Salvation of The Scum Fifth Prince

[11 - eccentric; the prince and the saint]

"Celine's coming, by the way." said Soren casually after barging into the barracks, making himself at home in the corner.

Vincent, who had gone to the barracks on his day off to relieve his stress, felt another headache coming.

He had expected nothing good when Soren had suddenly entered, but this was...

...a little more than unexpected.

The First Prince slashed at the training doll with practiced ease as he asked, "Celine?"

"There is only one Celine you and I would both know." replied Soren matter-of-factly.

In fact, he wasn't wrong, but there was no sane person who would think of the Death Saint when told in a such casual fashion, 'Oh, they're coming over.' as if inviting a friend to their house. Nor would they refer to such a person by their first name alone.

Vincent was sane, very sane.

Though he was fairly sure this trouble-seeing youngest brother of his would destroy that sanity.

"We cannot afford to offend the saint." warned Vincent coldly, believing that Soren had done something to invite her over.

The crazy Death Saint, Celine Isda.

A person who rejected even the emperor.

Soren frowned. "I invited her to heal Deimos."

"With what means?"

"I prayed, so she must've respected my devotion to her religion."

Vincent's sword missed the strike.

What sort of nonsense was this? It was the Death Saint he was talking about, not some random priest.

To begin with, what sort of reason was that?

Vincent slashed again. "It would do you well not to lie to me."

Soren glanced at him. "And it would do you well to believe me."

"With what proof? I haven't spoken to you directly and allowed you to live as you pleased," Vincent turned around. "But with what experience, should I believe in you?"

Well, Soren couldn't deny that.

"A fool will remain a fool, and if you wish to prove otherwise, then show it through your actions." continued Vincent, wiping the sweat off his face as he hung up with sword. "Behave like a prince, and I shall treat you like one."

"And my recent actions aren't enough?"

"For eighteen years of mischief, it is not enough."

Soren narrowed his eyes. "Then did you treat me with respect, when I was a child who knew nothing?"

"You say eighteen years, but at the very start, did you want me to be an obedient doll?"

Ah, this simmering anger in the depths of his chest as the words escaped his lips. Once again, the original's emotions trickled into his mind.

The real Soren had respected his eldest brother deeply, greatly admiring him as a child. Vincent was the person he wanted attention from the most and received attention from the least.

At least Erlen would respond in his usual prickly manner, but Vincent treated Soren as if he didn't exist. Thus, the admiration turned into desperation, and his misdeeds had become a sorry attempt for attention.

But Vincent never gave it to him.

Only cold, indifferent replies and the occasional warning.

There was a part of the original that hated Vincent, and Soren could feel it. But there was another part that still craved his attention, his words.