Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 382 My Home (Part 1)

With mixed feelings, Thales left the ominous "Ghost Prince" Tower.

The chaos and noise of the Baki camp suddenly returned to my ears.

“I guess the sudden lockdown caught a lot of people off guard, plus the soldiers…” Old Hammer sighed, “The whole camp is more chaotic than usual, though it’s never really safe anyway.”

Thales followed behind Old Hammer and Quick Rope, struggling to squeeze past three men arguing with each other in different accents, shooing away a blacksmith peddling a rusty fighting sword at him with spittle flying, politely avoiding a gaudily made-up woman who wanted to lift her skirt up to him, and cleverly bypassing a group of thugs huddled in a corner, secretly observing and drunkenly approaching any newcomer who came near.

But when he saw a timid beggar reach out to him, and with a sigh he tried to take out a few northern copper coins, Old Hammer grabbed his hand and stopped him.

“No, if you show your compassion now, seven or eight people will be eyeing you later—the Baki camp isn’t what it used to be,” Old Hammer stuffed Thales’s money pouch back into his bag, glanced around warily, and patted his weapons.
"Since the Blood Bottle Gang drastically reduced its operations a few years ago, or rather, abandoned Baki's camp, people in the underworld have become less disciplined and acted without any bottom line, until they stripped you naked and sold you off—and you don't even know who's responsible."

Kuai Sheng's face turned pale, as if he had remembered something, and he muttered a few words under his breath.

Old Hammer's words made Thales pause for a moment.

"The Blood Bottle Gang?"

Old Hammer nodded.

“Back when I was in the army, this group of thugs who called themselves the Blood Bottle Gang controlled the underworld here. They were very powerful. They colluded with local nobles and were on friendly terms with high-ranking military officers. A third of the people living in the Baki camp were under their protection, whether it was smuggling, black market trading, street guarding, or prostitution. Many people who left the army had nowhere to go, so they would go to the Blood Bottle Gang to make a living.”

“But when we returned to the Blade Fang camp two or three years ago, the Blood Bottle Gang’s power was not what it used to be, at least they had restrained themselves a lot,” Old Hammer snorted. “I heard that they were taught a lesson by an even more ruthless opponent in the mainland, suffering heavy losses, which also affected their prestige here.”

Thales seemed to be deep in thought.

The diverse accents from all over the mainland mingled together, and even unfamiliar languages ​​from afar occasionally appeared. Various businesses and transactions came and went, and currencies from multiple countries were used interchangeably, which refreshed Thales's preconceived notions about this 'desert frontier' once again.

The three walked through the dusty streets, and after passing a number of fortresses, a strangely styled building came into view:

From a distance, it looks like an upside-down bowl, but it covers a vast area, comparable to the Sunset Temple in Yongxing City, like a giant casually building a huge sandstone block in the desert.

This semi-circular building seems to have little connection with the outside world. The mottled and rough curved walls are covered with tiny holes that can only be seen by squinting, allowing sunlight to penetrate and dust to invade.

Within Thales' field of vision, the wide outer wall had only one narrow archway, guarded by a squad of fully armed soldiers. The inside of the archway was dark and hazy, and could not be seen clearly, but it vaguely revealed gloom and ominousness.

Thales was filled with doubt.

Is this a bunker, or at least a military structure?

Or is it simply the commander's residence? Perhaps then I'll meet him here...

"Oh, are we really going to take this route?" Quick Rope's dejected voice rang out as he covered his head, refusing to look at the building.

“Don’t complain,” Old Hammer said without turning his head, “this is the fastest way.”

"What do you mean?"

Thales pointed questioningly at the semi-circular fortress that resembled an arena: "That is..."

The rope let out a strange sigh.

"The Prison of Bones".

"The place in this world you least want to go."

Looking at the group of guarding soldiers, Thales's expression hardened: "The Prison of Bones?"

Old Hammer nodded: "It's a place of exile for serious criminals throughout the entire Western Wilderness and even the kingdom."

Thales seemed to understand something.

He knows this place.

In the early days of the Star Kingdom, this unfamiliar wasteland, stretching from Exter to the Great Desert and bordering the small southern kingdoms, was a veritable nightmare. As a newly conquered territory of the Star Kingdom, most of it was uninhabited, with dangerous borders and constant sandstorms, making the terrain unsuitable for habitation. Apart from the noble lords who were enfeoffed for their merits—many historians believe that the Falkenhausen family's enfeoffment in the Western Wasteland was a form of punishment, reflecting their poor relationship with Tormund I—only those exiled here for their crimes reluctantly took root, year after year, day after day, thus forming the Western Wasteland of today.

During this period, what added color to the arduous journey and infamous reputation of the Western Wilderness was the cruel Prison of Bones.

It is unclear when it began, but especially for those criminals who committed heinous crimes or were highly controversial, when the usual sentencing methods were no longer applicable, they were often exiled to the Western Wilderness, to the Baki Camp, and imprisoned in the infamous White Bone Prison, to atone for their sins and serve their sentences in a new way. This saved the judges and local prisons trouble and also provided free labor to the hard-working Western Wilderness and even the Baki Camp, relieving some of the heavy pressure on the western front.

“See the part on the ground, those little windows? That’s the ‘White Prison’ in the Prison of Bones,” Old Hammer glanced sideways at the ominous building, avoiding the guards’ scrutinizing gaze. “Those imprisoned there are people convicted locally, and whose crimes are relatively minor—at least they can see the sunlight, and they can atone for their crimes by doing hard labor.”

Quick Rope, unusually, didn't interrupt; he simply looked with disgust at the oppressive shape of the skeleton prison.

"But the White Prison is only a small part of the Prison of Bones. The majority are the 'Black Prisons' built underground—countless dark caves that never see the light of day, specially prepared for serious criminals exiled from all over the kingdom. The more serious the crime, the deeper they are imprisoned. The Black Prisons descend layer by layer, with fewer and fewer prisoners, and it becomes more and more dangerous."

"Once you enter the black prison, there is no way to leave except to become a suicide squad that only one in ten survives, to charge into battle or act as bait."

Thales stared intently at the foundation outside the prison of bones, imagining what lay beneath.

Old Hammer sighed slightly: "Of course, suicide squads aren't something you can just get whenever you want, and spots are very limited. After the Desert War ends, there aren't many places that need suicide squads anymore. If you lose this opportunity, the people left in the Black Prison can only wait to die of old age one after another, leaving behind piles of white bones for unlucky newcomers to trample on."

"That's how the Prison of Bones got its name."

“Let’s go,” Quick Rope frowned awkwardly, looking slightly uneasy. “This place makes me nervous.”

Old Hammer patted him on the shoulder: "When Quick Rope first arrived, he was tricked into going to White Prison. I bet he remembers it vividly."

Thales looked at the rope in surprise.

But Kaisen just pursed his lips and didn't answer.

Thales wisely stopped asking questions and turned his gaze away from the mysterious and deep prison of bones.

They left the area of ​​the prison of bones and crossed the corner of a square fortress.

So, where are we going?

Old Hammer shrugged: "My home."

Thales was taken aback.

"Your home? I thought you said your hometown was in the wasteland?"

Old Hammer chuckled and shook his head.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about my home, but... well, you'll see when you get there."

Quick Rope winked slyly, making the already bewildered Thales even more confused.

But his doubts didn't last long.

After crossing another dusty street, they squeezed through the crowd and arrived at a three-story oval bunker bustling with people. The wide-open front door was wide enough for a carriage to drive in.

“This is it,” Quick Rope patted Thales on the shoulder: “My home.”

Thiels looked up curiously and saw a huge wooden sign hanging in front of the bunker. The sign was carved with a lifelike image of a wine glass, with wine spilling out and swaying slightly in the desert wind.

The moment the prince saw the sign clearly, his eyebrows twitched involuntarily.

Two large words were engraved in the center of the glass:
My Home

A line of small characters is carved at the bottom of the sign:
Humans will die, orcs will fall, queens will pass away, but we will never close our doors—starting in the year 462 of the End Era, from Queen Erika's goblet.

With a mix of amusement and exasperation, Thales followed Old Hammer through the doors of this "home" tavern. Before him lay a dozen or so haphazardly arranged wooden round tables, exuding the dusty scent unique to the desert. A diverse array of customers and tavern girls moved about, clinking glasses, laughing and joking—a cacophony of sounds, from toasts and dice games to arguments and angry shouts, almost every noise assaulted his ears simultaneously, creating a truly lively scene.

Ignoring Thales's astonished gaze, Old Hammer expertly pushed aside two men who were nearly drunk under the table, stuffed a copper coin into the chest of a waitress who was blocking his way, and decisively pulled his hand out amidst her aggrieved gaze, heading straight for the bar.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Quick Rope whispered to Thales, glancing at the hot waitress. “But Louisa and the others all say I’m not strong enough to pull my hand back.”

Perhaps they have a point.

Thales watched as the fast rope followed his gaze and silently said to himself.

“Syman,” Old Hammer said as he sat down at the bar, addressing a middle-aged man with gray hair beside him who was drinking alone, “we’re back.”

The middle-aged man turned his head, revealing a weathered face.

“Someone’s saying a caravan defied the blockade and entered the camp,” Seaman said casually, glancing at Quick Rope and Thales, who were also seated.
"I was worried that it was you."

Old Hammer shrugged: "Obviously, your fears have come true."

"How many?"

Seaman said softly, "I mean... how many people have been lost?"

Thales noticed that he was quite old.

This topic startled both Old Hammer and Quick Rope.

"How did you..."

“I’ve been doing this for twenty years, Hammer, and before that, I was in the army for ten years,” Seaman sighed, swirling the glass in his hand. “I know what it looks like when someone loses a comrade.”

These words seemed to have a magical power, shutting out all the noise from the tavern outside this corner.

Old Hammer and Quick Rope remained silent for a long time.

Influenced by them, Thales recalled his experiences in the desert and the fate of the greatswords he had only briefly spent with, and felt a lump in his throat.

The gray-haired Seaman didn't continue. He sighed heavily and turned to the bar: "Tampa, get this guy a strong drink!"

A fierce-looking man with a knife scar on his neck stepped out from behind the bar. He casually grabbed three bottles and, with a technique Thales couldn't see, "made" a drink in the blink of an eye, then pushed it over. He ignored the slightly expectant look in Quick Rope's eyes and gave Thales a cold glance.

Seaman pushed his glass toward Old Hammer: "How much?"

Old Hammer took a big gulp of wine, shook his head with a hiss, slammed the glass heavily on the table, and exhaled reluctantly.

Quick Rope chimed in sullenly, "Six."

Seaman sneered: "Who else survived?"

Old Hammer looked somber.

“Louise, McKee, and Dean.”

Seaman didn't speak; his eyes were fixed on the wine glass.

"Oh, right, this is Wyman..." As if to lighten the mood, Kaito coughed:
"The young man we rescued on the road, to be honest, helped us a lot. He... Wyman, this is Seaman, one of the people who stayed behind in our team."

Thales, who was looking around at this magical tavern, took a deep breath and tried his best to force a smile.

But Seaman clearly had no intention of exchanging pleasantries with him.

"Losing one, replacing one; dying in battle, a new one arrives, it's always like this..." The mercenary left behind looked at his nearly empty wine glass and murmured, "Is this the fate of mercenaries?"

Old Hammer shook his head, his mood low: "No, Seaman, Wyman isn't..."

But Seaman didn't let him continue.

“Come on, kid, it’s time for a team meeting,” the one who stayed behind waved his hand, suppressing a fleeting sadness, and put his arm around Old Hammer: “Tell me all the details, and while we’re at it, wait for Dean to come back… I think Dante’s greatsword is about to undergo a major shift.”

They left the bar.

Quick Rope's eyes flickered: "Me too..."

“You stay here, quick rope,” Old Hammer pointed back, “Take good care of Wyman, it’s his first time here.”

“But…” Quick Rope spread his hands with a wronged look on his face, while Thales, who was feeling embarrassed, responded with a smile.

Watching Old Hammer and Seaman ascend the stone steps, Quick Rope shrugged, withdrew his outstretched hand, sat back down in disappointment, and muttered, "Fine..."

Thales couldn't think of anything to comfort this newcomer who wasn't yet accepted by the team's core members, so he could only sit there awkwardly, silently pondering his next move.

"Six?"

A rough, hoarse voice came from the noisy tavern. Thales and Quick Rope looked up and saw the fierce-looking tavern owner wiping glasses, who had somehow appeared in front of them.

His skin was dark, clearly the work of a local who had been exposed to the scorching sun and sandstorms.

“You know, after the lockdown was implemented, the number of troops pouring in was beyond imagination… At that time, I thought, maybe someone is going to learn a lesson…”

Quick Rope pouted: "No, Tampa."

"Not now."

Thales frowned slightly, vaguely remembering the name.

The tavern owner, named Tampa, scoffed but didn't shut up: "You have ten experienced, fully armed professional assassins, and one rookie who at least looks good enough to intimidate you..."

Ignoring the protests of the ropes, Tampa wiped the glasses faster and faster: "Those who can survive in the desert are smart. As long as Tomdin is willing to pay some tolls, the sand bandits and exiles won't force you to pay such a high price..."

Quickstrip let out a painful sigh and resignedly collapsed onto the bar.

“We’ve encountered the Grey Bastards, Tampa.”

"Lots and lots of gray bastards."

Tampa stopped wiping the wine glass.

A few seconds later, just as Thales thought he was going to say something, Tampa suddenly bent down, and when he stood up again, there was a wine glass in front of him.

“Drink up, this is the finest Northern Rye, brought all the way from the North,” Tampa said, holding up a bottle and expressionlessly filling Quicksword’s glass.
"Believe me, this is the only way."

"It works very well."

Kaisen looked at the wine in front of him with some surprise.

But just a second later, looking slightly dejected, he grabbed his wine glass and downed it in one gulp.

Just as Thales was trying to find an excuse to slip away, the tavern owner suddenly nodded at him.

"So, quick rope... who is this pretty new girl? Is she your girlfriend?"

Boom!
Kaisen put down his glass and began to cough violently.

(End of this chapter)