Oath of a Professional Tyrant (2)
"Flogging?"
A maid's unexpected plea.
Lachiel was taken aback.
"What? Flogging? All she did was drop a glass. Just spilled a little honey water."
A maid so terrified of being flogged for such a minor mistake, lying flat on the ground in fear.
His expression hardened.
"No way."
Lachiel, the Crown Prince of this body. Had he really ordered maids to be flogged before? Judging by the maid's terrified reaction, it might actually be true.
He asked to confirm.
"Have I ever flogged you?"
Please say no.
Please say I'm not that kind of scumbag.
He desperately wished for it.
Perhaps his wish had been granted.
"N-No, Your Highness."
The maid shook her head violently.
"You have never personally wielded a whip, Your Highness."
"…Huh?"
Lachiel had never personally held a whip?
Wait—did that mean…?
"Then… did I have someone else do it?"
Silence.
"Really?"
"I-It was only because I made a mistake. I sincerely apologize, Your Highness."
Did she feel like she was being interrogated?
The maid looked even more ashen.
Lachiel's expression also darkened.
"So it was true."
He had suspected it, but hearing it confirmed still hit hard. He had ordered others to flog the maids.
Crown Prince Lachiel.
He thought he was just some sickly guy.
What the hell had he done?
A flood of questions rushed in.
He looked at the maid again.
"One more question. What exactly did you do to deserve being flogged?"
"W-Well…"
"It's fine. Just tell me."
"I… splashed water…"
"What?"
"On Your Highness's sleeve… A few drops… It got wet…"
"Wait."
"…"
"You mean, you got flogged just because a few drops of water splashed on my sleeve?"
"I-I'm terribly sorry."
"Hah."
Judging by her demeanor, she wasn't lying. The absurdity of it made him scoff.
"What the hell, Crown Prince Lachiel. You were that kind of person?"
Suddenly, he recalled The Dark Sword Emperor, the novel.
In that story, Crown Prince Lachiel was just a minor character appearing briefly in the beginning. Since he had little presence or significance, there wasn't much detail about his daily life or relationships.
He was just described as a sickly prince suffering from various ailments before dying young. That was it.
So that's what he had assumed.
Sickly. Pitiful.
That was the kind of character he had expected.
But now, peeling back the layers and getting a closer look…?
"This guy was more of a trashy tyrant than I thought."
The way the maid cowered at even the slightest mistake—it gave him a glimpse of what kind of person Lachiel had been.
He clicked his tongue in distaste.
"Tsk. Stop groveling and get up. I won't flog you."
"Huh?"
"Didn't you hear me? Get up."
The maid shot to her feet at lightning speed. But she still looked frightened, hesitating, as if gauging his reaction.
"I don't care. Just clean up the broken glass and go."
"Y-Yes, Your Highness."
She scrambled to clean up, seemingly flustered by the unexpected forgiveness. Watching her, Lachiel couldn't help but add:
"Be careful not to cut yourself."
Flinch!
The maid froze just as she was about to pick up the shards with her bare hands.
"You have a broom, don't you? Why rush and risk cutting yourself?"
"I-I'm terribly sorry, Your Highness. I almost sullied the noble floor with my filthy blood."
"No, that's not what I—"
"I swear, even if I bleed, I will not let a single drop touch the floor, Your Highness."
"That's not what I—"
"So please, just spare me from flogging—"
"That's… not what I meant…"
The misunderstanding deepened as she hurriedly swept up the mess.
Once the glass and spilled honey were cleaned, the maid fled in a panic—no, she outright bolted. She even tearfully thanked him for not making her fetch more honey water.
"..."
That expression.
She looked like someone who had just escaped from captivity under a deranged tyrant.
"What the hell, Crown Prince Lachiel?"
At this point, he was curious.
Luckily, someone was still around to answer his questions.
"Sir Gardin."
"Yes, Your Highness. You called?"
"Yeah, I did. But tell me."
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Sir Gardin had been staring at him with a strangely warm gaze, as if he had just witnessed an unexpectedly wholesome scene.
That somehow bothered Lachiel even more.
"And another question. That maid—why was she acting like that?"
"Hmm. I believe she was simply overwhelmed by Your Highness's generosity."
"Tsk. Don't sugarcoat it."
"…Pardon?"
"She said I had others flog her."
"Yes, she did."
"To be honest, my memory's a mess these days because I've been sick. So I need to ask—was it really over something as trivial as a few drops of water on my sleeve?"
"…Yes, Your Highness."
"Then let me ask again. Did other maids and servants go through the same thing?"
"Your Highness."
"Answer me first."
"…Yes, they did."
"I made them flog each other? Me?"
"Yes, Your Highness… But we still believe in you."
"Believe in what?"
"In your true nature, Your Highness. You were once known for your kindness and generosity."
"So you're saying… I wasn't like this before?"
"No, Your Highness. It was the illness that changed you."
"Tsk. That sounds like an excuse."
"It is the truth, Your Highness."
Sir Gardin firmly denied his words. But it just sounded like a well-crafted justification.
Lachiel frowned.
"Honestly, I think my memory has gotten a lot worse lately. I can't recall past events well. So tell me the truth."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"What kind of person was I? To you and the others?"
"Your Highness was, of course…"
"Be objective. Don't lie. I'll check with others too. And if I find even a hint of a lie, I'll boil up some weird potion and drink it right in front of you."
"…Excuse me?"
"I'll decide what to put in it based on my mood."
"Y-Your Highness?"
"So? What kind of person was I?"
"W-Well…"
His self-imposed hostage threat was highly effective.
Sir Gardin's mouth opened.
♣
After half an hour of testimony—
Witness accounts. Observations.
Objective evaluations and reflections.
From all of it, Lachiel reached a cold conclusion.
Crown Prince Lachiel was a hyper-sensitive, tyrannical, power-tripping boss.
Not inherently evil.
He had apparently been quite decent as a child.
But as he suffered from illness, he grew more and more irritable.
"At first, it was just little things. Then, he started crossing the line more and more."
Sir Gardin's testimony painted a picture of a prince consumed by hysteria.
—Yelling at the slightest annoyance.
—Throwing things in fits of rage.
—Unleashing every form of frustration imaginable.
Even ordering servants to flog each other, since he lacked the strength to do it himself.
"…Absolute worst."
Lachiel sighed.
He had a lot to fix.
And then, the next day—
The Emperor summoned him.