Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 157 The Death of Suhril

Exter, Dragon City, Valhalla.

Lord Byrne Mailke, Lord of the House of Heroes, stood quietly in the corridor outside the Hall of Heroes, watching the snow falling slowly outside the stone window, lost in thought.

The guards of the White Blade Guard stood watch all around, their eyes sharp.

Michael could no longer recall how many times he had watched the snow fall in the North like this throughout his more than forty years of life.

The king's personal guard captain, the current leader of the White Blade Guard, Nikolai the Meteor, walked up from behind and stood beside him.

Lord Milek did not turn around: "This year's extreme cold is expected to be quite severe."

“Yes, old friend,” Nicolai said, squinting at the heavy snow outside the window, a strange smile spreading across his face.

"Do you remember the days when we first joined the White Blade Guard and trained in the freezing snow?"

“Of course,” Lord Myrk, who had been an official for many years, smiled slightly as he recalled the past: “Kaslan was just like you now, always with a sour face, training us to the point of exhaustion… We secretly called him ‘Iceberg,’ and even when we talked in our sleep every night, we cursed him to die early or never find a wife.”

“Until his wife came to see him at the camp,” Nicolai laughed, “she made Monty’s eyes pop out… God knows how ‘Iceberg’s’ wife could be so beautiful, it’s so unfair!”

Michael's gaze drifted into the distance.

Yes.

He still remembers when he first joined the White Blade Guard more than 20 years ago, the famous "Earthshaker" commander, Kaslan Lumba, used a leather whip to drive them, a group of "new recruits," out into the freezing cold outdoors at four in the morning—even though those who could be selected for the White Blade Guard must be iron-blooded men who had experienced the front lines.

"Feeling cold, right? — The north wind and the bitter cold, these are the most generous gifts the Lord of the Mountains has given to the people of the North! They make you stronger, tougher, and more unstoppable!" These were Kaslan's words at that time.

Michael still remembered his old boss's massive body, comparable to a snow bear, and his face, covered in frost but still fierce: "Stop dawdling, take off all your clothes and run—there's hot water at the finish line. If you can't run within half an hour, you'll freeze to death on the way!"

Thinking of this, Myrk's eyes flickered, and he asked Nicolai, "Are you still continuing that 'greeting ceremony'? All the new guards have to run a lap naked in the freezing cold?"

“Of course, we were utterly humiliated back then,” Nicolai chuckled, “wouldn’t it be a shame not to let the newcomers experience it too?”

Michael and he exchanged a smile.

At that time, in the White Blade Guard, the almost invincible legendary Kaslan was in his prime, "Blood Hammer" Dominic had not yet died in the White Mountain, and always wore his signature hateful smile, smilingly helping them count the laps. "Unquenchable Flame" Tyrande was still carrying his silver and black immovable bow, and every move he made was majestic.

At that time, three of the future "Five Generals" gathered here: Serri Nikolai was a cocky, smug soldier who looked down on everyone and hadn't yet earned his nickname "Meteor" at the fortress. No one believed that this troublemaker who was always getting beaten up could become Caslan's successor. Isaiah Sollian, later nicknamed "Thornwind," was known as "Prince of the Guard" because he complained about his food every day. Seven years later, he would witness the legendary battle at the Thirty-Eight Watchpoints. And probably no one would believe that the terrifying "Deathraven" Ned Monty was back then a vulgar crossbowman with shifty eyes who liked to ramble about the size of girls' butts.

They were all young, passionate, and fierce warriors, each more proud and impulsive than the last. To this day, Michael still remembers how Nicolai was tied to a stake in front of all the new guards for disobeying orders, and how he was whipped with a barbed whip by Kaslan until his skin was torn and bleeding, and how he groaned while biting on a piece of wood.

Under Kaslan's cruel hand, they were forged into His Majesty Nunn's most reliable spearhead and the most solid dragon guard. They fought bloody battles on the glacial defenses of the Watchtower, in the deep valleys of the White Mountains, in the complex Golden Corridor, and in the tragic Dragon Fortress, leaving behind the remains of countless comrades. They wept in sorrow when defeated, sang war songs in fierce battles, and drank heartily after victory. In the end, they engraved their names on the platinum pages of the "Book of White Blades," ranking alongside those heroes of the North since the ancient empire.

Those days felt like a dream.

Of course, there was also that young man with a cheerful smile who hid his identity and trained with them—he had once fought with me for a bowl of meat soup.

That bastard.

Thinking of this, Michael couldn't help but smile slightly, then his eyes dimmed.

Michael sighed: And now, even his own daughter is twenty years old.

At this moment, Nikolai sighed: "The time has come."

Michael pulled his thoughts back to the deepest recesses of his heart, turned around, and bowed slightly to the two small figures beside him: "Please come with me, Miss Alex."

"It's past four in the morning!" Alex Walton, a pretty girl who looked like she had just been dragged out of bed, was wearing a thick robe. She rubbed her sleepy eyes with one hand and breathed hot air into her mouth with the other, her face full of anger. "Can't we talk about this tomorrow morning?"

Lord Myrk looked at Alex and couldn't help but sigh inwardly.

This girl is spoiled rotten.

As a result, her temperament became just like that of the daughters of merchants or nouveau riche nobles.

This is not a good thing—especially since she is the last direct descendant of the Walton family, even though she is a girl.

“I’ve already said—this is His Majesty’s order,” the lord nodded slightly, his expressionless face. “And please believe me, what follows is crucial to your future, Your Highness.”

The king's granddaughter turned her head away and snorted coldly, expressing her resentment and anger.

Alex pulled his robe tighter, then glanced behind him, his childish voice full of dissatisfaction: "But why bring her here—that lowly maid!"

Michael frowned slightly.

Behind Alex, a thin, shivering girl with platinum blonde hair and large black glasses, dressed in light clothing, took a timid step back upon hearing this.

“It is still His Majesty’s order,” Lord Mailke replied calmly. “We must obey.”

Alex stopped talking and glared at the little rascal behind her, who hugged his arms tightly, looking aggrieved.

Michael nodded and led the two little girls toward the Hall of Heroes.

Alex yawned and held his head high with arrogance, while the little rascal shrank back and followed closely behind. Occasionally, when he caught sight of a fierce-looking guard with a white blade, he would take a small step back in fear.

At that moment, Nicolai, who was behind Michael, suddenly spoke up and called out to him.

“Byrne, do you remember when we raised our swords and swore our sacred oaths to the Book of Legacy?” Nikolai took a deep breath, his eyes filled with nostalgia for the past: “The last few lines?”

Michael found Nicolai a little strange today—he wasn't usually this nostalgic.

Michael stared intently at Nikolai, trying to find something in his old friend's face.

“Of course,” but the training from back then had become ingrained in his instincts, so Michael chuckled lightly, then straightened his face and said, word by word, “My blood is my swear, my body is my proof, my blade is my witness, my soul is my sacrifice…”

Nikolai's eyes flashed, he nodded, and together with Michael, he said the next sentence with a complicated expression: "To resist powerful enemies, we must fight every battle until our blood is spilled."

The guards standing beside the two men immediately became serious, and they all silently pressed their fists to their hearts.

"Defend life, be fearless of sacrifice, until the extinction of mankind."

Alex, who was waiting, rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently.

The sly little brat beside him, however, looked at the serious-faced guards with eyes full of excitement.

"Protect the future, uphold our beliefs, until the sun and moon fade."

“This is the new oath of the White Blade,” the little rascal couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “In the year 1386 of the Imperial Calendar, Sel Arend found the ‘Book of White Blade’ and rebuilt the famous White Blade Guard, combining the ancient oath of the White Blade with the imperial knighthood oath…”

“Shut up, you idiot!” Alex interrupted her sharply. “You’re annoying.”

The little rascal's eyes reddened, and he lowered his head deeply.

Nikolai and Meilke looked at each other and recited the last line in unison:
"Passing on hope, radiating glory, until all things sleep forever."

The two were silent for a moment, then smiled at each other.

Michael nodded, and he led the two little girls into the Hall of Heroes.

The person he respected most, King Nunn VII, who had just finished a duel, was sitting on the steps at the edge of the hall.

Beside the king sat the celestial messenger who had caused such a stir among the courtiers—the young and precocious Prince Thales Star.

Both remained silent, their moods sour, as if they had just had an unpleasant conversation.

Michael brought the two puzzled little girls to the king.

“Your Majesty,” the official nodded to the king and stepped aside, “Miss Alex.”

Thales looked up.

what happened?

He looked at Alex, with her brown hair and blue eyes, and the sly little boy behind her who didn't dare to utter a sound—seemingly frightened by the situation before him.

Alex sensed his gaze, and the teenage girl glared back at the Star Prince without hesitation, causing Thales to frown slightly.

This is……

My future wife?

Still troubled by the secret he had just learned, Thales involuntarily turned his head away and sighed.

This action made Alex pout in dissatisfaction.

"Grandpa, what's wrong?" Alex Walton, the only remaining direct female descendant of the Grand Duke of Dragonsreach, pouted and said sweetly to the expressionless King Nunn, "I'm so tired right now..."

The little rascal hid behind Alex, peeking out cautiously and curiously at Thales, whose eyes were dull.

What happened to that boy?
Are you unhappy?

King Nuen VII did not answer his granddaughter's question; instead, he scooped up another cup of wine from the barrel beside him and took a small sip.

“Mairk,” the old king’s weathered voice rang out, “my granddaughter will marry this boy.”

"As a former member of the White Blade Guard and my subordinate, what would you do?"

Michael frowned slightly.

Although I had expected it, when I actually heard it...

"what!"

Miss Walton exclaimed in surprise.

Alex's small eyes widened, her gaze fixed on Thales in disbelief. "Grandpa, you want me to marry...this...this..."

"I want him to be my husband?" Alex's breathing quickened as she looked at the listless Thales—the boy she had met in the library that afternoon who had even lectured her on the spot—and a wave of resentment washed over her.

"He's skinny and small, and not even as tall as me!" Alex turned around angrily and said to his grandfather, "It's more like the little rascal should marry him!"

The sly little brat behind her immediately turned pale and cowered.

"Come on, Miss Alex," Thales, who was in a terrible mood, had no energy to maintain a relationship with a teenage girl. Without looking up, he said indifferently, "Marrying you is nothing to be happy about."

Alex was taken aback, then his anger turned to rage: "You..."

But just then, Michael's voice came in time, interrupting Alex who was about to lose his temper.

“Despite His Highness Thales’ noble birth, who comes from the stars—if it is your will,” Lord Mailk bowed respectfully, subtly reminding Alex, “I will be loyal to him as I am to Miss Alex.”

King Nuen stared at him for a full three seconds.

“Indeed,” King Nunn then turned to Thales and said, “I believe you have already seen him. This is Byrne Mailer—back when he was in the White Blade Guard, he was Suriel’s most trusted subordinate.”

Suriel?
Thales' expression shifted.

Is he King Nuen's eldest son?

He looked up at Michael, who turned his head and nodded respectfully in response.

Alex, still fuming, was about to speak, but a stern look from Michael silenced him.

It seems—Thales thought to himself—that this ill-tempered young lady still listens to this former subordinate of her father.

“Then, to thank you for your help, and to prove that there is no longer any hostility or conflict between us, according to the custom of the North,” King Nunn squinted, raised his wine cup, and placed it in front of Thales, “take a sip from my cup—Star and Walton, from now on we are friends.”

Thales frowned and looked at the old king with a puzzled expression.

What is he doing?
To reaffirm my identity to Alex and Michael? Or to reiterate our relationship?

is this necessary?

The Prince of Stars pondered for a few seconds, then sighed: "You know, Rumba of Black Sand Territory did the same thing—pushing a glass of wine in front of me and inviting me to form an alliance with him, but I refused."

“A wise choice,” King Nunn said with an amused expression. “And now?”

Under King Nunn's piercing gaze, Thales pursed his lips.

“Shouldn’t you wait until tomorrow, release the ravens, and then wait for my father’s reply?” Thales asked tentatively. “What if my father has other opinions…”

“That’s between your father and me,” King Nunn said, his firm gaze proving his serious and earnest attitude. “But you are you, Thales, not the son of Kessel Star, or the second prince of the Star Kingdom—this has nothing to do with whether you will marry my granddaughter or whether Star is allied with Walton.”

“I am only asking about your attitude, Thales,” the old king raised his glass, his gaze intense, “whether you are willing to dissolve your hostility towards me, and your hostility towards the Walton family?”

"It's just you."

Thales' heart skipped a beat.

He suddenly realized that this was the first time since becoming a prince that someone had asked him such a formal question, solely to "Thales".

Rather than any ancient or important title that includes the word "Tails".

Thales looked at King Nunn.

Finally, Prince Star sighed.

“Of course.” Thales silently accepted the king’s wine glass with both hands, looking at the half-full glass of rye wine inside.

Under the cautious gaze of Myrk, the puffed-up face of Alex, and the curious yet nervous look of the little rascal, the old king smiled.

Thales closed his eyes and took a small sip.

He thought he had a general idea of ​​what alcoholic beverages were like in this world—Yara's Sunset Bar kitchen often had different drinks available, and Thales had certainly tried them all—but it wasn't until this sip went down his throat and down his stomach that he realized that even in this world, different drinks were not the same.

At least, the rye spirit exclusively supplied to King Exeter was truly...

"Cough cough cough..." Thales slammed his glass on the steps and began to cough violently!

The pungent, strong smell of alcohol surged up, passing through his throat, mouth, and nose, and reaching his brain!

In his past life, captured in fragments of memory, he was the type who would pass out after just a sip of alcohol. Thales didn't know if this body in this world would be any better, but he knew for sure—he was absolutely unsuitable for strong rye liquor!
"Cough cough..." Thales coughed until his face turned red and tears came out.

“Hahaha,” Nunn laughed heartily as he looked at him, “maybe we should start with something lighter.”

Thales felt his face burning.

“It’s alright…Kaslan told me,” Thales finally composed himself. He looked at his glass with a bitter expression, gave a soft snort, and shook his head, saying, “Children who don’t drink won’t grow up.”

Michael's expression shifted.

Kaslan?
Upon hearing this name, King Nuen's smile suddenly froze.

The little rascal seemed to have heard of the name before; her eyes lit up behind her glasses, and she stared at Thales with great interest.

The king's expression was subtle, and he looked at Thales with a strange gaze: "Kaslan?"

"That old man who sells wine in Black Sand Territory?"

The smell of alcohol slowly left Thales's mouth and nose, and he chuckled somewhat guiltily.

Did I say something wrong?
“Um,” he stammered under King Nuen’s gaze, “I heard Putilai say that he was once your captain of the personal guard and the previous commander of the White Blade Guard.”

King Nuen's gaze lingered on his face, making the latter quite embarrassed.

Until the king's voice rang out again.

“The best Ekster has ever had,” King Nunn sighed, “though it’s not entirely fair to say that to Nikolai.”

Lord Myrk, standing to the side, nodded slightly, and at the same time, gave Alex, who was left standing there, on the verge of tears and about to have an outburst, a warning look that startled him.

King Nunn pondered, "Kaslan, you've met him... He mentioned me to you?"

“Yes,” Thales smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Kaslan said you used to be a good king.”

King Nunn VII was slightly taken aback, but then he slapped his thigh and burst into laughter: "Hahahaha!"

"'Once upon a time'?" King Nuen quickly grasped the key word, and then burst into laughter without any restraint. "That's a really good word!"

Thales was taken aback, and could only shrug helplessly.

The king's laughter echoed in the empty hall.

Michael lowered his head slightly.

King Nuen stopped laughing, exhaled, and seemed to be reminiscing about the past.

“Tell me, what exactly did that old man say about me?” King Nuen chuckled and asked.

“He said,” Thales carefully observed King Nunn’s expression, “you are also human. You will grow old, and one day you will be misled by flattery and ingratiation, and be controlled by desires and impulses.”

The smile on the king's face vanished.

His eyes flickered several times, his expression uncertain.

This caused Thales' mood to fluctuate wildly.

Finally, King Nuen let out a long sigh: "I cannot say that he is wrong."

The arena fell silent once more.

“Now, Thales, why not offer our beautiful lady a drink as well?” King Nunn suddenly spoke, raising his glass to Thales and nodding slightly in Alex’s direction: “Given your future relationship.”

Thales was slightly taken aback when he took the glass.

What's going on here?

To make that seemingly arrogant young lady... drink?
Lord Myrk, who was watching from the sidelines, also looked puzzled.

"Ah?" Alex's face changed. She looked at Thales in horror, then at the iron goblet, and then shook her head resolutely: "No, Grandpa, I don't want to..."

King Nuen looked at her silently, his eyes cold.

Alex seemed frightened by the old king's gaze, and her voice gradually weakened.

But the king's granddaughter seemed unwilling to give up. She frowned, then her eyes suddenly lit up. She turned around and pulled the little rascal over: "Her! Let her drink! She's my maid after all!"

Caught off guard, the little rascal was suddenly pulled out by Alex. The bespectacled girl looked at King Nunn in terror, then at Thales, almost bursting into tears: "I...that...no..."

Thales squinted, looking at all this with puzzlement.

Just then, Michael's voice rang out at the opportune moment:

"Miss Alex!"

The king's aide stared sternly at Alex, his eyes filled with unyielding anger: "Enough of this nonsense!"

Alex's voice faltered, and she seemed to shrink back in fear.

“That’s your grandfather, your king—it’s his order!” Myrc pulled Alex aside without hesitation: “Go, obey his orders, whether it’s wine…”

"It's still your marriage."

Under the stern reprimand of Myrke and the urging gaze of King Nunn, Alex reluctantly stepped forward.

She reluctantly took Thales's wine glass, her eyes red-rimmed, and glared fiercely at the innocent Thales before looking pitifully at King Nunn—but the latter remained unmoved.

Thales shrugged, indicating that he was powerless to help.

Having no other choice, Alex pouted and, in a mixture of pain and anger, gulped down a mouthful of wine.

Alex angrily threw down his glass, glared at Thales, and a few seconds later coughed from the spiciness.

The king chuckled softly.

“Mairk, this reminds me of Suliel’s drinking capacity,” King Nunn laughed. “I once heard Kaslan say that when he was training with the White Blade Guard, he drank a lot of people under the table.”

“Yes,” Myrk smiled and nodded. “His Highness Sulir is… very generous and can drink a lot.”

“Yes, I remember, you two were quite close?” King Nuen looked up at Myrk, a nostalgic look in his eyes.

“We met when you had him train in the White Blade Guard under an assumed name,” Myrk smiled slightly and nodded. “He was not only a prince, but also my comrade and friend—I still remember his hearty laugh.”

King Nuen smiled.

Ignoring Alex's disapproving gaze, Thales watched as the king and his minister reminisced about the past, focusing on the eldest son of the king, Suril Walton, and began to ponder: Should I leave?
"Yeah, he's a guy who likes to laugh a lot—that's a lot like me."

“Unfortunately, he married a wife who was always frowning,” King Nuen sighed. “I remember that every time they dined in front of me, they didn’t even look at each other.”

"Lady Adele comes from Vine City in southwestern Cornmas, where the climate is warm and humid. She is also the daughter of a marquis and is not very used to the harsh life in the North," Lord Mailke glanced at Alex and sighed. "Miss Alex has clearly inherited many of her mother's traits." Alex pouted for the third time.

King Nuen scoffed lightly.

“Thales,” King Nunn suddenly looked up and stared coldly at him as Thales was about to take his leave, “I told you, my eldest son did not die in an accident—he was assassinated.”

Michael's expression shifted slightly.

Suriel?
He glanced at Thales, then at King Nunn, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back.

But the old king's next words made Michael truly turn pale.

“Tell him, Myrke,” King Nunn said calmly, “how my son, Suliel, died.”

Thales held his breath, looked at Milek, and a new question arose in his mind.

Not quite right.

The king's eldest son? Why bring up something from so many years ago?

Moreover, King Nunn's maneuvering seemed somewhat unnatural—did he bring up the topic intentionally?
Alex seemed to realize the seriousness of the topic, and she quieted down, a slight fear on her face.

"Your Majesty," Lord Myrk objected, his face grim, "as Prince Thales is..."

But King Nuen interrupted him.

“Tell him! He needs to know,” the old king said coldly, grabbing a wine glass from the ground, “from the process to the result.”

Michael stared blankly at King Nunn—whose expression had become extremely serious and terrifying.

Sensing the awkward atmosphere, Alex lowered his head, took a step back, and bumped into the little rascal.

"What's wrong?" Thales carefully controlled his tone. "Your Majesty, you just said it was an assassin from the stars, right?"

Michael was taken aback, seemingly not expecting that Thales already knew.

King Nunn gave Melk a stern look.

Thales rolled his eyes, observing the situation, and felt a pang of regret for not having slipped away sooner.

The atmosphere seems a bit tense.

The official sighed and finally spoke:

"That was twelve years ago, in late autumn or early winter."

Thales's heart skipped a beat: Twelve years ago?

Wouldn't that be...

"Prince Suril took Lady Adele and Miss Alex, who was not even a year old, out to Dragonstreet for a hunting trip."

“Because I was originally in charge of Prince Sulir’s safety, Nikolai assigned me to lead a squad of melee guards to protect them,” Myrk said, his eyes lowered, his voice low and painful, as if the memory was unbearable: “But the accident still happened.”

Thales listened quietly without saying a word.

"I don't know if it's a coincidence, but Harold Lumbar—the eldest son of the previous Grand Duke of Black Sands—was a guest in Dragonsreach at the time and also went to the same place to hunt," Milek said, pausing for a breath, but his voice began to tremble slightly.
"That assassin... was mixed in with Harold's retinue."

Thales squinted.

"The assassin infiltrated under Lady Adele's carriage, waiting for Prince Suliel to return after his conversation with Harold, and then..."

Michael clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and exhaled.

King Nuen sat silently on the steps, his face expressionless, his eyes filled with numbness.

“I fired a signal crossbow bolt to call for help,” Thales said. He could tell that the day that Myrk had gone through must have been quite painful and difficult. Myrk’s eyes were closed and his face was twitching. “Nikolai intercepted the assassin on the road… but in the end he still got away.”

"Prince Sulier was severely injured and lost a lot of blood; he died on the spot... Lady Adele also..."

At this point, Myrk closed his eyes in anguish: "I failed to protect them..."

Alex kept her head down, staring blankly at the ground, while the little rascal behind her didn't dare to utter a sound.

A few seconds later, Lord Myrk finally recovered. He swallowed hard and said mournfully, "Although there's no evidence, the investigation in the dark room is quite certain..."

"That assassin came from the stars—or even directly from the court."

Thales frowned.

Not really.

An assassination twelve years ago?

But weren't the stars going through a bloody year back then?

His thoughts were interrupted.

King Nuen gently raised his head, his voice heavy and sorrowful:
“Thales, twelve years ago…”

"Our expedition south to Xingchen was not without reason."

----

In the Star Kingdom, in Eternal Star City, there is an unnamed underground location.

“Clang!”

The sharp metallic clang of an iron gate being roughly pulled open echoed clearly in this dark place.

Two torches soaked in eternal oil were lit, and two men dressed as guards appeared in a dark corridor.

The firelight illuminated the left and right sides—cells made of thick iron bars.

With the sound and the light of fire, a commotion broke out in the cell.

"Damn it! Don't you have any sense of time?!" In a cell, a neatly dressed but poorly made-up man, who appeared to be an aristocrat, lay on his bed, seemingly just woken up, and angrily muttered, still half-asleep: "It's definitely midnight or the middle of the night! If this were in the past, in the Foreign Affairs Department..."

The two guards holding torches ignored him, seemingly used to it.

They respectfully stepped aside, making way for a robust figure in the middle.

"Your Majesty, Your Majesty Eddie! You've finally arrived!" It was a disheveled old man with a bewildered yet fanatical expression. Stimulated by the lights, he rushed forward, shaking the iron fence frantically and shouting wildly, "Please, you must consider my words! Even if you don't consider yourself, what about Prince Midil? Are you willing to hand over a star riddled with holes to him?"

At the signal of the burly figure, the two guards exchanged a glance, walked ahead, and began to lead the way.

The prisoners on both sides woke up one after another, and their behavior varied, but most of them were shouting abnormally or frantically.

“You’ll all die, ha ha ha,” roared an old prisoner lying on the ground, “Even royalty, you’ll all die… How dare you, how dare you… ha ha…”

The three figures ignored everything and continued on their way.

“Look who we’ve welcomed,” a rather imposing middle-aged prisoner leaned against the bars, squinting at the firelight. He seemed quite lucid. “Isn’t this the Fifth Prince, the disgrace to the royal family? Why aren’t you working hard on women’s bellies for your pitiful bloodline, instead of coming here to stand in the cold wind?”

“It wasn’t me, it really wasn’t me!” a prisoner cried, clutching his head. “I didn’t even touch Prince Bancroft’s glass! No! It was Jenkins, he poisoned it!”

“Norfolk, yes, Norfolk,” a prisoner with his back to the corridor muttered to himself as he carved something on the wall. “I know what he’s planning, behind Duke John’s and Earl Calabrian’s backs…maybe it’s related to the rebels. I’ve suspected him for a long time, but that wretched woman, Sonia Satherley…”

The three of them continued walking forward.

"Hey! Kid!" A prisoner with a scarred face lunged at the fence after recognizing the newcomer, roaring, "How's the Western Front going? After you captured the Desert God Altar, have we retaken Fang Dunes? What about the orcs? What about the eight tribes under the Dragonbone Throne? Tell me! Tell me now!"

The robust figure ignored the sounds from both sides and continued straight ahead.

Two calm-looking guards led him into the next area. Here, instead of open-air bars, there were rows of sealed cells enclosed by heavy iron doors. Each iron door had only a single horizontal lever, serving as the sole connection between the sealed cell and the outside world.

Two guards led the newcomer to a room at the very back, and one of them knocked loudly on the iron door.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Another guard looked at the robust visitor, who nodded slightly.

So the guard grabbed the bolt controlling the gate on the iron gate and pulled open a hole just big enough to fit half a face.

The cell was pitch black.

And a frightening silence.

It lasted for a long time.

Until a rough, booming voice slowly drifted from the dark, sunless cell:

"What a pleasant surprise!"

"What brought the great Iron-Fisted King before a traitorous duke?"

The two guards bowed slightly, inserted the torches into the grooves on the back wall, and left respectfully.

In the firelight, a scruffy, haggard face appeared on the gate of the iron gate.

The prisoner in this cell, the current Duke of the North, "Iron Eagle" Val Arend, stared sharply at the person outside the door.

Outside the door, King Kessel V, the supreme king of the Star Kingdom, gently sat down on a chair that had been prepared long ago outside the cell.

“I’ve come to talk to you about what happened back then,” Kessel said calmly, his face expressionless. “The fall of the North during the Red Year.”

Val's expression changed, and he disappeared behind the iron gate.

Then, suppressed laughter came from the cell.

In the flickering firelight, Kessel remained silent, not uttering a word.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” the Duke of the North said coldly after he had finished laughing. “At the height of the war, I wasn’t even in the North—my father, brothers, wife, and sister were the ones facing that war.”

"If you want to talk, go to the Prison River and talk to them."

Kessel gazed silently at the bottomless darkness beyond the gate and exhaled softly.

“What I want to tell you is the true cause of the war,” Kaiser V’s voice was as powerful as ever, but with a hint of sorrow and despondency, “the invasion of Exter.”

There was a moment of silence behind the iron gate.

"What do you mean?" Val's voice came slowly.

"The rebellion back then was terrible. The entire Blade's Edge Territory and half of the South Bank Territory... plus the Bone Tribe and the orcs of the Western Wilderness Territory, a third of StarCraft's lands were engulfed in flames," Kessel said calmly, as if recounting something utterly ordinary.
"And after the rebels turned against us... we didn't even have a single army ready to fight."

“So your uncle was sent to recruit a new army,” Val scoffed from behind the iron gate. “The Star Legion.”

Kessel nodded, though he knew Val couldn't see:
“Ext saw an opportunity. King Nunn VII frequently contacted the dukes—the invasion of the Northern Dragons was almost a foregone conclusion. They had set a schedule for conscripting troops, who would head south to the stars next spring.”

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

But the Duke of the North soon realized something was wrong.

"Wait, you said next spring?" Val's tone changed:

"Impossible! Exter clearly invaded that winter!"

This silence lasted particularly long.

Kessel let out a deep sigh.

“Yes, that was their original plan,” the king said in the deepest, most muffled voice from the bottom of his throat, “but due to an accident, they moved up their invasion schedule.”

Val's face reappeared behind the gate.

His face was icy cold as he stared intently at Kessel outside the cell.

He realized something was amiss.

"What unexpected event?" the Duke of the North asked anxiously. "Why did Exter bring forward the schedule?"

King Kessel stared at the ground, motionless.

“Answer me,” Val gritted his teeth.

"Answer me, Kai!"

Kessel took a deep breath and looked back at his former close friend.

"When we received the intelligence from the North, the entire court was gripped by fear: rebels, the Bone Tribe, and Exter—StarCraft was powerless to fight on three fronts," Kessel began slowly.
"Therefore, our court put forward a plan."

"Delaying Exster's invasion schedule."

An unprecedented chill swept over Val's heart.

"Delay?" the Duke asked unconsciously.

Kaiser nodded expressionlessly and said, "Provoke conflict between Dragonsky City and Black Sand Territory, so that they are too busy to invade."

"boom!"

Val lunged forward, grabbing the two railings on the gate, gritting his teeth and staring intently at Kessel: "What do we do?"

“StarCraft has dispatched assassins, mobilizing all its forces, targeting the two heirs of Dragonrise City and Black Sand Territory, Suliel Walton and Harold Lumbar,” Kessel’s voice grew increasingly hoarse, as if a force was consuming the strength within his robust body.
"That assassin should have framed the other for the death of one of the heirs—creating an irreparable rift between Dragonsky City and Black Sand Territory."

Upon hearing this, Val's breathing became heavier and heavier.

"But an accident happened."

“For some reason, the assassin was exposed,” Kessel said slowly, “and Sulir—Nun’s eldest son—was also dead.”

Val turned his back to the iron gate, his expression unreadable.

“Although no evidence was left, Nunn knows that we were the ones who did it,” Kessel closed his eyes. “What’s worse, it also exposed our true strength—telling them that we are powerless to resist the northern army.”

“You know what happened next,” Kessel slowly opened his eyes, his voice full of exhaustion: “Exter moved up the schedule, choosing winter, the time when supply transport would be most difficult, to send troops south.”

"Horace, with a small force, joined forces with Southrest and headed to Dragon's Lair... The day after his death, John captured Sodara, the last stronghold of the rebels... Ten days later, the fortress fell."

"In the spring after the New Year, the Exter people, based in the fortress, swept across the northern lands like a tide."

Another long silence followed.

So long that even the firelight began to dim.

Until the Duke of the North broke the silence.

"Hahahaha..." Val let out a mournful laugh:

"The assassination plan, which was supposed to delay Exter's attack, instead facilitated and accelerated their invasion schedule?"

"Hahahahahaha!"

Kessel didn't speak, but listened silently to the Duke's laughter.

The Duke finally stopped laughing.

"Who?" came the faint voice.

"who!"

Val gripped the iron gate, gritting his teeth in anguish: "Who came up with this damned plan?!"

King Kessel looked at Val, at his expression a mixture of sorrow, pain, anger, hatred, and shock.

The king shook his head:

"My father had no choice."

"The Starshine Legion initially suffered a series of defeats. John retreated step by step, withdrawing from Emerald City to Fang Lands, and then all the way out of the Vora Corridor. The rebels even penetrated deep into Everstar City."

"No one expected that John would be able to achieve such a comeback victory in such a short period of time."

“At that time, the entire court was shrouded in the shadow of national subjugation,” Kessel took a deep breath, “which is why the assassination took place.”

Val's expression slowly froze, but his hand gripping the cell door trembled incessantly.

"If, if there hadn't been this plan, if there hadn't been that assassination..." the Duke of the North murmured unconsciously.

Kessel placed his hands on his knees and gently lowered his head: "Mmm."

“If Exster had waited until spring to attack,” Kessel’s face twisted slightly, and he nodded with a slight tremor as he tried to control his neck, “it now seems that John’s Star Legion is perfectly capable of heading north to support your father and the fortress.”

"The Dragon-Slaying Fortress will not be breached."

"And neither Cold Castle nor... will fall."

"In the North, such a tragedy will not occur."

Val slumped down behind the iron gate, dejected.

"boom!"

A muffled thud came from behind the iron gate as two people knelt down.

And the Duke of the North's suppressed, painful growl.

“You mean…” Val rasped, “you, those bastards at your father’s council, their stupid plan… killed thousands upon thousands of people in the North?”

"Haha... We always thought that Nunn seized the opportunity to invade and capture the fortress... But look, hahaha..."

Kessel did not answer; he simply waited quietly.

The flickering firelight illuminated his profile, revealing only numbness in the eyes of the Star King.

For a long time.

"Where is that foolish assassin? The guy who failed in his assassination attempt and exposed himself?" Val's slightly distorted, sorrowful voice came from behind the iron gate, his words filled with deep hatred: "Didn't you rip his heart out?"

King Catherine V turned his head and looked at the empty void.

It was as if someone was standing there.

silence.

The only sound in the air was Val Arend's low, suppressed sobs.

Kessel's eyes were filled with complex and unfathomable emotions.

"Correct."

"For that failed assassination attempt with dire consequences," after an unknown amount of time, the Supreme King of the Stars, King Kessel Star V, gazed into the void and slowly said with emotions difficult for ordinary people to comprehend, "that assassin is paying the price."

"He was imprisoned forever behind a cursed mask, never to see the light of day."

The king gazed at the deserted area, his voice utterly silent: "In endless loneliness and boundless darkness, I have tasted pain and suffered torment."

"Using the rest of my humble life..."

"For that terrible war..."

"The countless souls who have perished because of him..."

"Serving your sentence."

I heard today is the postgraduate entrance exam day, so I'm updating with a long chapter of 10,000 words.

Commonly known as—an outburst without chapter division.

Readers have commented that it's a bit tiring to read, so I'll try to write fewer chapters like this.

Wishing you all the best in your postgraduate entrance exams!

Thank you to the following readers for their generous donations: Dark Witch, Dark Greatsword and Iron Armor, Dream of Illusion, Dede's Dad, Eternal Fire, Steamed Bun Girl, Pit-Bi Xiao, I Don't Want a Nickname Anymore, Don't Betray Your Master, and Dao Xuan'an!
Okay, I'm going to catch up on my sleep now.

Good morning everyone. I'm too tired, so I won't be doing any anti-piracy measures for this chapter.

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(End of this chapter)