Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 492 Power Originates from Violence (Part 2)

Inside the tower, Cyril snorted coldly:
"I dare say that even a wise ruler, when he sees the current state of suspicion and tension in the country, would probably feel a little regret for his decision back then."

This time, Thales listened quietly without saying a word.

But he recalled the words he had used to persuade the five grand dukes when he had given his all to turn the tide in Valhalla.

The current weakness and turmoil of the stars are not accidental, but an inevitable consequence of embarking on this path.

This is what the wise ruler left for the stars.

At the time, this was the "argument" he had painstakingly gathered, a statement he made with great conviction, but it was only temporarily used to sway the dukes.

To be honest, even he himself didn't quite believe it.

But now...

Thales unconsciously clenched his fist.

But Cyril, who had been silently observing him, seemed to have had enough. After clicking his tongue and shaking his head, he raised his voice and intensified his tone, uttering the next sentence:

"But do you know what? We, these fading stars, might just be part of the terrifying future where you 'overcome the obstacles' and successfully 'reach the summit'..."

The Duke spoke softly, like a devil's whisper:

"The most inconspicuous member."

Thales suddenly looked up.

"What do you mean?"

The terrifying-looking Duke of the Western Wilderness no longer looked at him, but instead shook his head and sighed to himself:
"Do you think that after we, the lords of the frontier, and the old nobles who dominated the regions have completely disappeared, those commoners who have managed to secure seats in the national conference, and those new nobles whom you have relied on as weapons, will be satisfied, will be content, and will retire with their achievements?"

Cyril's eyes slowly hardened, becoming menacing.
"When you ascend the throne, subdue the princes, and consolidate power, becoming the absolute ruler, where do you think the large standing army that the royal family has spent so much money to support in order to keep the princes in check will go? What future do rabid dogs like Arakka Mu have? What can a dissolute woman like Sonia Satherley bring you? What worries can a shameless scoundrel like Williams, who causes trouble, share with you both inside and outside the court?"

Thales took a deep breath.

The three handsome men of the stars.

He thought of the brutal wrath of the kingdom, of the steadfast flower of the fortress, of…

The annoying legendary wings.

And their forces, from Dragonbreaker Fortress to Blade Fang Camp... are countless, frequently mobilized, and have gradually become the royal standing army of the kingdom.

"As for those so-called royalists who are loyal to you and whose mission is to overthrow the powerful nobles, such as 'Cunning Fox' Cassel, 'Moneybag' Joker Mann, 'Soldier' ​​Red, and even old man Goldwin and pointy-faced Connie, what will they leave for you after they have accomplished their mission, and what will they ask of you?"

The Duke's words grew increasingly dangerous:

"You think that when the splendid star sits supreme on the throne, with no further threats to the land, when countless humble people have followed the king's will, erased their natural fear of those in high positions, and thus formed a mighty torrent, defeating the old vassals and becoming a new generation of nobles, serving the supreme royal power..."

Cyril's voice was so shrill it almost pierced the doorway, sounding to Thales like the flicking of a viper's tongue:

"So you can rest easy now?"

Thales remained silent for a long time.

But it was clear that His Excellency the Duke did not intend to let him off so easily.

“What’s even more terrifying is…”

At this point, Cyril's tone took on a sinister tinge, carrying a hint of alarmism:
"When those merchants who rose to the ranks of nobility through your selling of official positions discovered that their gold coins could no longer buy more glory, when those mercenary knights who won titles by expanding the frontiers and wastelands found that their swords could not bring them the same splendor as the six founding guardian dukes..."

Cyril began pacing again at some point—a fact that Thales, lost in thought, only noticed after hearing the other's voice coming from nearby.
"When those hardworking, literate bureaucrats could only earn a meager salary amidst their tedious paperwork, when the creditors in the royal bank discovered that the king was no longer willing or able to expand his wealth through confiscation or external conquest, thereby granting charters, increasing debt, and expanding profits..."

"When countless new nobles crave more power, status, and benefits, yet can no longer find a grand target like us, no enemies to plunder, no objects to demand from..."

It was still the Duke's signature sarcastic and acerbic tone, but Thales no longer felt any wit or humor in it.

Boom!
Cyril slammed his cane down hard.

The Duke, the guardian of the Western Wilderness, stood blocking the window, his figure backlit, his large but empty fur robe covering him like the shadow of an eclipse.
"Who do you think they are most likely to target now that they have lost their respect for those in high positions and are eager for power?"

"Up or down?"

Falkenhausen said coldly:
"Who is going up, and who is going down?"

"And what happens if we go up, and what happens if we go down?"

up.

down.

Unbeknownst to him, Thales' left hand had already firmly gripped the JC dagger stuck in the headboard.

Every change comes at a price.

The boy was lost in thought.

Some costs may not be apparent at the time, but they are as Cyril described when talking about the game of chess...

After a hundred paces.

So, he is Thales Shining Star.

Could it be that "after a hundred steps"?

"Let's put aside the fact that these are all your conjectures..."

Thales took a deep breath, rallied his spirits, and shook his head:
"If this is indeed the case, then there is no escaping it."

"Then we will inevitably have corresponding methods, such as readjusting the situation and balancing interests—there will always be a better way out."

But Cyril gave a dismissive smile—not his usual sarcastic or mocking remarks aimed at offending people, but genuine, heartfelt disdain.

"So you've never been a ruler..."

"Hmph, do you really think your people are all sincere, loyal, and grateful good people? That as long as you govern well, they will live in peace and prosperity? That as long as you give them benefits, they will be satisfied and gratefully support you, even if you are leading them to hell?"

Thales turned his head away and frowned.

“Repeat,” the prince said, somewhat annoyed.

"I don't like to ask questions in return."

But this time, Cyril was no longer fooled by his "rhetorical question":

"Go to hell."

The Duke of the Western Wilderness said coldly, showing no mercy. Thales swore he even heard some of the local Western Wilderness accent he was used to speaking:
“This is not a face-to-face transaction, and your people are not businessmen: you hand them money and they will return goods to you. This is not a bar fight either, where you can win back dignity and subdue your opponent with your fists alone.”

Boom!
The Duke swayed, taking a swift, large step forward. His robes, billowing in the cold wind, pressed down on Thales like a hunting vulture.
"This world is not so simple. It is not so simple that hard work will bring results, that effort will bring rewards, or that if you work together wholeheartedly and devote yourself to it, you can achieve lasting success and benefit all people."

"People are not so simple as to repay kindness, be satisfied with concessions, fear severe punishment, or submit to coercion."

Cyril's tone was urgent and sharp, like a reprimand for someone who was disappointed in their child:

"Do not."

He looked at Thales, who seemed somewhat startled, and slammed his cane against the wall.

“I have been ruling the Western Wilderness for over twenty years, ever since I began assisting my uncle in governing. Believe me, your people will always give you unexpected and contrary-to-expectations feedback.”

"One person may cooperate, be loyal, or obey, but what about a group of thousands?"

Falkenhausen snorted coldly, his eyes clear and wary, as if facing an untouchable flame:
"A group of people, that is, a bottomless beast, an insatiable shark, who will always respond to the ruler in ways that are unexpected and catch you off guard."

Thales was slightly taken aback.

Cyril like this...

This is definitely not the usual situation, at least not like the situation at the State Council meeting six years ago.

If he wasn't acting.

Cyril turned around, gritting his teeth fiercely:
“If you hate your people, they will hate you even more; if you love your people, they may not love you; authoritarianism may provoke fiercer resistance, while benefits for the people may not bring genuine loyalty; good intentions leading to bad outcomes and actions contrary to one's wishes are commonplace.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The Duke's pace quickened, his cane tapping the ground repeatedly with a deep, unsettling thud.

"At the end of the Chronicle of Kings, the first king to use crows on a large scale instead of postal messengers brought unprecedented changes to the world, but he eventually died on the absurd charge of 'indulging in playthings and abusing his pet birds.'"

"More than a thousand years ago, Emperor Bashir was benevolent and carried out sweeping reforms of the old system, wanting to provide shelter for his homeless people. However, he died in depression amidst widespread resentment and public outcry."

As Thales listened to these historical stories that seemed both strange and familiar, he frowned.

"Are you saying that we are on an uncontrollable path, which may lead to unexpected and undesirable consequences that cannot be reversed by human effort, nor can we turn back to avoid it?"

The Duke neither agreed nor disagreed.

So Thales responded with a blunt and merciless snort:

"Then what you just said about the unstoppable momentum, and your concerns and vigilance, weren't they all just nonsense?"

But Cyril seemed to have been provoked as well; he first snorted angrily, slammed his cane heavily on the ground, and stopped in his tracks.
No, what I meant was—

"Expecting to achieve direct and effective results through simple and crude methods is often counterproductive and leads to the opposite of the intended goal."

He stared intently at Thales:
Even if the goal is correct and the direction is right, if the means are wrong or the method is wrong, it is very likely to be in vain or even backfire.

"This is the real problem we are facing—the mistake that your father and his enemies made together."

The objective is correct, and the direction is right.

The means were flawed, and the methods were incorrect.

Your father, and his enemies.

A mistake we made together.

In that instant, Thales suddenly realized what Cyril meant.

And his stance.

Cyril said coldly:

"The powerful ancient empire garrisoned the Thorn Lands with a large army, and the Duke of Thorn ruled this southwestern province known for its spirit of resistance with an iron fist, subduing them completely. His achievements seemed remarkable and effective, which impressed the emperor greatly."

But the Duke's tone suddenly changed, becoming sinister and eerie: "However, when the empire declines, the most powerful rebellion will rise, ultimately hanging the heads of the provincial governor and the entire Thorn Duke's family on the flagpole, annihilating the imperial army, and shattering the empire's territory. It is none other than these sons of Thorns!"

Amidst the increasingly turbulent mental activity, Thales took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall:

"If I remember correctly, the Falkenhausen, whose emblem is a four-eyed skull, have a tribal motto that says 'Power arises from violence'?"

He spoke softly, waiting for the other person's response.

Power originates from violence.

Duke of the Western Wilderness paused slightly.

He remained silent for a long time until a gust of cold wind blew in.

"Correct."

The Duke spoke softly, a rare complexity in his eyes:

"But outsiders only know this one sentence."

"That's the worst sentence."

Cyril, with his gaunt and terrifying face, stared intently at Thales, looking almost inhuman.

Power originates from violence—the worst saying ever.

“So…” Thales asked tentatively.

But Cyril Falkenhausen interrupted him rudely, speaking in a cold voice, uttering a series of words in a deep tone that made Thales sit up straight involuntarily:

"Power dominates interests, interests lead to conflict, conflict leads to violence, violence leads to obedience, obedience forms habits, habits forge order, and order then reaffirms power."

Thales was stunned.

Strangely, Falkenhausen, whose voice was usually shrill and unpleasantly hoarse, spoke with a melodious intonation this time, as if carrying a certain respect:

"This is the logic of 'power arises from violence': a perfect, unbreakable loop."

"As for the power and violence that outsiders talk about, they are just two small pieces of the puzzle."

Cyril lowered his head, squinted, and leaned on his cane, looking like a vulture perched beside a tree, waiting to strike.
"But too many people like to simplify and skip many of the intermediate steps, believing that giving benefits will win obedience and that resorting to violence will bring power—that is the biggest problem."

"Especially those reformers who want to bring about change to the world and change everything people take for granted."

Power originates from violence.

But... only two pieces of the puzzle.

Falkenhausen’s words made Thales begin to think.

Cyril snorted again:
"And do you know what we call those great people who most wanted, were most eager, were most confident, and were most skilled at changing the world?"

Cyril's next word caught Thales's attention:
"Mage."

There was a few seconds of silence in the room.

Thales released the dagger from his hand, involuntarily raising his head, trying to conceal his surprise, and solemnly meeting the Duke's equally burdened gaze:
"And do you know what they ultimately brought to the world?"

Cyril did not continue speaking.

The two of them stood silently facing each other in this ominous room at the top of the tower, one with a terrifying look in his eyes, the other filled with doubt.

But Thales quickly dismissed the untimely question.

"Cyrillic."

“You are not here to help your vassals or to take their side,” Thales quickly returned to the current context:
"But you are not standing on the king's side to surrender to the kingdom's bloodline."

Thales said straight:
"Is that right?"

He used affirmative sentences.

The two remained silent for a long while.

Finally, a smile appeared on Falkenhausen's face—not the habitual, fake smile he had shown before, but a sly, somewhat shrewd smile.

Although it looked rather horrifying on his face.

“I told you, don’t treat me like an old-fashioned, stubborn relic.”

His Excellency the Duke let out a long sigh, as if to summarize the conversation:

“Falkenhausen is not an outdated conservative. If the tide is like this, and the trend is like this, then I will not hesitate to make changes, and I will accept my fate without regret.”

"I also believe that both order and habits can be changed."

Under Thales's careful and earnest gaze, Cyril's eyes flickered:
"But this kind of change must be done step by step, little by little, drop by drop, so that it comes naturally and logically."

"Instead of something like this."

Cyril raised his cane and pointed out the window.

"Changes have occurred in the north, and the prince has returned to his country."

The Duke said coldly:
"Therefore, one side took advantage of the situation, threatening the king with the safety of the kingdom's heir and forcing him to hand over control of the western front."

"The other side simply went through the motions of feigning cooperation before secretly destroying the armies, supplies, and garrisons of the Western Wilderness lords, severely punishing and annihilating them."

Thales listened to these two seemingly casual yet actually shocking words, and his expression slowly changed.

"Haven't you noticed that compared to the underhanded tactics of forcing the emperor to abdicate, framing others, and creating momentum six years ago, the actions of both your father and the current feudal lords are far more drastic?"

"Ironically, do they really think they can achieve such a so-called victory?" Falkenhausen said seriously at this moment:
"Would that erase the opponent's ambition and hostility?"

Cyril waved decisively, with considerable flair.

"Do not."

This was one of the rare moments when Thales felt that the other party, as a duke, was in no way inferior to the grand and magnificent dukes of the North:
"They will only push each other further and further until the final step, either now or later."

Thales pursed his lips, deep in thought.

"But aren't you the head of the western lords, the leader of all, the ruler of the wastelands, the guardian duke of the western wilderness who controls his vassals?"

The prince spoke slowly:
"When the power struggle between the Palace of Restoration and the Ruins is set up on the chessboard, shouldn't you take responsibility for it and make some contributions?"

Cyril smiled.

"So you are not the king yet."

The Duke glanced sideways at Thales:
Do you believe that at every crucial juncture in history, the tides are always driven by the will of one person?

Cyril said in a cold voice:

"You should know that when your vassals and subordinates are indignant and full of righteous indignation, you, standing in the face of the tide, have little choice but to go with the flow."

Thales's brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

The Duke said in a sinister tone:
"Unless you want to replace the king and become the target of everyone's obstruction from regaining their former glory—you will either become their leader or their enemy, the first to fall in the pincer attack from both inside and outside."

Thales remained silent for a long time.

So, Cyril's words mean...

The boy suddenly remembered the national conference from long ago, the vote that decided whether he was an illegitimate child or the rightful prince.

At the time, Cyril voted "yes," but two of his nominal vassals, two of the thirteen prominent families, voted "no."

Thales took a deep breath, pulling his increasingly worse thoughts back to the present:

"That bad?"

Cyril also fell silent for a while.

“When you become king, you will understand these things better than I do.”

"Don't forget what I said: people will always respond to rulers in ways that are unexpected and catch you off guard—unfortunately, the lords of the Western Wilderness are also within this category."

Falkenhausen turned his head and glanced at him indifferently:

"Of course, as far as your father is concerned, you and I are also within the scope of the description."

Thales remained silent upon hearing the other person's pointed remark.

The Duke turned back to look at the gray sky outside the window:

"The practice of winning over commoners to oppose nobles and using any means to consolidate power will inevitably have consequences—commoners are not pawns to be manipulated, and nobles are not objects to be sacrificed."

His voice carried a lingering chill, like the bleak autumn wind:
“For the regional lords to obstruct the general trend is tantamount to courting death, but the Restoration Palace may not necessarily achieve the desired results either. Moreover, the eagerness for quick success and instant benefits on both sides is a major taboo.”

Thales clenched his fist.

Cyril gazed at the western sky, seemingly lost in thought, and sighed softly:
"More than a hundred years ago, the wise ruler played chess silently, with gentle and steady moves."

"But even now, on the chessboard where your father played against them..."

Duke of the Western Wilderness paused for a few seconds.

"No, this will not end well—the bloody year will not be the last."

The confusion in his eyes faded, and he returned to reality, his gaze sharp and alert.
"Unless His Majesty can slaughter all living beings on this land and eradicate all discord from the root—I don't know, perhaps one day in the future, when the Star Kingdom can provide every person with a magic gun, send messages instantly, and the ruler on the throne can easily destroy the world with just a nod, then he might succeed."

Another gust of cold wind swept into the tower, accompanied by a whooshing sound.

But neither of them seemed to notice.

This time, Thales remained silent for a long time.

long time.

"Do not."

After a long pause, Thales finally spoke in a hoarse, somber voice:
"Believe me, even if that day ever comes..."

"He won't succeed either."

Whether you're happy or not, joyful or not, will you vote or not? —by a dog who's been typing all day and is practically exhausted.
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(End of this chapter)