Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 491 Power Originates from Violence (Part 1)

A monster.

A monster that feeds on power.

The image of that long-lost figure involuntarily appeared in Thales' mind.

That figure, holding a scepter and wearing a crown, was called Father, yet he was an imposing and unapproachable figure.

The prince hesitated for a few seconds.

"You don't like the current state of the Western Wilderness, and you're even more unwilling to forget the Western Wilderness of the past, the Western Wilderness that once belonged only to Falkenhausen?"

"So you're hoping I'll 'do something'."

The prince looked up at Cyril, his tone becoming wary:
"you know."

"Six years ago, when I left Yongxing City, someone said something similar to me."

Duke of the Western Wilderness stared intently at Thales for several seconds, then smiled.

"No, Your Highness."

Falkenhausen slowly exhaled and turned to face the window:
"Don't think of me as an old-fashioned person who clings to tradition and old rules, or a fool who is obsessed with past glories and refuses to open his eyes to the future—although there are many such people among my peers."

Thales snorted:

"What makes you different from them?"

This time, Cyril remained silent for a long time.

He remained motionless, looking down at the bustling, well-organized campsite below the window.

"Why, Thales?"

Finally, the Duke of the Western Wilderness sighed:
Why were we able to rule this land?

The wary Star Prince frowned.

The ruler of the Falkenhausen family spoke slowly:

"Whether I rule the Western Wilderness as a duke now, or you are crowned king and rule the entire Star Realm in the future?"

"Enjoying everything that is superior to others?"

Cyril's themes jump around too quickly, are full of hidden wit, and have a subtle biting sarcasm that makes Thales, who is used to the straightforwardness of people in the North, extremely uncomfortable.

"Is it because we, as rulers, are wise enough and unparalleled in strategy?"

"Or should we be like the people of the North, possessing courage and daring to be pioneers?"

The Duke stood by the window, his thin, withered figure silhouetted against the ground.

"Is it because you are kind-hearted and care about the people?"

"Or is it the glory of our ancestors, passed down from generation to generation?"

Cyril abruptly changed the subject, revealing his favorite sarcastic tone:
"Could it truly be a mandate from heaven, the one everyone has been waiting for..."

"And can those things flowing in your veins really—shine?"

As always, the Duke left his words unfinished, staring intently at him with an expectant look, as if waiting for something.

The boy remained silent for several seconds.

Finally, Thales let out a deep sigh.

"Whoever taught you to speak like that, Duke Falkenhausen..."

"Is he a teacher of idiots?"

what?
Cyril's smile froze.

After sighing, Thales shrugged helplessly.

"You know, I only realized today how much I hate rhetorical questions."

A rhetorical question?

The Duke's expression grew increasingly confused.

But the prince no longer followed Cyril's lead, and instead looked at him indifferently:
"A little hint, Your Excellency the Unpopular."

"Whether in discussion or negotiation, sarcastic rhetorical questions may seem to enhance your tone, but in reality, they only make you look like a pretentious, attention-seeking clown: they do nothing to convey effective information except to highlight your arrogance with your tone."

Hearing Thales's expressionless reply, Falkenhausen's face slowly stiffened.

"If you have an answer, say it with a statement of fact; if you disagree, just say no to finish the statement—because apart from stirring up emotions, no one is interested in understanding what kind of bullshit you are saying with rhetorical questions."

After Thales finished speaking, he plunged the dagger into the headboard.

The room remained quiet for a long time.

All that could be heard was the sound of the cold wind blowing.

Cyril stared at Thales as if he were seeing him for the first time.

The Duke's lips curled up and down several times, hesitant to speak, looking rather at a loss.

Thales, on the other hand, crossed his arms as if nothing had happened, looked innocent, tilted his head and pouted, waiting for the other person's answer.

Finally, Cyril closed his eyes, lowered his head, and let out a long sigh:
"That's why I don't like Northlanders."

“No,” Thales raised an eyebrow and continued, picking up where he left off:

"That's simply why you're not popular."

Cyril paused again, speechless for a moment.

"Continue, why have we been able to rule?"

Thales finally breathed a sigh of relief, sat up on the bed, leaned against the wall, and spread his hands contentedly, saying:

"Don't make me interrupt you."

Cyril sighed softly to himself.

Didn't you interrupt me already?

The Duke remained silent for a moment before speaking again:
“In fact, I don’t think we’ve been able to rule for any of the above reasons, Thales. Not at all.”

Thales's heavy words rang out again:

"very good!"

Cyril paused again.

"We've finally started talking."

Thales raised his index finger at the other person with a satisfied look on his face: "It's not hard to speak properly, is it?"

"Keep it up."

Cyril, who had just managed to build up his emotions, was choked up again and felt a tightness in his chest.

The Duke sighed slowly: he began to realize that the boy before him was no longer the illegitimate son who, six years ago, clenched his fists, blushed, pretended to be a prince, and showed off his intelligence in front of a group of lords.

He is Thales Star.

The stars beyond the sky.

Thinking of this, the Duke turned slightly to the side, a cold glint reflecting on his ugly face.

"Prince Thales".

"In my view, what truly governs this land, this kingdom, and even the whole world, and what makes countless people willingly submit to us, is habit."

habit.

“Habit, habit…” Thales chewed on Cyril’s words and suddenly understood something.

After unexpectedly regaining control of the conversation, he began to slowly grasp the elusive axis in the other party's seemingly casual conversation.

However, at this moment, Cyril, leaning on his cane, began pacing back and forth in the room.

"Men are used to going out to support their families, women are used to staying home to take care of the children, merchants are used to trading goods back and forth, farmers are used to paying taxes and performing corvée labor, nobles are used to governing, and priests are used to indulging in superstitions..."

"The army is used to violence, officials are used to giving orders, authors are used to delaying updates, lords are used to being domineering, and kings are used to sitting high on the throne..."

The Duke spoke quickly, just like his pace, as if climbing a mountain with no visible peak:

"People are used to paying for things, being punished for doing bad things, bowing their heads in the face of death, and nodding in the face of life..."

Cyril seemed lost in thought, his left hand gently brushing against the ancient wall, but his expression turned serious.

This made Thales sit up straight without realizing it.

"Habit—that's what they—every living being we rule—see from the moment they're born, how the world looks;"

"That's what they repeated and practiced within their limited years and lives—the established way the world is."

"That's how they subconsciously respect, imitate, and believe in the actions and reactions of countless people after witnessing them time and time again."

At this moment, the Duke of the Western Wilderness, who had one hand on the wall, suddenly raised his head!
"Thales!"

The boy was startled.

Cyril stared at him coldly.

"People submit to our rule, respect our position, and pledge allegiance to our identity not because we are so great, not because we are born noble, not because of the amount of favors we bestow or the amount of coercion we exert, not because of our effective governance that benefits all people, and certainly not because your blood shines as if it were divinely bestowed!"

"It's because—they're used to it!"

The cold wind seeping into the room through the window made the Duke's fur robe and hair flutter wildly, making Cyril Falkenhaus's image even more eerie and chilling.

Thales swallowed instinctively; he no longer had time to heed the instinctive sarcasm in the Duke's tone.

Cyril narrowed his eyes, but the sharp gaze shooting out from the slits did not diminish in the slightest.

"Because from the first day they opened their eyes to this world, their ancestors did it this way, their parents did it this way, and their peers did it this way, so they themselves are also used to doing it this way, and they also have to persuade their next generation to do the same as them."

Thales slowly frowned.

"And this group of people displays their ingrained habits to others, another group of people—whether they are children, elders, relatives, neighbors, strangers, masters, servants, peers, superiors and subordinates—day after day, year after year."

Cyril stood still, his tone growing heavier and deeper, as if he were telling the most terrifying, chilling ghost story.

"Until everyone, including you and me, grows tired of the unfamiliar, resents the abnormal, and develops inertia, we will realize that anything that goes against our habits is abnormal and needs to be eliminated."

Thales's expression grew increasingly tense.

"And so these habits spread wider and wider, became more and more ingrained, grew more and more serious yet more and more commonplace, until we called them..."

Cyril's tone revealed an unprecedented solemnity and eeriness:

"order."

A gust of cold wind blew in, making Thales shiver, but the sunlight outside the window could not give him any warmth.

Thales suddenly felt that the room at the top of the tower was so cold and gloomy.

Just like...

The Fuxing Palace as I remember it.

"Do you understand what I mean, Your Highness?"

Cyril's words echoed again, pulling him back to the present from elsewhere.

"In my view, this is the only thing that is fragile, pitiful, yet also eternal, powerful, and profound, that sustains our rule."

"And those actions that seek to shake these habits, to disrupt this order..."

Cyril gave a faint, cold laugh:
"They are all terrifying."

Actions that attempt to shake these habits and this order...

Thales raised an eyebrow and gave a soft snort:
"For example, what did Legendary Wings do to Baki's camp this time?"

The Duke paused for a second.

"Do not."

"It's not just this small, not just this close, and not just this light."

Falkenhausen's voice deepened, as if it contained the sighs of centuries:
"For example, as we all know, from a very long time ago, a certain ruler of the stars, no, perhaps several rulers in successive generations, cast the bait of royal power, turning thousands of subordinates into enemies of the lords."

This sentence put Thales on edge.

The lure of royal power.

In that instant, Thales suddenly had this feeling: Cyril Falkenhausen, this unpopular man with strange behavior and outrageous words, had come here today for a purpose that was not merely to win over the second prince.

The prince became increasingly serious.

“Using the ladder of royal power, they slowly climbed up and fought back and forth with us, the local dukes and elders.”

Cyril slowly walked back to the window and looked down at the desert camp below:

"Thus, hundreds of years of family rise and fall, noble succession, the ups and downs of countless people's fates, life and death are unpredictable, and ultimately the kingdom has become what it is today."

The Duke's voice was low and indistinct, yet undeniable.

"Over hundreds of years, from the succession of families, the rise and fall of titles, the adjudication of tax laws, the appointment and dismissal of officials, the judgment of laws, to the mobilization of the army, the Restoration Palace has been taking things away from the lords in a methodical but unstoppable way, gently, slowly, but resolutely."

Upon hearing this, Thales couldn't help but recall the scene six years ago on the Night of Dragon's Blood, when he spoke eloquently before five dukes—and one duchess—about the current state of the stars.

He also recalled a story he had recently heard, told by former members of the royal guard.

Centuries of family rise and fall, succession of nobles...

Countless lives have been lost and their fates have been uncertain...

Thales remained silent, lost in thought.

“You know, although every move by both sides is clearly visible,” Cyril leaned forward, as if to get a better look at the view outside the window, “what really makes the game interesting… is that within the visible moves, there are countless possibilities.”

It's like looking at his chessboard.

"Take one step ahead and think ten steps ahead"—every move you make is connected not only to the chessboard at this moment, but to the game several, dozens, or even hundreds of steps ahead.

"This leaves the opponent, a hundred paces away, helpless and forced to surrender—which is far more interesting than a face-to-face, fist-to-fist contest."

For some reason, upon hearing this, Thales suddenly thought of the Black Sword.

The boy recalled the man's battle with Giza, the black sword carrying him as he charged into the flesh and blood encirclement of the multi-headed serpent Kirika.

From the initial breakthrough location to the choice of breakthrough route, Black Sword calculates and considers all factors of the battle from the very first step, thus moving step by step toward victory.

He was like a chess player who treated battle as a game of chess...

Cyril's voice was steady, his sparse hair fluttering in the cold wind as he wore his robes.

"To make a move quietly and subtly, like a gentle spring breeze and nourishing autumn rain, is this not the wise way of a 'wise ruler'?"

A wise ruler.

Thales was slightly taken aback.

"A wise ruler?" he repeated subconsciously.

Cyril suddenly turned around, revealing a comical smile that made one frown, and his tone returned to its usual friendly manner:
"What, do you think that after all these years, from that ridiculous state conference to that damned Royal Bank, especially those of us who are involved, even if we're the dumbest and most obtuse, no one really could see it?"

Thales' heart sank.

The Duke raised his head and squinted:

"Like me, many of us know this in our hearts."

"We are powerless to do anything about it." He knew perfectly well.

Powerless.

Thales took a deep breath.

He couldn't help but recall the sorrowful expression on Lumba's face when he spoke of the wise ruler in the carriage.

One move can start a century-long game.

Thales' eyebrows furrowed more and more tightly.

"Why, why that expression?"

The Duke gazed at the scenery below the window, somewhat absentmindedly:
"The old crow said in the letter that you are quite interested in wise rulers, aren't you?"

Thales shook his head:

"I just……"

The prince's words came to an abrupt end.

and many more.

Thales realized something, and his eyes widened suddenly!

"Old Crow?"

The prince suddenly looked up and exclaimed:

"You know him?"

"Know him? Hmph, Prince Thales..."

Cyril's laughter came on the wind.

"When Meryl Hexer set off from Dragon's Kiss, passed through the Three Kingdoms of the Misty Sea, entered the Star Kingdom, and then traveled thousands of miles north to Exter, who do you think sent troops to escort him across the desert?"

Thales was stunned.

Merri Hicksher, traversing the desert, heading north to Exter...

But how did the Duke of the Western Wilderness of the Stars and the elderly scholar of the Duchy of Anlunzo know each other?
Cyril seemed to sense his doubt.

The Duke let out a long sigh, a hint of nostalgia surfacing in his unpleasant voice:
“When I was young and unruly, I had a special bachelor teacher from Dragon's Kiss.”

Thales's ears twitched.

At this point, the Duke shook his head and chuckled:
"Until his uncle discovered that his bachelor's degree was forged, he was so furious that he stripped Hexer naked and threw him into the desert—ah, the youth I miss."

Thales blinked, taking a few seconds to process what had happened.

That means.

The Duke who guards the Western Wilderness, and the old raven, Hexer...

Thales's surprise became even more pronounced.

Putila said that the old man had been a teacher to many important people.

It seems that's not the case after all...

boast?

“You and I, Your Highness, are connected to each other in many unseen places.”

The Duke of the Western Wilderness laughed louder and louder until he turned away from the window.

Cyril spoke as if casually:
"As for your question about who taught me to talk like that, and whether he specializes in teaching idiots..."

Duke Falkenhausen slowly narrowed his eyes.

At that moment, Thales suddenly felt his face stiffen.

Boom!
Cyril's cane thumped heavily on the ground.

“I suppose Hicksser certainly taught fools… what do you think?”

The Duke narrowed his eyes, staring directly at Thales, his malice barely concealed.
"Your Highness?"

At that moment, the air in the room seemed to freeze.

Faced with this unanswerable question, it took Thales a long time to finally manage a forced, awkward smile, his face contorted with a look of utter dismay.

So fucked.

Under the vengeful gaze of the Duke of the Western Wilderness, Thales awkwardly changed the subject:

"I think I know what you're planning to do."

Thales looked up.

He gradually got used to the other person's seemingly casual yet subtly witty conversation style.

"You are powerless in the face of the Palace of Restoration, so you are pinning your hopes on me, on a new king, to change the kingdom from the throne?"

But to his surprise, Falkenhausen shook his head again.

"First of all, it's not 'we,' it's just me."

Thales was slightly taken aback.

"Secondly, change the kingdom? No," the Duke whispered.

"Whether you are there or not, the kingdom is constantly changing."

Cyril circled the wall again, pacing with a limp, his right hand occasionally tapping lightly on the furnishings in the room, as if reminiscing about something:
"To be precise, the whole world is changing, not just at this moment, not just a hundred years ago, not just six hundred years ago."

A glint of light flashed in the eyes of the Duke of the Western Wilderness:
“From ‘Black-Eyed’ John, wielding the power of the king, to the forced mobilization of all the lords in the country, to ‘Severed Vein’ Sumer II promulgating the ‘Act of Succession’, to ‘Cut-off’ Tormund IV appointing the Archbishop of the Sunset, and ‘Creditor’ Hyman II passing the King’s Tax Law.”

"Until the unprecedented reforms of 'wise king' Mindis III, and the measures taken by 'poet' Eddy I to summon nobles to reside permanently in Yongxing City."

The head of the Falkenhausen family lowered his right hand, turned around, and faced Thales with a deep gaze:

"Even today, your father's iron-fisted rule has almost provoked widespread outrage."

"The world is changing every minute and every second, not just in the generation of wise rulers."

Thales felt very uncomfortable under his gaze and unconsciously hugged his arms even tighter.

From John Blackeye, the second king of Star City, to Catherine V, he suddenly realized that the historical span mentioned by Cyril far exceeded what Rumba had mentioned in the Hall of Heroes in Dragon City.

Not just wise rulers.

Not just... Kessel.

"Every minute and every second is changing... This sounds familiar."

The prince sighed:

"You must really be a student of the old crow."

Cyril snorted softly upon hearing this:

“Hicksel, he opened my eyes, my mind, and my heart.”

But his gaze immediately changed:
"But what about you? Prince Thales, heir to the kingdom?"

Did you open them?

The two were silent for a while.

"If I open them too, what do you want me to see?"

Thales' expression turned serious, and he spoke slowly.

Cyril did not laugh.

He just looked intently at Thales.

It seems that this is the moment he has been waiting for.

"The state conference six years ago, Your Highness," Falkenhausen said softly.

"Tell me, what did you see?"

six years ago.

State Affairs Conference.

Thales recalled the meeting that had decided his fate, and he involuntarily lowered his arms.

But the boy didn't elaborate, only giving a brief and careful answer:

“My father won.”

Cyril snorted coldly.

"Yes, your father won."

"He triumphed, not only in one meeting, but throughout the entire country, for eighteen years after his desperate coronation as king."

Thales clenched his fist.

"but……"

Sure enough, the Duke of the Western Wilderness changed his tone, his words becoming short and rapid, with highs and lows.

"The conspiracy has been exposed, and the leader has been lost. The North is at peace, but do you think those people of the North who share the same origin as Exter are truly satisfied and at ease?"

north.

Thales thought of Miranda Aarond, with whom he had shared a prison cell.

"The girls of Blade's Edge may rely on the monarchy, but don't forget that it is the Blade's Edge Province, which has been known for its bandits since the imperial era, and the rebellion of the Bloody Year originated there."

Blade Collar.

The blurry face of the Duchess of Blade's Edge, Lyanna Tebak, flashed through Thales' mind.

"And the cliffs have long been restless and eager to make their move—you should know that Kusder Southtrod is no pushover."

Cliffside terrain.

A face with only one eye flashed before Thales' eyes, yet it was menacing.

“As for our Western Wilderness,” Falkenhausen observed Thales’ expression, a deep apprehension appearing on his withered and ugly face:
“Look at what has happened at the Baki Camp these past few days, Prince, and then tell me: what will the Palace of Restoration gain from the lords of the Western Wilderness below me?”

"Will my nominal vassals tremble and collapse before the Wings of Legend, or will they grit their teeth and harbor deep resentment?"

Recalling Roman's arrogance towards almost everyone, Thales couldn't help but take a deep breath.

"You mean my father's actions?" The prince, for the first time in a long time, seriously considered the duke's words:

"Will it ultimately lead to unmanageable chaos?"

Even with his skills?

Cyril shook his head. At this moment, the Duke of the Western Wilderness, unusually, shed his humorous (or perhaps tactless?) demeanor, and his tone became somber:
"When will you understand that your father's skill in manipulation has nothing to do with the outcome of his stubborn pursuits?"

"And it's not just him, but countless others—whether they're on the king's side like the royalists, or on his opposite like Gosdes—their escalating conflict will bring unforeseen consequences."

Thales bit his teeth lightly.

In his long-held impression, his father, Catherine V, was always the one who had the upper hand in the kingdom's political struggles and firmly suppressed his opponents.

However, what Falkenhausen said...

Does that really make sense?

Cyril let out a long sigh, put down his injured left foot, and placed his hands on his cane.

"Perhaps the era of lords dominating their own territories and kingdoms filled with numerous princes is gradually fading away; it's a trend and an inevitability," the Duke said thoughtfully.
"Perhaps this is the overwhelming force of the stars, which never ceases."

"Any attempt to stop it that is presumptuous and foolish is futile."

But Falkenhausen finally raised his head and gazed intently at the prince, who was also deep in thought:
"But just as foolish is anyone who is impatient and wants to take advantage of the trend to push things along, compress time, and speed up the process so that they can see the ending they envision as soon as possible."

Impatient.

Equally foolish.

Thales did not speak.

Whether he had heeded Thales's advice or not, Cyril maintained his serious and earnest demeanor.

"There is never such a thing as immediate results in governing a country. Even a wise and sagacious ruler must carefully place his pieces and observe the effects over a hundred years. You cannot have the mindset of 'achieving everything in one battle' and make crude, arbitrary, hasty, and short-sighted decisions about the fate of thousands of people."

He sighed:

"Like 'King of the Blades' Tormund II, 'Eagle Claw' Kessel III, and 'Red King' John II, their biographies seem to depict their glorious military exploits, but in reality, they sowed the seeds of disaster."

"This will only get worse."

Falkenhausen shut his mouth and fell into deep thought. He stood there, letting the cold wind blow against his fur coat.

Despite their seemingly glorious military achievements, the seeds of future disaster were sown deep within them.

For some reason, Thales suddenly thought of King Nunn.

And after the death of this born king, Dragon Sky City was abandoned by all and besieged on all sides, and the Palace of Heroes was unstable and in turmoil.

And then there was that poor girl, sitting trembling in the grand duke's throne, unable even to slip the 'triumphant' ring onto her thumb.

Thales remained silent for a long time before letting out a soft hum:
"My father probably wouldn't like to hear that."

Cyril raised his eyes:
"So you don't need to mention it in front of him."

"Unless you reach the point where you can bring it up."

Thales tried his best to ignore the hidden meaning in the other person's words and said:

"But as you said, the overwhelming force never ceases, and any attempt to stop it is futile and foolish."

"If, if all of this is just an obstacle that must be overcome..."

"Is it just a necessary route before reaching the summit?"

After hearing this, Cyril remained silent for a moment, then responded with a cold laugh.

"only?"

The Duke picked up his cane again and limped toward Thales.

But Thales felt that the Duke of the Western Wilderness's terrifying face was no longer so unbearable.

“Watch your words, Thales. I’m sure the old crow warned us.”

Cyril Falkenhausen appeared solemn:
"Don't let arrogance ruin you—whether that arrogance comes from the complacency of sitting on the throne or the frivolous self-importance of looking down at history books."

Sensing the firmness in the other person's tone, Thales involuntarily tensed up.

"As for the obstacles that must be overcome and the necessary path to the summit, one must know..."

In the cold wind, the sharp gaze and shrill voice of the Duke Guardian of the Western Wilderness pressed down on Thales:

"Darkness is especially terrifying as dawn approaches."

"The destruction is most intense before the storm passes."

This chapter has been revised about seven or eight times.

And hey, vote with your monthly tickets!

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(End of this chapter)