Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 227 Asking for trouble
In a secluded room in the Bright Moon Temple of Dragon Sky City.

Putila looked at the Star Soldiers busy at work in the distance and couldn't help but let out a long sigh.

In the first half of his life, he did experience failure—in fact, the failures he witnessed were more terrible and the price he paid was heavier.

For example, twelve years ago.

But now...

Putila suddenly felt the pipe in his hand was very heavy, and he lost the desire to take a puff.

This is very rare for someone who is a heavy smoker.

King Kessel's act of offering his own bloodline as collateral to try to end the war should have been a generous and sincere act that was praised throughout the country.

But now it has turned into a disaster.

The prince becomes embroiled in the death of King Exeter, bringing about the worst possible outcome that should have been avoided.

Worse still, the Star Kingdom will suffer another huge blow to its prestige.

After that child returns to the stars, what will he have to face... Putila thought of Thales's dejected look, and her mood darkened.

He silently reached out and knocked the burning tobacco out of his pipe.

I'm sorry, Gilbert.

Aside from getting him out of danger, I was at my wit's end.

Just like when I watched His Highness pass away back then.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, old friend.

Again.

As Putila was lost in reminiscing, the new recruit Willow interrupted his thoughts.

"My Lord!"

"What's wrong?" Putile raised an eyebrow.

“Please go to the back hall, the one we came in through,” Willow seemed a little confused himself, but he still faithfully carried out the order: “This is Prince Thales…”

"Order!"

Putila's expression changed.

----

Cohen packed his bags and checked his weapons one last time.

"Aren't you going to ask Raphael?"

The guard officer sighed, watching Putila talking to the Star Soldiers in the distance, then turned to Miranda beside him and said:
"You know about the Sword of Calamity, about the Secret Code, about his hand..."

Speaking of this, Cohen couldn't help but grit his teeth, recalling his friend, a swordsman, whose hands had been brutally crippled and who had somehow transformed them into such a monstrous form.

What exactly happened to that guy?
Miranda, who was leaning against the wooden crate, slowly opened her eyes from her slumber.

Her eyes were calm, and her expression was natural.

But his voice was slightly hoarse.

“No need, he has already made his decision,” the female swordsman said softly. “Some things are pointless to ask again.”

Cohen looked at Miranda's expressionless face, wanting to say something, but in the end he just shrugged and lowered his head to adjust his sword belt.

A few seconds later, the guard whispered:

"Then how do we report back to the Taliban?"

"We encountered three Calamity Swordsmen in Dragon Sky City, one of whom... is of unknown identity?"

Miranda's eyes flickered.

"And you?" she asked casually.

Cohen was slightly taken aback.

"If you want me to say..."

The guard exhaled deeply, his eyes hardening.

It was as if they had made up their minds.

“To hell with the Tower of Endings, we’ve been out of there for quite some time now,” Cohen shook his head and snorted. “I’ve never seen any Sword of Calamity—it’s all a Kaslan conspiracy. Report complete.”

Miranda gave a faint smile.

“If Master Jedi knew the truth, he would be furious.”

“So this is for his own good,” Cohen raised his eyebrows. “His best student is worried about his feelings and is determined to make him worry less.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow and closed her eyes to rest again.

After a long pause, Cohen spoke again, his voice low.

“Miranda, you said it’s only been three years,” the guard said dejectedly. “How can a person change so much?”

Miranda opened her eyes again, this time her eyes filled with complex emotions.

“I’m not just talking about Raphael,” Cohen said, sheathing his sword with a worried expression, “but also Chloeshi.”

"I still remember the days when we were punished by biting swords and squatting together. That tomboy's favorite thing to do was to scold me," he said with frustration.

Miranda curled the corners of her mouth.

That's because she likes you, but she doesn't dare to say it.

Miranda rolled her eyes, then felt a pang of sadness.

Not just you, Cohen.

It's not just you.

I also studied with her, slept in the same room, practiced swordsmanship together in the wind and rain, and studied by lamplight late into the night.

That once cheerful, smiling, and stubborn girl.

Kroesh.

“Perhaps they haven’t changed,” Miranda said, her brow furrowing slightly, her voice ethereal and seemingly profound, “it’s just that we’ve inadvertently discovered another side of them.”

Cohen gave a soft snort. “What kind of ‘other side’,” he said helplessly, “would lead to betrayal and lies?”

Miranda changed her posture, crossing her arms and holding her sword close to her chest again.

“I don’t know,” she said absentmindedly, “but it probably won’t be an easy thing.”

She remembered the brand on Raphael's hand.

Chloesch, what have you been through this time?

Cohen let out a long sigh of relief, leaned back, and followed Miranda's example by resting against the wooden crate.

"So, that's it?" Cohen asked, seemingly casually.

Miranda's expression shifted slightly as she came to her senses: "What's over?"

Cohen paused for a second, his brow furrowing as if he were thinking.

“Dragon Sky City,” he murmured, “we were tricked into coming here…”

"He became someone else's pawn, a scapegoat in a conspiracy, and the mastermind behind the assassination of the king."

"It became the cause of the war."

Miranda fell silent.

She understood Cohen's personality and knew what he wanted to say.

but……

“So we are making amends.” Miranda’s eyes sharpened, and she said firmly.

“Get out of here as soon as possible, escape the enemy’s control, refuse to be used by them,” Miss Arendt said, her words quickening and emphasizing, “Just pretend we never came to Exter, never came to Dragonhill.”

It seemed beyond question.

Cohen did not answer immediately; he remained silent for several seconds, his gaze fixed on the dim air.

“But Miranda,” Cohen finally spoke softly, seemingly hesitant and uneasy, “the truth is…”

"We've been here."

Miranda remained silent.

Cohen slapped the wooden crate, deftly flipped himself up, rested his hands on his knees, and looked serious and unpleasant.

“We not only came here, but we also participated in and witnessed so much,” he sighed slowly. “Secrets, disasters, dragons, princes, assassinations, conspiracies.”

“Some people come, some people leave, some people die, some people get injured, and in the end, they leave behind a mess,” Cohen said somewhat absentmindedly.

"Let others clean up the mess and bear the consequences."

“And you know what we left behind. You heard what Uncle Putila said,” Cohen’s gaze shifted to the deputy envoy in the distance, watching him speak to the soldier with dual pistols: “Even if we escape safely, the North will face…”

“He also said,” Miranda frowned, “that there’s nothing we can do.”

Cohen's face darkened, and his expression showed struggle.

“Is it helplessness,” Cohen scoffed, unconsciously clenching his fist, “or inaction?”

Miranda did not answer.

“That is your northern border, Miranda, the territory that your family has guarded for generations.”

The guard took a deep breath and gritted his teeth: "You also witnessed the devastation of that land ravaged by war, didn't you? You and Raphael were there back then..."

Boom!
Miranda's sword sheath slammed into a wooden crate used for storing miscellaneous items, producing a heavy thud.

"enough."

The female swordsman's eyes turned sharp and terrifying, her tone frosty: "That's enough."

But Cohen laughed.

“You know, the Calamity Swordsman we encountered before, the younger one was about your age,” the guard said, bowing his head and raising his distinctive silver sword. “He asked me the name of this sword.”

Miranda's gaze sharpened.

“‘The Bearer’,” she said softly, looking at her classmate’s sword and recalling her contests with it over the past few years. “It is the Kalabyan family’s heirloom sword.”

Cohen nodded, strained his arm muscles, and steadily raised his weapon.

The load-bearer.

“It’s too heavy,” Cohen said absentmindedly, recalling the gloomy old castle in the family home and the scene of the old man taking it out of it.

“My father gave it to me the day before I went to the Tower of the End.”

“I couldn’t even lift it with my bare hands; I had to tie a rope around it and drag it along,” Cohen nodded, his gaze slowly focusing as he recalled the past: “But the old man said…”

"There are some burdens we must bear."

His eyes grew clearer and more determined: "There are some things we can't just leave it at that."

At this moment.

A voice that was extremely familiar to both of them came through.

“You know, making trouble for the sake of pointless persistence,” Raphael’s light and cheerful voice rang out behind the two of them, “usually doesn’t end well.”

Miranda turned around abruptly, while Cohen turned around in surprise.

"Everyone, go to the back hall," the young man from the secret service said calmly, his red eyes flickering in the dim light.

“It’s not time yet,” Miranda frowned. “What are you going to the back room for?”

Raphael sighed, seemingly helpless.

They seemed to be hesitating as well.

But he only paused for a second before raising his eyes to look at the two of them.

“I already said,” Raphael scoffed.
"Go and invite trouble."

I'll release this chapter before midnight. There's another chapter coming up; I'll see if I can release it before 2 AM.

Yes, I saw Rworacle's donation of 10,000 Qidian coins...

Well, as usual, I'll owe you one more chapter.

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(End of this chapter)