the man brought Dahlia to was... a reflection of middle-class aspiration. It wasn’t large or extravagant by upper-class standards, but it had one feature that stood out: a surprisingly well-equipped bathing area.

Even some noble estates didn’t have a rain-style shower head like the one in this house.

—Shhhhhh.

Under the pouring water, Dahlia had time to think.

‘...Was I too quick to follow him?’

No matter the circumstances, it wasn’t exactly a great look—for a woman to go straight to a man’s house and use his shower after their very first meeting.

If her subordinates in the 8th Squad ever found out, they’d definitely overreact. Say she lacked caution, that all men were wolves, and throw a fuss.

Still, she hadn’t said no for one clear reason.

She owed him. And at the very least, she should offer a proper thank-you in return.

And besides... if he was the kind of man with bad intentions, she’d deal with that when it came to it. She could defend herself just fine—hands or no weapons.

Step.

Dahlia finished her shower and walked over to where she had set her clothes, only to pause when she spotted a clean change of clothes neatly folded next to them, along with a small hourglass.

A note had been left nearby.

“─I debated whether to wash your soiled clothes but figured that would cross the line from courtesy into rudeness, so I’ve left them as-is. The clothes beside them were bought cheaply from a clothing store—please feel free to use them.

I’ve just stepped out due to an unexpected errand but will return before the hourglass runs out. I ask for your patience until then.”

“...Well-mannered, isn’t he.”

Dahlia wasn’t especially sharp when it came to romance or social cues, but she wasn’t so dense that she missed this.

“Unexpected errand,” huh? She could guess the real reason. He’d given her privacy—knowing it might make her uncomfortable to change clothes or emerge from a bath with him still around.

She looked back and forth between her dirty clothes and the fresh outfit... and chose the new ones.

Sure, she could’ve just put her old clothes back on. But after someone had gone to the trouble of showing such respectful kindness, it felt ruder to not accept it.

The fit was a bit loose—he’d probably eyeballed her size—but not uncomfortably so. Honestly, if it had been too perfect, that would’ve raised more questions.

After getting dressed and tidying herself, Dahlia waited in the central room of the house. Just as the last grain of sand fell in the hourglass, the front door opened.

The man returned, wearing an apologetic smile.

“Ha-ha... I must apologize. Leaving a guest alone like that—terrible manners.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“...Lie? I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well, if you say so, then sure.”

Once he took the seat opposite her, Dahlia bowed her head deeply.

“Thank you for earlier. If you hadn’t stepped in... things might’ve gone very badly.”

“No need for thanks. I was just meddling of my own accord.”

He waved a hand dismissively.

“I haven’t been in this city long, but it didn’t take much to see that you and your 8th Squad are trying your best to keep people safe. To think the price for that effort would be blame from the very people you protect—it just didn’t sit right with me.”

“...I don’t think she had much choice. It probably took everything she had just to speak her resentment aloud. That pain... it must’ve festered inside her for a long time.”

“Even so, I don’t see how it justifies lashing out at someone doing their best on the front lines.”

His tone was unwavering.

There was a certainty in his words—the kind that came from true conviction.

“The one who hurt that woman’s daughter—the one who drove her to her death—he should pay for that. Not you.”

His words were meant to comfort her. But Dahlia couldn’t accept them.

Her expression hardened.

“Thank you for saying so. But you should watch what you say. Criticizing the city’s nobles or officials can be considered slander—and that alone is enough to get you arrested.”

“Oh? Is that written in this city’s laws?”

“It’s actually ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) part of the Kingdom of Birka’s laws.”

“I see. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The man nodded surprisingly obediently, and Dahlia allowed herself to relax just a bit.

Too soon.

“Then, may I ask a few questions?”

“If I can answer, I’ll do my best.”

“What punishment does the Kingdom of Birka prescribe for a noble who violates and drives a citizen to suicide?”

“...”

A shadow crossed Dahlia’s face.

“If a noble murders a tax-paying citizen... three years imprisonment. Or a fine of twenty-four royal gold coins.”

“And did the tax officer in question serve time? Or pay a fine?”

“...There was no proof that the officer harmed her. The case was ruled a suicide.”

“I see.”

His response was calm.

Almost as if he had expected it.

Dahlia looked down, stung by guilt.

“So, if proof had come out... the officer would’ve just paid the fine, correct? Better than going to prison.”

“...Yes,” she said after a pause.

She agreed. That’s likely what would’ve happened.

“And that fine—does any part of it go to the victim’s family? Or even just a symbolic apology? Some kind of condolence payment from the estate?”

“...In some territories, the lord may offer a gift at their own discretion. But...”

“So nothing mandated by law.”

“...No.”

The admission felt like dragging glass from her throat.

The man tilted his head thoughtfully before speaking again.

“That tax officer—he’s the son of Count Sarnos, isn’t he? So, the ‘fine’ would go... to his own father.”

“...Yes.”

“So the son of Count Sarnos kills a girl, and not only is there no compensation to the victim’s family, but he can just pay off the crime using his own family’s money, which ends up going right back to his own household.”

“... ...Yes.”

Dahlia shut her eyes tight, her voice small.

She was scared to hear what he’d say next. Scared, yet unable to stop listening.

And then came his voice:

“Then how about a game?”

“...A game?”

She lifted her head, confused.

“Yes. Let’s say you could rewrite the law. However you want. Be it fantasy or daydream—just speak your mind.”

“...What are you even—?”

The man, so plain and unremarkable, now wore a glint in his eye. Mischievous. Dangerous. Familiar.

He looked at her and grinned.

“My first law would go like this: ‘Anyone who makes another person cry—no mitigating factors, no excuses—gets the death penalty!’”

“...What the hell did you just say?”

The gloom that had weighed her down just seconds ago evaporated.

Dahlia’s eyes snapped wide open, blazing with fury.

The man just smiled wider.