Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 502 Six Wings and Seven Servants

Lorenburg is an obscure little place in the western wilderness, seemingly a carefully chosen foothold.

Gilbert left early to handle affairs with the standing army, while Thales, surrounded by the royal guard led by Marius, left the carriage and entered the castle before him, which was as simple as a hut in the Shield District.

He encountered no local nobles who came to pay their respects. Instead, trembling servants in the distance handed him lamps, water, and food, which were then delivered to Thales by the royal guards (who strictly separated the prince from other people).

Even the sentry posts outside the castle were taken care of by the royal standing army on the outskirts.

Even when Thales subconsciously smiled at a young maid who looked only eleven or twelve years old, who hurriedly brought him food on her head (with a plate on her head), Marius would appear at the right moment, politely and gently but undeniably blocking his view.

The little maid, pale-faced, fled the hall amidst the menacing gazes of the royal guards.

This made Thales feel a pang of sadness.

But being new to the area and unfamiliar with the situation, Thales cautioned himself not to interfere with the actions of the royal guard.

When Thales entered this simple, even somewhat rudimentary, fortress hall that served primarily as a military facility, and sat down at the long table at Marius's suggestion, the feeling of unease he felt reached its peak.

“As usual, select two people to sample the food first,” Marius said calmly, standing beside seated Thales without removing his armor or sword. His words echoed through the hall.

"Let the Duke have his meal in half an hour."

"During this time, the others in the Vanguard Wing went to survey the castle, the Guard Wing deployed as usual, the Logistics Wing went to check the kitchen, and the rest took their positions."

Marius squinted at the direction the little maid had gone:

"And I don't want to see anyone walk into this hall without permission again, not even a chubby little girl..."

"Furthermore, wherever the Duke goes, whether it's dining, bathing, using the toilet, resting, or taking a walk, ensure that at least two people accompany him and can always see him. In case of any incident, the outer three-layered security must be able to react immediately."

Thales frowned upon hearing this.

Marius's words seemed to carry great weight; of the twenty-four people standing on either side of the long table, twenty-two accepted the order and left the hall.

Marius himself glanced at Thales, his gaze calm and natural, yet seemingly containing some kind of power, causing the latter, who was so hungry he was slouching and had no proper posture, to subconsciously sit up straighter.

“Take good care of His Majesty the Duke.”

The chestnut-haired watchman casually uttered these words and walked out of the hall.

The instant Marius's heel left the door, Thales felt the air in the hall soften.

But the good times didn't last long. The last two remaining people stepped forward without hesitation and took the plates off Thales' table without any politeness.

Under Thales's horrified gaze, they carefully examined each dish (even tearing open a pie made of an unknown ingredient) and took a bite of each.

Thales stared blankly at the meal, now completely mangled, and even had a fleeting illusion:

He returned to the North, to Dragon Sky City, to Blood Courtyard.

No, it's worse than that.

At least the northerners wouldn't eat his food.

One of them took a quick bite and immediately got up to stand guard at the door, but the other one...

"Oh no, this pie is made of pumpkin, it tastes awful."

The guard standing closest to him, while grumbling in pain, broke off another piece of pumpkin pie and gave Thales a dashing, sunny smile:

"No, Duke, you won't like this... I must help you get rid of some, you're welcome..."

Thales looked at the dwindling pumpkin pie and gave an awkward laugh.

The knight, biting into a pumpkin pie, made a gesture of raising a glass, then smiled and nodded.
"No need to worry, Your Grace, it's just a routine check... Our standing army is camped outside the castle, nothing can threaten your safety."

The knight in front of him spoke, his smile growing even brighter.

Your words only make me more uneasy...

"No, no, no, sir, you can't eat yet. You have to wait half an hour. Only if I don't foam at the mouth and die on the spot can you start eating..." The knight gently grasped Thales's wrist and pushed him back with a forceful yet gentle but unyielding push.

Thales had no choice but to reluctantly withdraw his hand from the water glass.

He recognized the blond knight before him as Doyle, Deleuze's "distant relative".

"So, uh, Marius is your leader, and he's the highest-ranking?"

Bored while waiting to be tested for poison, Thales could only try to make small talk:
"You all have to listen to him?"

Doyle brushed the crumbs off his hands, raised an eyebrow, and nodded:

"Yes."

Doyle glanced at the doorway and, seeing that Marius had completely disappeared, began to smile. He walked to Thales' side and set out the cutlery for him.

"The Royal Guard has a strict and clear division of labor and system, including a hierarchical order, which must not be violated."

As Doyle spoke, his hands moved non-stop, arranging the knife, fork, spoon, and various dishes in an orderly fashion, in accordance with the table manners that Thales had learned as a child.

Strict and clear...

Thales looked at the blond knight before him with great interest:
So what level are you?

Doyle spread the vegetables evenly on the plate and smiled:

"Take it easy, Your Highness, it's not that simple."

"Unlike the barbaric, rude, and primitive Yankees and their comical guards that change every term, the Star Royal Guard has a long and glorious history, its structure dating back to the Imperial Guard of the Imperial Age..."

Doyle raised his index finger to the fourteen-year-old prince, his smile bright and friendly, as if to say, "Let me tell you a story."

"As the sacred guard protecting His Majesty, the Imperial Guard is divided into six wings according to different duties, and each wing has a chief and a deputy chief in charge."

Six wings.

Thales perked up, recalling the former royal guards he had seen in the dungeon.

"First and foremost is the supreme command wing."

Doyle smiled warmly and used his knife and fork to cut two pieces of steak from the plate.

"This is the brain of the entire guard. The first and second captains, that is, the captain and deputy captain, are responsible for commanding the entire guard and have absolute authority. They are only responsible to His Majesty. Before being assigned to your side, Marius was the commander of the wing, relaying orders and intelligence between Captain Adrian and the heads of each wing. Well, his rank is not high, but his role is significant."

"And after he was promoted to Watchman..."

Doyle shrugged helplessly:

"So that's right, we should listen to him, both before and after."

Command wing.

Captain and deputy captain of the guard.

Thales thought of Barney's father and pondered.

"Then there are the guard wings."

Doyle took a deep breath, tossed his hair, straightened his body, and seemed to suddenly become radiant.

"This is the main body of the Royal Guard, and the one most commonly seen by outsiders. They are responsible for the close protection of dignitaries," he said righteously, picking out two pieces of vegetables and moving them next to the meat.

"Ordinary heroes, great protectors, who confirmed your safety with their flesh and blood, and paved the way for your glory with their blood."

Doyle's words puzzled Thales.

Seeing the other person's solemn yet hopeful expression, as if they were preaching, Thales narrowed his eyes:
"So, you belong to the Guardian Wing?"

Doyle raised an eyebrow and bowed dramatically:

"Exactly!"

Seeing the other person's proud expression, Thales nodded in understanding.

understood.

“I am Danny Doyle,” Doyle smiled and pressed his hand to his chest:
"Your Grace, of your six guards, this is the most reliable one."

Thales blinked.

Doyle, with his blond hair, winked his left eye, looking dashing and debonair.

"Or to put it simply, everyone likes to call me DD."

Thales paused.

"DD?"

The prince repeated it with a strange expression.

"You don't have a sister named CC, do you?"

Or is there a brother named VV?

Doyle was stunned.

"CC?"

Doyle rolled his eyes in confusion.

"Ahem, it's okay..."

Thales coughed twice forcefully and said seriously:

"It's just a joke from the North..."

"Oh~" Doyle responded with a look of sudden realization, raising his voice in response.

“So, Doyle,” Thales said, looking in surprise at the plates that had been arranged like works of art:
When you were little, did they call you 'Little D.D.'?

Doyle was taken aback again.

"what?"

Thales raised an eyebrow and shook his head:

"It's nothing. I often tell silly jokes like a Yankee. You'll get used to it."

"Go on."

Doyle blinked, seemingly understanding but not quite.

"So, where I was going—oh right, another part of the Royal Guard, the guard that often appears in bard poems, the lovable and charming villains who have the power to make decisions in wartime: the Vanguard Wing."

Vanguard Wing

Thales thought of the stubborn little Barney and the neurotic Cannon in the dungeon.

Thales's arched eyebrows:
"So, why is Vanguard Wing a villain?"

Doyle cleared his throat and began tidying up the soup bowls and water glasses:

"To put it simply, our guards have important duties and cannot leave the side of the nobles. We also have a lot of time to appear in public, so there are many things that are inconvenient to do."

Doyle suddenly stopped speaking, his tone turning cold:

"So sometimes, when you don't like someone and want their head, or you've got your eye on a girl but she doesn't want you, these kinds of trivial things..."

Doyle stopped what he was doing, his expression turning cold:
"At this point, you can send the Vanguard Wing's underlings to 'run errands'."

Who do I dislike...

Which girl have you taken a fancy to...?

Trivial matters?
Running errands?

what?
Thales looked at him strangely and asked in return:
"Really?"

Doyle continued to stare at him seriously.

Two seconds later, Doyle suddenly chuckled, waved his hand, and shook his head.

"Of course I was just kidding!"

"Although bard poems often portray noble guards as nouveau riche thugs, under normal circumstances, how could the Vanguard Wing possibly do such pointless things..."

Doyle paused at this point.

"You know."

He said coldly, moving closer to the prince with a meaningful, enigmatic smile:

"General situation".

Thales was both amused and exasperated by his performance.

"But you said they have 'wartime decision-making power'..."

Doyle waved his hand:

"Oh, that's not important..."

Doyle cleared his throat again, picked up his knife, and began to tidy up the pumpkin pie that had been messed up by the poison test and was now only half full.

"Then came the Wing of Punishment, which had the fewest members but held a superior position."

Punishment Wings.

Thales nodded, recalling Luton Belletti, the former chief clerk of the Royal Guard.

“For example, if you ask us to ‘run errands’ as described above, but we unfortunately get caught red-handed,” Doyle’s eyes narrowed:
"Then the Punishment Wing will be on the field."

"So... nobody in the guards likes them."

Doyle turned to Thales, his face full of warning:
"I believe you are too—it's said that even punishments for members of the royal family are carried out by them."

Doyle put down his knife. Sometime later, the pumpkin pie, which was only half full, had been cut into six slices and arranged in a circle around the plate. It looked exquisite, beautiful, neat, and symmetrical.

Thales was astonished.

Doyle shook his head, magically erasing the seriousness from his face:

"Next is the logistics wing, which, as the name suggests, is the most boring part of the six wings, and there are even quite a few unofficial errand boys in it."

Doyle smiled, shoveled all the excess and messy scraps from the main course plate into an empty dish, and tossed it into the depths of the unlit fireplace with a crisp sound.

"To be honest, I still don't know why they keep this department around—I mean, when you're working for His Majesty, who cares whether your room costs six copper coins or six silver coins a night?"

Logistics Wing.

Yes, His Majesty cares.

Thales said quietly.

Doyle sighed:
"The last one is the worst, with an unclear level, and the flag-bearing wing is outside the five wings."

Flag wing.

Recalling Samir, the former standard-bearer who had fallen to the Sword of Calamity in the dungeon, Thales said strangely:
"The worst?"

Doyle snorted coldly:
"It is said that each flag bearer carries a small notebook, and their usual duty is to spy on us and then report to their superiors."

Thales glared:
"above?"

Doyle flipped his arm and pulled out a tablecloth from somewhere.

Thales felt a blur before his eyes, and the tablecloth was wrapped around his chest:
"above."

Doyle walked to the prince's side and straightened the folded tablecloth and collar:

"They're like secret agents in the guard—insidious, cunning, and ill-intentioned..."

Doyle said it half seriously and half jokingly.

The secret service within the guard.

Is it.

Thales recalled the unusual royal guards in the dungeon.

"So this is the 'Six Wings of the Imperial Guard'."

Doyle walked up to Thales and, as if welcoming a guest, casually swung his arm.

The prince was astonished to find that, at some point, the food and tableware on the table were arranged in perfect order, the dishes on the plates were arranged with a unique beauty (there was absolutely no indication that they had been tested for poison), and even the tablecloth and collar he was wearing were neatly wrapped and at the perfect angle. It was to the point that if he moved even an inch, he would ruin the beauty of the scene.

"His Majesty attaches great importance to your guards. Basically, among the twenty-five people around you, there are men in all six wings of the Imperial Guard."

Ignoring Thales's worried expression about "where to start," Doyle listed the options on his fingers:

“Lord Grey Paterson, apart from Marius, is the highest-ranking person around you. He is the second-in-command of the Penal Wing, and like his superior, he is basically the type that everyone fears.”

"Dward Stolt, the old man in the logistics wing—don't be fooled by his smiling face, he's got a lot of tricks up his sleeve. If he wants to mess with you in the food..."

Doyle sighed and shrugged with a light laugh.

"And you met Garen Grover yesterday, the brown-haired guy behind Marius. He's usually quiet, but when he does speak, he dares to confront even the Earl of Wingburg."

You are one of them, aren't you?

Thales thought to himself.

Doyle didn't notice Thales' expression:
"Groof is one of the vanguard officers. By the way, that guy is expressionless, he never cries or laughs. We all call him 'Zombie' in private."

"I heard that the zombie's grandfather once served in the royal guard and held a fairly high rank."

Doyle blinked:
"So he was exposed to it from a young age and knew a lot about the ins and outs of the royal guard—he even knew the secrets of the old guard from many years ago."

This phrase caught Thales's attention.

"The old guard?" the prince pressed.

“Yes,” Doyle glanced at the table, and disappointedly looked away after finding there was nothing else to adjust.
"The royal guard from eighteen years ago, during the bloody year."

Thales tensed up.

"Although the elders in the palace are unwilling to talk about what happened back then, and won't say anything even if you ask, it's practically a taboo subject..."

Thales's face darkened:
"Is it."

However, Doyle raised his head, his words tinged with emotion:
"But it is said that during the decades of King Eddie's reign, the legendary old royal guard reached its zenith in both quantity and quality."

Thales' attention was drawn to him.

"Putting everything else aside, in terms of individual combat strength alone, they have more extreme-level experts than any guard in any era."

At this point, Doyle's eyes lit up, as if he were singing a bard's verse:
"Some people, when they remain still, strike with the force of thunder; defeating the enemy requires no second blow."

"Some wolves roam thousands of miles, their cunning and unpredictable nature allowing them to kill enemies in broad daylight without leaving a trace."

"Someone wields a single blade, heads roll, and he fights for three nights without moving an inch."

"Someone, a thousand paces away, raises his bow and arrow, and the souls of the dead are hard to miss."

Doyle exhaled, his face full of longing:

"The most exaggerated thing is that, according to legend, some members of the guard at that time could fight against a hundred men single-handedly, and even thousands of troops could not do anything to them."

Doyle's tone softened.

One against a hundred, outnumbered against overwhelming odds...

With thousands of troops and horses...

Thales was lost in thought for a moment as he recalled that imposing yet faltering, lonely figure.

"Is it."

Thales' eyes twitched:
"So, what about the guards now?"

"Now?"

Doyle blinked and smiled.

"Now, the vast majority of the guards are reorganized after the Bloody Year. As you know, the people are suffering, and it is not easy for either nobles or commoners. The outstanding talents trained on the battlefield and in the army have long been recruited by the three newly risen commanders."

"I've heard that the current chief vanguard officer, Steli, is at the Extreme level, but he doesn't have any notable achievements... Because with Extreme levels, unless you've truly fought another Extreme level opponent head-on, others won't acknowledge you as one either..."

Doyle shrugged, his longing turning into regret.

"Pity."

"I really wish I had been born in that era, so I could have witnessed the unprecedented grandeur of the guards and sparred with those lost legendary masters. That would have been wonderful."

But Doyle immediately shook his head.

"No, there's really nothing to regret. After all, it was a disgraceful guard."

Thales' eyes flickered:
"Shame? What do you mean?"

Doyle sighed softly:
"Don't you know? It was the same guard that failed to protect the palace properly during the Bloody Year. Their poor coordination and disorganized advance and retreat ultimately led to the fall of the Fuxing Palace."

"And they also single-handedly destroyed...the best era of the Royal Guard."

Inadequate protection, poor scheduling...

Thales clenched his fists instinctively.

“It is said,” Doyle said, his expression a complex mix of disdain and helplessness, “that is to say…”

"It's just a rumor that there were even some who were colluding with the enemy in that group of guards."

They colluded with foreign enemies.

Thales clenched his fist tighter and tighter.

"The Watchman".

Doyle was taken aback:
"what?"

Thales looked up and asked seriously:
“You just said that Marius was promoted from the Command Wing to the Watchman a year ago.”

"Which branch of the Six Wings does this position belong to?"

"What are your specific responsibilities?"

Doyle was also taken aback for a moment when faced with this question.

"The Watchman?"

He frowned:
"To be honest, during my first eight years in the guard, I had no idea that this position existed until Marius was promoted."

"But there's a guess in the team, you know, Watchman, Watchman, so we guessed it's a character who stays in the shadows, secretly watching and observing..."

At this point, Doyle's gaze shifted, and he said with a hint of mockery, "For example, when nobles go to Red Street in private and it's inconvenient to bring guards, the watchmen secretly follow them and wait by their bedsides..."

Thales had been listening intently until he realized something was amiss.

Seeing Thales' expression, Doyle raised an eyebrow:
"By the way, Your Grace, you're still young, but do you know Red Street?"

Red Town Street?
Before Thales could answer, Doyle raised his index finger and chuckled:
"Oh, you obviously've never been there!"

"It's alright, I'll take you out to play another day when I have time—"

Just now.

"Doyle".

A clear yet loud voice.

In that instant, Doyle perfectly stopped speaking, turned around, smiled, and bowed, all in one smooth motion:
“Oh, look who’s here, Lord Marius! And you too, you zombie—I mean, Vanguard General Golov!”

Doyle opened his arms enthusiastically, looking at the third person without any embarrassment:
"Welcome, Earl Cassel!"

Sure enough, Watchman Marius and Vanguard Officer Grover appeared in the foyer, with Gilbert following behind them, smiling at Thales and the other two.

Thales only responded with an awkward smile.

Marius smiled perfectly, with an air of calm composure.

"Doyle, I heard you're quite interested in Red Street?"

"Oh, you're talking about this..."

Doyle, looking as if he had just remembered, exclaimed in realization:

"Of course, I was just giving Duke Thales a lesson on what, well, he should know at his age—common sense."

common sense?

Thales sighed and silently turned his head away.

“Common sense?” Sure enough, Lord Marius narrowed his eyes, and Golov, who was beside him, snorted rudely.

"Exactly."

Doyle turned to Thales without any shame:
"Geographical common sense."

"Regarding the administrative divisions of Yongxing City, sir, as we just mentioned, Hongfang Street borders Linhe Street, separating the West Ring District and the Lower District..."

Marius and Golov exchanged a glance, one smiling faintly, the other disdainful.

Thales could only look at Doyle in amazement, his heart filled with endless admiration.

A few minutes later, Thales finally picked up his knife and fork and was able to eat, while Marius and the others quietly left, leaving Gilbert to watch the prince with satisfaction.

“It is a pleasure to see you having such a pleasant conversation with Danny, Your Grace.”

Thales smiled helplessly, then ruthlessly chopped down the dish, ruining what had been a perfectly arranged, artistic masterpiece.

“I didn’t have any other choice, did I?”

Gilbert laughed heartily:

"Relax, Your Highness."

“Whether it’s Marius, Golov, or Doyle, they are all from the Seven Households, not just ordinary local nobles. Your father trusts them.”

Thales forked a piece of meat and grunted:
"Seven servants?"

Gilbert nodded.

"During the final battle, the King of Restoration was accompanied by seven attendants, whom the bards collectively called the 'Seven Star Attendants'."

The former foreign minister once again adopted that storytelling tone, though not as dramatic and captivating as Putilly's, but its strength lay in its straightforward and simple narration.

"After the founding of the nation, they settled in the central territory and were granted titles ranging from viscount to baron, becoming direct vassals within the king's domain. Their families also became powerful allies of the Shining Star royal family."

"Six hundred years have passed. Although times have changed and members have changed, in each era, the most trusted vassals of the Star are still called the 'Seven Star Attendants' according to custom—although sometimes the number is more or less."

"Besides the six great families and thirteen noble clans, the Seven Stars are also frequent members of the royal guard, especially in the last hundred years."

For nearly a century...

Thales chewed on the word.

"In terms of status and influence, they may not be as good as the nineteen nobles, but in terms of their contribution to your family's rule and significance, the seven attendants are definitely superior."

Gilbert said earnestly:

"Therefore, it is important to maintain good relations with direct vassals..."

But the prince interrupted him.

"What about a hundred years ago?"

Gilbert's eyes flickered.

Thales took a bite of a steak:
“The Duke of the Western Wilderness told me that he had an great-uncle who served in the royal guard a long time ago and even helped my grandfather ascend the throne.”

Thales swallowed, staring at the shredded steak before him.

"So, Gilbert."

"When did the people of the six great families and the thirteen noble clans gradually disappear from the king's most trusted guards and from the royal guard...?"

----

The porch outside the hall.

"How about it?"

Marius the Watchman strolled forward with his hands behind his back, while Doyle followed slowly behind him.

Doyle shook his head, his expression calm.

"do not know."

"Not as miraculous a genius as people make him out to be, in some ways, he's even a bit... dull-witted?"

Marius snorted a rising tone through his nose:
"Dull-witted?"

"How to say?"

Doyle glanced behind him and twitched the corner of his mouth:
"They are gullible and have no sense of caution."

"I was just casually reminiscing about the past, and our Duke of Star Lake..."

He shrugged and smiled faintly:

“In just a short while, I’ve almost touched his entire body. And the dagger he’s holding won’t protect him at all—I could snap his neck in seconds.”

"I'm always wondering—how did he survive the violence and bloodshed of those Yankees?"

Marius's expression remained unchanged, and he simply hummed in agreement.

"Really?"

Doyle breathed a sigh of relief and squinted his eyes:

"Let me put it this way, if she were a princess..."

His eyes held a mocking glint:
"By now... she's already blushing and lying in my arms, meowing like a cat."

Marius frowned.

Doyle chuckled as he remembered something: "Of course, if she really is a girl, then this personality is quite cute."

Marius exhaled.

"You just won't stop, will you?"

"In the capital, which innocent girl hasn't been ruined by you?"

Doyle whistled, his eyes darting around:
"Yes, there are a few."

Marius curled the corners of his mouth into a smile.

"Go back to your post," the watchman's expression returned to calm, but his tone became serious.

"Also, stop playing around. You're protecting..."

Doyle raised his hand.

"Of course, of course, don't worry," the blond guard officer chuckled, turning to leave.

“I know, I know how important he is—the royal bloodline, the Duke of Starlake.”

"Whether for the royal family or for us."

Doyle's figure gradually faded into the distance.

Marius stopped in his tracks.

He turned around and watched Doyle's departing figure.

"Do not."

Marius's expression remained unchanged, but he slowly shook his head and whispered:
"About how important he is."

"I am oblivious."

The Watcher snorted softly, his tone carrying a hint of disdain:
"Little DD".

(End of this chapter)