Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 490 Do Something

The history of stars has never been without bloodshed.

Gilbert's words echoed in the boy's mind once again.

"You've overinterpreted my words, Your Highness."

Cyril chuckled, reached for a fist-sized red fruit—one that Thales couldn't even recognize—on his plate, and wiped it on his sleeve.

“I mean, as the oldest vassal of the Star, Falkenhaus has seen far too many similar dramas in the reflection of the Warning’s blade: from the first day to the last.”

"We've all become numb to it."

As soon as the Duke of the Western Wilderness finished speaking, he completely ignored Thales's suspicious gaze and took a bite of the fruit in his hand with a smug look.

But Thales still watched him warily:
"Is it?"

Cyril's cheeks twitched as he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the chewing, but his emaciated face and frightening features only made the action look more gruesome.

"Similarly, the truth about the bloody year is no longer important—just like sixty years later, would anyone still care about your grandfather's coronation crisis?"

Cyril leaned back, his serpentine eyes fixed intently on Thales.

He mumbled indistinctly:
"The important question is, what has this bloody year brought us, and how should we face it?"

Thales looked away, trying not to watch as the fruit pulp in Cyril's mouth changed from a solid to small pieces, and then to powder.

The prince said solemnly:

"I don't like making things mysterious."

"I also don't like beating around the bush."

Cyril swallowed a mouthful of fruit and chuckled.

He braced himself against the chair arm with his left elbow, leaning forward, his gaze suddenly shifting to an aggressive one.

"Then perhaps you're not suited to be a star."

Thales slowly turned his head and looked at him.

Cyril maintained his half-serious, half-mocking gaze, while the prince's expression remained calm and composed.

The two looked at each other silently.

There was an indescribable feeling in the air.

A few seconds later, Thales lowered his head slightly, staring at the Duke at an unusual angle, his voice low and deep:
"My father knows, doesn't he?"

Falkenhausen paused slightly in his right hand, which was toying with half a piece of fruit.

The sharp glint in his eyes slowly faded.

Thales took a deep breath and said seriously:

"Whether it was your secret assistance to Hyman back then, his collusion with the Shadow Shield, or even what happened that night."

"He knows everything."

The prince used an affirmative sentence.

The curve of Cyril's lips slowly disappeared.

“So what if he knows?” the Duke said slowly, like the approaching pace of prey:
So what if I don't know?

Thales let out a breath.

He got it.

“You just revealed those secrets layer by layer—from Hyman to the Shadow Shield.”

Thales raised his head, his expression firm and resolute:
"It was a test, to see how much I knew, and even more so to see how much my father had told me."

Cyril did not speak.

But at that moment, his gaze toward the prince became even sharper.

"And the reason you did this..."

Thales didn't say anything more, but just stared intently at the Duke.

It was a test of King Kessel's trust in his heir.

To test the foundation of the Star Kingdom.

After a long pause, Cyril smiled slightly, turned slightly, and pointed at Thales:
"As I said, we started talking."

Thales's expression grew increasingly serious.

The boy lowered his head, following the duke's words:

"So, according to you..."

"Leaving aside the details and the truth... what did this bloody year bring us?"

Cyril smiled.

Instead of answering Thales' question directly, he tilted his head and took another bite of the fruit in his hand.

“I heard that Baron Williams approached you first, Your Highness.”

He chewed and mumbled:
What do you think of him?

Thales's brow furrowed.

Williams?

What do you think of him?

Thales' first thought was of the other man holding him in his arms on the saddle.

The boy shuddered slightly, trying to banish the image of the other person leading him on horseback from his mind.

"The Baron is a..."

But as soon as he opened his mouth, he suddenly became speechless.

The Duke of the Western Wilderness remained calm and waited with great interest for his reply.

Thales envisioned Roman's murderous eyes and his unapproachable face when he said, "Say another word and I'll kill you."

The prince felt a lump in his throat.

How can you insincerely praise someone...someone whose good qualities you can't find?
By the God of Indifference, you can't exactly compliment someone on being "cute," can you?

The prince coughed lightly, trying not to let his expression change too much:

"I think he's very capable... cough cough... well, a skilled leader, decisive in command, and then..."

Telska is on the next adjective.

Cyril didn't look at him, but just snorted softly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

After racking his brains, Thales suddenly remembered something and quickly added:
"And... well, exceptional skills and outstanding appearance?"

Thank God, we've finally found a good point.

Cyril nodded with a hum and turned to spit out the fruit pit from his mouth.

He stretched his eerie face, twitched his lips which were deeply sunken, and squinted at me.

"Okay, I have to admit..."

Although he had gradually gotten used to the Duke's imposing appearance, Thales still felt uneasy under that one glance.

Cyril sneered:

"Williams, that guy is better looking than me..."

He smiled and raised his right hand, his thumb and forefinger almost touching, his face pockmarked as if it had been flooded:
"Just a tiny bit."

Thales looked at Cyril's distinctive appearance and tried his best to suppress his embarrassment:
"Oh, really..."

Cyril looked at him and finally couldn't help but laugh.

The Duke laughed as he reached out again and scooped a second piece of fruit from the plate.

"Let me be frank, everyone who has dealt with him knows the truth."

Cyril stared intently at Thales, a chill creeping over his unsettling face:

"Roman Williams".

A cold glint flashed in Cyril's eyes:

"He was aloof, cold, arrogant, and domineering..."

"Shameless bastard."

Shameless, bastard?

Thales resisted the urge to nod, keeping his expression slightly furrowed.

But Cyril seemed no longer to care about his reaction.

The Duke of the Western Wilderness scoffed and looked out the window:

"Admit it, from the first time he enlisted in the army during the bloody year, he was more annoying than an ignorant and fearless brat, more unpleasant than an unreasonable bully, more feared than a ruthless rogue, more hated than a tax collector who exploits people at every level, and more repulsive than a tyrant who thinks he is the only one who matters."

Thales took a breath, involuntarily recalling the arrogant demeanor of the Legendary Wings.

The Duke, disregarding his composure, gazed out the window with a sharp, disdainful look, as if he had remembered something:
"Everyone who has dealt with him has suffered at his hands... His damned temper, his arrogant expression, his damned and hateful habits, he practically has 'I'm a fucking idiot' written all over his face."

Thales raised an eyebrow as he listened to Cyril's vulgar language.

"Perhaps the Baron is simply not good at socializing..."

Duke Falkenhaus snorted coldly:
"Not good at socializing?"

Cyril took a big bite of the fruit in his hand, as if he were biting not food, but an irreconcilable enemy.

"Have you ever seen him massacre prisoners of war and collect heads on the battlefield? Have you ever seen his indifferent, nonchalant expression as he wipes away blood? Did you know that he is ruthless when killing his own people?"

Thales felt a pang of unease as he recalled how the other man calmly gouged out the eyes of the man with the spiky and pried off the jaw of a dead man amidst the splatter of blood.

Cyril snorted coldly:
"You think the reason his commando unit in the Stardust Guard was nicknamed 'freaks' is just because of the few superhuman prisoners he released? No..."

Thales pursed his lips and remained silent.

The Duke of the Western Wilderness chewed the fruit in his mouth, shaking his head with a cold laugh:

"That's because Roman Williams, the legendary Wing, hides beneath that beautiful exterior someone who neither understands the rules nor cares about interests, who lacks both compassion and loyalty, who is unpredictable and eccentric, cold and cruel, with strange interests and a thought process that is different from ordinary people, far beyond our comprehension and far beyond the control of the Restoration Palace, truly—"

Cyril Falkenhausen's gaze turned cold, and he enunciated each word clearly and resolutely:
"Freak."

Thales took a deep breath, recalling how the Winged Legend had coldly broken Nob's leg and contemptuously called the king a "bastard."

"Perhaps geniuses always have quirks?"

Cyril looked at the half-eaten fruit in his hand and curled his lips into a smirk:
"genius?"

The Duke raised his head, his gaze deep.

"Then I must say, promoting such a freak, riddled with vices and sins, whom even the royal family couldn't control, placing him in the remote western wilderness, assigning him to the chaotic western front, and doing everything in his power to supply his standing army..."

Cyril, with his back to Thales, looked out the window at the Blade Fang camp, shook his head and clicked his tongue meaningfully.
"Your father was probably also..."

"genius."

Thales frowned.

He couldn't tell if it was a sincere compliment, a biting sarcasm, or both.

But the prince understood a lot.

Thales shook his head decisively:
"useless."

“As I said, I am powerless to change what has been done—you cannot take back Baki Camp from me, nor can you take back what you lost from my father.”

His face was cold and aloof, keeping everyone at arm's length.

“And you should go now—this is my mealtime, and I’m not used to sharing it with others.”

But to Thales' surprise, Cyril neither responded negatively nor used his usual sarcastic tone in the face of his obvious and resolute denial.

The Duke's expression relaxed; he neither smiled nor barbed, but simply sat up straight and gazed wistfully out the window.

"Baki Camp? What's been lost?"

"Your Highness, have you ever seen the Western Wilderness of the past?"

He gazed at the bustling crowd below the window.

Looking at Cyril's profile, Thales suddenly felt that Duke Falkenhausen looked somewhat dazed.

"Once upon a time?"

The Duke snorted, seemingly recalling something, and shook his head slightly: "You know, eighteen years ago, shortly after I succeeded to the throne, I received the Starry Sky Grand Decree and rushed to Eternal Star City to listen to your grandfather's mobilization speech for suppressing the rebellion, along with eighteen others..."

"I never imagined that the Western Wilderness, where I was born and raised, would be the next one."

Thales' expression changed, and he fell into deep thought.

Eighteen years ago.

The General Edict of the Stars.

Mobilization for suppressing the rebellion.

but……

The prince raised his head and asked in confusion:
"Next?"

But Thales's vision blurred for a moment, and he instinctively hunched over and crossed his arms to catch a piece that the Duke of the Western Wilderness had tossed to him—

White bread?
Thales watched in astonishment as Cyril calmly withdrew his left hand and put another piece of fruit into his mouth.

"Eighteen years have passed, and few young people today know that before the war of the Bloody Year, before the legendary Wings appeared, when the Duke Guardian of the Western Wilderness was still my uncle..."

The Duke of the Western Wilderness, while munching on fruit, said leisurely:

"What is the Western Wilderness like now?"

Thales pursed his lips and frowned, looking at the Duke who was clearly reluctant to leave the prince (or the prince's meal?), and opened his mouth in resentment and helplessness, taking a bite of the soft and delicate white bread.

"Back then, the ruler of this place—Baron Baki, Garrett Luhmann—was an important vassal and guest of my uncle. He frequently visited the ruins and we grew up together, like brothers."

The duke smiled as he watched the boy pull his face out of the bread with a disgruntled expression, but his gaze gradually hardened:

"At that time, we enjoyed a rare peace with the desert."

Peace?

Thales paused, struggling to tear the bread apart.

Falkenhausen said slowly:
“We won’t go in, and neither will they—neither the eight tribes of the orcs nor the five tribes of the Bone People.”

“Our patrols and tax collection follow established rules, and their raiding and herding also have their own principles—keeping a distance from each other, remaining vigilant, living their own lives, not interfering with each other, fair, tacit, and natural.”

"Let countless merchants, herdsmen, mercenaries, and adventurers freely enter and leave the Great Desert, interacting, trading, competing, fighting, clashing, and integrating with sand bandits, exiles, orcs, and skeletons, and even with their counterparts from the other side of the desert."

"Write their own story."

As Thales chewed on his bread, he frowned as he thought of Tampa, the owner of "My Home" tavern.

He recalled what he had once told him about the history of Baki Camp.

That was the era of mercenaries.

By the way, what happened to Tampa afterwards?

"At that time, there were even desert dwellers who longed for civilization who migrated to the Western Wilderness—when I reached the age to ride a warhorse and began to patrol the desert, I could often see the barbarian tribes coming and going at the border."

"If you're brave enough to follow the caravan into the desert, you'll have the chance to see the face of the 'enemy of mankind.' It's not unusual to see merchants gesturing and haggling with the seemingly fierce gray bastards."

The Duke's voice, unlike its usual sharp and piercing tone, became steady and smooth, with a slight tremor in his breathing, as if he were trying his best to endure something.

Wilderness seed.

Grey hybrid.

Thales first thought of the skeleton man McKee from "Dant's Greatsword", and then of Raphael with his dark red eyes.

And... that extraordinary orc who gave him a "name" as part of his coming-of-age ceremony—Kandal Wrathmountain.

"There are even chambers of commerce that have agreed on regular trading days in the desert, just like the market in our countryside; it is said that there are also caravans that have found a legendary trade route that connects countless oases, reaches the depths of the desert, and can even lead to the Golden Corridor, proving that the area of ​​the desert is no smaller than our proud Star Kingdom."

Cyril's words carried an unspoken smile and a lingering sense of reluctance:
Have you heard the bard's poem about the three heroes of dawn searching for dragons in the desert? Have you heard the story of the desert city of Kaligri, a treasure trove? Have you heard the legends of the people of the Wastelands about the ancient battlefields of the Desert of the God of War? Have you heard the terrifying tales of the evil god lurking beneath the yellow sands, devouring all things in the world? Have you heard the legends of countless imperial treasures buried deep in the desert?

"Back then, they were all wonderful stories that originated in the mysterious desert. Countless people set off from here, ventured into the desert, and brought them back to the Western Wilderness and the stars, creating legends that have been passed down through the ages."

Bard poems, stories, legends.

The former desert and western wilderness.

Thales listened silently, forgetting even to eat his bread.

The Duke sighed:

"The people of the Western Wilderness and the inhabitants of the desert are like this: we are wary of each other but also need each other. There are occasional frictions and occasional cooperation, maintaining a strange but interesting ecology that enriches this land that has been arid for thousands of years."

The room was quiet for a few seconds.

"In the desert, there is an old saying among those who worship—or rather, fear—the desert god."

Falkenhausen said quietly:

"The desert god brings no disaster, but the world is full of calamities."

Thales's eyebrows twitched, and he instinctively followed suit:

"The desert god has no mercy, but the desert itself is mercy."

Cyril's eyes lit up, seemingly pleasantly surprised that Thales knew this.

"So you already know."

The Duke smiled gently:
"Without the gods actively sending down disasters, the mortal world has long been filled with calamities."

"The desert god doesn't need to personally grant forgiveness; the very existence of the great desert is its greatest act of tolerance."

A sigh appeared on Cyril's face:

"Did you feel it? How neutral, detached, indifferent, and insightful about all things are reflected in this sentence—just like the great desert itself?"

Thales didn't speak, but he recalled the warning Raphael, the Bone Man, had given him before he left Dragonsreach.

But at that time, the Bone Man explained to him that the meaning of this sentence was:

Danger lurks everywhere in the terrible desert.

The weak fear disaster, while the opportunistic seek pardon.

Only those who abandon both weakness and wishful thinking can find a foothold in the merciless desert.

In contrast, Duke Cyril's interpretation of this chilling proverb seems rather...

balance?

impartial?
The Duke continued, his words drifting somewhat uncertainly in the small, brightly lit, yet chilly room atop the tower:
"If the outside world is in chaos and disasters continue, it doesn't matter. Because no matter what kind of disaster it is, when it reaches the desert, it will be buried by the endless sun and the sandstorms of thousands of years."

"If the outside world is peaceful and prosperous, it doesn't matter. The daily conflicts, bloodshed, and harsh ecology in the desert will teach you everything you need to survive."

Duke of the Western Wilderness narrowed his eyes.

"It's not exactly comfortable, because its tolerance is only one aspect."

"But it is not terrible, because its cruelty is just right."

As Thales pondered, Cyril tossed aside the fruit pit in his hand, a sharp glint in his eyes:
"Let the world be flooded."

"Only the desert remains unchanged in its cold and warmth."

The Duke let out a long breath, turned to look back at Thales, and seemed to have come to his senses again.

Thales quickly lowered his head, pretending not to care, and continued to eat his bread.

But Cyril didn't care:

"When I, as a young person, stood in the Western Wilderness, on the land of my ancestors, facing the endless horizon stretching out from the vast desert, this is what it told me."

"That is my memory of the Western Wilderness, the place where I was born and raised."

But the next second, the Duke of the Western Wilderness changed his tone.

"but……"

A chill flashed in Cyril's eyes, causing Thales to frown.
"Look at us now."

At that moment, Thales felt a tangible heaviness and stagnation.

The Duke's voice became shrill and piercing again, making one instinctively want to cover their ears:
"After the Bloody Years, the royal family took over the Baki Camp and turned it into a purely military stronghold, following rules that were completely different from those in the Western Wilderness and the Desert. Fairness was gone, and tacit understanding was lost. With each glorious advance of the Standing Army into the Desert, the situation became even worse."

Thales frowned slightly, recalling the conflict between the standing army and the conscripts.

"The once barren desert has become a dangerous war zone. Merchants are becoming increasingly rare, mercenaries have lost their glory, and barbarian species have disappeared from the frontier. The once bustling border has become dangerous and desolate. All the rules have been destroyed, leaving only chaos and bloodshed."

Thales recalled the tavern owner Tampa's lament about the bad business.

"And the orcs and skeletons in the desert, once they appear, they come in droves, fully armed, leaving no survivors, with endless alarms, endless rebellions, and boundless defenses, making us, who truly live in the Western Wilderness, extremely anxious."

Duke Falkenhaus snorted coldly:
"Only the crimson stardust banner of the Winged Legend, with the roar of his horses' hooves and the rolling heads of his men as he patrols the desert, flies high, leaving behind the glory of the royal family and the blood of the Western Wilderness, while the enmity between us and the eight tribes and five clans only deepens."

Thales swallowed the last bite of bread without making a sound.

He had a premonition.

What did the bloody year bring?

Cyril's voice suddenly rose:

"I do not know."

The Duke's cold and shrill voice, coupled with his terrifying appearance, was quite unsettling.

"The only thing I know is this: since the Bloody Years, since the outbreak of the War of Hyman's Death, the land of the Western Wilderness has been in turmoil for the past eighteen years..."

He emphasized each word, his voice strong and clear:

"What has it turned into?"

Boom!
Despite watching the Duke rise from his chair with such grand gestures, Thales was still startled by the sound of his cane hitting the ground.

Boom, boom, boom.

With each tap of his cane, he pushed the figure of the Duke of the Western Wilderness, who was not tall but possessed a unique coldness, closer and closer.

Chilling.

Until he stopped in front of Thales.

“Now, Your Highness,” Cyril Falkenhausen looked at him coldly, his eyes conveying an unyielding intent:
"It's your turn to tell me: the bloody year for us, for the Western Wilderness, for the people who have lived on this land for generations..."

"What did you bring?"

Thales swallowed hard.

This was the first time he had felt that even the Duke of the Western Wilderness, with his ugly face, physical disability, and habit of sarcasm and humor, had such a terrifying side.

"I don't know."

The prince suppressed his inner suspicions and answered with difficulty.

"not understand?"

Cyril chuckled, but his previous ease and humor were nowhere to be seen.

"Or perhaps you simply don't want to understand?"

His withered face now resembled a long-dried skeleton, with a chilling wind emanating from his deep-set eyes.

Thales was about to speak, but the Duke did not give him the chance.

"The reason there was a bloody year, the reason we faced all of this, is because there was a monster there."

The Duke of the Western Wilderness said coldly.

what?
Thales frowned in confusion:
"monster?"

Boom!
Cyril's cane slammed heavily into the ground:

"Correct!"

His tone left no room for argument, yet it carried a deep sense of revulsion:
"That was a monster, a monster that feeds on power, values ​​life, and lives on destruction."

The duke was backlit, his face deeply lined with sinister lines, and his fur robe fluttered and trembled in the cold wind of the tower.
"It, Thales, is hidden in the deepest part of the Palace of Restoration, in the crown of the Supreme King, in the tomb where your ancestors rest, and in the heart of every star who has the right to inherit the throne."

Thales blinked, seemingly lost in thought.

“Every time it awakens in people’s hearts and stretches its claws, it creates a terrible vortex, trying to absorb, crush, erode and devour everything in this kingdom.”

"Thanks to it, the Western Wilderness—no, not just the Western Wilderness, but everything that once existed in the Star Kingdom is collapsing, being destroyed, disappearing, and no longer existing."

Inside the tower, Duke Cyril Falkenhaus of the Western Wilderness pointed resolutely and coldly at Prince Thales, whose face was solemn and who was on high alert:

"But someone has to..."

"Go do something."

(End of this chapter)