Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 223 Failure

Chapter 223 Failure
"So, my power of termination possesses the characteristics of the legendary 'Sword of Calamity'?"

In a side room of the temple, Wyatt Castle stood with his arms crossed, his face grave.

On the pile of junk in front of him, Cohen was bandaging his arm that had been cut earlier.

“It seems so—or at least it feels very similar,” the guard said absentmindedly, tending to his injuries while scrutinizing the attendant before him. “You are indeed Professor Chaltier’s student?”

Wyatt glanced at Putila and Raphael on the other side of the room and sighed.

“I swear on my life and honor,” he said helplessly, “Three years ago, on the eve of awakening the power of the end, I was qualified to enter the House of Inheritance, and Teacher Shatil taught me a set of… special sword techniques.”

Wyman's gaze lingered in mid-air as he recalled the past.

The incomparably sharp and unyielding blade was born at that time.

Cohen carefully observed his expression, while recalling all the interrogation and identification techniques he had learned during his military service and work at the Security Service.

But he still couldn't figure it out.

strangeness.

Cohen thought to himself.

The Sword of Calamity is clearly a sinner and traitor of the Tower of Endings, and its power is considered taboo by Jedi.

But why, why would Master Shatil's students...?

Furthermore, why is the power of the Sword of Calamity forbidden? Is it because its destructive power is too astonishing? Or its fighting style is too ferocious?

Something's not right.

Cohen thought instinctively.

Cohen had another question in his mind.

The Sword of Calamity, the Secret Science.

His gaze shifted to Raphael, who was discussing something with Putila.

Cohen clenched his fist slightly: Not now, they are still in danger.

Finally, Cohen could only shrug, but the wariness in his eyes remained: "I'll remember to ask. Miranda is a seed of the 'Pegasus' lineage, and she's very familiar with Master Châtil."

“Oh, ‘Invincible Miranda,’” Wyatt’s eyelids twitched slightly as he exchanged a glance with Cohen. “I’ve heard so much about her.”

“I guessed so,” Cohen said with a snort, looking at Wyman’s expression. “After all, he’s the most recent chief.”

Wyman looked back at him and nodded.

“Thank you,” the prince’s young attendant said thoughtfully, “whether it is your misunderstanding or your understanding, Officer Kalabyan.”

But he immediately changed the subject: "And shouldn't you tell me about the Sword of Calamity, after you chased us down half a street with that sword in that name?"

Cohen's pupils contracted slightly.

“I can’t say any more,” the guard patted him on the shoulder, “but since you are the son of Count Gilbert Cassel and the prince’s squire…”

Cohen smiled at Wyman: "I think your suspicion is temporarily cleared."

For a moment, Wyman's expression looked a little unnatural.

“Hmph,” Wyman’s cheek twitched slightly, his tone rising, “What if I weren’t his son?”

Cohen raised an eyebrow and glanced at Wyman.

But in the end he just shook his head and said nothing.

Wyatt exhaled through his nose, seemingly dissatisfied.

"correct."

The attendant looked up: "You have a grudge against Rolf?"

Seeing Cohen's momentary look of confusion, Wyman gestured to the right, indicating, "That cripple, the mute, the one who uses a hidden blade."

At the other end of the room, Rolf, wearing a silver mask from his throat to his chin, glared fiercely at them as a Starsoldier put a splint on his broken arm.

Cohen scratched his head, somewhat embarrassed, and avoided the other person's gaze.

“Well, that’s one thing,” the guard shook his head helplessly, “Do you know why he’s mute?”

Wyman frowned.

“That’s our grievance,” Cohen said, raising his eyebrows.

The attendant glanced at Rolf, then at the guard, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Wyatt let out a sigh of relief: "You know, His Highness saved his life, so he is now serving His Highness..."

“Okay, I got it,” Cohen said with a headache. “I’ll try to talk to him as little as possible…if he can still talk.”

Just then, a small figure walked into the room, immediately attracting everyone's attention.

That was the second prince of the Star Kingdom, Thales Star, who looked preoccupied and absent-minded.

“Wow,” Karabyan said to Wyah with a slight hint of doubt, “Is he always like this?”

Wyman shook his head, also looking puzzled.

Putila stepped forward.

"Your Highness," the thin deputy envoy asked jokingly, "is your rendezvous with the Goddess of the Moon over?"

Thales snapped out of his daze, looked up, and his face was blank.

“Putila,” he pondered, “what is the meaning of the existence of gods?”

Cohen raised an eyebrow and nudged Wyman beside him.

“Ah, I knew it,” the guard said helplessly, glancing at the prince’s face. “Never discuss life with priests; they’ll only confuse you.”

“Perhaps we should be thankful,” Wyatt shrugged, “at least it wasn’t a priest from the Temple of the Night.”

Putila heard their conversation and gave the other two a reproachful look.

“I don’t know the answer to that question, Your Highness,” the deputy envoy said, raising his chin slightly and looking down at Thales with a sharp gaze. “But I am quite certain that whatever they may be, they cannot change your current situation—as an unlucky prince in distress.”

Thales was slightly startled, and only then did he snap out of his conversation with the high priest and focus his attention on the present.

“Yes, the current situation,” Thales shook his head, forcing himself to start thinking about the current situation.

He turned his gaze to Putilai, and then remembered when they had just fled here.

Thales narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the thin man who habitually rubbed the pipe in his hand.

“You, Putila,” Thales frowned, thinking of something, “when I was captured by Lumba, it was you… who found Miko and Nicolai and rescued me?”

Putila raised his eyebrows slightly, shook his head slightly, and silently agreed with his words.

“Probably,” he said softly, seemingly unconcerned.

Thales was filled with surprise: "You... how did you do that?"

Putila sighed softly.

"It's not that difficult, Your Highness."

The thin deputy envoy stared intently at his pipe, as if there were some interesting patterns on it.

"Shortly after your disappearance, disaster struck. Martial law was declared in the city, and the White Blade Guard followed King Nunn's elite forces into battle, but the king himself disappeared in the fighting," he said calmly. "Simple things suddenly became complicated."

“But the air is thick with the smell of conspiracy.” Putila nodded slightly.

"But how do you know where I am..." Thales' eyes showed confusion.

Putila's gaze shifted to the Wind-Walking Ghost at the other end of the room.

“Rolf has returned in a sorry state,” Putila withdrew his hand from the flint he was about to reach for: “The only news he brought back were the three words ‘Black Sand Territory,’ ‘Stars,’ and ‘abduction’—after considering the consequences and connections of these things, including the trap, everything is clear.”

Thales' expression shifted slightly.

“While King Nunn’s orders were still in effect, I evacuated everyone from the mission from Valhalla as quickly as possible,” Putila said earnestly, “and then contacted the Secret Service.”

"Secret Department?"

Thales's mouth dropped open: "You're still in contact with the Secret Service?"

“When I was younger, I worked with them for a while,” Putila shook her head, seemingly unwilling to elaborate.

Thales's heart skipped a beat, another thought arose: "What about Nicolai? The White Blade Guard?"

“That was a pleasant surprise—I didn’t expect anyone to help, but those who disappeared with the king included Nicolai and the White Blade Guards,” Putila shrugged. “So I guess, whoever our enemy is, the White Blade Guards are our only remaining allies.”

"An ally?" Thales looked puzzled.

“Yes,” Putila nodded, “Although time was tight and resources were limited, we have managed to form a temporary tripartite alliance with ourselves, the Secret Service, and the White Blade Guard.”

Although not very sturdy.

Each side harbors considerable suspicion and secrets towards the other two.

Putila thought to herself.

“The Secret Service has intelligence channels with the enemy, and the White Blade Guard has manpower and internal advantages,” Putila glanced at Raphael and shook his head with a sigh. “So the rescue plan began—although we were not even sure if the person inside was you.”

“Of course, the result is very good,” Puttier said, glancing at Miranda and Cohen, “and there was an extra surprise.”

Thales lowered his head and remained silent for a long time.

After a long while, he finally raised his head again.

“Thank you, Putila.” He heard himself say this, his tone dejected, his words unfinished.

"Thank you."

Seeing the prince's state, Putila couldn't help but let out a long sigh:

"It's just my job."

Thales turned his head and glanced around.

Then he was startled.

"Wait, where's Ada?" Thales' eyes widened as he searched for the elven guards.

But Putila simply shook her head, looking worried.

“She set off to look for you a long time ago and has not returned yet,” the deputy envoy said, gently tightening his grip on his pipe. “I thought you would come back with her.”

Thales was slightly taken aback.

“I know,” he murmured, “she…she said she was going to intercept a powerful enemy.”

An unreadable thought flashed in Putila's eyes.

“Is that so?” He stared intently at Thales.

"Then you have no choice but to believe her."

Thales did not speak.

Ada's image came to mind.

He unconsciously clenched his fists.

“And before that…” A strange light flashed in Putila’s eyes. He turned around and looked at the other Star People in the room: “We need to plan our next step, Your Highness.”

Upon hearing this, Thales' breathing gradually slowed down.

Next Step

Is there a next step?

Thales suddenly remembered the letter Gilbert had sent.

In the letter, the former foreign minister tirelessly encouraged the Prince of Stars, generously sharing his experience and insights on dealing with the North, and expressing great confidence in him.

Thales lowered his head, his expression somber: "What's next?"

For a moment, the moment he finished reading the letter, he thought he had perfectly fulfilled Gilbert's request.

This successfully eased the conflict between Exter and the Star Kingdom.

however……

Putila's sharp gaze swept over the Star People around him, over Willow, who was learning skills from the veteran Jenard, Rolf, who was adjusting his arm, and Miranda, who was lost in thought, before returning to Thales.

“Yes,” the Star Envoy’s tone suddenly rose, becoming extremely serious: “Our next step is to leave Dragon Sky City and leave Exter.”

Thales slowly furrowed his brow.

go away.

What an easy word.

A month ago, a week ago, or even a few hours ago, hearing this word would have made his heart skip a beat, and he would have secretly cheered with joy.

Leaving at that time meant liberation, meant the end.

Leaving this rugged, hostile country, ending this damned journey.

but now……

just now.

leave?

“Simply put…” Raphael’s voice came from behind Putilai, and the figure of the Mikolai appeared before Thales.

“It’s about escaping, escaping for our lives,” Raphael’s expression remained calm, his tone still relaxed, yet it made people unconsciously tense: “Before the dragon kingdom, shrouded in conspiracy and lies, devours us all.”

Escape for your life.

Thales' breathing became erratic.

He clenched his fist again.

go away.

Escape for your life.

leave?

Escape?

“Wait, what did the Exter people—I mean, what did those melee guards say?” Cohen saw Raphael approaching and stepped forward to ask his question: “After all, they were the ones who brought us out.”

A cold voice came from the doorway.

"Not much."

Everyone was slightly taken aback, only then realizing that Nikolai was already standing at the door of the room, his eyes gleaming with cold light as he looked at them.

Michael stood beside him, his expression still gloomy and lifeless.

“Our men will take Miss Walton away,” the Meteorite said, seemingly having treated his new wounds and changed his tattered clothes. “I will go alone to inform Prime Minister Lisbon, one of His Majesty’s most trusted men.” Hearing the Meteorite’s plan, Thales’ heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but frown.

"prime minister?"

"Will he help you?" the prince couldn't help but ask. "For example, by resisting or even annihilating the Rumba, or by verifying the truth?"

Is there still a chance to salvage the situation?

Nikolai did not speak.

But his eyes grew increasingly cold.

Thales also realized something.

He released his lips, which were about to ask further questions, and unconsciously began to breathe heavily.

The one who answered the prince's question was Melk, who was standing next to Nicolai.

“It’s tough,” said Byrne Mailer, the man who had suffered a great blow overnight. He was a former member of the White Blade Guard and the King’s former aide. He seemed exhausted, and his voice was very hoarse, as if it had been ground by sand. “The direct bloodline of the Walton family has been cut off, leaving only a little girl who cannot inherit the family business.”

Thales turned pale.

more than.

A tiny voice was speaking to him from the depths of his heart.

The consequences don't end there.

It will get worse.

Even worse.

“Perhaps Dragon City is destined to be led by a new family,” Putila sighed and said in a low voice, “but Exter will continue to exist—not even a prime minister can change that.”

Nikolai suddenly raised his head.

Two rosy blushes appeared on his pale face.

“But the truth still needs to be spread, and hatred must be washed away with blood,” the Meteorite said through gritted teeth, his eyes filled with endless rage and hatred: “His Majesty’s blood feud is the humiliation of a bare blade.”

Milek sighed deeply, and Thales could sense that he had mixed feelings about the late King of the Union.

Yes.

That king.

That unforgettable king, that king whose death was neither tragic nor heroic.

Noon Walton VII.

Thales lowered his head, feeling a chill in his heart, as if King Nunn's head was still spinning at his feet.

His words echoed in my ears repeatedly.

“In that case,” Puttier changed the subject, asking seriously, “Miss Walton, where do you plan to take her?”

“Anywhere far away from the threat of Lumba.” Nicolai raised his eyes, his gaze sharp and piercing, as if he had regained his image as the shrewd, capable, and decisive commander of the White Blade Guard.

"To fulfill our unfinished duties to Walton and the King."

Thales lowered his eyelids.

Little rascal.

Her fate...

The day before yesterday, last night, and this morning.

Her fate has been turned upside down countless times.

Each time, it plunges into an even deeper abyss.

Putila rolled her eyes and slightly curled the corners of her mouth.

"How about going to the Star Kingdom?"

The deputy envoy pondered, seemingly making a very serious suggestion: "That's a place that even Lumba and Exter cannot reach—far from the strife within Exter."

Thales' heart skipped a beat.

He recalled the Scarlet Witch's words: "Since things are beyond our control, why not capture a member of Walton's bloodline and bring him back to the stars as a bargaining chip?"

Nikolai snorted coldly, his tone unfriendly.

“We’ve discussed this,” the Meteorite said coldly. “You know my stance, Imperial.”

Michael also slowly shook his head, his expression serious.

"Behind the conspiracy, the secret room is also involved," Raphael interjected, his eyes fixed on the ground, his words carrying a deeper meaning: "Even the sharpest blade has a flaw."

“I haven’t forgotten where all this disaster originated, you little rascal,” Nikolai said, crossing his arms and glaring at Raphael with a sharp, piercing look. “But at a time like this, you Stars should be too busy taking care of yourselves to do anything about it—thanks to your own actions.”

“Others may be unclear, but Rumba wants war,” the Meteorite said coldly. “With what has happened today, he may soon get his wish.”

Raphael frowned.

Thales felt a chill run down his spine.

Too busy to take care of yourself.

Get your wish.

war.

Yes.

Star Kingdom... Thales closed his eyes, and couldn't help but think of Dragon Fortress and the people inside.

Sonia Satherre, the fortress's flower, is a woman of striking beauty and boundless generosity.

Arakka Mu, the wrath of the kingdom, is known for his violent temper and unapproachable nature.

And countless soldiers of the Wrathful Guard died in the charge before the fortress.

Thales closed his eyes tightly, his body trembling slightly.

More than half of my soldiers, including those in your delegation, are dead.

[Just to bring you here.]

The voice of Baron Mu, that volcano-like, furious warrior, echoed in his mind.

Don't let them die in vain.

Thales trembled more and more violently.

In vain.

To die in vain...

Looking at the provocative gaze of the Meteorite, Raphael remained silent.

“I strongly suggest you reconsider my proposal,” Putila insisted.

“Oh? Then why don’t you consider my proposal?” Nicolai turned to the deputy envoy and retorted with a sneer, “I may not be able to persuade Count Risban on my own, but if the Star Prince, who is tainted by infamy but fearless of danger, were to accompany me, it would be more persuasive.”

His gaze fell on Thales.

But the second prince remained motionless with his eyes closed.

“Of course,” Nikolai turned around and exchanged a glance with Miranda, who was wiping her longsword, “the same goes for the heir to the Duke of the North.”

Raphael gave a soft hum.

Cohen rolled his eyes.

Putila sighed: "Let's go back to the previous agenda."

Nikolai smiled and said nothing more.

Raphael calmly returned to the main topic:

"What are your reliable routes out of the city? We need to avoid being seen by the black market, patrols, or secret rooms."

“Not many,” Nikolai shook his head. “There were originally many, but Caslan… he knows a lot too.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes: "We do have one..."

At this moment.

"What will happen?"

Everyone was slightly startled.

A few seconds later, everyone realized that the person who interrupted was Thales.

He was the second prince who had always remained silent.

Nicolai frowned: "What?"

Thales looked up, his eyes filled with confusion.

It was as if countless people suddenly flashed before his eyes.

Kessel, Gilbert, Gerard, Sonia, Arakka, Willow...

But in his mind, Thales couldn't grasp any of them.

“We’re just leaving like this,” Thales’ voice became incredibly hoarse, like a riverbed that had been dried up for a long time:
"gone."

Putila seemed to sense something; he nimbly walked behind Thales, pressed his shoulder, and gave a gentle signal.

However, Thales seemed oblivious.

He spoke softly, his voice weary and trembling:
"Ext, what will happen?"

"What will happen to the stars?"

Cohen and Wyman exchanged a glance, their faces turning ashamed, and then looked away.

Raphael's expression remained unchanged, but his hands were slightly clasped together.

"We came with a mission to bring peace, but we're leaving just like that." Thales' voice was low, but in the tranquil temple, it sent a chill down everyone's spine.

"Ran away."

Thales, puzzled, gave a sneer with mixed feelings.

He just felt very tired.

I'm very tired.

"The future of Stars and Exter," he said through gritted teeth, forcing back the discomfort in his throat, "what will happen?"

Miranda sighed in the distance, the sound clearly audible.

Putila did not speak.

His eyelids drooped slightly.

His face showed unspeakable exhaustion and disappointment.

But he immediately raised his gaze and stared straight at Thales.

“Your Highness,” the deputy envoy’s voice was also weary, “you actually know.”

"Isn't it?"

Thales felt a jolt in his heart at that moment, and couldn't help but tremble slightly.

“Exter has lost a king,” Putila said slowly in his longest, deepest voice. “Dragonhill City has lost its lordly family.”

Nicolai's face was flushed, and his teeth were chattering as if he were about to crush his back molars.

Michael turned his head away, his eyes filled with a melancholy.

“But the stars became the murderer’s scapegoat,” Putila continued.

Cohen lowered his head deeply, while Miranda gripped the hilt of her sword tightly.

The deputy envoy slowly took out a flint from his pocket.

Snapped.

He lit the tobacco in his pipe.

“Lumba has eliminated his biggest threat and taken control of the situation,” Putile chuckled, but his words carried a deep chill. “His schemes and traps are linked one after another, like the surging waves of a sea of despair, leaving us powerless to fight back and only able to barely defend ourselves.”

Inside the room, the smoke from Putila's hand slowly rose.

Raphael stared silently at Thales, his expression as stiff as ice.

"Aside from rescuing you, we are helpless in the face of this situation..." The deputy envoy slowly put his cigarette in his mouth, his face serious and his gaze absent.

The next moment, Putila suddenly bit the cigarette holder and took a deep drag.

He exhaled a puff of smoke, his expression one of struggle.

“Indeed, you and we, our entire delegation, bear the hopes and burdens of the entire star system, and come with the mission of ending the war.” Putilai’s speech gradually quickened, and his breathing became more rapid. “But it’s time to face the facts.”

Thales closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the smoky air.

really.

As Putila said.

Tobacco, a specialty of the northern region.

It's very pungent.

It's very spicy.

It's...very uncomfortable.

Thales exhaled a puff of smoke, his eyes turning red from the fumes.

He turned his head away, trembling slightly as he avoided the smoke.

Through the hazy smoke, Putila slowly turned her head, her gaze fixed on Thales, her eyes filled with a sorrowful yet resolute light:

"Your Highness."

"We failed."