Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 576: Shooting a stone in the foot
In the dimly lit corridor, Thales, his face stiff, placed his hands on Morat's "wheelchair" wrapped in black vines (it took him a great deal of mental struggle to reluctantly touch it), and following the Black Prophet's instructions, unwillingly became the other's driving force, propelling him forward.

As if sensing his approach, the black vines immediately began to rustle and "politely" make room on the back of the chair, just big enough for a pair of hands.

This only made Thales feel more uneasy and hesitant.

"Don't worry, it doesn't bite."

Seemingly noticing the Duke's expression behind him, the Black Prophet chuckled.

They only eat people.

The elderly intelligence chief muttered leisurely to himself.

Thales smirked and continued on his way.

He had considered refusing, but since a frail and disabled elderly man had made such a request, he had no choice but to comply.

But, are all the people in the secret service dead?

The boy silently complained:

So much so that a newcomer had to help... push the wheelchair.

Shouldn't this job be done by Raphael, who has a kind face but a black heart and a sharp tongue?

The wheels covered in strange vines rolled onto the ground, but strangely, they made no sound.

Raphael's figure disappeared into the darkness ahead, with only the faint sound of his footsteps barely indicating the direction for Thales.

They moved forward silently.

Looking at Morat's bald head, which revealed the outline of his skull, Thales felt increasingly depressed and uncomfortable.

Even through the gloves, the strange sensation on my hands was still unsettling—the areas covered by vines were damp and warm, with a peculiar stickiness.

But Thales still tried his best to find gaps in the back of the chair as landing points for his hands, avoiding touching—even though it was difficult—those disgusting black vines, which made it even more inconvenient for him to exert force.

Is it alive? Does it have its own consciousness?

The Black Prophet didn't even turn his head:
Are you alive?

Thales frowned.

"Most people in the world live in a daze, making no difference between being alive and dead," Morat said nonchalantly, his words ethereal:
Does it matter whether it's alive or not, whether it has its own consciousness?

Thales sighed helplessly.

He also once pushed a wheelchair for Griveo, a veteran from Dragonstreet.

In fact, the roads in the Shield District were full of potholes and uneven, winding and difficult to navigate. The old cripple from the North kept cursing and swearing, which left a deep impression on the young man who needed his help, and he suffered a lot.

But now, Thales would rather endure any hardship and beatings, pushing Griveo in his wheelchair for another year, than spend even a second longer with Morat.

"What exactly is this thing?"

“Oh, Your Highness,” the Black Prophet shook his head and sneered silently.
"You've seen them."

More than once.

Thales let out a long breath, as if to expel the other person's rambling remarks along with the unease in his heart.

"Raphael."

Thales awkwardly twisted his head, forcing himself not to look at the strange vines on the wheelchair that swayed back and forth like breathing, trying to find a topic to distract him:

"Six years ago, his palm was clearly cut open, yet it was completely intact and he could still communicate with you from afar."

"Faced with the Fiery Knight, his sleeves were repeatedly set ablaze by the Rising Sun Saber, and he always retreated in a disheveled and embarrassed manner, trying to cover himself up."

"In Valhalla, my squire mentioned with some skepticism that he seemed to have seen his heart pierced."

Morat's head settled into place, no longer swaying leisurely.

"As the troublemaker of the secret department of Dragon Blood Night, he only behaved properly and kept to himself in one place."

Thales's eyes focused:
"The Temple of Bright Moon".

They continued at their own pace, and the road ahead remained dark.

Morat's tone changed slightly in his reply:

"so what?"

Thales slowed his pace slightly.

"demon."

The vines on the wheelchair continued to wriggle, occasionally changing angles and wrapping around other parts of the wheelchair in a different posture.

The Duke of Starlake, recalling what Sacelle had said, said absentmindedly:
"They feed on flesh and blood, and hunt for souls."

"It appears in the fire, but vanishes before the gods."

Thales stared at the vines:

"This is the flesh and blood of a demon."

Morat tilted his head slightly, glancing at the prince out of the corner of his eye.

Thales snapped out of his daze, remembered the other person's identity, and a sense of vigilance crept into his heart.

He quickly added:
"I heard that when I was in the North... as a hostage."

The corridor fell silent for a while, with only the strange rustling of the black vines, sometimes like crackling flames, sometimes like the babbling of flowing water.

"Ha, you always manage to find the answer yourself."

Morat turned his head, a smile playing on his lips:

"as always."

“So, demons and hell,” Thales ignored the other’s sarcasm.
“They exist, right here, in the Secret Society.”

"And you've even developed it into, um," Thales glanced at Morat's disgusting wheelchair:
"Medical prosthetics?"

Seemingly intrigued by Thales' words, Morat clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"It wasn't us, Your Highness, it wasn't us."

“We are merely inheriting and emulating, far from being the first people in the world to resort to any means to covet the mysterious and forbidden.”

They will stop at nothing to covet the mysterious and forbidden.

Thales squinted.

"magic."

The prince silently said, picking up his pace again to keep up with the faint footsteps ahead.

"Another legacy left by the monk, is that it?"

He said sarcastically:

"It seems that the Kingdom's Secret Service is the rightful heir to the Magic Tower."

This time, Morat's words turned cold:
“I thought Priestess Megan had already reminded you, Your Highness.”

Upon hearing the familiar name, Thales was slightly surprised:
"Megan the High Priestess—do you know her?"

The Black Prophet snorted coldly, without answering his question:

"Believe me, Your Highness, magic is far less wondrous, interesting, and captivating than it sounds—its dazzling appearance is no less than the sins it commits."

"Yet you inherit your predecessors' legacy with a clear conscience," the prince said, frowning as he looked at the living creature wrapped in a wheelchair.
"Whether it's the prison of bones, the magical locks outside, or... this."

Morat shook his head:
"Perhaps it's not the time for you to understand."

"But I say this: Secret Science is like a lock, locking the door to the world's self-destruction."

He sighed slightly:
"Like all obsessions in this world, too much of anything is as bad as too little; pursuing something too deeply will ultimately backfire."

The pursuit went too deep.

It backfired on itself.

Thales raised an eyebrow.

He suddenly remembered what his two teachers had mentioned to him: the three covenants of magic users.
They didn't delve into the matter further.

Be mindful of your own boundaries.

Thinking of this, he tentatively said:
"For example... a magic user?"

In that instant, Thales' arms were covered in goosebumps, and the Sin of the River of Hell surged wildly!

The next instant, the vines on the wheelchair suddenly accelerated, stretching and contracting violently!

In a moment of panic, Thales instinctively released his wheelchair and stopped.

Be on high alert.

The Black Prophet's figure trembled and rose and fell in his wheelchair.

He emitted a low, strange guttural sound, like dissatisfaction, or perhaps an instinctive reaction to deep thought.

Like an asthma patient.

Thales frowned as he watched.

What are you doing?
A few minutes later, the black vein vines returned to their original form and became docile again.

"Are you ok?"

Thales asked tentatively.

After a long while, Morat, who looked as if he had just recovered from a serious illness, finally caught his breath and said in a low voice, "I won't die."

That's it for now.

"Let's keep going, we haven't arrived yet."

Thales then put away his anxiety, got back into his wheelchair, and started walking.

“Take a closer look at this, Your Highness.”

Morat, looking sickly, said:

Do you think it's something wonderful?

"Our neighbors in hell are better than we imagined, far more different than the power of termination," the head of the secret society said weakly.

“Even the pieces of meat that are cut off their bodies are all different.”

Thales stared at the wriggling vines, his suspicions growing stronger.

"And this piece..."

"It seems to be incredibly energetic and adaptable to its host, making it a delightful surprise when doctors are at their wits' end."

Morat's tone tightened:

"But it secretly multiplies endlessly, eroding the host, and is an unclean thing that the church priests deeply abhor."

Just like this world, it's both fascinating and deadly.

Thales remained silent for a moment.

"So it can help you get through a difficult time temporarily, but will eventually kill you?"

Morat laughed.

“Worse still, child,” the Black Prophet said, his voice tinged with regret.

"It's worse than that."

Thales instinctively looked ahead.

But Raphael's figure had already disappeared ahead.

"don’t worry."

Morat noticed where Thales' gaze was directed and snorted softly:
“He is not me. He is still young and he can handle it.”

The Black Prophet's tone fell silent.

They're still young, they can handle it.

Thales frowned:
"Just to save his hands, which Duke Arend had crippled?"

The Black Prophet silently looked at the black vines on his legs and shook his head:
"It saved more than just his hands, child."

The devil is always there, but he is silent.

For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered this sentence.

"The former Crown Prince Midir," Thales suddenly remembered something, as if by some strange twist of fate:

"As the architect of Project 'Dragon Blood,' he once led the Secret Service and at least worked with you, right?"

Morat raised his head, his gaze sharp.

Has he used it?

Thales looked at the black veins that were tightly wrapped around the Black Prophet's legs:

"Use this thing to heal your crippled legs?"

This silence lasted for a long time.

"It's not that no one has suggested it."

Morat rarely showed his emotions, speaking in a tone of reminiscing about the deceased:

“But His Highness Midir, he declined with a smile. He said…”

Morat stared at his withered hands, then at the vines clinging to his legs:

"Even without these legs, he can stand up and be a complete and healthy person."

Thales' eyes lit up.

"As expected of him, thought-provoking."

He said sincerely.

"of course."

Morat hunched over, his chest puffed out, and sighed with emotion:
"Most people's missing pieces are not physical."

Looking at Morat like this, Thales suddenly had a strange feeling: wrapped in vines, the weak and pained opponent had lost the terrifying appearance that the Black Prophet once had, and was behaving like a sentimental old man.

Perhaps, he can gain more from facing Morat like this.

An idea struck him, and he patted the wheelchair, causing the vines on it to tremble.

"So how did you guys get your hands on this stuff? Don't tell me you have a mine that leads straight to hell?"

Morat remained silent for a moment.

Just when Thales thought he wasn't going to answer.

"As agreed, the leader of the Blood Siren should be standing here now, continuing our discussions on cooperation."

Morat sighed:

"But unfortunately, he didn't show up."

Thales was taken aback at first, then his eyes widened:

"You said...who?"

Morat chuckled.

“You know, child,” he said, his frail body trembling slightly in his wheelchair.
"I can read minds."

Thales' expression changed.

Are you going to pull this stunt again?

“That’s right, I know Ricky, I know the Blade of Calamity, and I also know that you two spent at least a few hours together,” the old man in the wheelchair said calmly.

Ricky.

Remembering the enigmatic "Crassu," the Sword of Calamity, Thales suppressed his surprise.

Let's continue discussing our "cooperation".

Duke Starlake recalled Ricky's words in the dungeon:

Our relationship with the Starry Sky Secrets is closer than you imagine. (Sword of Calamity and Kingdom Secrets)

He just tried it out, but he actually... got the information?

"I thought you were saying you wouldn't be doing mind reading today."

Thales leaned forward slightly, carefully observing the Black Prophet's expression.

No.

Thales realized:
"It's Nob."

"It was him. He came to report to you about the situation in the Western Wilderness."

That's how he found out he had met Ricky.

Morat looked up and met Thales's gaze.

"You have become more perceptive than you have been six years ago, Your Highness."

He said softly:

"Even her fear of me has lessened considerably."

"It's truly impressive."

Thales pursed his lips.

Is it.

Who were the secret reports in King Kessel's possession about the prince's "unauthorized and reckless behavior"?
But the next moment, Morat asked in a low voice.

"Your Highness, as someone who experienced this firsthand, could you please enlighten me?"

"At the Baki camp, what made the mercenary Ricky break his promise, abandon his long-term cooperation with us, and run away with everything?"

Long-term cooperation.

Thales caught the key word.

His gaze fell on the wriggling vines on the wheelchair.

The flesh and blood of a demon.

For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered what Morat had just said about "the flesh cut off their bodies".

It turned out to be the case.

This is their collaboration.

The Black Prophet's words brought him back to reality:
"Do you know?"

Thales snapped out of his daze.

What made Ricky break his promise and leave?
At that moment, he thought of Sacel at the bottom of the prison of bones, of the Blade of Purification drawn on paper, and of the former king, whom the Knight of Punishment had spoken of, who was an enemy of the world…

No, I do not know.

Thales really wanted to answer that way.

But he can't.

Because he knows.

Thales remembered Yodl's earlier warning:
He couldn't lie to Morat.

"Yes."

Thales responded naturally, calmly and fluently:
"Williams."

"Legendary Wings used Ricky's mercenary group to create chaos, reclaimed Baki Camp, and then threatened him: Get as far away as you can."

"I guess he listened to it."

Williams.

Upon hearing this name, the Black Prophet's gaze froze, and he remained silent for several seconds.

"Okay, maybe."

well.

Seeing the other person's reaction, Thales silently thought:
If Sabo really does open that betting odds about "the vicious dog that bites off someone's leg"...

He might actually win money.

"So the Sword of Calamity and the Kingdom's Secret Service have a long-standing relationship?"

Thales was determined to continue exploring. He endured the discomfort and tapped the vines, causing the creature to flinch again.
"These things, Ricky gave them to you?"

The black texture on Ricky's face, Raphael's arms, and the Black Prophet's wheelchair.

It's not just that.

The sword of calamity from over a hundred years ago, Crassus and the Red King, mercenaries and the Secret Society.

Connected.

Morat also remained silent for a while.

But this time, he responded to Thales with a low, sinister laugh.

The second prince felt a little uneasy at the sight of her laughter.

“I say, you have become more perceptive, Your Highness.”

"But it's still not cautious enough."

Thales was slightly taken aback.

Not cautious enough.

What do you mean?
Morat stopped laughing and abruptly said:

"Raphael's report is very accurate."

Thales sensed something was wrong:
"What report?"

Morat glanced at him, clicked his tongue, and shook his head:

"After six years of observation, he said..."

"When faced with trouble, Prince Thales is capable and broad-minded. He is good at collecting information from multiple sources, combining intelligence, piecing together clues, observing and thinking from different angles, and then, based on your imaginative mind, going straight to the point and grasping the key points, creatively providing solutions that no one else can think of."

"However……"

His tone changed:
"You are too stubborn and too focused on the questions you raise. You lack the prudence and rigor required for intelligence work. You are bound to be misled by the logic of the story you have deduced and miss inconspicuous but crucial details."

"For example, the stunning appearance at the State Affairs Conference."

Thales's breath hitched.

"You are also too emotional, too concerned about a certain essence of things, lack the tact and comprehensiveness needed to deal with complex problems, and often make impulsive choices that are not understood by ordinary people because you are bound by principles and ignore the consequences."

"For example, the desperate gamble within Valhalla."

The Black Prophet narrowed his eyes:

"Even his courageous stand last night."

Thales felt his arm, which was pushing the wheelchair, stiffen.

Why, why did he suddenly say these things?

But the other party's words still came like a demonic chant, impossible to stop:

"Therefore, after you take decisive action to win back a point, you often find yourself in unpredictable and terrible consequences."

"You guessed the beginning right, but missed the ending."

Lord Morat Hansen, the Black Prophet and head of the Kingdom's Secret Service, whispered in the tunnel:

"Commonly known as: being too clever for one's own good."

"To lift a stone only to drop it on one's own foot."

At that moment, Thales couldn't help but think of Raphael's group:
The prince's butt.

A surge of resentment welled up inside me.

But at that moment, Morat subtly steered the conversation back to its original position:
“I mentioned Ricky, only saying that we cooperated, but I never said that we cooperated for this thing.”

He looked with disdain at the throbbing black vines beneath him:
"But why are you so confident and certain that you've connected the clues and believe this thing must have come from Ricky?"

The Black Prophet glanced at him leisurely:
"It seems you already knew what the leader of the Sword of Calamity was."

Thales suddenly realized something, and was speechless, his face turning pale.

"Then here's the problem: this is his most secretive thing to keep to himself, and he would never tell you this when he introduces himself."

Morat was quite interested:
"So the next question is: during the prison break from the Bone Prison, when he caused chaos, given Ricky's skills and Blood Horn's combat prowess, what exactly happened to him, and what kind of threat did he face..."

"That's why I was forced to reveal my hand and true identity to you?"

The Black Prophet coldly stared at the vines on his legs:
"So that you'll believe that this thing and he share the same origin?"

Can you answer me?

"Your Highness?"

Thales gritted his teeth and swallowed hard.

Damn.

What did Ricky encounter in the prison of bones that forced him to reveal his true demonic form?

It manifested in the fire, but vanished before the gods.

The heavy yet unstoppable figure of the Knight of Punishment appeared before my eyes.

No.

The boy shook his head, forcing himself to cheer up and answer Morat's question.

Don't lie, Thales.

Don't lie.

"Legendary Wings".

The prince tried his best to maintain a steady pace of speech:
"He gave the audacious Ricky a good beating—we all saw his face, it looked like it had been dug out of a black mine, just like this thing."

The Black Prophet fell silent again.

"Very good, you're telling the truth," the intelligence chief finally said slowly after a long while:

"At least you think you're telling the truth."

Thales breathed a sigh of relief.

However, the next second.

"But the second time."

Morat's words turned cold again:
"Legendary Wings".

"This is the second time you've used him to answer a question."

Thales's expression changed slightly.

"It's as if you've identified this as a shield, and you've decided that he will prove your point."

The Black Prophet stroked his withered wrist and pondered:
"Is it a coincidence that both times it was related to him?"

Thales pursed his lips.

"Or is it that, Your Highness, you actually don't want to talk much about the situation when Ricky revealed his true form, and you're reluctant to talk about what happened in the Bone Prison? You'd rather send a troublesome busybody like me to ask Williams, and dump all the troublesome details on that murderous god who's not to be approached?"

What happened in the prison of bones.

At that moment, Thales heard his own breathing.

The black veins on the wheelchair began to surge again, making Thales increasingly uncomfortable.

But he no longer had time to care about that thing.

"If you ask me, perhaps you have some kind of tacit understanding with the Wings of Legend, to conceal certain things, things that forced Ricky to reveal his true identity, and even things that could make him betray his relationship with the Secret Society..."

The Black Prophet pondered:

"Is it the Shadow Shield?"

"Is it because Anmuro came all the way to Baki's camp?"

At that moment, the sight of the drill and the rope flashed before Thales' eyes, almost making him tense up.

No, quick rope...

But Morat shook his head:

"No, you used the Wings of Legend as an excuse. Anyone who could force Ricky to reveal his true form must be at least on par with him..."

Finally, as Thales was shocked, the Black Prophet relaxed his furrowed brow, exhaled, and ended his speculation.

"So, it's been more than ten years since we last met..."

At that moment, Morat looked at Thales calmly and composedly:
"How is our beloved Vanguard Watchman, Lord Sacelle?"

At that moment, Thales felt a chill run through his body.

"As for those wanted prisoners from the Bone Prison who escaped during the chaos and were executed by Williams according to the official announcement," the Black Prophet looked at him with keen interest, as if sizing up prey that had fallen into his trap:

"Although the arrogant Baron Baki didn't give a specific list, I guess..."

"It must include some former royal guards who colluded with the enemy during the bloody year, right?"

The Black Prophet spoke softly, each word seeming to carry a deadly poison:

"So they weren't executed."

"Instead, you and Williams let it go."

"Mercenary Ricky is a witness."

Thales was at a loss for words.

He simply... said one more sentence.

But the other party can...

"Look? This is what we were talking about..."

Morat chuckled softly and tapped his fingers lightly on the wheelchair a few times.

"Being smart."

"To lift a stone only to drop it on one's own foot."

Thales stiffly pushed his wheelchair, only then realizing what was happening.

I was wrong.

Big mistakes.

The prince's gaze froze in the void.

Just like how he could make Williams look bad even if he weren't king.

Even if Morat were to be confined to a wheelchair, he would be old and frail and his life would not be long.

But he remained the master of the secret department and the chief intelligence officer to King Kessel.

It belongs to the entire kingdom...

The Black Prophet.

"So, Your Excellency Duke of Starlake, as the heir to the throne, what is your intention in secretly releasing these high-ranking, skilled, and knowledgeable criminals who are traitors to the enemy?"

At that moment, Morat moved slowly and deliberately, like a viper flicking its tongue:
"What would your father think if he found out?"

Thales has been having too much fun lately, which doesn't fit the style of this book.

P.S. The first six chapters of this book are gone. Sigh, I'm starting to worry about the future of this book.

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(End of this chapter)