Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 489 Usurpation
"Tell me, child, among all these orcs in the world... cough cough... cough..."

My uncle's voice was accompanied by a heavy cough, which could not be drowned out even by the sound of the horses' hooves of the guards on both sides.

"...Which one is the most dangerous?"

He snapped out of his daze and lifted his gaze from the mud beneath the horse's hooves:
"The kind that's on the verge of death."

He wasn't in high spirits while riding his horse, lagging behind his uncle's carriage by a full length.

“Yes, the kind that’s on the verge of death.” My uncle’s weak voice seemed to have been suddenly injected with new vitality.

Just like my uncle in his prime, he was full of confidence and ambition.

"Just as a sand scorpion hides its stinger behind its tail, and a viper buries its fangs deep in its mouth, dangerous quicksand lies hidden underground."

At that time, my uncle's back was tall and imposing, his arms were strong and powerful, and his voice was deep and resonant.

Thinking of this, he snorted, spurred his horse, and hurried a few steps to the carriage.

But my uncle was like a desert after a storm; his once-revitalized voice returned to a state of dejected hoarseness.
"So, which type of orc is the safest?"

He answered calmly and slowly:

"The kind that dies."

“No, that’s what old Maester Mann taught you,” his uncle scoffed. “A dead orc is a good orc.”

"But I must say, Cyril, the safest orc..."

"It was also the kind that was on the verge of death."

He froze for a moment.

My uncle's weak voice rose and fell with the horse's advance:
"Because they are like arrows at the end of a crossbow, the tail of a terrifying sandstorm, or the embers of fuel that has burned out."

"It made a big splash, but it had no staying power."

He clenched his horse's flanks and frowned deeply:
"This damn riddle... Old man, you didn't happen to regain your virility last night and sleep with a priestess from the Temple of the Underworld, did you?"

"Or worse... a male priest?"

The uncle's voice fell silent for a moment, and for a while only the sound of the guards' horses' hooves could be heard.

A few seconds later.

"Ok."

My uncle chuckled helplessly through his cough:

"Maybe that's why I like you."

Hearing his uncle's cough, which was worse than last week, his heart sank, but he forced himself to stay awake.

“'Like me'—if that’s your last words, old man.”

"I have to say, it's awful."

He whistled, trying to sound casual:

"Let everyone who hears this think you're a perverted old man who likes to defile his own nephew."

My uncle remained silent for a while.

The guards on both sides continued to march side by side dutifully, their expressions unchanged, as if they hadn't heard their conversation at all.

After a long while, my uncle's helpless and weak voice finally rang out:
“...A dying orc is both dangerous and safe. So why do the Bone People say that the Desert God has neither disaster nor pardon? Because disaster and pardon are just a thought away, changing back and forth.”

"Therefore, we must remain vigilant at all times."

He scratched his ear helplessly.

My uncle continued, his voice growing increasingly serious:
"The princes of Blade's Edge Territory may seem to have reformed and are behaving themselves, but in reality, their nature is hard to change and they will eventually bring trouble upon themselves."

"The fat, unscrupulous merchant in the East China Sea appears to be well-connected and harmless, but he is adept at changing his tune depending on the wind and discarding those who have helped him."

"The cliff dwellers pretend to be aloof, arrogant, neutral, and selfless, but they are nothing more than a bunch of stinking rats relying on the natural barrier of the mountains."

"As for that cowardly old bastard on the south bank, hmph, he's even more closed-minded and conservative than a priestess who's already out of bed."

"They are all unreliable to you."

His uncle's voice trailed off.

He listened silently for a while before suddenly speaking:
"Old man, you..."

"Have you really had sex with a female priest?"

A heavy pounding sound came from inside the carriage!
"you--"

It seemed that his uncle had choked again, and his breathing became disordered.

A slight smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

Finally, the uncle suppressed his anger and sighed:
"Sigh, never mind... In comparison, old Dylan in the North is resilient and self-reliant. What's even more remarkable is that his eagle cubs are all successful, the brothers are united, and the family is of one mind..."

His heart tightened, fearing that this would stir up painful memories for his uncle.

Fortunately, my uncle glossed over it lightly:
"Unfortunately, their position is too poor. If anything changes, they will be the first to be affected and unable to provide assistance."

Feeling depressed, he stopped thinking about it and instead looked up at the increasing vegetation on both sides of Grace Avenue:
"You seem to have missed the most important one?"

My uncle paused in his breathing.

As the convoy rounded a sharp bend, several farmers driving carts huddled nervously by the roadside, waiting for the Four-Eyed Skull Flag to pass.

After a long while, my uncle's weak voice rang out again, carrying with it years of lingering resentment and bitterness:

"The stars beyond the heavens... high above."

"You can only look from afar, but you must not have any unrealistic fantasies."

"They are even less trustworthy."

He sensed a deep chill from his uncle's tone.

"Remember."

"Cannot be trusted."

His uncle's words turned into a heavy, ominous cough.

He didn't speak.

Several seconds later, he finally released his grip on the reins, which had nearly snapped.

Amid his uncle's unwell cough, he took a deep breath and forced himself to smile:

"If that's what you're saying, then we should all just be independent and solitary people."

"Always at odds, disliked by everyone?"

My uncle stopped coughing, but didn't speak immediately; for a moment, only the sounds of horses' hooves and wheels could be heard.

Finally, a long sigh came from inside the carriage:

"Isn't that precisely... the meaning of our existence in the Western Wilderness?"

There was helplessness, but also relief.

Even more resentful.

Duke Falkenhaus opened his eyes.

Before him, another prince named Canxing was staring at him nervously.

They cannot be trusted.

Falkenhaus snorted inwardly.

Thales' arm stiffened behind his back, pressing down hard on the dagger hidden under the blanket.

The boy peered through the Western Wilderness Duke's ambiguous smile and seemed to see another bloody, grotesque, empty-eyed dead head.

That's the head of the drill bit.

The second prince took a deep breath.

and many more.

If Falkenhausen was the mastermind behind Hyman's assassination...

Why is he telling me this now?

What benefit would he gain from admitting this to another shining star?
Is this a preemptive strike, a prelude to a falling out, or perhaps there's another purpose?

As usual, Thales deliberately feigned surprise to please the other party while frantically trying to figure out the key to it.

From his days as a beggar to his life as a prince, this tactic has been quite effective against dim-witted and self-important individuals like Quaid and Nicolai, and even surprisingly effective against cunning and treacherous characters like the annoying Ian and the cunning Monty the Deathcrow.
They always managed to gain a sense of superiority and invincibility from Thales's flustered behavior, thus exposing his biggest flaw in their contempt and satisfaction.

After going through many ups and downs, this has become Thales' most skilled instinct.

He was so skilled that he could hardly tell when his loss of composure was genuine and when it was deliberate acting.

However, this tactic sometimes fails.

For example, when facing King Chaman in the carriage.

such as……

just now.

"What, you've been living too comfortably in the North? You're scared already?"

The Duke of the Western Wilderness spoke again, his words carrying a hint of amusement. He stared at Thales, who appeared to be stunned, seemingly somewhat displeased:
"What about this?"

Which?

Before Thales could think any further, he saw Cyril reach out and grasp the...

That long-handled sword.

The prince was startled.

"Shh!"

With the sound of metal rubbing against leather, the sword was drawn, leaving a trail of silver light in the air!
Oops!

The sins of the River of Hell seeped into his nerves, and Thales instinctively rolled off the bed and onto the ground!
Are you kidding me?
He rose and bent his knees at a safe distance from the silver light, his dagger held horizontally in a stance resembling an iron body.

Thales, still shaken, looked at Cyril Falkenhausen, who remained calmly seated in his chair.

The long-handled sword, which had just been drawn from its sheath, was held in the Duke's hand, and as the Duke turned his wrist slightly, it slowly drew an arc.

It was chilling and imposing.

There was a subtle sense of coercion in it.

"Good, at least you're not as bad as you seem."

Cyril smiled sinisterly, completely disregarding the prince's pale face.

What are you doing?
Thales looked at Cyril in disbelief.

So... they've turned against each other?

But what concerned Thales even more was something else:

The lurking Yordle remained silent, showing no reaction even when he was in danger.

what happened?

Is that guy really angry because of what just happened?

The kind that can't be coaxed?

Just as Thales was racking his brains for a solution, a familiar hoarse voice gently rang in his ears.

"calm."

The masked guard's voice was faint and ethereal, almost inaudible, yet it eased Thales's tense breathing:
"not him."

not him.

The familiar voice brought Thales' heart back to its chest.

not him.

But in that instant, seeing Cyril's malicious smile, Thales seemed to have grasped something.

This is Baki Camp, a royal domain directly under the control of the royal family, where a considerable number of standing troops are stationed.

With the legendary Wings at his side and King Kethel behind him.

Confessing his guilt and threatening the prince—Falkenhausen should never have done that, in any case.

The prince, whose thoughts had been interrupted by his battle stance, took several deep breaths and forced himself to start thinking again.

Then why...

Why……

not him.

After being reminded by Yordles, Thales seemed to have figured something out and asked a question, but he didn't dare to relax his fighting stance for a moment:

Are you the murderer or not?

Cyril stared intently at him, his longsword steadied perfectly, a strange light gleaming in his eyes.

Finally, in the tense standoff, the Duke of the Western Wilderness chuckled and shook his head:
"It seems you don't know."

Under Thales's solemn expression, Cyril's sinister smile slowly faded.

The Duke held the long-handled sword across his lap, slowly playing with it, no longer looking at Thales.

I have no idea?

Not understanding what he was saying, Thales took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

"You said you placed the assassin in front of Prince Hyman..."

The prince gritted his teeth and asked:

"but why……"

Falkenhaus didn't turn his head, but kept staring at the exquisite long-handled sword on his lap.

"Because that was his wish."

Thales's question came to an abrupt end.

His wishes?

This time, before Thales could press for answers, Duke Cyril replied softly, his voice erratic and his emotions complex:

"He was the one who took the initiative to contact them."

"Find those assassins—the Shadow Shield."

Thales was stunned.

but.

but……

Hyman?

Is there also the Shadow Shield?

Thales understood the Duke's words and his eyes widened immediately.

“Eighteen years ago,” Cyril said calmly.

"Hyman came to me and asked me to do my best to help him avoid the guards from the Royal Guard and the Star Guard so that he could have a private meeting with some unfamiliar 'guests'."

"More than once." (He avoided his personal guards.)

Unfamiliar guest.

A cold wind blew into the room, causing the Duke of the Western Wilderness's fur robe to tremble slightly and his gray hair to flutter.

The wind stirred up endless dust, revealing its true form, often unnoticed by people, under the sunlight—countless particles drifting back and forth, tumbling eerily in the air.

Cyril's eyes still darted around, seemingly gleaming.

"Until...the last time."

the last time.

For some reason, Thales suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

"The Shield of Shadows, to avoid the royal family's eyes and ears, to meet, therefore..."

Incredulous, Thales put down the dagger and straightened up.

He moved his lips with difficulty:

"The Bloody Year...was it him?"

"Hyman?"

The narrow room on the top floor of the Ghost Prince Tower fell silent.

All that could be heard was a faint commotion coming from below the window.

And the fierce, cold wind that blows from the heights.

But the prince felt as if he had fallen into a deep, thick fog.

And he is getting closer and closer to the truth behind the fog.

In the dungeon, Samir's hate-filled words floated into his mind:

Is she Hyman, a 'beauty' with only a pretty face and literary talent, but a narrow-minded, ruthless, and vicious heart?

Was it a son killing his father, or a brother killing his brother?

The fourth prince, Hyman Shining?
Cyril did not answer.

But Thales was only in a daze for a few seconds before he immediately shook his head, and a multitude of mysteries rushed in:

"But why...why?"

"If he is the star behind the scenes..."

"Then why did the Shadow Shield want to kill him?"

This makes no sense.

He stared intently at Falkenhausen, who seemed lost in thought.

The Duke gently closed his eyes, then opened them again, placed his arms on his knees, and leaned forward.

He composed himself, turned his head to look at Thales, and let out a faint yet chilling laugh again:

"I also want to know."

Thales was taken aback:
"You do not know?"

Cyril chuckled lightly, seemingly unconcerned:

"Do not."

"Maybe he was just too stupid and got double-crossed."

"Perhaps he was always a victim, destined to be betrayed."

"Perhaps he was merely an insider, yet he ultimately could not escape his fate."

"Perhaps he was just unintentionally involved and wanted to turn the tide."

Cyril lowered his head, a slight upturn at the corners of his lips, whether in sarcasm or mockery was unclear:
"But... he didn't want me to know."

he does not know.

Thales was not satisfied with the answer.

He took a deep breath, slowly stepped forward, and sat back down at the foot of the bed, facing the Duke.

"really?"

"He asked you to do a favor without letting you know the truth, and you agreed? Without even asking?"

Thales said coldly:

"You're being far too generous."

Cyril slowly turned his head.

It might be an illusion, but Thales suddenly felt that Duke Falkenhaus's ugly, grotesque face had softened considerably.

Believe it or not, child.

Cyril's gaze suddenly turned serious, and his sunken lips opened and closed in the sunlight:
"Hyman is one of my few friends—at least compared to his brothers who have nothing but schemes, killings, money and women on their minds."

"He asked for help, so I helped him. It's that simple."

Thales frowned deeply.

Brothers whose minds are filled with conspiracy, killing, money, and women...

Cyril observed Thales' expression, shook his head, and chuckled softly.

But the prince's next words changed his expression.

"Does this have anything to do with Prince Horace?"

Thales relaxed his brow, but the gravity in his eyes was beyond measure:

"Why did Hyman go to find the Shadow Shield, only to ultimately die at its hands?"

At that moment, Falkenhausen's expression froze.

Horace.

He stared at Thales, still ugly and ferocious, but the playful expression was gone.

"Why do you ask?"

Thales exhaled and answered him with another question:

"And you, why are you telling me all this eighteen years later, at the very place where Hyman died?"

Cyril stared at Thales for a very long time.

Finally, the Duke's elbows left his knees, and he straightened up in the chair.

To Thales' surprise, Cyril, who seemed to be getting serious, did not answer his question, but instead raised the longsword on his knee again and looked him up and down.

Have you ever seen a sword like this, Your Highness?

Cyril seems to have moved on from his past memories and has regained his frightening yet carefree smile.

Thales was taken aback.

He then noticed that the Duke's longsword had a unique shape, with an unusually long bronze guard and hilt that did not seem to conform to the most ideal stress-bearing structure, but was exquisite and well-proportioned enough. The two blades extended into smooth arcs like sand dunes, giving people a sense of aesthetic comfort.

The center of the sword guard is inlaid with a pure black gemstone, the type of which is unknown.

Cyril didn't even look up, simply admiring the exquisite sword to himself:
"The ancient imperial sword, also known as the ancient knight's sword, has a unique style and curvature, an amazing sense of balance, making it easier to slash and more fluid and powerful to wield."

"It requires top-quality raw materials and superb forging skills, as well as a considerable cost—I guess that's why they were destined to be impossible to mass-produce and eventually disappeared on the battlefield, leaving only a few treasures that could become family heirlooms."

Cyril turned the sword upside down so that Thales could see the bottom of the hilt.

It was an unfamiliar ancient imperial script that Thales almost didn't recognize:

F.

The engraving of this letter appears rather rough and doesn't quite match the other exquisite parts of the sword.

An ancient imperial sword? An ancient knight's sword?
and many more.

Thales' brow twitched.

Such an arc...

It looks somewhat familiar.

“I’ve seen it before, one.” Thales’ mind conjured up Ricky’s equally beautifully curved silver-hilted longsword—Eternal Truth.

"But what does it have to do with what I asked, with Hyman, with Horace?"

Thales asked alertly, subtly shifting his weight back to make sure his legs touched the ground.

Cyril continued admiring what might be a family heirloom of the Falkenhausen family, clicking his tongue in amazement:

"It is said that the first batch of ancient imperial swords were made with materials provided by dwarves and forged by elves, using earth flames as furnace fire and gathering the essence of the seven seas, as a tribute to the first emperor of this world, the 'Great Emperor' Komora Kalosser who created a boundless golden age for mankind."

Thales' thoughts paused slightly.

Cyril raised his head and gave a cold laugh:
“That’s right, I’m talking about your ancestor, the one whose blood was said to be gilded and shimmering.”

Thales blurted out instinctively:
"But you—"

Cyril, however, seemed determined not to be interrupted and returned to his longsword on his own.
"This sword is called 'Warning Sword'. It was used in the final battle six hundred years ago by Tiberia Falkenhaus. He was Tormund I's swordsmanship teacher when he was young, and also the most senior follower under the King of Restoration, until he was enfeoffed in the Wasteland and became the first Duke of the Western Wasteland and my ancestor."

Warning.

Tormund I.

The final battle.

Thales was getting impatient:

“I will have time to hear your family history, but for now, let’s—”

“And the last time the Warning Guardian served!” Cyril’s voice suddenly rose, drowning out Thales’s.

The Duke of the Western Wilderness narrowed his eyes slightly, turning his head to look at Thales, who was frowning:

"It is in the hands of another Cyril Falkenhausen."

"He was my great-uncle, serving in the royal guard of Sumer IV the 'Silent One'. In the crisis of the king's sudden death, he wielded this sword and led the guard to fight their way out, thus protecting the young Eddy II and allowing him to ascend the throne and reign over the stars."

As Cyril spoke, he flashed his longsword, displaying a skillful and steady hand that surprised Thales, who had always thought Duke Falkenhausen was physically disabled.

and many more.

Thales's expression changed!
He gleaned something from what she just said.

Another Cyril Falkenhausen.

Royal Guard?

Sumer IV, the “Silent One”.

The king suddenly died.

And... Eddie II?
Thales stared intently at the "Warning".

Before he could even sort things out, Cyril sighed:
"Falkenhausen, this surname is as ancient as Aarond, passed down since the imperial era, and following the Star Family, it continues to this day."

The Duke gazed at his ancient imperial sword:
"From the final battle to the bloody year, just like this warning weapon—we have witnessed too much and learned too much."

A strange glint appeared in the eyes of the Duke of the Western Wilderness:
"Regardless of the rise and fall of the Star Kingdom..."

"Or perhaps the royal family of Shining Star..."

Falkenhaus removed the scabbard from his cane, glancing sideways at Thales with a meaningful look:
"A bloody storm."

Cyril slowly exhaled and sheathed the "Warning" sword.

"Compared to that, does the answer you're asking still matter?"

Thales raised an eyebrow.

Reflecting on what he had seen and heard over the past few days, the prince suddenly had a guess.

“Eddie II, my grandfather.”

“I have heard that he is the eldest of Sumerian IV’s surviving children, and also a male.”

Thales slowly opened his mouth:
"I think his ascension to the throne and coronation should proceed smoothly without any obstacles?"

He squinted:
"Where did you get this 'bloodshed' you mentioned?"

The Duke of the Western Wilderness put away his nostalgic and melancholic expression and slowly smiled.

He turned his head and stared intently at Thales:
"Perhaps your history teacher didn't mention your grandfather's stepmother, Bella, the 'Witch Queen' from the Iris family, and her sister-in-law, the Duchess of the Blades, your grandfather's aunt, the former Princess Helena."

The Iris family, with Bella as their "Witch Queen".

Duchess of Blades, Princess Helena.

Hearing these unfamiliar names, Thales's mind started working.

"Furthermore, it doesn't mention how they conspired to forge an edict after the death of Sumer IV, intending to send your underage grandfather to the Temple of the Setting Sun as a lifelong priest, so that Queen Bella's biological son, the infant John Star, could usurp the throne as king."

Thales' eyes widened suddenly!
John Shinsing.

A conspiracy to forge an imperial edict.

Thales couldn't help but grip the dagger tighter.

Queen Bella's biological son.

To replace the elders with the younger ones.

Cyril laid down his sword, deeply saddened:

"Of course, if Queen Bella had succeeded more than sixty years ago, neither of us would be here worrying."

If Queen Bella succeeds...

There's no need to worry about this here...

Damn old man.

Thales took a deep breath to calm his surprise.

"Enough, Duke Falkenhausen."

"From just now until now..."

Thales's face darkened.

What exactly are you implying?

This time, the second prince stared intently at the Duke of the Western Wilderness, his attitude unfriendly:

"Was it John, the Duke of Star Lake and the younger brother of the late king, who had the opportunity to surpass my grandfather and ascend the supreme throne of the stars?"

Falkenhausen curled the corners of his mouth.

"Is it the Kevindir family of the Iris Flower, who once attempted to interfere in the succession to the throne?"

Cyril's smile remained unchanged.

"And is Princess Helena's husband's family—the Blade Dukes, whose entire clan was wiped out eighteen years ago—also involved?"

Seeing Cyril's unhurried and composed expression, Thales gritted his teeth:
"Or is it an implication that during that bloody year, one of my grandfather's princes also wanted to usurp the throne as the youngest..."

"Usurp the throne?"

I've written several versions of this chapter, but I'm still not satisfied. I'll move the plot forward first and come back to revise it later.



(End of this chapter)