The Crown Prince Who Raises a Side Character-Chapter 69: Phantom Thief Dauphin (13). Violence Without Pride

Originally, the Count of Sarnos had no intention of involving himself in the affairs of Lebruk.

It wasn’t out of any respect for local autonomy—of course not. He was simply preoccupied with other matters.

Political battles within the royal court.

The division of the Birka royal family had become a massive opportunity for both the marquess and count houses—the kingdom’s largest power blocs. Whichever side succeeded in placing their chosen candidate on the throne would gain national recognition and potentially become the true power behind the crown.

No—more than that. They could turn the royal family into a puppet and rule the entire nation from the shadows.

What’s that?

“It’s just one of many third-rate kingdoms on the continent, what’s the big deal?”

“Why fight over a crumbling state when the prize itself is meaningless?”

Foolish thinking.

For the powerful, the pursuit of greater power is instinctual.

Even in backwater noble houses or petty business ventures, people scramble and claw for leadership. How much more so when the prize is an entire country?

“I’ll win this, no matter what! I’ll crush that beast-stinking marquess and make him kneel before me!!”

And Count Sarnos had more than political motivation—he had personal stakes.

His rivalry with the Marquess of Redvell went all the way back to their days as heirs, long before either had inherited their family name. Back then, the difference between them had been astronomical.

The Redvell house was ancient, yes—but had long since collapsed into ruin. The Sarnos house, meanwhile, had already earned fame as the kingdom’s strongest martial family.

But the Marquess of Redvell, with a kind of eerie brilliance and terrifying ambition, had grabbed his dying house by the roots and dragged it back into power.

A family once thought buried by history had risen high enough to stand face-to-face with the mighty Sarnos.

They were of the same generation. Both leaders of two of the most influential powers in the realm.

One inherited his position from his parents. The other built his with his own hands.

All across the kingdom—even the Count’s own parents—people couldn’t help but compare them. And Count Sarnos hated Redvell for it.

After he’d managed to land a political blow against Redvell, the thrill had gotten to him. He began to neglect his domain, spending every day drinking and scheming with the courtiers of the capital.

The retainers of House Sarnos found this troubling.

In their eyes, their lord was not the type for dark plotting and intricate political maneuvering.

He met the basic standards expected of a noble, yes—but there was no way he could match someone like Redvell, whose belly must’ve been full of coiled serpents.

“Wouldn’t it be more effective to stick to what we know and pressure them through force?”

“Even in gambling, you keep letting the sucker win just enough to get addicted. Are they stringing him along on purpose?”

“What if Redvell’s letting him get hooked on court politics, just to distract him?”

They had their suspicions—but no one voiced them aloud.

Because there was no proof. And because the Count was not exactly the type to take criticism well.

If you tried to give him advice while he was neck-deep in political fantasies, and it rubbed him the wrong way—well, best-case scenario, you’d be fired.

Worst-case? You might literally lose your head. He was famously hot-blooded.

Thanks to the retainers’ survival instincts, Count Sarnos remained blissfully immersed in court politics. With the most powerful man in the territory ignoring his lands, it was no wonder a mere phantom thief was left unchecked.

But even that had its limits.

“I hear that thief’s been giving you quite the headache lately. I do hope the matter is resolved soon.”

“Eh? Ah, yes, well...” fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

After receiving no response from the count’s house, the nobles of Lebruk had changed tactics. They began feeding news of Dauphin’s antics to the count’s drinking buddies at court.

And so, as the Count relaxed after a round of polo, he heard it for the first time:

“So, I hear your domain’s a mess these days?”

The good mood vanished in an instant.

When the head of the family returned home at last, his entrance was marked not by greetings—but by shouting.

“You couldn’t even handle one damn thief, and now I have to hear about it from other nobles in the capital?! What the hell have you all been doing?!”

“S-Sir, please—we—Kugh!”

CRASH! THUD!

After smashing furniture and bashing a retainer’s skull bloody with an ashtray, the Count finally slumped into his chair, breathing heavily.

He spoke with a dry, tired tone.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Dauphin, Dauphin... that’s the name, right? The second time I’ve heard it. Didn’t I tell the guard to handle it before it became a problem? Don’t tell me they didn’t pass that order down properly.”

“Of course they did! We relayed your orders exactly! The guard has been trying everything to catch him!”

“Then why the hell is this gnat still buzzing around my territory? Forget it. Don’t bother with excuses—they only make my ears rot.”

He didn’t care about reasons. He didn’t care about context.

What mattered was that a mere thief had bruised the pride of one of the kingdom’s most powerful men.

“Summon the knight commander. I want Dauphin’s head brought to me on a platter.”

***

No subordinate department ever welcomes upper-level inspections.

Especially not when they have something to hide.

So the closer the Sarnos Knight Order’s visit drew, the more ferociously the company commander of the city guard drilled his troops.

Cleaning was the bare minimum.

If your armor or weapon lacked a shine, you could expect to hear some very colorful remarks about your parents.

No exceptions were allowed—not for holidays, not for night patrols. Every single member of the guard was ordered to attend the knights’ reception in full gear.

“Welcome, knights. Thank you for coming all this way. Right this way, please—I’ll show you the way.”

Watching their commander bow and scrape to the knight order, the guards quietly clicked their tongues.

His intentions were obvious—try to curry favor with the knights and minimize the inevitable scolding.

Still, some of them sympathized.

Better to bow deeply now than get your head knocked off later.

But whether they viewed the commander with pity or scorn, none of them could have expected what happened next.

WHAM!

One of the ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) knights punched the commander square in the face, sending him crashing backward in a spray of blood.

The guards froze.

Even the civilians who’d come out to gawk at the knight order went wide-eyed.

But the knight didn’t stop.

He walked forward, grabbed the commander by the collar, and began raining punches down on him.

Each sickening crack of flesh and bone made the commander’s limbs spasm like a man being electrocuted. White teeth—no, molars—spilled from his mouth and scattered on the ground.

“What... what are you doing?!”

Dahlia was the first to come to her senses and stepped forward to protest.

But the knight ignored her.

And the rest of the knights stood still, watching with complete indifference.

When Dahlia moved to intervene by force—

A voice stopped her.

It came not from the knights, but from a man standing at their side—an older figure in a uniform similar to the guard’s, standing at the forefront of what appeared to be a command unit.

“You’re the platoon captain from Lebruk? Don’t interfere.”

“But...!”

“This is an order from the battalion commander. You plan to disobey your superior officer?”

The word battalion commander stirred whispers among the guard.

The highest-ranking officer in the city guard.

Those who didn’t recognize him turned to those who did, asking silently with their eyes.

Those who did... gave reluctant nods.

A knight from the Sarnos Order was brutalizing a company commander.

And the head of the guard—his superior—was standing by and doing nothing.

It was absurd. Unbelievable.

Dahlia, stunned, couldn’t move.

Then the knight in the most elaborate armor of the group spoke:

“That’s enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

The knight who had been punching the commander stopped immediately.

The man collapsed like a sack of meat, barely breathing.

His face had been pummeled into something unrecognizable—shapeless and grotesque.

The crowd was paralyzed in silence.

But the Knight Commander of the Sarnos Order showed no concern.

In fact, he seemed pleased with the fear in the air as he swept his gaze around and addressed them with cold authority.

“Effective immediately, the commander of the Lebruk city guard is relieved of duty and discharged from the guard. Until a new commander is appointed, command of the city guard shall be assumed by Battalion Commander Bover here.”

“Originally, the entire guard should have been punished for failing to apprehend a mere thief and disgracing the Count. But His Lordship has graciously decided to punish only the responsible party. Remember that mercy well—and carve it into your hearts.”

No one replied.

Not out of obedience—but out of fear that saying anything at all might draw attention.

The Knight Commander didn’t care.

He turned and walked away without so much as glancing at Dahlia or any other guards.

He headed toward the upper district—making it clear he had no intention of staying among the commoners.

“Ugh... agh...”

The former commander—now no longer a guard at all—lay groaning, tears streaming down his face through a shattered mouth.

He couldn’t even sit up on his own.

But no one moved.

Not a single guard approached.

Not even the other platoon captains—who had been flattering him only yesterday—lifted a finger.

In the end, it was Dahlia who stepped forward and helped him up.

Grit.

She clenched her jaw.

She didn’t have fond memories of the man either.

But beating him to a pulp in front of everyone, then tossing him aside like garbage...

She couldn’t accept it.

Calling it a “lesson” was laughable.

It was nothing more than petty, performative violence.

A punishment carried out not for justice—but for convenience.

They’d been forced to come all the way here because no one had handled one damn thief, so someone had to get beaten. That was it.

Dahlia looked after the departing Sarnos knights.

Their armor gleamed in the sunlight.

Their formations were perfect, their steps disciplined.

The Sarnos family had spent decades hoarding wealth from their territory to build these elite troops—designed to awe all who laid eyes upon them.

And yes, they looked the part.

But to Dahlia, they felt like hollow forgeries.

Power without honor.

Strength without pride.

Force without mercy.

All she saw was a machine for inflicting fear. A weapon—nothing more.