Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 249 The Moment of Confrontation

Chapter 249 The Moment of Confrontation (Part 1)

Do you really know what you're doing?

Michael pressed one hand against the wall, holding the knife in the other, panting heavily.

A bloody gash was seeping from a tear in his robe between his ribs.

“Believe me, Father,” Kroesh said coldly, shaking the blood off his sword. “I know what I’m doing more clearly than I have in the last twenty years.”

Michael gritted his teeth, pressed his wound, and frowned.

After all, he's getting old and is no longer a melee guard.

His knife skills were clumsy, his hands were hesitant, and his body was always a beat behind.

And they didn't have any suitable weapons or equipment...

Michael slowly moved away from the wall and sighed.

He gripped the knife hilt backwards, using the back of the blade to protect his forearm, holding it horizontally in front of him. He bent over in a conservative counterattack stance and said in a deep voice:
“Your mother wouldn’t want to see us fighting each other.”

The female swordsman's expression changed.

Kroesi's expression was complex and subtle, a half-smile, her hand holding the sword trembling slightly.

“It’s kind of you to still remember her,” Chloe’s voice was laced with anger, “Of course, for her, her man, her husband, is everything…”

How could we do anything to harm you?

As soon as she finished speaking, Chloe stepped forward, her longsword piercing through the air like a venomous snake!

Michael instinctively raised his hand and parried the sword tip away from his head.

“I know I’m not a good father, and I know you’re very competitive, but if this is to get revenge on me…” Mylke held the sword against Chloe’s edge and gritted his teeth, saying, “It’s not worth it.”

Kroesi seemed to have heard the biggest joke. She snorted coldly and said softly, "Don't be so arrogant, Father. You're not that important."

The next moment, Chloeshe slashed down with her sword without hesitation, aiming straight for Michael's thigh!

Michael struggled to dodge, but was then stabbed in the ribs.

Face, thighs, ribs, wrists—each of Chloe's attacks seemed to anticipate the next point of attack, constantly maneuvering Miles's movements to effectively prepare for the next attack, saving time, torque, and angle for his sword strikes.

Michael knew that he had once again fallen into the rhythm the opponent had anticipated—unless there was an unexpected change in tactics, he would inevitably lose if he held on for too long.

Sure enough, the next second, Chloe's sword slashed through Michael's left shoulder, drawing blood!

Michael rolled to avoid the next sword strike, retreating five steps in a disheveled state.

Kroeshe nodded: What a pity.

Originally, the next sword strike could have easily gone straight for the throat.

As expected of the former White Blade Guard?
"What's that for?"

Myrk, his face contorted in rage, bathed in blood, roared, "Why did you side with the traitors, betraying your sovereign and the creed of the North?"

Kroesi stared coldly at her father and shook her head dismissively.

“I have just been promoted to captain of the personal guard by His Excellency the Grand Duke,” she said softly, “and of course I must be loyal and do my duty to the utmost.”

Michael's gaze sharpened.

The former king's official shook his head.

“Wake up,” he sighed slowly, his eyes filled with disappointment as he looked at Chloesh. “You think this is because he appreciates you? And that he’s repaying you with loyalty?”

Kroesi unconsciously clenched her sword-wielding hand.

“Rumba wouldn’t make a little girl his captain of the guard for no reason,” Myrk said, enunciating each word clearly. “I’ve been in the court for too many years and I know them too well—they don’t value your abilities, they only value your status and connections—whether it’s me or the Tower of the End.”

Kroesi's pupils slowly shrank.

silence.

“Thank you for reminding me, Father,” Chloe exhaled, gritting her teeth slightly, and said resentfully:

"Just like before."

Michael frowned.

“Under his command, you are merely a commodity that happens to be useful in an incident, a tool that can be exploited, a person from whom you can extract value,” Myrk continued. “The so-called captain of the guard is just a decoy.”

The female swordswoman spread her legs, lowered her waist, and solemnly raised the blade to her chest.

It felt like facing the most terrifying enemy.

“Don’t go any further, Chloesie,” Mylke shook his head sadly, “Your mother certainly wouldn’t want to see this…”

“Don’t mention her again,” Chloeshi interrupted him decisively. “You don’t deserve it.”

Michael's face darkened.

But he immediately looked up.

"And what about Mrs. Adele?"

Kroesi's expression changed.

Michael's voice was steady and calm, yet carried a peculiar sorrow: "After your mother passed away, your wife took you in, raised you, loved you, and treated you as her own son..."

Kroeshe lowered her head, hiding her face in the dim light, and slowly gripped the hilt of her sword with her left hand.

"She paid to send you to the Tower of the End, not so you would bleed and die for some lord," Mylke continued mournfully, "to become their tool without even realizing it..."

Before she could finish speaking, Chloe suddenly sprang into action and slashed down with her sword!
"clang!"

Myrk pressed down on the back of the blade with his left hand, forcefully blocking the sword.

Before him, the female swordsman looked crazed, gripping her sword with both hands, her movements more powerful and forceful than ever before!

"Adele?"

“She’s a good person,” Kroesh gritted her teeth, staring intently at her father, “yet she couldn’t even save herself.”

Michael, who was wrestling with his daughter, was suddenly overcome with grief.

Michael clenched his teeth, and his hands began to tremble.

“So she sent you to the Tower of the End so that you would have the power to protect yourself, not have to depend on others, not have to be controlled by others, and could live freely and happily,” Myrk said painfully, “away from…away from the darkness and misfortune she herself faced.”

To his surprise, Kroesh took a slow breath upon hearing this.

At that moment, an expression appeared on her face that was hard to tell whether it was mockery or disdain.

"You've never changed, have you, Byrne Milek?"

All that could be heard was Kroesh's calm yet disappointed reply: "Just like everyone else."

Michael was slightly taken aback: "What?"

The next moment, Chloe suddenly unleashed her finishing power, and her longsword suddenly loosened!
Just when Mylke thought his longsword had lost its obstruction and was irreversible, Chloe's sword twisted around his blade and miraculously returned to its original position, aiming straight for his throat.

But at that moment, a long sword gleaming with cold light emerged from behind Michael!
It struck Chloesh's sword spine squarely.

"Ding!"

Myrk only felt a slight sound beside his ear as Kroeshe's sword blade grazed his left ear, sending a chill through him.

The longsword did not stop, but continued its attack, aiming straight for Chloesh's wrist!

Kroesi immediately sheathed her sword and retreated several steps to dodge the longsword's attack.

The three of them spread out.

Michael looked behind him with suspicion and uncertainty.

"You?" he asked with difficulty.

Kroeshe's eyes blazed with fury as she stared intently at the new troublemaker.

The newcomer twirled his sword and spoke softly.

“Let’s go,” Miranda Aarond said solemnly, standing beside Michael. “Go help the others—the enemy isn’t many, but they’re spread out and trying to stop us.”

Miranda stared intently at Chloesie: "Let me deal with her."

Kroeshe gave a cold laugh.

Michael looked at his daughter, then at Miranda, his expression conflicted: "I..."

Miranda interrupted him.

“You can’t make up your mind, and you can’t stand up to your own daughter,” she said calmly, her gaze fixed on Chloesh’s face. “Being here will only make things worse.”

"Then let me do it."

Michael was stunned.

He looked at his daughter, but Kroesh paid him no heed and just stared at Miranda.

Finally, Michael sighed sadly and turned to leave.

Michael's figure grew farther and farther away.

Miranda took a small step forward.

Kroesi also walked towards her.

The two female swordsmen faced each other in silence.

“You’ve changed a lot, and so have you,” Miranda broke the silence, calling her friend’s nickname softly: “Aish.”

Kroesi's expression shifted slightly.

"You, and Raphael."

Kroeshe quietly watched her close friend from the same period.

“Not everyone is as unchanging as Cohen,” Kroesh said after a long pause, before finally smiling. “Mira.”

Miranda shook her head.

"you are wrong."

“Cohen used to be very cheerful and optimistic,” Miranda said casually, “but never as deliberately exaggerated as he is now.”

Kroesi was taken aback.

Miranda continued in a low voice, "He's changed too, trying to hide and deny things he doesn't want to face with that carefree smile."

Miranda looked up.

“And you, Ash?” The girl from the Aarond family looked solemnly into her friend’s eyes: “What are you hiding, what are you denying?”

The two stopped simultaneously—one more step forward and they would be within attack range.

Kroes did not answer.

“Or let me ask you another way,” Miranda said calmly, “what exactly is your reason for playing for Lombardy?”

“Don’t tell me about ‘honor,’ ‘loyalty,’ ‘repayment,’ or ‘ambition,’” Miranda shook her head decisively before the other could speak. “As far as I know, none of these things are enough to make you betray your friends, your beliefs, or your pride as a Northman.”

Chloe looked at her old friend with a complicated expression.

A few seconds later, the Exter girl sneered: "That's not the right way to ask a question."

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

She glanced at the other person's left wrist—it had the wound she had inflicted, wrapped in bandages.

His abdomen, where Chloeshi had injured him, was still throbbing with pain.

“Very well,” Miranda chuckled, “then let’s talk.”

Before Kroeschi, Miranda's expression hardened, she flung her longsword aside, and her eyes flashed coldly:
"Use the swordsman's method."

----

A strange rustling sound came from behind.

“Demon flesh and blood,” Kaslan frowned, looking at Raphael struggling to his feet, his gaze lingering on Raphael’s unresponsive arms. “Just as the legend says, he recovered so quickly.”

Raphael slowly exhaled and shook his arms: "Ready for the next round?"

Kaslan simply watched him quietly.

“It must be unbearable, child,” the old man sighed after a long while. “There’s always a price to pay for sharing a body with limbs that don’t belong to you.”

Raphael's expression shifted.

The next moment, the young man suddenly sprang into action!
Clang.

A metallic clang, and a longsword was drawn!
It was so fast that it was almost impossible to react.

But Kaslan didn't touch his Soul-Slaying Spear at all, leaving it leaning against the wall as he coldly watched the enemy's sword blade get closer and closer to his face.

The next moment, the old man suddenly tilted his head and body to the side, dodging the trajectory of the sword thrusting towards him.

Raphael scoffed inwardly.

At that moment, the power of termination within him and that thing were simultaneously activated, unleashing an extraordinary force and speed!

In the gaps unnoticed by ordinary people, Raphael's muscles and bones groaned in pain, enduring immense pressure.

In that instant, Raphael's speed and power reached their peak, completing an impossible change of direction, his sword flashing!

The goal is to get ahead of Kaslan in his evasive path and kill him in one fell swoop.

This was inspired by the Pegasus Symphony—to force the enemy into a path of evasion, and then use his unique finishing power and physical advantages to force a change of direction at the last moment when it was impossible to change tactics, unexpectedly killing the enemy.

Simple, direct, and often effective.

But the next second, Kaslan expressionlessly flicked his foot and kicked the Soul-Slaying Spear on the wall. The Soul-Slaying Spear wobbled and then slid down.

During the fall, it slowly rotated around two-thirds of the way down the gun barrel.

Raphael's expression changed drastically!

The reason is simple: the blade of the Soul-Slaying Spear fell right into the path he had taken after changing direction!

Following this trajectory—Raphael was filled with dread: before he could kill Kaslan, his unstoppable momentum would lead to him being struck by the spear blade.

That is...

Soul Slayer.

In that instant, Raphael's already unleashed power of termination reversed again, forcefully colliding with what was within his body.

Raphael painfully took two steps, abruptly stopping his body from changing direction.

The inertia tormented his bones, and Raphael almost coughed up blood.

The blade of the gun grazed a piece of his sleeve.

But Kaslan's fist was already at his chest!
Raphael knew this was a matter of life and death, and the thing inside him cooperated like never before, unleashing energy at any cost.

His right hand swelled up with a strange rustling sound, its veins bulging, and he firmly blocked Caslan's fist.

Boom!
But Raphael's expression changed again—Kaslan's fist was light and weak.

Sure enough, the next moment, Kaslan turned his fist into a palm, grabbed Raphael's sleeve, and shoved him back in the original direction!
Raphael lost his balance and fell to one side.

To his utter astonishment, Kaslan pushed him toward the direction where the Soul-Slaying Spear had fallen.

The tip of the gun was pointed directly at him.

Raphael was now completely unsupported and could no longer dodge the spear blades.

The menacing spearhead of the Soul-Slaying Spear drew ever closer to his face.

In that instant, Raphael decisively released the longsword in his left hand, and the veins in his left arm bulged and turned a deep black!

His left hand instantly lashed out, striking the Soul-Slaying Spear with a punch.

Before the blade could sever his nose, the infamous weapon was knocked away!

thump!
Raphael fell to the ground, coughing up another mouthful of blood in pain, but he dared not linger. He rolled backward twice in a disheveled manner, avoiding Kaslan's attack range.

Bang!

The Soul-Slaying Spear then fell to the ground, making a continuous thud.

The metallic sound echoed in the corridor.

Kaslan sighed and shook his head: "I saw your expression—you're probably suffering in pain every moment, feeling their rejection and denial of you."

Sweating profusely, Raphael gritted his teeth, feeling the turmoil within his body. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and he felt excruciating pain.

His red eyes stared at Kaslan, his expression one of disbelief.

impossible.

This time, is there not even the slightest chance?
Is it really as the teacher said...?

Kaslan Rumba – is he someone who cannot be defeated head-on?

"You think you can control them, that they are nothing more than insignificant embellishments, nothing more than unimportant additions to your life."

"but……"

“It’s like a never-ending rebellion,” Kaslan continued, his face somber. “When you become weak, when you start to compromise, they come on strong and turn on you.”

Kaslan raised his head and kicked the Soul-Slaying Spear on the ground.

He pounded his chest twice, coughing, his voice hoarse and sorrowful: "I've tried it too... cough cough... I know."

“When you abandon your true self, compromise with reality, and accept things that don’t belong to you,” Kaslan said, raising his head in anguish, “this is the consequence.”

Sooner or later, you will become a non-human creature that you can't even recognize yourself.

The old man watched Raphael struggle and groan on the ground, and said sadly, "I apologize to you on behalf of Shao, on behalf of the Tower of the End, child."

Raphael's expression changed.

"Apologize to me?" He silently gritted his teeth.

“You self-righteous old man,” Raphael trembled as he struggled to lift his head, cold sweat pouring down his face, yet he couldn’t stop sneering, “What do you know, so ignorant as you are?”

Kaslan sighed and shook his head.

“I know Shao.”

“He’s a good man, always thinking about taking the blame for others and making amends,” Kaslan said sadly, looking at his opponent and coughing. “But often, the cruelest decisions are made by good people.”

Raphael stared blankly at the old man.

“Don’t worry,” Kaslan said, catching his breath. He pulled back the gun and walked step by step toward Raphael, his voice full of apology. “You’ll soon be free from this suffering.”

The old man raised the Soul-Slaying Spear and aimed it at Raphael on the ground.

Just now.

tread!tread!tread!
The sound of hurried footsteps came from behind Kaslan.

Getting closer.

"call!"

Then came the sound of sharp blades cutting through the air!
Kaslan remained calm. He suddenly turned around and swept his spear across the ground!

"Bang!" The spear struck the wall on one side, sending shards of stone flying.

Kaslan frowned: he hadn't hit the enemy—the attacker had already slid backward, avoiding the sweeping radius of the Soul-Slaying Spear, and slid to his side!
The battle-hardened old man's expression immediately turned serious, and he quickly retreated, dodging the two flashes of sword light on the ground.

After forcing Kaslan to retreat, the enemy did not continue their advance. He knelt on the ground and slowly stood up.

Raphael recognized the newcomer and his eyes widened.

"Why are you here? Where are the pursuers?"

Kaslan also saw the newcomer. The old man's expression was complicated, and his throat bobbed.

"I'm lucky." The man flicked the knife in his hand.

“And you, it’s obvious you’ve never been on the battlefield,” the newcomer said coldly to Raphael, his blunt words instantly making one feel uncomfortable: “You don’t even know how to kill someone.”

"And you're welcome."

Raphael sighed, trembling as he braced himself against the ground and stood up.

"Can't you speak properly?" the young man from the secret service said unhappily.

The newcomer snorted coldly and turned to face Kaslan.

"Get lost, you rascal."

Raphael raised an eyebrow: Clearly, this guy has absolutely no intention of “speaking properly.”

Lord Serri Nikolai, the "Fallen Star"—who was supposed to be the commander of the White Blade Guard at the palace gates blocking the pursuers—stood arrogantly before Caslan, his eyes filled with rage and hatred.

"From now on, this is the internal affairs of the White Blade Guard."

Kaslan and Nikolai locked eyes.

One side is complex and nuanced, the other is indifferent and resentful.

They both seemed to be trying to see something in each other's eyes.

Raphael picked up his longsword, frowning slightly. "You think you can handle him by yourself? This guy's going to be tough..."

"Enough," Nikolai interrupted him with an impatient snort.

"A broken old man in his sixties or seventies, who knows when he'll die," the Meteorite said disdainfully, under Raphael's strange expression. "Those who lose to him are probably all idiots." (In a corner of Dragon Sky City, a short man wearing a cloak sneezed violently while biting into a chicken leg.)
Raphael's brow furrowed even more as he listened to the other person's deliberate sarcasm.

Kaslan watched their interaction and gave a wry smile.

That kid.

He's as annoying as ever.

Raphael coughed.

“I suppose,” he subtly reminded Nicolai, while cleverly retorting, “that the young and valiant Grand Duke Pefit, before his duel with the old and frail King Nunn…”

"That's what I think too."

Nikolai turned around.

Along with that came murderous glares.

“Alright then,” Raphael raised his hands, took two steps back, and raised his eyebrows. “You two talk, I won’t disturb you.”

The young man from the secret department disappeared at the turn in the corridor.

Only Kaslan and Nikolai remained in the corridor.

The faint sounds of fighting could be heard nearby.

Nikolai silently turned to look at Kaslan.

He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but ultimately closed it weakly.

At the same moment, Kaslan also hesitated to speak.

The two commanders of the White Blade Guard faced off in this strange and tense atmosphere.

Finally, Nikolai gritted his teeth.

"Long time no see," the Meteorite spoke first, his voice filled with barely suppressed anger.

He uttered with difficulty a name he hadn't used in years:

"Boss."

Nikolai ground his teeth, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

For twenty years, only others ever called him that.

I've almost forgotten how I used to address others like that.

Boss.

Kaslan sighed and lowered his head.

"Yes."

“I was wondering when I would see you again,” Kaslan said gently, using a form of address he hadn’t used in years: “You’re late, you troublemaker.”

Nikolai's expression shifted slightly.

He snorted coldly.

“We were delayed for a while in front of the palace gates,” Nikolai shook his head, his gaze towards Kaslan growing increasingly hostile.

"Unfortunately, you can't make me run laps anymore."

At that moment, Kaslan looked at Nikolai in front of him, somewhat dazed.

It felt like stepping back in time.

"In front of the palace gate?" The old man stirred slightly.

"You blocked those soldiers, didn't you?"

“You used the ability of the Soul-Severing Blade…” Kaslan sighed slightly, his words carrying a deeper meaning and a double entendre: “You know, ‘You can’t escape.’”

Nikolai nodded slowly.

“Yes,” the Meteorite replied, pale-faced and cold-faced, using the same name of his Soul-Severing ability: “'You can’t escape.'”

Nikolai stepped forward, his face as cold as ice: "'Earthshaker,' the former captain of His Majesty Nunn's personal guard and the former commander of the White Blade Guard."

"Lord Kaslan Rumba".

The two remained silent for another second.

A silent sorrow washed over Kaslan.

“You troublemaker,” Kaslan sighed, his expression lonely and sorrowful, “Are you here to question me?”

Nicolai looked at him coldly.

Looking at his former commander.

"Do not."

The meteorite said succinctly and powerfully:
"That's something only His Majesty should do."

Kaslan frowned slightly.

“Don’t worry, boss,” Nikolai said coldly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and hatred.
"I'll take you to see him right away."

Thank you for your concern and understanding in the group.

The fever has subsided, but the cough persists, and the patient continues to take medication for the next few days.