Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 558 Punishment
"As mentioned last time, Elvish has transcended the realm of languages ​​we can understand. Most of its effective meaning lies in the tacit understanding and resonance between the speakers, thanks to the elves' innate extraordinary senses, almost an instinct of their kind. Even with only written words, they can recreate the context and complete the referential meaning through pronunciation or even handwriting, achieving synesthetic empathy—something unimaginable for humans who can only speak dryly..."

In the study of the Mindis Hall, Grand Secretary Bona, as always, swayed his head and slowly explained his grammar lessons.

Thales sat upright behind his desk, calmly copying the ancient Elven alphabet and the five to fifteen phonetic symbols for each letter, his posture elegant and meticulous.

It was as if nothing had happened last night.

"Therefore, in written language, Elvish is often ridiculously concise: the grammatical structure of Gusia Elvish often omits tenses and even pronouns, while the word order of Gurian Elvish often features incomprehensible inversions—there's a little joke: an Elvish romance novel about a love triangle was translated into a common human language, but after reading the ending, readers were divided into three camps, arguing fiercely, because each camp felt that their favorite couple ended up together, until the original author couldn't help but jump out and say that he had written a six-way love triangle..."

Bona's voice was booming, but Thales remained focused.

The Star Lake Guards who were standing close at the door were still the same pairing of a vanguard officer and a bodyguard (as Marius preferred), but instead of the usual Golov and Doyle, they were the young Neshi and the strongman Bastia, whom Thales was unfamiliar with—both of them had performed well last night. The former subdued DD, who was desperate to save his father, with his iron fists, while the latter showed Thales the hardness of his abdominal muscles.

So, Golov and Doyle also changed shifts.

Thales said quietly.

"In light of this, when the Rudolfs, the originators of the Empire and the people of the pre-Qin era, created an alphabet in imitation of the ancient Elves, they had to add a whole host of grammatical standards, such as tenses, voices, subject-verb-object word order, and so on, to clarify things that the ancient Elves could perceive without much effort in describing them. This led to another extreme, resulting in the complex, intricate, and rhetorically varied script of the ancient Empire. Thus, we must be extremely careful when reading or even translating Elvish..."

There was no sun today; the wind was howling, and the air was bitterly cold.

The Mindis Hall also appeared desolate and quiet.

In previous years, Yongxing City would have already cooled down and entered winter by this time, but this autumn seems exceptionally long, gloomy, dull, and cold.

Duke Starlake silently moved his wrist, watching the letters blur onto the paper.

After one night, his back was stiff, his forehead ached, and his legs felt cold.

All of this reminded him that the corner of the bedroom was not a good place to sleep.

"Therefore, it is not difficult to understand why different ethnic groups have different languages, and how different languages ​​shape different ethnic groups—language is a tool, a result, but also the master, the cause. It is the best example of how language can turn the tables and profoundly influence its users in the process of change..."

Listening to the whispers of the scholar Bona, Thales focused his gaze on the letters before him, his pen moving with mechanical precision, each stroke meticulous and precise.

There is nothing else.

Those "others" he hated to face.

"...far away."

Bona's voice became somewhat ethereal, with a strange tone that fluctuated between high and low.

The young duke did not react. He expressionlessly changed the paper and turned to the next page to copy.

Next page.

Next page.

But Bona's volume suddenly increased:
"Far away!"

Thales' pen trembled, and a drop of ink spread across the paper.

He snapped out of his daze and looked up in surprise.

"Oh? I'm sorry?"

Before him, the composed Scholar Bona stood with his hands clasped together, watching him with great interest.

Scholar Bona smiled and patiently explained:
"That was an ancient Elven phrase. If we were to extract all the information contained in the pronunciation, it could be roughly translated as—"

The scholar returned to his seat, his tone playful:
“Your heart is not with me, not in the classroom, not even in the letters you write, Your Highness.”

Thales paused for a second.

Although he quickly came up with several excuses, he finally sighed and sincerely apologized:

“I…I’m so sorry, Bachelor Bona.”

“Oh no, I should be the one apologizing,” Scholar Bona said, picking up his teacup without a trace of anger.

"My explanation was obviously not interesting enough to make you focus and forget your worries."

Thales shook his head:

"It's not your fault. You are an excellent teacher. It's just that I..."

But Bona interrupted him:

"I heard about what happened last night."

Thales paused.

“Respect and understanding are good things, Your Highness. It is even more valuable not to overlook the value and essence of every person—even enemies—as a ‘human being.’”

"Is that so?" The prince forced a smile upon hearing this, suppressing his chaotic thoughts.

Bona closed his textbook and said quietly:
"But don't forget that you are also a person."

Upon hearing this, Thales paused for a moment.

The esteemed old scholar smiled:
"So I think we should end get out of class early."

Thales put down his pen.

He had just discovered that the entire page of Elvish text he had copied was riddled with errors.

The boy sighed:

"Thank you for your understanding, Bachelor Bona, I am very grateful."

Bona smiled slightly.

"And the reason we strive to improve our grammar and study language is not merely to stop at daily conversations and letter writing, Your Highness."

He stood up and said, with a meaningful look in his eyes:

"It is precisely because we are human that we value each other's worth and feelings, and because we want to communicate and understand each other better, and to uncover and express what is hidden deep within our hearts."

"Instead of superficial behavior and reactions, falling into blind self-awareness and misunderstanding, being confined by malicious speculation and suspicion, and being trapped by indifferent nature and rules."

“What makes us different from animals and beasts, Your Highness, is not because ‘we’ can make fire…”

The elderly and frail scholar carefully put away his textbooks:

"It's because among 'us,' some people know how to start a fire, while others don't."

These words were quite profound, leaving Thales speechless.

He could only stand up and bow respectfully.

After the scholar Bona left, just as Thales was looking out at the gloomy sky, his attendants Nehi and Bastia came before him.

Has there been any news from Fuxing Palace?

"No, Your Highness."

As a trainee vanguard officer, Neshi was clearly receiving the task of serving the prince closely for the first time. The young man, who was only a few years older than Thales, seemed very excited, looking at the prince with eager anticipation.

"In fact, I think the palace is extremely busy because of... what happened last night."

last night.

Thales sighed, his mood somber.

The older Bastia glanced at Neshi, but the young man remained oblivious, still engrossed in his conversation.
"Would you like to send someone to Fuxing Palace to inquire? I can—"

"No, that's not necessary."

Thales stood up.

“I want to rest for a while,” the Duke stood up, unbuttoning his cuffs. After last night, he had an urgent urge to wield a weapon.

"Before Marius came to the martial arts class."

Neshi beamed with delight:

"Of course, I'll go and inform the servants right away—"

“But, Your Highness, in fact,” the older Bastia began hesitantly, his voice rough, like the bellows in a blacksmith’s shop:

"Commander Marius, he... he requests that you come over now..."

He hesitated.

“Marius? What does he want me to do?” Thales looked at the guard who was as big as a small mountain, recalling the strength the man had shown when he was protecting him last night, and wondered if every royal guard had someone of this size.

"DD is back."

Thales paused in his unbuttoning.

Bastia observed Thales' expression and said very quickly:
“I mean, Doyle, he and Vanguard General Golov are on the training field right now… with Commander Marius.”

Thales turned around in confusion:
"so what?"

The two exchanged a glance but neither answered him.

He would soon no longer have any doubts.

When Thales arrived at the training ground, most of the Star Lake Guard members were there, divided into several teams according to seniority and responsibilities, forming a semicircle—just like when Thales was "tested" last time.

Neshi wanted to loudly remind everyone to bow, but Bastia quickly stopped him.

Thales could sense that something was wrong.

Under the gloomy sky, everyone stood in silence, no one whispered to each other, and no one dared to make any unnecessary movements.

Thales' gaze swept over the crowd and landed on Marius, who stood at the very front:

He stood with his hands behind his back, his expression still calm, his eyes serene, yet he exuded an unsettling aura.

Punisher Paterson, Logistics Officer Stuart, and Standard Officer Foby—these senior guard members with distinguished statuses stood behind the Watchman, their expressions serious.

Directly in front of Marius, in the center of the training field, the two knelt on one knee, hands on their chests and heads bowed.

Under the gaze of everyone.

Those are Doyle and Golov.

Thales was slightly taken aback.

The prince instinctively stopped at the side of the training field and did not move forward.

His intuition told him he shouldn't go any closer.

Some people did notice the Duke's arrival, but the atmosphere made them hesitant to bow loudly; many simply bowed slightly, their eyes fixed on their chests.

Marius also quickly spotted Thales, but he only glanced at him briefly before returning indifferently to his immediate affairs.
"Grey, get to work."

At the front of the crowd, Executioner Gray Paterson took a cold step forward, past Marius, and stood before the two kneeling men.

"First Class Bodyguard, Danny Doyle."

DD, who was kneeling on the ground, trembled slightly.

The executioner's voice was calm yet cold, carrying an unquestionable, judgmental tone.

“As the most respected and most respected guard officer in the Mindis Hall, your recklessness last night endangered His Highness’s safety, hindered the work of your colleagues, harmed the responsibility of the guard, and went against your own mission.”

Thales, who was watching from the sidelines, closed his eyes; he knew what was going to happen.

But last night...

Thales recalled Baron Doyle's terrified face, the hysterical Baroness, and DD's furious sword strike.

Then I thought of Anke Bailar's desperate smile.

And countless pairs of onlookers.

He felt a wave of discomfort.

"Your sword should be sharpened to make its edge shine."

Patterson uttered a classical phrase, lowered his gaze, and coldly stared at DD kneeling on the ground:

"Do you have anything to appeal?"

DD looked haggard, with red eyes, clearly having not slept all night.

At this moment, his clothes were disheveled and his hair was messy, a far cry from his usual image as a lazy and sly rich young master with an impeccable appearance.

“No, Detective Paterson,” Doyle took a few deep breaths, looking up with a bitter, sorrowful expression, only a glimmer of light appearing in his eyes when he saw Thales:
“My recklessness has harmed Your Highness and everyone else, and I am willing to take responsibility for my mistake.”

He lowered his hands from his knees, knelt down, and bowed deeply.

"My sword needs sharpening, its edge awaits its brilliance."

No one in the guards spoke; everyone watched them silently, the atmosphere heavy with tension.

Patterson glanced at Marius, who remained silent.

“Very well,” the executioner nodded, speaking indifferently:
"Nine lashes".

The verdict caused a small ripple within the guard, but it was quickly suppressed.

Behind Patterson, Carpenter and Pezarossi of the Punishment Wing—the former always jokingly referred to by DD as "Paterson's little cotton-padded jacket," and the latter being a member of the makeshift sniper team from the previous night—stepped forward, expressionless.

Doyle, kneeling on the ground, was prepared. Under everyone's gaze, he silently unfastened his weapon and handed it to the other person, then took off his equipment and clothing piece by piece: coat, jacket, wrist guards, arm guards, leather armor, belt, scarf, inner lining...

Until his muscular, well-proportioned upper body was revealed, trembling slightly in the chilly autumn wind.

The executioner didn't stop; he turned directly to another person.

“Garen Grover, First Class Vanguard Officer”

Grover, nicknamed Zombie, did not answer, remaining calm as ever.

It was as if his name wasn't being called.

"As the most senior and skilled vanguard officer in Mindis Hall, you paid no attention to your partner's emotional state. After realizing it, you ignored your responsibilities and even disobeyed orders out of sympathy, indulging his audacity."

DD bit her lower lip, but dared not say anything more.

Compared to before, Patterson's reprimand of Glov was much harsher in tone:
"Your sword should be sharpened to make its edge shine."

"Any objection?"

Golov slowly raised his head, as if a statue sealed for thousands of years had come into contact with the air and dust had fallen.

"No."

The zombie's hoarse voice was calm and flat, devoid of any inflection.

"My sword needs sharpening, its edge awaits its brilliance."

Patterson stared at him for a long time before finally speaking:
"Seven lashes."

Without needing prompting, Golov moved swiftly and decisively. He knelt down, removing his armor and revealing a muscular, dark, and rough physique covered in old, pockmarked scars, a stark contrast to DD. The two knelt on the training ground, shirtless, facing the gazes of their peers.

Marius remained silent, merely observing coldly.

Thales' feelings became increasingly complicated.

Carpenter of the Punishment Wing silently opened his equipment bag, took out two small, spindle-sized sticks, and handed them to Doyle and Golover, telling them to bite them.

“You both have experience,” Carpenter whispered between the two, releasing the wooden stick that Golov had been biting.
"I only have one piece of advice: hold on tight, don't let it fall."

On the other side, Pezarosi methodically took out two fist-sized brown leather objects bound like bows, and slowly untied them until they resembled two whips.

The two whips were thin and sturdy, and Pezarosi tried swinging them twice in the air, making a whistling sound.

Many guards frowned.

DD took a deep breath, and Golov became even more serious.

“Hold your temper, boys,” Detective Patterson said coldly.

"Believe me, I've seen barbed whips used by northerners, thicker than the ropes used to hang city gates, and that's even worse."

Doyle showed an expression of acceptance, turned his head to look at Thales, and nodded deeply to the prince.

Thales sighed and nodded silently to him.

Upon seeing this, Marius frowned.

The next second, Patterson waved.

Capone and Pezarosi came up behind the two men and expertly cracked their whips.

But at that moment, the executioner's shoulder was pressed down.

It was Marius.

“Grey, you’re in charge of Golov,” the Watchman said, looking at the astonished Paterson. He stepped forward and gestured for Carpenter to hand him the whip.

"As for Officer Doyle, I'll take care of him."

A considerable murmur arose within the guard.

Doyle and Golov were also extremely surprised.

Patterson frowned:
"Should we come in person? Actually, there's no need..."

But Marius quickly interrupted him:
"Since we have important people as our audience, we should take it seriously, shouldn't we?"

The Watcher glanced sideways at Thales.

The guards' murmurs were quickly suppressed.

The prince felt a chill and cast a resentful glance at Marius:
But I—

“Although this is the guards’ internal affair, Your Highness,” Marius said, giving Thales no chance to speak, bowing to the prince and smiling faintly.

"But you are still welcome to observe and bear witness."

"Or, would you be willing to count the number of lashes for us?"

That's why he invited me over—Thales was incredulous and speechless.

Patterson sighed, walked behind Golov, pushed aside the astonished Pezarosi, and took the whip from his hand.

Marius came up behind DD, flicked his whip, smiled slightly at Thales, and before the latter could respond:
"Very well, since Your Highness is not willing, then Toledo, you give the number."

Toledo, Marius's messenger, paused for a moment in the crowd.

He looked at his boss, then at the prince, somewhat at a loss.

Until Marius's expression turned displeased:
"Now!"

Toledo dared not hesitate any longer; he stepped forward, head held high, and raised his voice:

"one!"

The words fell.

Under Thales's furious gaze, Marius and Paterson swung their arms simultaneously.

woohoo...

Their movements were skillful and fluid; the arcs of their two whips were almost synchronized, and the sound of them cutting through the wind was nearly identical!
Thales' breathing became slightly sluggish.

The next second, the leather and skin vibrated violently upon high-speed contact, producing a tearing sound as if the air was being ripped apart—

Snapped!
Crisp, piercing, cold, and chilling.

In the arena, DD shuddered violently!
He instinctively clasped his hands together and bent forward, but quickly realized what he was doing, lowered his hands, and straightened his back.

On the other side, Golov, biting the short stick, remained expressionless, his body as strong as steel, only trembling slightly at the moment the whip touched him.

But both of them were breathing rapidly.

Thales quickly noticed that on the upper backs of both victims, whether rough or smooth, a thin, terrifying red line ran from the upper right to the lower left, from which bright red blood seeped and spread to the rest of the skin.

“That force,” Thales heard Bastia sigh softly, as if intentionally or unintentionally:
"It'll leave a scar."

The onlookers were breathing unevenly, their gazes complex.

Marius extended his left hand to stop Toledo from counting, and slowly began to speak:
"Guard Officer Danny Doyle, do you know what your biggest mistake was last night?"

DD was still reeling from the excruciating pain of the first lash. He didn't say a word, but just clenched the short stick, his face contorted.

Marius was silent for a moment, then turned to Toledo.

Toledo dared not delay any longer and quickly reported the numbers:
"two."

Marius and Paterson's whips lashed out in arcs once more.

Snapped!
Doyle and Golov shuddered again.

Thales instinctively turned his head, as if he could feel the burning pain just by watching.

"answer me."

Marius revealed his usual calm smile:
"Guard Officer Doyle..."

"do you know?"

DD was breathing heavily, his eyes showing signs of struggle.

But in the end, Doyle took a deep breath!

He decisively spat out the short stick and, enduring the pain, spoke:
"Because my choice was reckless and selfish, it endangered His Highness and everyone else!"

Marius gave a soft hum and gestured to Toledo.

"three."

The whips flashed again, tearing through the air.

Snapped!
This time, without the short stick in his mouth, DD groaned in pain, fell forward, and took a few seconds to straighten up and kneel back down.

On the other side, Golov watched him and only bit the short stick tighter and tighter.

"Wrong answer."

Marius said calmly.

“Tell me, DD, when the interests of the individual conflict with those of the collective,” the Watchman cracked his whip:
What would you choose?

Upon hearing this, Thales, Doyle, and Glov, along with the guards present, were all taken aback.

"Or to put it bluntly, when one day your family and loved ones conflict with your duties and mission," Marius said nonchalantly, glancing at Toledo as he tallied the numbers.
How should you choose?

Toledo sighed:

"Four."

Double whips danced together.

Snapped!
Doyle let out a painful groan through his teeth, and Golov was clearly also struggling, his body beginning to sway.

They were panting heavily, and blood began to seep from their backs.

"If someone holds your family's lives in their hands and threatens you against His Highness?"

Marius's voice rose:

"Even your dearest family members wanted you to betray His Highness?"

Thales felt a chill run down his spine.

He suddenly remembered the former prison of bones and the old royal guard.

Doyle caught his breath and straightened up, but he was covered in sweat and looked utterly disheveled.

All that could be heard was his painful, hoarse cry:
"I...I failed in my mission last night, my lord!"

Marius frowned.

This time, without waiting for Toledo to call out the number, he swung his whip and unleashed a much more terrifying explosion than before!
Snapped!
DD screamed and collapsed to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.

The guards all trembled.

Patterson, on the other side, was stunned for a moment, then immediately reacted and lashed out with his whip, causing Golov to convulse.

Toledo quickly followed and announced the numbers:
"Five filth!"

Thales couldn't bear to look any longer; he turned his gaze away, feeling a heavy weight in his heart.

Marius exhaled, looking at the trembling Doyle, then turned to the other man:
“You, Vanguard Officer Garen Glov.”

"You answer me."

How should you choose?

Equally drenched in sweat and covered in dust, Golov took a few deep breaths and straightened up with a resolute gaze.

The zombie spat out the short stick and spoke in a hoarse voice:
“We have all sworn an oath, sir! To dedicate our lives to the throne and to serve the imperial power forever.”

Marius paced back and forth, pursing his lips:

"so?"

Tormented by both pain and shame, Golov revealed a ferocious expression:

"Therefore we must make sacrifices; our mission comes before family."

Thales listened to his words, his breathing quickening.

Marius suddenly turned around, and the whip lashed out again!

Snapped!
After a terrifying explosion, Golov cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground!
Patterson, holding the whip, frowned. He looked at Golov, who was supposed to be on his mission, and then at Marius, whose eyes were filled with gloom, and wondered what was going on.

"Give him five more lashes."

Before Toledo could finish counting, Marius gestured with his chin toward Golova beneath him and said to Paterson:

"Also, that whipping doesn't count."

The judge looked surprised and suspicious.

“Because you held back with that last lash, Gray,” Marius said calmly before the other could speak.

"You know, I trust you completely."

Patterson's expression hardened.

The executioner gripped the whip handle tightly, remaining silent and no longer daring to show mercy.

On the other side, DD, having recovered, looked at the trembling Golov lying on the ground and hurriedly spoke:
"Lord, sir! This has nothing to do with zombies, it was me last night..."

He gritted his teeth, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, and said:
"I made the wrong choice! I was afraid to make sacrifices!"

Marius frowned slightly and swung his arm.

Snapped!
With a crack of the whip, Doyle collapsed to the ground, his back covered in blood, his breath coming in short gasps.

“This one, add five more lashes as well,” Marius said casually, without explaining why.

Toledo didn't hesitate and continued to call out the numbers.

Thales, unable to bear it any longer, wanted to speak up, but when he thought that his presence had worsened the situation and increased their punishment, he had to force himself to remain calm and hold back all his words.

Marius raised his head and looked at the guards.

"sacrifice."

The Watcher spoke softly, yet everyone stood up straight in awe.

"It always seems so easy to say that word, doesn't it?"

"Sacred, glorious, great, it's exhilarating and makes me feel elevated."

Marius began to pace back and forth, without immediately continuing the flogging.

"But many people have forgotten."

Marius looked up at the gloomy sky, his gaze distant, as if looking up at a god who was out of reach.

"The essence of sacrifice..."

“It’s a deal.”

Under the astonished gazes of the crowd, the watchman slowly lowered his head.

Doyle and Golov gritted their teeth again and straightened their backs.

“In ancient times, when the belief in gods was still prevalent, mortals offered sacrifices before the altar in exchange for the gods’ blessing and protection. This was the source of sacrifice.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Toledo began counting again, which triggered the next crack of the whip.

Snapped!
The two men who had been tortured fell back down, supporting themselves on their elbows.

Thales' pupils contracted sharply.

"So contrary to what it sounds like—sacrifice is selfish."

Marius's tone was profound:
"It's a profit-driven transaction."

(End of this chapter)