Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 24 Short-lived species

On the afternoon of November 16, in the center of Hongfang Street.

The once bustling, brightly lit street was now filled with patrol soldiers in star-blue uniforms and light armor, as well as police officers in black and blue uniforms, carrying stretchers, supplies, and notebooks as they moved about among the ravaged houses and roads.

"There's another one over here!" A patrol soldier waved and, together with his colleagues who had rushed over after hearing the news, dragged a deformed human body out from under a collapsed beam.

"He's still breathing!" came another urgent cry from afar. Doctors and healers hired by the city hall, as well as priests who had volunteered from some temples, rushed forward.

Lobik Dillah, the first-level chief of the West City Police Department, was standing on a small hill made of collapsed buildings, with blood-stained building materials under his feet.

He had just seen off several municipal government officials, whose attire was just as glamorous as the people backstage, with a smile, and politely listened to and humbly accepted their foolish complaints, such as, "Look at this, it should have been your responsibility, how did it turn out like this? Do you know that we in the municipal government also have to go to work and serve the people? We don't have time to come here and waste manpower."

Behind Lobik was a large open space covered by a large umbrella, a makeshift morgue where nearly a hundred bodies lay—some innocent civilians, others gangsters. Many officials, wearing masks and carrying pens and paper, moved about the corpses. The bodies were occasionally recognized by relatives who had rushed to the scene or had been searching for them, followed by heart-wrenching cries of grief.

Some family members recognized the officials' uniforms, and some even rushed forward in strong emotions, only to be pulled away by soldiers and police officers who were already prepared.

Lobik lowered his head and sighed deeply.

Fortunately, it was winter, and the flies had not yet gathered.

Lobik walked down the street with a stiff expression, stepping on a sign that was cracked into five or six pieces—it looked like some kind of card and board game room.

An exquisite swordsman chess piece fell from the ruins beneath the bloodstains.

Lobik stopped in his tracks.

He slowly bent down, picked up the chess piece, and dusted it off.

But the bloodstains on the chess pieces had already congealed and could not be wiped away.

Those bastards.

Lobik stared at the chess pieces in his hand, his face ashen.

This swordsman chess piece is missing the hand that holds the sword, as if it were broken by a sudden, strong force.

The director turned his head and looked at one side of the ruins, where a man wearing a dark red leather coat was also watching everything.

The man in the red coat turned around and looked at the director's displeased expression.

“I will not agree!” Robick said firmly.

"Are you sure?" The man in the red coat revealed his face, his thin face covered with stubble, but his tone was full of hostility: "This is a request from the Blood Bottle Gang and that lord."

“Neklava! This is not what we originally agreed upon! Even that lord would not agree to you blowing Red Street into ruins and taking away—nearly two hundred lives!” The warden gritted his teeth, barely suppressing his anger as he uttered each word.

"And now you still want—their corpses?"

Lobik felt his discontent was about to reach the heavens.

But the man he called Nekra, though his face was filled with icy coldness, said indifferently:

"That's not accurate—only a dozen or so houses in the center of the neighborhood were damaged, weren't they?"

"And I really didn't know that the West City Police Chief, who stood by and watched all night, also had a sense of justice and compassion—come to think of it, we lost quite a few people last night, didn't we?"

"You scum, you gangsters fighting amongst yourselves, do you expect me to send men to help you?" Robick thought angrily.

“This is a loss for our Blood Bottle Gang, a loss for that lord, and of course, a loss for you, Director,” Nekra continued.

Why did the Western Front expel this scumbag? They should have just chopped his head off!
Lobik cursed inwardly.

Nekra said in an unfriendly tone, "So, for the sake of that person's interests, you can still make the decision regarding some corpses, right?"

But Lobik did not back down as he expected.

The director strode heavily to Nekra, almost touching his nose, and said with eyes full of anger:

"I don't care how many of you Blood Bottle Gang scum died—I was following that lord's orders, but he didn't say you scum would cause such a mess! This morning, everyone in the capital knew that you were blowing things up in the Red District for no reason! Even the Imperial Council was discussing the gang fight in the XC District!"

Nekra's eyes changed.

He stepped forward without flinching, pressing his forehead against Lobik's, staring intently into the hallmaster's eyes, and said with hatred and rage:

"Then you should know that our anger is no less than yours! The Blood Bottle Gang never compromises, and blood debts will be repaid!"

Lobik was also enraged by Nekla's provocative reply.

"Stop bringing up your old, messy stuff! Especially you bunch of useless losers!" he yelled.
"The Blood Bottle Gang never compromises? Believe it or not, if I withdraw all the police and patrol teams right now, you scum won't even be able to leave Red Town Street!"

Nekra frowned indignantly, his anger growing stronger.

Lobik glared back at him defiantly.

The patrol team members noticed the situation and quietly moved closer.

Two of the captains, who were also swordsmen of the final battle, had already turned cold and placed their hands on the hilts of their swords at their waists.

Nekra caught a glimpse of the soldiers out of the corner of his eye and felt a chill run down his spine.

This big green-skinned guy is really something else.

He also noticed that among the residents watching the commotion outside the cordon, several pairs of eyes with ulterior motives were constantly watching this place, disappearing from time to time, only to reappear as new pairs of eyes appeared.

Damn Brotherhood.

Red Town Street no longer belongs to the Blood Bottle Gang.

Considering the power of the Guardian Hall and the threat posed by the Brotherhood, Nekra suppressed his dissatisfaction and took a step back.

The Air Mage has disappeared, and we must yield until the Blood Mage returns.

That damned big green-skinned scoundrel, and that damned nobleman.

“I apologize for my words and actions—Lord Lobik Dillah,” he emphasized the word “Lord,” a smile spreading across his thin face as he bowed his head as if his previous anger had been feigned.

This bow is not quite standard.

“We really shouldn’t have caused you this trouble—I’ll leave now to apologize to His Excellency the Duke.”

Nekra smiled shyly, then turned and left.

Until the expected response came from behind.

"and many more!"

Lobik clenched his fists tightly, telling himself not to act impulsively.

hateful.

Damn.

Indeed, once I took that step, there was no turning back.

Lobik waved his hand weakly, waving away his men who were about to surround him.

Nekra's lips curled into a smug smile.

Director Robick closed his eyes in pain, and after a long while, he said in a trembling voice:

"Damn it—fine, you can take the bodies, but no more than twenty! And they must be unclaimed!"

Nekra's smile finally became genuine.

"As you command, Your Excellency."

He once again addressed Lobik with great enthusiasm, bestowing upon him the title of knight.

An unclaimed corpse? Nekra sneered inwardly: Since it's a corpse the Blood Bottle Gang wants, it's naturally "unclaimed".

Is not it?
What a pleasant collaboration between the police and the public.

Nekra gave another improper bow, then turned and left.

Lobik watched his retreating figure, shook his head, and asked weakly:
"What exactly do you want those corpses for?"

“To entertain a few old friends for the important people,” Nekra said without turning his head, but in a chilling tone:

"Prepare a banquet."

Nekra disappeared from sight, along with several watchful eyes from the crowd. Lobik looked down and saw his reflection in a pool of blood at his feet.

He was a helpless middle-aged man with graying hair and wrinkled, weathered features.

Lobik felt a surge of disgust.

He took a deep breath and looked at the chess piece in his hand. He saw the one-armed swordsman smiling at him.

The warden released his grip with a sorrowful expression and turned to leave.

The swordsman without a sword fell into the blood, replacing Robick's reflection.

-------------------

Six o'clock in the afternoon, Mindis Hall.

"The four five-person teams had clear divisions of labor and worked together seamlessly. They were all leaders of the super-tier level, leading skilled mortal-level fighters. Although they were exceptionally skilled and experienced, judging from their equipment and identities, they were indeed hired."

Gilbert stood up from beside a corpse and waved for the guards to carry it away.

"Mercenaries and adventurers who dare to attack royal properties—either because their employers promise generous rewards, or because they are confident they can evade the risks."

The middle-aged nobleman stood with his hands behind his back in the first-floor hall, suppressing his disgust for his collaborator, and addressed the empty corner:
"As a former adventurer, what's your perspective?"

A hoarse voice echoed from the void:
"Both, but the latter is more common—the employers didn't tell them the truth, like 'You won't encounter any experts above the super-level' or 'There won't be more than twenty guards.'"

“Or perhaps their employers didn’t realize that our guard is far more powerful than that of an ordinary industry—and you’re here too,” the middle-aged nobleman replied.

Corpses were carried down the stairs, the roof, and the corridors.

Gilbert watched as the guards carried the intruder out and cleaned up the blood, then lowered his head in deep thought.

"But it's still too simple."

he murmured.

"Despite doubling the number of guards in the Mindis Hall, despite having fifty well-trained mortal-level and even super-level End Swordsmen, despite them being hired only to probe—we still handled it too easily, too simply."

The guards carrying the corpses past him ignored Gilbert, who was talking to himself.

It was as if the middle-aged nobleman was talking to thin air, until Yodl's figure appeared out of nowhere beside him.

"They weren't prepared to die, nor did they intend to harm the guards," the masked secret guard whispered.

"If I had acted any later, they would have retreated."

Gilbert frowned deeply.

"This isn't right. Even if it was just a test, their attitude and methods are far too rash. It's almost like—"

Yodl replied aptly, "—It's like coming to your death."

The middle-aged nobleman with gray hair nodded and said:
“If their employers are indeed the ones we suspect, then they must know that if we have any important secrets, such equipment is of no use.”

"Then what were they doing? Covering the others?"

Yodl shook his head: "I didn't sense anyone else."

"If there's no one else—"

Just then, Gilbert and Yodl simultaneously looked up and gazed out the door.

As the sun sets, an ordinary carriage travels along the avenue leading to the Mindis Hall.

After listening to a guard's report, Gilbert nodded and said, "Ginny has arrived."

“That woman,” Gilbert frowned, “originally hated riding in small carriages like horse-drawn carriages—it seems she’s restrained her likes and dislikes to avoid suspicion.”

Upon hearing this, Yodl abruptly raised his head!

Gilbert was initially puzzled by the unusual reaction of the secret guard who couldn't see any expression.

But then, his expression changed drastically, and he looked back at Yodl in surprise.

To deceive others—

No way?
“Didn’t you say you didn’t sense anyone else?” Gilbert asked, his face ashen.

Yodl turned to look upstairs, his figure flashing.

“I left eight Terminator swordsmen upstairs—” But before Gilbert could finish speaking, Yordles vanished from sight!
Wait, I didn't sense anything from the other "people"—

Gilbert slapped his forehead hard!
"Everyone! Assemble on the third floor at full speed! Protect the target!"

------------------

Thales was drenched in cold sweat, staring nervously at the man before him.

Just now, a pale-faced adult man dressed in a gorgeous pleated shirt and expensive leather boots suddenly appeared between him and the eight Terminator Swordsmen!
No wind, no sound, no breath, no trace.

Then, Thales caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye: the eight Terminator swordsmen behind him were spurting blood from their necks one after another!

By the time Thales had fully turned his head, they were all lying on the ground, twitching and emitting meaningless low groans.

He had encountered powerful enemies before, such as the mage Ashida, but Thales had never encountered an enemy that appeared so suddenly.

The suddenness was so abrupt that Thales' visual nerves couldn't even react!
He had no idea how the other person moved.

Thales instinctively wanted to scream, but suddenly a right hand appeared in front of him!
The well-dressed man suddenly covered his mouth.

Thales still couldn't see his movements clearly.

Even a master like Rolf, the "Ghost of the Wind," whose movements are swift and fierce, still leaves a trail and afterimages!

But the man in front of them made no move to move his right hand at all.

It's like skipping frames in an animation.

Having failed to break his spirit, Thales gave up wasting his energy. He calmed himself, trying to steady his racing heart, and looked at the man before him.

This man, slightly taller than the Yordles, had neat blond hair sparsely combed back his forehead and clear blue eyes. Despite his sickly pale complexion, he was truly—that was all Thales could say—very handsome.

Compared to Ashida's somewhat effeminate good looks, this man is the "sunny and dashing" type. Coupled with his simple yet elegant taste in clothing, he is sure to charm a lot of girls when he goes out.

Unfortunately, Thales felt absolutely no warmth from him.

The man smelled of a pleasant perfume, which even a country bumpkin like Thales could tell was not the cheap perfume worn by ordinary people in the market.

Now, this handsome man grinned at him, his pale lips parted in a smile:

"I was just stretching my muscles—but look at me, what have I discovered?"

“A juvenile of a short-lived species.”

Short-lived species?
Thales caught the particular word.

"You smell...tsk tsk, it's delicious."

"As expected, the best food is always found in unexpected places!"

But the next moment, the blond man, who had been looking relaxed, suddenly changed his expression.

His hand covering Thales flickered and changed again, and the next moment, Thales was held in his arms with his mouth covered.

“You found it quickly—and I can’t handle that mask,” the handsome blond man muttered. “I’ll just pack it up and take it home to eat.”

"Luckily, the sun is about to set."

This was the last thing Thales heard.

The next moment, his vision was enveloped in a scalding red glow, and he felt dizzy.

The scene in the Mindis Hall seemed to be spinning and getting smaller and smaller.

Before losing consciousness, Thales vaguely saw the Yordle's mask appear among the eight corpses of the Terminator.

(End of this chapter)