Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 532 The Kingdom's Youth
In the training ground at night, Thales strode forward, his weapon flashing, blades flashing across the field!
Two crisp sounds.

He deftly separated the two pendulums, one in front and one behind, suspended in the air.

Thales seized the opportunity to close in, slipping through the gap created by the swinging pendulum, and thrust his sword straight at the person in front of him!

thump.

His blunt sword struck the thick wooden shield in his opponent's hand with a muffled thud.

Judging from the feel, the results are quite good.

But he didn't have time.

Within the confined field of vision of his helmet, Thales gritted his teeth, retreated rapidly along the same path, and sped backward!

He wanted to return to the starting point unscathed.

The creaking sound of the rope swinging filled the air.

The pendulum closest to the boy echoed, getting closer and closer.

Thales was on edge, and could only push off the ground with more force from his lower legs, struggling to maintain his precarious balance as he retreated.

The sins within his body sensed tension and began to stir, but Thales ignored them.

call!
The pendulum just grazed his shoulder, missing him.

Thales breathed a sigh of relief.

Great, only the last one left...

"clang!"

Before he could finish thinking, Thales felt a sharp pain in his eardrums!

His helmet buzzed as it was struck by the second pendulum.

What the hell……

Thales crouched down in excruciating pain, threw away his longsword, and quickly pulled his neck out of his helmet, rubbing his left ear, which was still ringing and aching terribly.

Directly in front, the burly guard who was sparring with Thales—the vanguard officer Vlatan, who was around thirty years old and always tried his best to suppress his laughter when the prince made a fool of himself—put down his shield and looked at the officers present.

"Take steady steps."

Marius stepped forward, patted the white limestone dot on the Vladivostok shield, and looked thoughtfully at the two pendulums that were entangled and unable to be separated as they swung back and forth.

"The force must be fierce, the rapier must be accurate, and the movements must be correct."

"The most crucial thing is not to get hit by the swinging pendulum."

"If any one of the five aspects is not done well, the practice is invalid."

Marius, showing no sympathy, withdrew his gaze from the prince, who was suffering from tinnitus, tapped Vlataen's shield, and gestured to the guard officer Commuto beside him.

"Again."

Koumto stepped off the field and exchanged a brand new shield for the thick shield covered in lime spots that Vladivostok was holding.

Thales finally managed to straighten his aching left ear and got up in frustration:

"I don't know."

"Why is this training so rigid: you have to go straight up and down, you can't swing your sword to block, you can't crouch and roll... just to compete in speed with two swinging pendulums?"

Thales stared resentfully at the metal pendulum swinging back and forth like a swing.

Thank goodness—or, to be politically correct, thank the sunset—not long ago, his static stance training and sparring sessions in martial arts class had come to an end.

Instead, they practiced on the sword target.

Thales looked at the pendulum suspended in mid-air, attached to a freely movable wheel frame.

These past few days, we've been doing everything from pendulum training to ring drills, dodging drills, and thrusting drills...

There are at least seven or eight types of targets, and each type of training has multiple options with varying levels of difficulty, offering a wide variety of options.

Of course, Thales got beaten up in new ways every day: his helmet was deformed by the swinging pendulum, he foamed at the mouth from being hit by the spinning wheel that spun faster and faster, he was covered in dust from being hit by sandbags raining down from the sky, and he was made dizzy by the targets that were called out in no particular order...

To say something he'd rather die than admit...

He missed the dead man's face a little.

Nicolai's training destroys your confidence through endless setbacks.

Marius's training method, on the other hand, wears down your patience through tedious repetition.

In the training field, the guards, used to the routine, looked at each other. Piloga, the logistics officer in charge of the equipment on the sidelines, cleverly handed him a water cup, giving Thales some time to rest.

As time went by, even with countless tasks to attend to every day, the young Duke of Starlake gradually became familiar with his Starlake Guard of about twenty men.

Among the vanguard officers, whether due to family background or personality, Garen Glov was implicitly the leader. "Zombie" himself was introverted, reliable, and never complained (a stark contrast to DD), and was deeply trusted by Marius. The Watchmen entrusted him with many tasks. Under Glov's leadership, the eight vanguard officers under Duke Thales were all decisive and had distinct personalities. Among them were Zonevid, the left-handed swordsman who had fought Thales, and Vlatan, who was now sparring with him.

The six-man guard was closest to Thales, and surprisingly, the witty and cynical Danny Doyle was doing quite well among them ("Who wouldn't want to be friends with a rich tycoon?"—a casual remark by Marius during a meal). His group of cronies seemed united, willing to bully men and women for the prince's sake. Kommuto, who had once dueled with Thales and risen from guard to the guard, was also a member of the group.

The Punishment Wing and the Logistics Wing together consisted of six people. The leader of the former, Gray Patterson, was a nitpicky, bald old man. ("Hey, do you know why that guy's nickname is 'The Gardener'? Because, once he caught a guy having an affair with a maid in the bushes, and then—oh my, Commander Patterson, you're here! I have to pee, so I'm off, hehe!"—Doyle, Patterson, was encountered around the corner thirty seconds later.)

Deward Stoddall, who was in charge of logistics, was always amiable and would often ask Thales with a smile if he was satisfied with the food and supplies ("How stupid do you have to be to believe that the guys in charge of bookkeeping and money management are good people?"—Doyle, who was biting into his bread).

Hugo Foby, the standard-bearer, had a gloomy expression and was elusive, walking silently ("He probably died a long time ago, leaving only his ghost to linger in the air, we just don't know it." - Doyle, picking his teeth with a look of enjoyment). This standard-bearer only dealt with Marius and rarely participated directly in the affairs of the guard.

Meanwhile, (according to Thales's malicious speculation) the captain of the personal guard, the watchman of the guard, the esteemed Lord Tormond Marius, who was "evenly matched with anyone," along with his three direct subordinates and the leaders of the five wings, managed to organize the complex and newly arrived Star Lake Guard in an orderly and efficient manner, especially as the banquet approached. It must be said, he had quite a knack for it.

“Practicing with the fencing target does not mean you can take shortcuts or go through the motions.”

Marius, unperturbed, looked at Piloga—who, who should have been serving the prince, was still serving his sentence in the kitchen—and handed the water glass to Thales:
"What you've learned from the Northerners over the past six years is the art of desperately reacting to every move and crisis response."

"This may have given rise to your power of ending..."

"But that also means exchanging blood for blood, seeking victory in the face of danger, it means advancing even when blood is thick with rage, gritting your teeth even when your blade is broken, it means leaving no way out, not distinguishing between what is important and what is not, betting half on luck and half on madness."

The watchman's eyes narrowed slightly:

"In reality, this situation only occurs when the weak are fighting against the strong and the odds of winning are extremely slim. It is a do-or-die situation where it is either success or death."

Thales returned the water glass to Piloga, easing his aching muscles.

"But more often than not, you will have a lot of chips in your hand, but you will face complex enemies and more constraints. One move can affect the whole situation. You have choices but it is difficult to make decisions."

Marius squinted:
"At times like these, what you need is not just the will to sacrifice yourself for a moment, but the movements, habits, focus, calmness, sharpness, and decisiveness that you cultivate and accumulate in your daily training."

"That is the significance of your presence here today."

Okay, Thales admits, at least in words, Marius can completely outmaneuver the Meteorites, listening to his spiel...

As for the others...

"Battles are meticulously planned and prepared in advance. Every aspect must be considered, every factor must be taken into account, and thorough preparations must be made, rather than being careless and taking things as they come," Marius said leisurely.
"This is the insight left by the former watchman of the guard, who was highly skilled and once also responsible for guarding Mindis Hall."

Thales paused for a moment.

This time, the prince turned his head and, with mixed feelings, took another look at the vast yet exquisitely unique courtyard of the Mindis Hall.

With a gentle breeze blowing and the lights never going out, the Mindis Hall at night resembles a tourist attraction rather than a solemn and reserved royal garden.

Former Watchman.

Guard the Mindis Hall.

"Your ex."

Thales turned around:

"You know him?"

Unexpectedly, Marius's gaze was deep and thoughtful:
"Yes."

"I know him."

Seeing Thales' slightly surprised expression, Marius casually added:
“From historical records.”

One second later.

Thales let out a breath and rolled his eyes.

You know nothing.

"Of course I know that fencing practice is tedious and boring, far less interesting than real combat."

Marius took the water bag from Thales:
"Just as you have already experienced, there are three major schools of martial arts in China: combat, innovation, and offense and defense."

The Watcher turned his head and glanced at Piloga and Kommuto, who were taking turns to spar with the prince.

Both of them turned pale.

Marius waved to the older logistics officer and the short, stocky guard, and smiled:

"This should be enough to digest for a while."

Piloga and Commuto breathed a sigh of relief, put on smiles again, and nodded politely to the prince.

"But they can only be considered to have a unique style, far from being the mainstream of martial arts today."

"How about this, wait until you pass the first stage of sword target practice."

Marius turned around:

"Let's get back to the sparring training. We have plenty of talented young men who can demonstrate and teach you the two dominant martial arts styles that transcend regional differences within the Star Kingdom and even the entire Western Continent."

Thales' eyes flickered:
"Dominant position? Two major mainstreams?"

“Yes,” Marius said, his words carrying the allure of a grandmother telling a story:

"Originating from the imperial era, they have fought each other for thousands of years, experienced countless ups and downs, and have been passed down to this day as two major mainstreams."

Thales pressed on:

"And that is?"

Marius did not answer again, but simply shook his head and gestured to Vlata on the other side of the pendulum.

The latter smirked, silently raised his shield, and returned behind the pendulum.

Thales sighed, resignedly stood up, and put on his helmet.

Under the moonlight and lamplight, footsteps and the sound of swords being swung echoed once again on the training ground.

Finally, after Thales had lost count of how much time had passed, how many times he had struck the shield, and how many blows he had taken, Marius spoke gently:

"Hmm, your movements these past few times have been good, quite satisfactory."

Thank goodness—cough, thank you for the sunset.

Thales exhaled and planted his longsword on the ground.

until……

"Then let's do it twenty more times."

Marius was all smiles.

Thales's drooping face tightened again:
"what?"

"But my footwork, strength, precision, movements, including that damn pendulum... I did all five of them very well!" the boy protested indignantly.

"Yes, Your Highness, you performed all five tasks perfectly, so in order to maintain this excellent condition..."

Marius said with a smile:
"Let's consolidate it further."

Thales felt that the night was very long.

Finally, after twenty standard pendulum thrusts (which included countless times more, and more and more, of which failed attempts that were not counted in the total), Thales collapsed to the ground, exhausted and only able to catch his breath.

"I've heard that 'raging seas and towering waves' are about improvisation in the face of life and death."

Thales remained lying still, only struggling to lift his head, trying to change the subject and avoid another round of 'consolidation':
"And this is the best training method you've found for me? To exhaust me to death?"

Does it really have practical significance in combat?

Marius gave a light snort, signaling the others to start cleaning up.

"If we really want to talk about practical significance, Your Highness, what do you think, as the Duke of Starlake and the Second Prince..."

How many opportunities do you have to go to the battlefield and face the enemy directly?

He is the Duke of Starlake and the Second Prince.

The opportunity to personally go to the battlefield and face the enemy head-on...

Thales, sitting on the ground, tilted his head and looked up at the sky, frowning as he recalled something:
like……

There are quite a lot.

Before Thales, whose face was filled with utter despair, Marius spoke with sarcasm:
"So, according to you, why don't you learn how to blow the loudest whistle and shout the loudest 'Help!' and then wait for others to kill for you and save you in the most critical and needed moment?"

Thales twitched the corner of his mouth on the ground.

I want it too.

Dream on.

"Unlike the ancient nobles who personally led troops and charged ahead a thousand years ago, today, martial arts classes are not meant to make you a warrior who can take on ten men, or a vanguard who personally goes into battle."

"That's someone else's job."

Marius glanced at him:
"Our work."

The Watchers' attitude became serious:

"Within the royal family and even most of the high nobility, this lesson is simply to let you know, and empathize with: those warriors who faced death alongside your ancestors in the past, and those fearless warriors under your command in the future..."

"While they fought and died for you, one after another..."

"You need to know what they've been through and what they're going to face."

"So that we will not forget."

Lying on the ground, Thales exhaled, recalling the bloody scenes of the past: the birch forest, Dragonbreaker Fortress, Dragonsky City, Blade Fang Camp...

Thales sighed:

"Believe it or not, I know more than you... more than many people."

Marius walked to his side, appearing upside down in Thales's view, blocking the stars in the sky:

"I have no intention of questioning you."

"But that's not all."

The Watchman said quietly:

"Everyone, including our Royal Guard, has sworn this oath and holds this belief: if a crisis comes and a battle breaks out, we will sacrifice everything to protect our master."

“But there is one person who cannot think that way.” His tone suddenly became stern.

Thales' expression shifted.

"you."

Marius spoke casually, as if he didn't care at all:

"You must always think about and be prepared: what will you do when we are unable to perform our duties or are not by your side?"

Unable to perform duties, or even not by one's side...

For some reason, a deep, dark prison beneath the skeleton prison suddenly appeared before Thales' eyes.

The boy closed his eyes, then opened them again.

"You mean, when even my closest and most trusted guards betrayed me and abandoned their Lord?"

For a moment, the air on the training ground seemed to stand still, and the guards on duty were all stunned.

Marius was silent for a second.

"I didn't say that."

But Thales ignored him.

"Then you can?"

The Duke stared intently at the captain of his personal guard above him:
"Perhaps for a better, higher reason..."

"Betray me?"

Vladimir Vlatan glanced at Marius instinctively.

That's a difficult question to answer.

But Marius simply stared at the prince, remaining silent for several seconds.

Perhaps it was because it was autumn, or perhaps it was because the temperature on the training field was not high at night, but Thales, lying on the ground, felt a slight chill on his back.

"You should go take a shower."

Marius's voice remained calm and composed:

"Go to bed early."

"After all, your welcome banquet will begin in fifteen hours."

"I hope this will help ease your tension tonight."

Yes, it's a welcome banquet.

Damn party.

Thales sighed and slammed the back of his head back to the ground.

The guards on duty began packing their belongings.

In the distance, a listless figure limped closer, followed by a robust figure.

"Is that all?"

A weary-looking Doyle approached Marius, followed by the usual expressionless Golov:

"At least give me a chance to get close to the prince, otherwise my dad will..."

Marius didn't even glance at him, and simply walked straight ahead:

"how's it going?"

Doyle stared blankly and dejectedly at Marius:
"Don't worry, these past few days I've been in the kitchen, the warehouse, and all those haunted rooms in the Mindis Hall that's been covered in dust for hundreds of years, following Stoddart around, never taking my eyes off him, and I've also built up relationships with a bunch of maids—cough cough—servants, and figured out the situation..."

"At least no one can poison the prince and his guests at tomorrow's banquet—of course, we don't know about aphrodisiacs."

Marius chuckled lightly, ignoring Doyle's subtle complaint.

"Coordination with the Security Service, the Royal Guard, and the Palace of Restoration's guards is complete. There are no issues with personnel and post arrangements, even after His Majesty has left," said Golover coldly from behind Doyle.
"No one can threaten him, let alone assassinate him."

Marius remained silent for a moment.

Poisoning? Assassination?

The Watcher turned around and looked at Thales, who was lying on the ground in the distance gazing at the stars, his gaze freezing:
"That's the last thing I'm worried about."

----

Today is October 30th, the day commemorating the first defeat of the orcs in human history, known as the "Day of the Holy Chase."

It is said that during this traditional festival, people all over the world, from Crystal Isle to Devil's Sea, from Sighing Mountain to Flame Sea, celebrate.

Thales remembered that this was what the beggars called "Fat Sheep Day"—a day when the citizens of the streets celebrated and paraded noisily, completely oblivious to where their wallets were, which was the most endearing thing about it.

Unfortunately, for Prince Thales, today was no longer a "lucky day," but rather his damned homecoming welcome banquet.

Throughout his life, Thales had only attended one banquet.

That experience was obviously not a reliable reference—the Duke of Starlake couldn't very well roll up his sleeves, grab a wine glass, and yell at the guests in the Mindis Hall, "Eat! Drink! Chop! Grass! Do whatever you want!"

However, it must be said that it wasn't until the afternoon of the next day, when Thales, as the host of the banquet, stood under the statue of the Three Star Kings to greet the guests, that he realized how difficult this job was.

"Look at you, what a man!"

Viscount Paterson, who was standing before them, was old in appearance and even older in body. Supported by his two nephews, he had arrived at the banquet with cloudy eyes, but he was of important status. He belonged to the kind of distinguished guests that Thales had to personally greet—he ruled the Fordburg region, an important eastern stronghold of the Central Territory, and was himself a direct vassal of the royal family.

He was ranked among the Seven Stars.

He was the first and early arrival among all the VIPs, which threw Thales, who was in the lounge getting ready and reciting the banquet's agenda and etiquette, into a panic. He had to break his plans and rush out to greet him.

Viscount Paterson, trembling but unceremoniously, pushed aside his two nephews who were supporting him, leaned forward, and firmly grasped Thales's arm.

“I still remember… eighteen years ago, I sat in the Hall of Stars… watching your father be crowned king.”

“Now…” the elderly viscount gasped for breath.

Golov and Doyle stood nervously on either side of the prince, their knees slightly bent and bodies leaning forward, as if ready to leap out at any moment.

But Thales felt it wasn't to protect him, but rather out of fear that the elderly man, who had difficulty even speaking, would collapse and die suddenly.

"The prince hosts a banquet, ruthless and merciless; in the midst of laughter, the old minister vanishes into thin air"—it's best to have fewer news stories like this.

Thales maintained his smile and, following Professor Ginny's standard royal etiquette, gently grasped the old viscount's goosebump-covered hand, keeping an eye on his balance and inquiring about his health (the viscount was hard of hearing, and his nephews had to repeat the prince's words several times in his ear).

Just as a standard Duke of Starlake would do.

"I know my own body, Your Highness. I won't be able to keep going for many more years."

“But it doesn’t matter,” a glimmer of light flashed in Viscount Paterson’s cloudy eyes in that instant:
"Because...time flies, but the stars remain."

Thales felt a tightening in his hand as Viscount Paterson leaned down and, with great effort, pressed his chin heavily against the prince's glove.

"The kingdom is young."

He, with wrinkled skin and white hair, was panting heavily, and gritted his teeth as he said:

"It's the perfect time."

There's one more chapter; I should be able to finish revising it and post it by midnight.



(End of this chapter)