Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 496 Not at all

As Thales listened to the other person's self-introduction, he couldn't help but clench his fist inwardly.

Kloma.

of course.

Thales murmured to himself: He knew the name.

Seven hundred years ago, in the final battle, Prince Tormund, who was not yet the King of Restoration, was ambushed and defeated in the "Battle of the Cold Winds," and was surrounded.

Even the cawing crows that tried to call for help were hunted down one by one in the air by the enemy's falcons, their hopes dashed.

The darkest moment came when a messenger responsible for raising ravens discovered a wounded and exhausted raven on the battlefield.

Despite his humble status, the messenger was young and fearless. Amidst the despair in everyone's eyes, he risked his life to sneak into the encirclement, carrying the last wounded crow. He broke through the blockade of falcons and crossbows, and just before being captured, he released the crow at the edge of the battlefield.

A miracle happened.

The wounded crow, unable even to fly high, eventually brought back reinforcements from the Northlanders, turning the tide, rescuing the prince, and achieving the legendary "Reversal of the Cold Winds."

Years later, on the day Tormund became king and Star Kingdom was established, the lucky surviving messenger was granted a title and promoted to earl, joining the ranks of the kingdom's thirteen noble families. His surname became one of the three most illustrious families in the Western Wilderness.

This legendary story was eventually simplified into a single sentence, becoming the motto of the Clomar family:

A one-winged savior. (Save a wing, save a king.)

The legendary raven that had fought alongside the messenger through countless battles, losing only one wing, was depicted in paintings, embroidered on flags, and printed on robes, becoming the reason for the name of Wing Fortress and the emblem of the Clomar family for seven hundred years.

One-winged crow.

Thales took a deep breath and looked at the knight in front of him.

So, the more than one hundred light cavalrymen seen in the desert, the so-called 'lightning crows,' including the heavy cavalry who were able to crush the orcs head-on, and the baron who smuggled 60% of the goods from the freaks...

They obeyed his every command.

Thales smiled and shook the other's hand without hesitation:

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Earl of Wingburg."

The Earl of Wingburg returned the smile and gently released the prince's hand.

“I’ve heard that you don’t drink at all, and that’s why you refused to drink with King Chaman,” Count Deler said, glancing at the wine-scented shards on the ground, ignoring the awkward, hesitant freaks around him. “It seems the rumors are true?”

“I’m not old enough to drink—cough cough, well, I don’t really like drinking.” Thales was a little surprised by the other person’s opening remarks.

The count remained silent for a moment, looked at the broken pieces of the wine jar on the ground, and slowly nodded.

"Very well, I don't drink either."

Thales raised an eyebrow, and just as he was wondering, the Earl spoke solemnly.

"I know your journey home has been arduous and full of twists and turns, Your Highness, but please put your mind at ease."

Deleuze turned to the side, revealing the thirteen flags behind him.

"As planned, from now on, I and my two hundred Crowwhistle light cavalry, along with one hundred men from the twelve families under Wing Fort, will join your escort team for the entire journey until you return safely to the Palace of Restoration."

Thales' expression hardened.

"I appreciate it."

Deler glanced at the freaks and immediately frowned.

"So, these are the men Lord Williams sent to escort you home?"

"The Western Wilderness Standing Army, number twenty..."

The count glanced at it casually, then announced the number:

"Twenty-five people?"

"Here to escort the prince?"

Snake Hand's face immediately turned ugly.

“Earl, Earl…”

He seemed very nervous and stammered:
“Um, I, no, cough cough, I, we are monsters…we are Stardust…I mean, we are barons…”

But Deler didn't even look at him, and just said to Thales:

"Although Baron Baki is very busy with official duties, I must say with offense that this is very inappropriate."

"In particular, the baron is also a direct vassal of the royal family."

The snake-hand was getting a little anxious:
"No, that... the Baron, he..."

Thales sighed.

“It was I who told the Baron not to divert his troops for my sake, and he had no choice but to obey,” the prince had to take over, trying to smooth things over for the embarrassed Snake Hand.
"After all, Baki Camp has just gone through a great ordeal."

The snake-hand looked at him gratefully.

Deller was silent for a moment, then stared intently at Thales.

The prince responded with a smile.

"I understand."

A few seconds later, Deleuze glanced around and smiled:
"Indeed, he cannot afford to disperse his forces now."

Snake Hand wanted to say something more, but Deler had already turned around.

Snake Hand could only turn around and angrily respond to Spirit Blade's mutterings of "How embarrassing."

The Earl of Wingburg raised his voice and gave an order to his subordinates:
"Tell Vanke and Kadi behind them to send out the second and third teams to come with me to the capital."

"The prince's return procession must not lose face."

His voice wasn't loud, but his commands were clear and forceful.

As Thales watched the messenger hurry away, he couldn't help but frown.

“Your Excellency, thank you for your kindness, but there’s really no need for that…”

Kodler suddenly turned around:

"Forgive my insistence, Your Highness."

Thales was taken aback by his seriousness.

"After six years of wandering, you return to the capital. In the eyes of the people of Xingchen, are you returning in glory or in disgrace..."

Deleu stared intently at Thales, as if trying to pierce his soul with his eyes:
"This is very important."

"Prince Thales".

Thales stared at him blankly, unable to quite figure out the count before him.

Deleuze squinted:

"We can never be too careful, after all, you never know where the threat will come from."

Facing the seemingly very serious Earl, countless thoughts raced through Thales' mind.

The biggest thought on my mind was the words of the Duke of the Western Wilderness yesterday.

Powerful nobles and lords will flock to you, vying to win over the recently returned prince and using every means to get you on their side, turning you into a vanguard against the Restoration Palace.

Before accepting their kindness, please remember: they are only against your father, not truly loyal to you.

A few seconds later, Thales suppressed any further thoughts and nodded politely and amicably:

"Thank you, you've thought of everything very thoroughly."

Deleu nodded respectfully, his smile returning.
Thank you for your understanding.

But the count changed his tone:
"I heard that Lord Cyril has already met with you?"

Cyril Falkenhausen.

When Thales heard the name, he unconsciously twitched his eyebrows.

"Yes, just yesterday, he came to visit me."

Deleuze looked at him for a while before smiling and saying:

"Oh, I understand how you feel."

understand?

Recalling his conversation with the Duke of the Western Wilderness, Thales snorted inwardly.

really?
But Deler seemed to have seen through his thoughts, and the young Earl of Wingburg chuckled softly:

“A long time ago, after my first conversation with the Duke, it took me a whole month to figure out what he had said to me during that hour of laughter and rant.”

Deleuze's smile was somewhat helpless:
"And this doesn't even include his readily available rhetoric and metaphors."

Rhetoric and metaphor.

Thales seemed to remember something and unconsciously hummed in agreement.

He looked at Deleuze with deep empathy:
"Is it."

Thales chuckled dryly:
"So you know him quite well."

But Deleuze's reaction was unexpected.

"No, Your Highness."

This time, Count Cloma responded quickly, half teasing and half serious:
"I have never understood His Excellency the Duke."

The young Earl of Winged Castle, the owner of the one-winged raven, narrowed his eyes, as if with a deeper meaning:

"not at all."

----

In a dilapidated and secluded house at Baki Camp.

A figure leaning on a cane and wearing a thick fur robe slowly strolled into the room.

"I had Gao He rescue you and give you a hiding place, not so you could drink all my stock of wine." In the dimly lit room, a man sitting at the table slowly turned around, scoffed, and seemed quite unconcerned.

The man was completely wrapped in thick bandages from head to shoulders to hands and feet, and all that could be heard from him was a harsh laugh.

"Oh, really? I'm so sorry, my savior."

He looked at the visitors, and, quite drunk, raised a bottle of liquor.

"Luckily, I still had a bottle left. Look, this is it..."

The next second, the man let go, and with a cracking sound, the bottle shattered on the ground, spilling liquor everywhere.

The guest frowned as he watched the wine splash onto his boots and fur coat.

"Oh, oh," the bandaged man spread his hands and grinned maliciously.
"Now there's not even the last bottle left."

In the dim light, the guest remained silent for a while, without sitting down, but said softly:
"Tomorrow, you'll blend into our convoy and leave the camp. Go back on your own."

The man froze.

"go back?"

He snapped out of his daze, his unfocused gaze clearing somewhat:
"What about the mission? What about that little brat?"

The guest gave a soft snort, his eyes sharp, his voice dry and unpleasant:

“I went to see him; he’s being protected.”

"That's impossible."

The man paused for a moment.

"impossible?"

He mumbled the words repeatedly, his drunkenness gradually wearing off, and the expression on his face slowly turned ferocious and menacing:
"That damned brat..."

The man slammed his fist on the table, stood up, and gritted his teeth as he said to the guest:
"No, no, no, you can't, but I can! Give me the route and the sentry assignments, and I can sneak up there in the middle of the night—"

But the guest refused him without hesitation:

"No, you can't."

The guest looked at the bandages on the man's body and nodded:
"You got beaten up badly."

The man shook his head impatiently, snorted, and waved his hand:
"It's just a minor injury. Trust me, you should go check on the other guy."

"He's in a much worse situation than me."

The guest in the dim light didn't speak; he simply scrutinized the bandaged man.

"I'd like to believe you."

The guest placed his hands on his cane, his eyes cold, his tone enigmatic:

Can I?

These words made the man pause again.

The man's eyes pierced through the bandages, staring at the guest for a long time.

A few seconds later, the man exhaled and sat down heavily.

"Don't worry, no one will suspect you."

The man seemed to have figured something out, and said angrily:
“Secret Department, Dragon City, including that self-righteous little brat, they all think I work for the king, I mean, ‘our’ king.”

The man rubbed his head vigorously, hissing slightly, as if he had a severe headache.

The guest rubbed the back of his hand and hummed softly:
"But that's true, isn't it?"

The man let out a heavy sigh, raised a finger, and looked at the other person with obvious displeasure:

"Hey!"

"All you wanted was to keep that brat in the North, but you didn't say it had to be Dragon Sky City."

The guest looked at the other person's fingers, neither angry nor displeased, but his tone grew increasingly cold:

“You went to see King Chaman, which complicated things.”

"I—" The man seemed to want to argue, but his displeasure suddenly weakened after meeting the other party's cold gaze.

The man leaned back against the table, waving his bandaged hand in the air:

"Then what else can I do?"

He seemed to be suppressing his anger in every word he spoke:
"That old witch in the dark room has been suspicious of me for years. Do you know how many people she sent to deal with me after King Nunn died..."

"As for the Secret Service, hmph, if the prince falls back into the hands of Dragon Sky City, they will only intensify their efforts to force me to go back and save him again—that won't be as simple as being a babysitter."

The guest did not answer, but simply listened quietly to what the other person was saying.

The man let out a sigh of frustration and pain, then rubbed his head, his words tinged with slight annoyance:
"Only, only when the arrogant, patricidal king begins to protect me like Nunn does, will the Secret Service and the Dark Chamber stop bothering me..."

The guest looked at the floor and tapped his cane.

"But you messed it up."

With just one sentence, the bandaged man's resentment was suppressed once again.

The man's breathing became rapid, and after several breaths, he finally opened his mouth and let out an unpleasant sound.

"Ha, it's easy to talk while standing up, just by moving your lips."

This time, the man's words carried a hint of anger and embarrassment:

"Why don't you go and fight the Meteorite head-on for half an hour?"

But the customer clearly wasn't buying it; he just sized the other person up and gave a cold laugh.
“You have burns all over your body, and it doesn’t look like you’ve been stabbed in the front.”

The man was momentarily speechless, but he quickly raised his voice:
"That's not the point!"

"And that damn mask, his skills are no less than they were a decade ago. Just pretending to be unconscious to fool him was already difficult enough, let alone dragging my seriously injured body into the desert, tracking and hiding at the same time. And I've had the worst luck on this journey, running into either large groups of orcs or entire armies..."

The man stood up, his complaints growing increasingly urgent and displeased:
"And by the time I caught up with them here, made contact with the man who murdered the king, and was about to take action..."

"You damned Star People, you stupid Southerners, you're actually causing infighting in the Baki camp! Do you know how much effort it took me to escape from thousands of mutinous soldiers and mobs?"

"And that kid, he just suddenly disappeared from the camp, and then came back with the Legendary Wings' forces? I'm fucking insane!"

"And shouldn't this be your territory?"

The man spoke angrily, then sighed painfully and resentfully, pressing his forehead.

The guest remained silent for a while.

“I told you, things will get very complicated once we enter the Starry Sky’s territory.”

The guest's voice rang out along with the sound of his cane:
"And now, the Dark Chamber, the Secret Department, Black Sand Territory, Qiyuan City, oh right, and Dragon Sky City."

“There are five groups, and each of them has a reason to settle scores with you.”

The man pressed his head, feeling his headache getting worse.

The guest raised an eyebrow, his tone playful:
What should you do?

The man took a few quick breaths, but then he released his grip and chuckled.
"Looks like I'll have to come up with five different versions of what happened before they'll let me go, damn it."

The smile was both helpless and relieved.

Both of them were silent for a while.

After a long pause, the guest suddenly asked:
"Can you pull through, old friend?"

The man snorted coldly:
"Of course."

The man rubbed his hands together and looked around disdainfully:

"I have my own methods. Have you forgotten my nickname?"

But the guest's next words made him frown:
"no, you can not."

His tone was heavy, and his meaning was chilling.

cannot?

The man was somewhat puzzled.

But he soon felt that his headache was getting worse.

He realized something.

The next second, the man swayed and braced himself against the table behind him with both hands!
A wave of numbness and dizziness washed over him, and he could no longer maintain his trembling arms, collapsing onto the chair with a thud.

The man looked up in disbelief at the indifferent guest before him, then at the shattered wine bottle on the ground.

"The wine...you..."

"You know, there's a reason I store these wines here," the guest said casually.

"But you just have to be so sarcastic."

The man was breathing desperately, but he felt his strength and senses gradually disappearing from his body.

Impossible, those wines, he tested them, tested them...

The man stared intently at the guest in front of him.

"As for your nickname, old friend, do you know it...?"

The guest rubbed his cane, turned away indifferently, and let the man's eyes lose their luster as he fell to the ground.

I don't like crows.

The guest looked at the man who had stopped struggling, a chill creeping into his eyes:

"not at all."

Actually, I was so excited after watching the latest episode of Game of Thrones yesterday that I started writing this.

Long live the Bear Island lolita! Long live Arya!
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(End of this chapter)