—
"But before that…"
Using his [Recall] ability, Gustave forced himself to relive all the sad memories of his life. He knew that if he wanted to weaponize his cute baby face, he had to give it his all—to invoke the deepest level of empathy from the people he planned to whine to, so they would become his staunch supporters.
"Y-Your Highness! Y-you're crying! I—I'm sorry, Your Highness! W-we will—"
"Stop it."
Pausing his [Recall] ability for a moment, with his nose runny and tears streaming down his cheeks, Gustave saw his trembling maids staring at him in panic. He understood that making a royal child cry—especially one not yet of age—was a capital offense that could get them hanged if they were deemed responsible. Because of that, he reassured them.
"Don't worry about me crying. It has nothing to do with you. This will just be a prop—to give the maximum effect."
Seeing their confused faces, Gustave didn't elaborate and instead continued reliving his sorrowful and fearful memories. His nose ran, his eyes turned bloodshot, tears flowed freely, and he shivered uncontrollably from anxiety. He accepted this amalgamation of emotions without suppressing any of it.
With a trembling, quivering voice, Gustave ordered his maids, "L-let's go. L-let's whine and snitch on Mother's good subjects."
Getting out of the carriage—before anyone in the entourage noticed them—he urged his maids to quickly enter the nearest bookstore. And because such stores were not common in this day and age, it took a bit of walking to reach their destination.
That, in turn, drew the attention of onlookers—or more accurately, they noticed him: a crying, trembling child dressed in a fine doublet embroidered with the royal insignia.
Combined with his deliberate movements to ensure the insignia was clearly visible to passersby, it didn't take long before people began whispering and gossiping among themselves as he passed.
While the talk had not yet spread far into the city, Gustave whispered to Rosemary, who was carrying him, to move faster—so that the moment he entered the bookstore would perfectly coincide with the rumors beginning to spread.
His goal was simple: to make the onlookers realize what was happening and who was responsible for making the youngest prince cry.
As the bell above the bookstore door chimed, Gustave's entire demeanor shifted—he locked in and began his act. The shop owner, who was about to greet them, froze in confusion upon seeing a maid carrying a crying child. His eyes widened in panic and trepidation the moment he noticed the royal insignia.
"Y-Your Highness, Prince… D-did I do something wrong?"
Shaking his head while feigning a shiver, Gustave replied with trembling lips, "N-no fault."
Turning toward his maids—who, though a bit confused and late to react, were starting to understand what he was doing—Gustave pointed toward a particular section of books about the gods and Melitele.
"T-there. Take me."
The shop owner followed them anxiously, completely bewildered as to what offense he could have possibly committed to make the young prince—judging by his age—the youngest prince, cry inside his store.
Gustave picked up a book that explained the correlation between the gods and the prosperity of common folk, though he made sure it looked to any onlooker like he had chosen it at random, without any specific intent.
Hugging the book tightly and caressing its cover as though his life depended on it, Gustave turned not to the store owner, but to Rosemary—the only one among his four maids who seemed to have caught on to his intent, judging by the knowing twinkle in her eyes.
"N-nana Rosemary… H-how much b-book cost?"
"I don't particularly know, Your Highness. Maybe two hundred ducats… or even five hundred."
Rummaging through his pockets and pulling out scraps of springs and bolts, he added another pitiable touch to the act, saying, "B-but I only have t-this much."
The shopkeeper's eyes widened in trepidation and outrage at the outrageous price the maid had casually suggested, and his heart nearly split in two at the sight of the youngest prince without a single coin in his pocket.
Before things could spiral any further, the man quickly interjected, "Don't listen to her, young prince! Everything here is free! You can take whatever you want!"
With a serious, tear-streaked face, Gustave shook his head and replied, "N-no. M-my mama Meve s-said good subjects w-work hard. So no become a burden."
Putting the book back on the shelf, he then turned to Rosemary, sniffled, and said while wiping his nose, "L-let's go to t-the next one."
"Your Highness—young prince! It's free! Everything's free! Argh!!!"
Watching the stubborn little prince refuse charity—and the foolish maid who clearly didn't know that books cost only a few dozen ducats at most—leave the store, the shopkeeper could only clutch at his hair in utter frustration. To make matters worse, he suddenly realized which book the prince had chosen.
"Oh, Melitele! Oh, my beloved Lyria and Rivia! I have sinned greatly! I have doomed my kingdom to ruin and stripped it of its prosperity!"
The onlookers who had entered the store and witnessed the scene were left stunned and bewildered. A prince—someone they believed to be wealthy and privileged—could not even afford a single book, with nothing in his pockets but scraps of metal.
The sight split their hearts in two, and many began to follow the young prince, hoping to persuade him to accept charity at the next store. But again and again, bookstore after bookstore, as the crowd following him grew larger, the youngest prince still adamantly refused to accept anyone's help—still hoping to find something he could buy with his own hands.
Finally, after trailing the young prince to a roadside trinket peddler selling scraps and curios for mere coins, they watched as he proudly bought a single rusty brass pendant—without using a single coin from his maids or anyone else.
Their hearts ached to the heavens as they saw the joy on his face over such a worthless little piece of junk.
"Nana Rosemary! Nana Brenna! Look! I traded and managed one!"
"Yes, Your Highness," Rosemary replied softly. "You managed to buy something. But, young prince… are you sure you don't want to use our money?"
With pure, beaming joy on his face, Gustave answered, "Yep! No maids' money. Work hard—don't become a burden."
Turning toward the carriage entourage waiting by the harbor, Gustave said to his maids, "Let's go. Already satisfied, I am."
He ignored the pleas and begging of the crowd around them, urging him to use their money to buy something. That, in turn, only made them even more frustrated—yet at the same time impressed by how well-educated the queen's youngest son was. So well, in fact, that it incensed them even further.
From the corner of his eye, Gustave spotted Reynard Odo, the noble entourage, and especially the anxious Caldwell at the very back, trying to push through the swelling crowd toward him. He now knew that the rumors had already spread far and wide across Rivia City—so much so that the entourage was scrambling to catch up with him.
It was time for the second act. Gustave murmured to Rosemary, loud enough for the nearby onlookers to hear, making sure they would understand who had caused his pitiable state.
"Nana Rosemary, thanks, fully. Even Caldbel gave no coins. I got something."
Realizing what the young prince intended by saying that, Rosemary played along, raising her voice just enough to correct his deliberate mispronunciation.
"Yes, Your Highness. Without Count Caldwell giving the funds Her Majesty set aside, the little prince still managed to buy something."
And just like that—like a spark landing on a field of gasoline-soaked dry wood—the name that was bound for condemnation spread like wildfire from one person to another.
From the corner of his eye, Gustave saw Caldwell at the very back turn pale as a sheet. Gustave couldn't help but smirk inwardly, knowing he had succeeded in weaponizing his adorable, tear-streaked baby face.
Now that all he needed to do was wait for the funding issue to resolve itself, Gustave decided to take a nap—exhausted from the continuous crying he had deliberately forced upon himself.
He knew that by the time he woke, the Count's ability to move and scheme freely would already be restricted, watched closely by many eyes—one of them being his mother's, who would surely hear of this incident.
The only question remaining in this little game was whether Villem would allow that gluttonous pig to remain in favor or not. Because if his eldest brother decided 'not to defend' Caldwell, then the trajectory of his life might finally change for the better—and House Caldwell would become nothing more than a footnote in history.
But if he does...
'Then instead of Meve deciding your fate like in Thronebreaker… I'll be the one to define it, eldest brother.'
—
After a two-hour nap that left the toddler feeling refreshed, Gustave was suddenly roused by a loud commotion outside his carriage. From the shouting, he could tell that one side was demanding his maids be hanged, while the other was defending them—and even threatening to rally the crowd again.
He couldn't help but curse himself for letting his guard down in such a delicate situation, especially when his fragile toddler body made even a single emotional outburst enough to leave him utterly exhausted.
Noting this side effect—something he'd never noticed while delirious in the middle of the night, since he would immediately fall asleep—he climbed down from the carriage on his tiny legs and dawdled outside.
"Reynard! Why are you hindering me?! I am just upholding the royal law, which Crown Prince Villem himself agrees with! Maids who allow princes to suffer—especially those not yet of age—must be hanged!"
"Caldwell, don't you dare twist the story! You're the one who clearly caused young Prince Gustave to suffer! Villem knows it, the whole city knows it!" Reynard shot back.
Villem, who had at first wanted to nod in agreement with Reynard's logic, frowned when he realized Reynard was calling him "young prince" instead of "Crown Prince."
It irritated him that he wasn't being addressed as a proper crown prince should be, unlike many nobles who followed him and his dear, cherished attendant, Goodman Caldwell, who kept addressing him with the proper title even though his parents had not yet officially conferred it.
Because of that, he held his tongue and let Caldwell handle the situation. After all, an entirely new retinue of maids surely wouldn't trouble his little brother—just as he himself had accepted the exchange of servants between his own attendants and the nobles' entourage.
"I'm only stating the king and queen's law! These four failed in their duties as royal maids: they betrayed him, concealed the true price of the book from Prince Gustave, and in their greed did not spend a single coin to help him buy his toy. There is no place for them to live!" Caldwell declared.
"Caldwell… I've said it again and again—don't twist the truth to make them scapegoats. Do you really think people here will fall for your obvious tricks?" Reynard replied.
Seeing the smugness written all over Caldwell's face, Reynard suddenly had an inkling that the nobles present had been bought off to keep the whole ordeal hushed.
But knowing there was one person—and an entire town—that could not be bought, Reynard warned him, "And do you think Queen Meve won't learn the truth? All of Rivia already knows about your deeds, Caldwell."
He paused and looked at him gravely.
"Withholding funds from the royal lineage is a capital offense—the penalty is drawing and quartering. And you… instead of simply giving the funds that Queen Meve set aside for young Prince Gustave, you withheld them with feeble excuses about wasting money. Wasting money on a book—something that could have enlightened the young prince to become wise and benevolent."
Looking at Caldwell—who was already as good as dead if not for young Villem's protection—Reynard finished, "Or is that your intention in the first place? To make the next generation of the Lyria and Rivia monarchy dumb and easily manipulable—"
Enraged and anxious at Reynard's train of thought, which had wandered into dangerous territory, Caldwell interjected, trying to change the subject.
"Reynard! It is within the law for the maids to be hanged! And as a noble, I demand that these four peasants be hanged—or even quartered—immediately!"
But before he could order his private guards to seize the maids, Caldwell's eyes dilated and his face went as pale as a sheet when he saw the devilish youngest prince standing outside the carriage, listening to everything. Worse, the words tumbling from the child's mouth made the situation even more damning for him.
"Waaa!!! Bad guy Calbell, hang Nana! Waaa! Calbell give no money, now want to murder family! Waaa, waaa!!! B-big brother Villem! B-big brother Anséis! Save me! Waaa, waaa!"
Hugged by his crying, pitiful little brother, Villem's heart softened. He decided to drop the whole matter immediately, assuming it was merely a misunderstanding—Caldwell simply didn't realize that his little brother liked buying books.
Still, he couldn't help feeling annoyed that Gustave treated the peasant maids like family. But for his little brother's sake, he had no choice but to let it go. Besides, knowing that Gustave was too young to understand social rank, he could at least make sense of it.
So, turning to everyone while consoling Gustave and patting his back, Villem declared, "Let's forget this whole incident. Don't let a misunderstanding fracture our harmony. There, there, Gustave. Everything is all right. Your nana is safe and sound."
Seeing his proud, gentle older brother smile and offer such flowery, empty words to smooth things over, Gustave inwardly spat. His brother's foolishness had nearly cost him his hands and the instruments he had grown attached to and chosen to invest in—the very tools that freed him from the helplessness of being a toddler.
Outwardly, though, he only nodded and thanked his brother. "T-thank you, Big Brother."
With the crisis averted, Gustave began plotting how to get back at Caldwell—this time physically, not just emotionally as he had two hours earlier.
The reason for his desire for physical retaliation was clear.
From the corner of his eye, and with his [Knowledge] of the situation, he noticed Mira's recent injuries—the handprint on her left cheek, the redness on her wrist, and the bruises on her feet—as if she had been dragged across the ground by a powerful guard.
—