Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 387 So Many Tricks
Before pushing open Dean's door, Thales had imagined many possible scenarios.

The current situation is one such example: the suspicious and shrewd mercenary prince is uncooperative, treating him as an enemy and remaining constantly wary of Thales.

But the other party's reaction was really excessive.

You don't need to do that.

Thales stared at Moral, feeling a faint stinging pain in his neck. With a look of surprise and doubt, he raised his hands to signal to his opponent.

He calmed his breathing, suppressed the surging sins of the River of Hell, and held back the unfounded urge to fight back: "I said I would keep my promise and let you go. No one will be watching you, and you won't be in any trouble."

"you say'?"

Moral's voice sounded rather unusual, calm and indifferent: "That doesn't sound like a strong guarantee."

The other person hadn't completely subdued him, but the knife in their hand was precisely and skillfully placed against his artery, and Thales could even clearly feel the surging blood in his neck.

damn it.

Prince Star tried his best to remain calm, his backpack pressing against the bed, making his back ache.

But the suspicion and vigilance of the former Prince Exeter made him extremely uneasy: the other man seemed to have become a different person, as if the mercenary Dean with the cheerful smile and easy-going personality had died, and what had come to life in him was another cold-blooded and cruel guy.

Thales even felt a pang of regret: perhaps he should have gone to the army in the first place.

Putting aside those annoying officers in the desert, at least you could find the Star Army in the camp and then arrive here without any problems to face the possible Morar.

but……

Thales shook his head inwardly, banishing the thought.

No.

he can not.

"What other guarantees do you want, Moral? My life?"

“If I really wanted to deal with you—whether in the desert or now—I could go to my army. With them as my trump card, killing you or letting you go is a matter I can decide with a single word.”

Thales tried to figure out the other person's psychology and thoughts.

"But I didn't, and the reason I did..."

Thales swallowed, which caused another sharp pain in his neck.

“No matter what I do with you, Moral, once the army and the kingdom's power are mobilized, your identity will no longer be a secret,” Prince Star took a deep breath, straining his neck to pull it back.

"No matter what I say, even if I explicitly order you to leave, the Secret Service or other interested parties will notice this mercenary that the prince has his eye on. They will thoroughly investigate his background, his details, and his secrets."

Moral continued to stare at him, his eyes reflecting the thin moonlight, gleaming coldly.

From his expression, Thales saw a hint of coldness and...mockery?
The anxiety intensified.

"If the Secret Service knew your identity, the first heir of Dragon Sky City who should have died..."

Thales gritted his teeth: "They won't let you go."

"If you fall into the hands of the Secret Service, there will be no going back..."

"This is something neither you nor I want to see."

Thales gasped for breath, thinking of deeper, more distant things.

If Morar falls into the hands of the Secret Service...

That girl.

The girl in Dragon Sky City.

It was only a matter of time before her identity, her bloodline, and the truth of that night were revealed to the Black Prophet…

Thales thought bitterly.

At that time, her fate might be a hundred times worse than being blackmailed and controlled by King Chaman—at least Chaman still cared about the legitimacy of his throne and more or less protected the Grand Duchess's fragile position.

As the head of the Secret Service, Morat Hansen was not Thales; the old man in black with a cane had no connection with the Grand Duchess.

As the creator of "Dragon Blood," the Black Prophet would never care whether the poor girl was torn to pieces or beheaded and hanged, as long as there was profit to be made.

That girl.

The girl in the library, the girl with glasses.

The girl who was taken out of Valhalla six years ago because of him, and who returned to Valhalla because of him.

The girl who risked her life to stand in front of the feudal lords for him on the day of the court hearing...

Thales seemed to feel an unusual weight on the glasses on his chest.

Morar's pupils slowly focused.

"You don't seem to trust the Royal Secret Service that serves you?"

These words reminded Thales of six years ago.

It reminded me of dragon blood.

No, it cannot.

Thales clenched his fist.

Secret Science cannot know Morar.

He couldn't risk the destruction of Selma by going to the military to deal with this.

That night, everything that happened in the Hall of Heroes must remain a secret forever. King Nunn is dead, and Nikolai and Risban must keep quiet. As for King Chaman…

Thales thought coldly.

No one will exploit this secret to create a second "Dragon Blood".

Thales caught his breath and forced an awkward smile: "Trust is a rare thing in this day and age."

Moral's expression shifted slightly.

"But why do you believe me?"

He asked softly, turning the knife in his hand at a slightly different angle, but still keeping it close to Thales's artery.

"Because you have no other better options."

Thales said slowly, "Listen to me, Moral, leave now, pretend nothing ever happened, live under an assumed name, stay away from Rumba's henchmen and the Secret Society's sight, at least you will have freedom."

“I believe that’s something you cherish.”

This time, Moral stared at him for a long time, but the pressure on his hand never eased.

Thales looked back at him, hoping he would regain some of his senses.

Finally, Morar laughed.

"Ha ha ha ha……"

The laughter, however, carried a chilling undertone.

This caused Thales's nerves, which had finally calmed down, to tense up again.

But what was terrifying was not Moral's laughter, but what he said next.

"You've misunderstood, Your Highness."

Moral spoke slowly and deliberately, enunciating each word clearly: "What I just asked was..."

"Why should you believe me...?"

"It must be Moral Walton!"

Upon hearing this, Thales was stunned for a full three seconds.

what.

He said……

The nights at Baki Camp were quite quiet; the heavy fortified buildings blocked the wind and sand, and also blocked the spread of sound.

At this moment, the atmosphere in the small room was eerily silent.

Thales stared at his opponent in disbelief.

"I don't understand," he said instinctively.

Moral snorted coldly.

“Of course you don’t understand,” the mercenary said sharply, “just like a fish that’s been hooked doesn’t understand: how can there be a hook in the bait?”

Thales's hands trembled.

and many more.

The prince stared at "Moral," who held his life in his hands, and felt a chill run down his spine.

No.

No.

He finally realized that he had made a fatal mistake.

"It's too obvious."

Thales murmured.

He stared blankly at Morar before him, recalling a point of doubt that he had long overlooked.

"It's too obvious. Your hair, eye color, speech, political views, orc language, even your axe skills, and your mercenary identity... even your origins and accent as a northerner..."

A chilling sneer appeared on Moral's face.

Prince Star looked at the mercenary in shock.

His brain started working, considering things he usually didn't pay attention to.

He recalled their first meeting.

From that time on, this outstanding mercenary led Dante's greatsword, negotiating, fighting, and surviving in the vast and complex desert, living a vibrant and fulfilling life as a mercenary.

Even... somewhat famous.

"It's too obvious."

Thales' pupils focused on the other person, his heart raced, and his breathing became rapid.

“As a mercenary, you’re constantly on the move, swaggering around like a thug… but you make no attempt to hide anything, no attempt to conceal anything, and you’re completely uninhibited,” Thales shuddered at his own thoughts.

“You’re practically telling the few people who know Morar is still alive: The prince is here.”

"This is not something someone who has been on the run for many years would do."

Moral, no, it should be Dean, his smile remained unchanged.

"And your reaction after you were exposed... was also problematic."

“No, you are not him.” Thales stared at the man in front of him, his face suddenly pale.

“You are not Moral Walton,” he said blankly.

The words fell.

The cottage remained as quiet as ever.

The cold moonlight scatters across Dean's face, making him look pale and sinister.

The first sound was his low, intermittent laughter. Dean's shoulders trembled slightly, but his hand holding the knife remained steady as ever.

The bald mercenary said calmly, "No, I am not."

Thales's breath caught in his throat for a moment.

“I just didn’t expect you to be so interested in Morar,” Dean said softly, holding the knife steadily in his left hand. “In the original plan, it would have taken some effort and cost to get you out of the heavily guarded army.”

Thales took a deep breath, not even caring that any sudden movement might endanger his neck.

He can't control that much anymore.

At this moment, he was already filled with astonishment and regret.

"why?"

Thales' chest heaved: "Who are you?!"

Dean shook his head and let out a soft sigh.

He leaned down, close to Thales's face, and used his knife to suppress any possibility of resistance: "At first, when I was assigned to this mission, I was full of confidence—only the most promising and capable people could receive this honor of going deep behind enemy lines and accessing the most profound and unpleasant top secrets..."

"Find the prince who should have been dead for a long time."

Thales was stunned.

Perform the mission...

Deep behind enemy lines...

They found the prince who was supposed to have been dead for a long time...?
he is……

He came to...

"But as time went by, the search continued day after day, but to no avail; the investigation continued year after year, but still no news came."

Dean's voice was exceptionally cold:
"Moral seems to have vanished from the face of the earth: I have searched everywhere I could find mercenaries, from the Three Kingdoms of the Lost Sea to the Thornlands, the Dragon's Kiss Land, Cornmas, and the Great Desert, but I have never found any trace of him."

“I used every method I could, painstakingly trying to figure out his psychology, behavior, and goals from all the known intelligence,” Dean said with deep hatred. “For countless days and nights, I lay in wait in places full of secret agents and Star Force, carefully hiding myself and racking my brains to search for Moral.”

"No."

Dean gritted his teeth and said:
There are no clues at all.

"I'm completely desperate."

Thales' breathing trembled.

Using the crime of the River of Prisons as a pretext, the prince forced himself to calm down and rethink his current situation.

“So,” Thales frowned deeply, “so you just…”

Dean looked at the incredulous Thales with a smile, seemingly enjoying the moment.

"So, having nowhere else to turn, I transformed myself into him, into Moral."

The mercenary gritted his teeth.

“I imitated his appearance, copied his words and actions, learned his mannerisms, even his thoughts and personality: a prince? A northerner? Learned orc language? A student of the Fallen One? A mercenary? Liked lower-class whores?”

His words grew increasingly hurried, revealing a deep resentment and unwillingness.

“I took his wishes as my own, his actions as my own, went where he was most likely to go, did what he was most likely to do, hoping to find something, understand something, or lure out those who were interested in him and see what clues I could get from them—or even, to lure out Moral himself.”

Dean's words came to an abrupt halt, his expression dark and pained.

"But I still failed."

“No,” the suspicious mercenary said bitterly, “aside from a few spies who look like Northerners, there’s still nothing.”

"For five years, I was like a headless fly, a blind cheetah, a stiff sand snake, futilely and hopelessly thrashing about in every place Morar might appear."

"As long as there's no good news, no trace of him, and no mission completed, I'll be trapped here, unable to go back, unable to leave, unable to break free..."

He stared intently at Thales: "Five whole years."

"do you understand?"

Thales gradually calmed down.

So everything is clear now, the person in front of me is...

Dean sneered, "I've had enough of this endless, fruitless pursuit, wasting my years and talents that should have been so great on sand and swords."

His eyes changed.

"But then, you appeared."

Dean stared at Thales with fervor, his facial muscles contorting in agony.

"My savior."

Thales stared blankly at him, but his right hand quietly reached for his waist.

But the shrewd mercenaries noticed this.

He moved the knife in his hand slightly.

Thales had to tilt his head back to avoid it digging into his artery, while sighing as he lowered his right hand.

"So, you had your eye on me the moment we met," the prince said, annoyed.

Dean paid no attention to Thales's little tricks. He just snorted and shook his head: "At first, I wasn't sure who you were either, especially when we first encountered the Star Army. You never revealed your identity from beginning to end. Even after arriving at the Blade Fang camp, you didn't show any sign of looking for reinforcements. This made me increasingly suspicious: maybe you're not the person I was thinking of?"

"I had to suppress the urge to act time and time again... My probing had to be brief and to the point. I was lurking here, isolated and helpless. If I was not careful, I would be doomed and drown in the Secret Service and the Star Army that came after hearing the news."

“Until tonight.”

The cabin remained quiet, but the atmosphere here was completely different.

The cold-faced man held Thales firmly in his grasp, turning the mercenaries' first night home into a night of conflict filled with intrigue and danger.

“You’re a spy, a mole, an agent, or something else,” Thales said resentfully.
"You didn't come here to see me."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“No,” he shook his head, quite satisfied.

“Thales, who has escaped, you are an unexpected bonus—perhaps not my primary target, not my mission here, but without a doubt, you are a ticket, a permit for me to jump out of this bottomless quagmire.”

Thales closed his eyes and let out a painful sigh.

“Haha, now it seems that King Chaman and you both know about Moral’s whereabouts. She won’t be happy,” Dean said in a deep voice. “But I’ve captured you, which at least makes sense—I can finally leave this place.”

Thales' heart skipped a beat.

and many more.

He opened his eyes, the knife pressed against his neck, and spoke with difficulty.

"she?"

Thales asked in surprise, "You mean 'she'?"

"Yes, dear Prince Thales."

Dean nodded slightly, a cold smile appearing on his lips.

He lowered his upper body slightly, adopting a somewhat informal gesture of greeting:
"The Darkroom sends its greetings."

Thales did not answer—his sigh remained trapped in his chest.

There was a long silence between the man and the boy.

After a long while, Thales finally let out a sigh of relief.

"What are you planning to do? Knock me out and take me away?"

"Where are you going? Don't forget this is the Blade Fang Camp. Are you taking me west or north to the desert teeming with the Star Army? Or are you going east or south, perhaps even venturing into the Star Kingdom's inland territory?"

Dean shook his head.

"The situation here is indeed not good, but there will always be a way."

Thales chuckled.

"So you are not Moral, but a spy sent to search for Moral."

He frowned slightly.

"But... dear Dean, do you really think I'd be foolish enough to risk coming here in the dead of night to confront you without any certainty?"

Dean's smile froze.

"Haven't you thought about it carefully?"

Thales asked softly, "How did we meet?"

Dean was slightly taken aback.

But at that moment, something unexpected interrupted their standoff.

pat.

A soft sound.

Bright light shone into the dimly lit room, illuminating the two people on the bed clearly.

Thales and Dean both turned their gazes away.

The drunken mercenary rookie, Quick Rope, stood bewildered at the door, holding an oil lamp, still in the posture of pushing the door open.

Both of them were stunned.

Quick Rope let out a big yawn, still half asleep.

"Sorry, Dean, I didn't mean to wake you. I just needed to poop in the middle of the night and came to get some stuff to wipe my butt..." Quick Rope muttered, "There must have been drugs in those bottles of liquor. It almost killed me..."

A second later, he saw Thales pinned to the bed by Dean and was immediately dumbfounded.

His mouth was open wider than an egg.

Under the incredulous gazes of the two, Kaisen suddenly covered his eyes!

He stammered, his voice trembling with fear, "Don't worry, I didn't see anything... I mean, you can continue, I swear I won't tell Louisa anything..."

Quickly covering his eyes, he cautiously stepped inside, as if afraid of disturbing something.

He reached for a broken cabinet beside the bed: "So where did you put the things...?"

On the bed, the two people who had been tensely facing each other finally came to their senses.

The two of them were eager to speak!
“Quick, it’s not what you see…” Dean, holding the other person down, frowned deeply. “Wyman is suspicious. I suspect he might be…”

"No, quick, I'm Prince Thales, he's a spy from the North!" Thales, pinned beneath him, struggled to speak. "Quickly, find the camp..."

Dean tightened his grip on the knife, silencing Thales's words.

Quickly covered his eyes and groped his way to the cabinet.

"Wow, role-playing? Torturing a prince?"

The mercenary rookie gave an awkward laugh: "You guys... have so many tricks up your sleeves..."

At this moment, a sudden change occurred!
I've accidentally reached 5000 words again. Sigh, I'm a failure in my "fragmentation training."

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(End of this chapter)