Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 577 Lying
Thales instinctively pushed the wheelchair. The surrounding environment was blurry in the darkness, but the figure of the old man in front of him was clear as ever, making him feel uneasy.

Hold.

This was the first word that came to the boy's mind.

He stared intently at Morat in the wheelchair, accidentally touching the black vines, which caused them to contract.

Damn.

Even knowing the truth about "mind reading," even after six years of experience, even if one believes they are well-prepared...

The Black Prophet is still the same Black Prophet.

Even without clues or evidence, one can still smell the truth by following the scent of deception and lies.

How did his father, his grandfather, and the rulers on the highest throne deal with this old monster?

How could they trust such a venomous snake, a dark figure brimming with treachery from beginning to end, to hold a key position in their imperial council and wield such power over intelligence?
Thales gripped the wheelchair tightly.

But more importantly...

In that instant, everything in the Bake Fang Camp and the Bone Prison, whether it was Quick Rope, Sackel, or Little Barney, flashed before Thales' eyes.

You endured so much suffering and hardship to escape... not to exchange for another set of shackles...

those people……

The debts they carried, the suffering they endured, the pain they experienced...

Thales tensed the muscles in his arms.

"Your Highness?"

Morat still didn't turn around, leaving Thales with only the empty and thin outline of the back of his head.

This contrasts sharply with the endless gloom he brought.

Thales gently raised his head.

"I do not know what you're talking about."

"What wanted criminal?"

No.

At that moment, the boy silently said, "No."

No matter how fearsome the Black Prophet may be, no one can get past him.

He must hold this line.

Regardless of the cost.

Morat sneered:
"I'm sure Yordle told you, 'Don't be in front of me...'"

"Lying?" Thales suddenly interrupted the Black Prophet.

Morat glanced sideways.

“You’re right,” Thales said, having made his decision, and stopped thinking about it.
"I did lie."

"Right now, right in front of you."

The prince's expression was blank, and his next words were even colder:

"so what?"

The Black Prophet paused.

The corridor was deserted and dimly lit, with only Thales' own footsteps echoing back and forth without regard for others, drowning out the eerie sounds of the demonic vines.

"I lied."

With a gritted teeth and an indifferent attitude, Thales coldly said:

"Because I don't want to tell you the truth, and I don't want to make things awkward between us."

"And your damn mind-reading ability—I don't know how much of it is real—always tears apart this tacit understanding, leaving no room for compromise, and forcing us both into a corner?"

Morat slowly turned his head and looked Thales up and down with a rare look in his eyes.

But Thales hadn't finished speaking when he stared intently back at the Black Prophet, trying desperately to forget the fear that had taken root in their first meeting:

"why."

"To prove you can do this? To demonstrate your power? To gain the leverage you want? To use this to blackmail and control me?"

Thales invoked the sins of the River of Hell, struggling to steady his heartbeat and breathing, and suppressing any possible emotional outbursts.

He imagined himself becoming heartless and invulnerable.

The corridor fell silent for a moment.

"Because this is my job, child."

Morat spoke slowly, his voice hoarse and dry, his emotions unreadable:
"Be prepared for danger in times of peace and eliminate threats."

Thales paused in his steps.

The wheelchair came to an abrupt stop, causing Morat to sway slightly.

The footsteps ceased, the darkness remained, and only the demonic flesh in the wheelchair writhed and twisted in the corridor, the eerie rustling sounds adding another layer of deathly silence to the atmosphere.

"Then this is my choice, Your Excellency."

A few seconds later, the Duke of Starlake's emotionless voice rang out:
"I lied, for my own benefit and considerations."

"so what?"

From an unseen angle, the Black Prophet squinted slightly.

“And you’ve used the wrong title, Morat,” the second prince said, looking straight into the darkness, “there are no ‘children’ here.”

"Only Thales Shining Star."

Morat was silent for a moment, then let out a soft hum.

"Your choice?"

Even if your choice might jeopardize the kingdom?

"Even if your willfulness might go against your father's wishes..."

boom!
Thales slammed his palm down on Morat's wheelchair, causing the demonic vines on it to writhe violently and silencing the Black Prophet's words with a deafening roar.

"Then let him come to me."

The Black Prophet's eyes narrowed.

The next second, Thales exerted force and slowly turned the wheelchair around so that the frail old man was facing him.

At the same time, he forced himself to face this renowned head of the secret service head directly.

"Go, go tell him."

Thales' voice was soft, but devoid of emotion, chilling to the bone.

“Tell him I have a vanguard of wanted criminals hidden outside the palace, who are well-versed in palace rules and exceptionally skilled,” his tone suddenly changed:
"So that I can launch a coup at a crucial moment, seize the Fuxing Palace, and establish myself as king."

The Black Prophet did not speak.

The demonic vines on his legs surged again.

Morat took two light breaths, seemingly adjusting.

"how?"

Duke Starlake stretched out his hands, pressed them against the armrests of the chair, and slowly leaned down, getting close to Morat's aged face—though it was not a comfortable position.

"Didn't he send me here just so you would ask something like this?"

Thales stared directly at the Black Prophet at extremely close range, even able to count the wrinkles on the other's face:

"Be prepared for danger in times of peace, and eliminate threats?"

The surrounding darkness seemed to grow increasingly rampant, encroaching on everything in sight, leaving only the two people staring at each other.

Morat's eyes remained as still and unmoving as ever, and Thales could not glean any information from them.

But he knew he couldn't back down.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a smile appeared on the old man's face.

"I have to admit, this was an unexpected surprise."

Morat scrutinized Thales closely, then clicked his tongue and said:
"Your Excellency the Duke."

Thales also twitched one corner of his mouth, revealing a completely insincere fake smile.

“There are many things you didn’t expect,” he said, letting go of the chair arm, straightening up, and calling the other person by their nickname: “You’re not the only ones who are tired of cleaning up other people’s messes.”

"The Black Prophet".

Morat leaned back in his chair, the movement causing the black vein vines to rustle.

“You seem very confident, Duke Thales,” the chief steward of the secretariat said, narrowing his eyes.

"I am confident that those prisoners who have escaped will not pose a threat—neither to you, nor to your father, nor to your relationship."

Thales snorted coldly.

"so what?"

The prince repeated the sentence for the third time, his eyes as cold as frost.

He spoke softly the next second:
"Didn't my uncle, the former second prince Horace Star, do the same thing during the Bloody Year?"

The Black Prophet's eyes suddenly widened.

"He secretly hired desperados like Black Sword, bribed assassins from the Shadow Shield, instigated thousands of people in the capital, and bewitched the guards in the guards, making them cooperate tacitly to seize the palace at a critical moment, and even assassinate the late king and the late crown prince."

Thales remained expressionless, his tone completely indifferent:

“Until he himself died on the eve of his return to the country to ascend the throne, betrayed by the former Duke of Southrest.”

“Once is one time, but once is another. Neither my father nor you are that stupid.”

The old man in the wheelchair remained silent for a long time, and stared at Thales for a long time as well.

He looked into Thales' eyes as if they were a treasure:
"You are indeed skilled at intelligence gathering, aren't you?"

But Thales ignored the other's answer and just stared straight at Morat:
"So you know."

The sins of the River of Hell roared in his veins, helping the prince suppress other impulses:

“Those prisoners in the bone cell, you know, some of them obeyed orders, some had no choice, some were forced to do it, some were at a loss, and some were completely unaware.”

The Black Prophet simply stared intently at him without uttering a sound.

"Collaboration?"

Thales sneered:
"They may have failed in their duties, but more importantly, they are bearing the blame for the infighting within the royal family of Shining Star."

He thought of Barney in the prison of bones and the deceased Nai and Naki, and gritted his teeth, saying:
"Bury the past."

Morat closed his eyes and took a soft breath, as if savoring the dim light and oppressive atmosphere.

"I understand."

The Black Prophet slowly opened his eyes and stared directly at Thales:
"Regarding why you let them go."

Thales neither dodged nor avoided the other's gaze, meeting it directly, and nodded:
"They have paid the price for more than a decade of living in darkness."

"But at least on the day I met them, they had completely redeemed themselves."

He sarcastically remarked:

"It's much more useful than some flawed intelligence agency that only knows how to clean up messes afterward."

Morat offered no explanation, but simply continued to stare at him, his thoughts unfathomable.

"Therefore, I gave them their freedom as a reward."

Thales continued, his tone resolute and brooking no argument: "In the most discreet, safest, and most in the best interests of the kingdom, without damaging the reputation of the royal family."

The prince took a deep breath and composed himself:

"Now, Lord Morat Hansen."

“Or you can go to my father and tell him that his only son is raising assassins to protect fugitives and is plotting to seize the throne. He should be eliminated as soon as possible to prevent future troubles.”

The Black Prophet stroked a demonic vine on the arm of his chair, his expression profound.

“And I will talk to him directly, one-on-one, face to face, king to king.”

"I will bear his wrath."

Thales's gaze was solemn:
"But this part is solely between him and me, and you have no further need to get involved, Lord Hansen."

He spoke coldly, with the arrogance he had sensed from both King Nunn and King Kessel:

"Because I am a shining star, I only answer questions from other shining stars."

The corridor fell silent.

Morat looked back at him, his expression unreadable.

Thales squinted:
"Either you behave yourself."

"Stop sniffing around in front of me, rein in your self-proclaimed prophetic abilities, control your voyeuristic tendencies, stop interfering in these lies I'm willing to tell, and stop threatening me with this strange tone."

Silence seized control of the conversation.

All that could be heard was the endless rustling of demonic flesh and blood, like the restlessness of snakes and rats, or the scavenging of mosquitoes and flies.

The next second, Thales's expression turned cold!
He suddenly reached out and grabbed a restless black vine next to the chair arm.

The demonic flesh and blood on the entire wheelchair trembled violently.

The Black Prophet's expression changed slightly.

"Shut up, you damn noisy thing."

The sins of the River of Hell surged forth, and Thales gritted his teeth and pulled hard, tearing a piece off and casually throwing it to the ground.

"Or I can do it."

he said coldly.

The effect was immediate; the demon's flesh and blood immediately moved away from Thales' direction and "escaped" to other parts of the wheelchair.

The rustling sound disappeared.

Throughout the entire process, Thales kept his eyes fixed on the Black Prophet, his gaze never wavering.

Morat steadied his breathing, but stared indifferently at the vine struggling on the ground, gradually losing its vitality, and finally turning into a withered branch.

A far-sighted perspective.

A few seconds later, he turned his head and looked at Thales again.

"Your journey to the North was indeed extraordinary, Your Grace."

“In the past, you weren’t so assertive. Even when you took the initiative, you were inevitably nervous, flustered, hesitant, and unfamiliar.”

Morat squinted, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotion and surprise:
"But look at you: whether it's threats, blackmail, force, or spying, you do it with ease, as if it were instinct."

What changed you?

What changed me?
So think about it carefully, what would you be like if you became a prince?

Are you still you, or still Thales?

Or has it... transformed into something else?

Thales frowned, forgetting what Quick Rope had said before.

“It’s nothing.” He straightened up, forcing himself to speak firmly.

"I was born this way."

"But you realized it too late."

Morat remained silent for a while.

“They must be very important to you, right?” the elderly man in the wheelchair said with interest.

"Those wanted criminals."

Thales snorted coldly.

"Give me a break. If you're going to bring up that 'eliminating weaknesses' rhetoric from six years ago again," the prince said dismissively, recalling their frank exchange in Ballard's Chamber.

“My father has been nagging all morning.”

The Black Prophet remained silent, still awaiting his reply.

Thales looked away, trying to forget the people in the prison of bones.

"They are not the important ones."

“It’s myself,” he said through gritted teeth, “my principles, my rules, my choices.”

"Loyalty will surely be rewarded—cough—".

Duke of Starlake lowered his head and looked directly at Morat:
"Those who hurt me will pay the price."

"Do you understand, Lord?"

This silence lasted particularly long.

Until Morat, who had been silently watching him, curled the corners of his mouth and smiled strangely.

The vines on his legs were still wriggling, but the movement had become much less pronounced.

Looking at the other person's smile, Thales tried hard to suppress his nervousness.

"Don't worry, Your Grace, I'm not such a heartless person."

The Black Prophet placed his hands on his knees and squinted, saying:

"Since you've spoken up and vouched for us, we'll do you the honor."

At that moment, Thales breathed a sigh of relief.

"Besides, it's been eighteen years."

Morat tapped the wheelchair gently, seemingly trying to soothe it, while his gaze drifted off into a daze.

“Those old-timers from the Fuxing Palace are outdated. Their damage is limited and they can’t cause any big trouble. So I don’t need to waste the budget by issuing arrest warrants.”

Well, maybe one person is an exception.

The intelligence chief snapped out of his daze and grinned:
"However, Your Grace, please give us more trust next time."

trust?

Thales frowned.

“Williams isn’t a professional after all,” the Black Prophet said calmly.
"The Secret Service can arrange things like faking death."

He glanced at Thales:
"And you don't need to resort to this death-defying manner to plead your case and avoid disaster?"

Thales's mind went blank for a moment, and he spoke with difficulty:
"of course."

The Black Prophet smiled:
"But your father will find out sooner or later, you understand?"

Thales paused:
"of course."

"Shall we continue, Your Grace?"

Thales took a deep breath, gripped the back of the wheelchair again (the black vines fled to the other side once more), turned it in the right direction, and also hid Morat's face in the unseen darkness:

"of course."

Thales took a step forward, and they moved on again.

“Very good, you’re getting the hang of it,” Morat said casually.

Thales made a move:
"what?"

“I’ve been in the secret service for a long time, child.”

This time, Morat's words carried a hint of melancholy:

"I don't know when it started, but everyone in front of me has become cautious and timid."

"And what about someone who feels at ease, without any burden, and who doesn't hesitate to lie to me?"

People who are not afraid to lie to the Black Prophet...

Thales pondered those words.

Morat continued:

“Since the year of bloodshed, when the late king and Crown Prince Midil passed away, only the setting sun knows that it has been a very long time since I have met anyone like this in my life.”

He chuckled softly, as if remembering something, and slowly shook his head.

Thales had a strange expression on his face.

Unbelievable, he could actually sense...nostalgia and sadness in the words of this infamous intelligence chief?

"So what happened before that?"

Thales then asked:
"My uncle, my grandfather, how did you interact with them when they stood before you?"

The Black Prophet remained silent for a second.

"Just like you just now."

Thales paused for a moment, but quickly regained his footing.

"Whether it was the late king or the late crown prince, they never hesitated to lie to me—even though they knew I had the ability to recognize their lies."

In the endless darkness and desolation, Morat murmured:
"And do you know why?"

Thales paused in thought.

King Eddy II, and Crown Prince Midil...

They never hesitated or worried about lying to the Black Prophet.
Thales was somewhat surprised.

At that moment, he suddenly recalled the image of the two men that King Kessel had described in the Starry Tomb, and also the king that Sakel had mentioned in the Prison of Bones, who was an enemy of the world.

But he reacted quickly.

"that power."

Thales pondered:
"Because they have power."

"They are not afraid of you."

"So it doesn't matter what you know."

He stared blankly at the back of the Black Prophet's head:
"And as a servant at the bottom of the power chain, you have neither the motivation nor the need to expose their lies."

For some reason, at this moment, Thales was thinking of the night when he and Quick Rope revealed each other's identities.

This has nothing to do with your strength, Thales. On the contrary, the greater your strength and power, the tighter and deeper these chains will bind you, making it increasingly difficult to break free.

Just like our father.

"well said!"

The Black Prophet suddenly clapped his hands and laughed.

He laughed for several seconds before softening his tone.

"that power."

"Only power."

Morat's words were full of sighs:
"Power is not afraid to lie."

"To some extent, it likes to lie, enjoys lying, and is good at lying. Its power can only flow in lies, distinguish friend from foe, and demonstrate its existence."

His tone gradually tightened, making Thales inexplicably wary:
"It can only become a real power when it truly makes people act against their will and nature, when it numbs even those who feel uneasy, convinces them to give up questioning, and makes them believe the lies."

Thales listened, somewhat lost in thought.

"The Emperor's New Clothes, the Elephant in the Room."

The prince said quietly:

“They lied to us, we knew they were lying, and they knew we knew they were lying, but they just kept lying, and we just kept pretending to believe them.”

The Black Prophet savored it for a while, then gave a puzzled "hmm".

“It wasn’t me who said that,” Thales said, coughing as he regained his composure.
"It was said by a female author...something from the North."

Morat was silent for a moment, seemingly recalling something, before denying it:
"No, there is absolutely no such saying in the North."

Thales was initially embarrassed, but then he smiled and seemed relieved.

“Indeed not,” he said without hesitation.

I'm lying.

The Black Prophet smiled:
"I know."

Thales snorted softly:
Yes, I know you know.

He looked up at the path ahead, where a door appeared at the end of the corridor:

"So please be understanding next time I lie."

Morat exhaled, seemingly quite satisfied:
"Welcome aboard, Duke Thales."

Thales was silent for a moment:
"It is my honor, Lord Hansen."

The Black Prophet nodded and clicked his tongue:
"However, you must understand that when I knew the truth but didn't expose you, I was also lying."

His words carried a profound meaning:

"Don't get too used to it."

Thales felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.

[Twisted, Thales, twisted.]

They were all twisted, captured, including my father and brother, Thales, captured, enslaved, and lost by power.

Within those chains, they became something else: indifferent tools, cold-blooded scum, suspicious tyrants, but never themselves again.

“Of course,” Thales said, his expression hardening, no longer thinking about the quick rope.

"of course."

The boy's steps moved forward steadily.

For some reason, after some negotiation and probing with the Black Prophet, he clearly resolved the crisis for the guard prisoners and the rope, and blocked the threat.

This escape was different from any of his previous ones.

This time, he felt no relief whatsoever.

I felt a sense of relief for a moment.

On the contrary, this time, especially when the Black Prophet was laughing, Thales felt the burden on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier.

Getting tighter.

Difficult to escape.

He unconsciously gripped the wheelchair tighter.

"One last question, child."

Thales' ears perked up, and he became extremely vigilant.

"Can things be a little smoother?"

Under Thales's strange expression, the head steward of the secret department leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh of helplessness:
"You're about to break me apart."

----

Finally, amidst a mix of embarrassment and trepidation, Thales followed instructions and pushed Morat into a dimly lit room.

Thales released his wheelchair and looked around the strange room with some doubt—the decor was simple, the area was small, and the visibility was poor. The most distinctive feature was a huge mirror embedded in the wall opposite them, which barely reflected the blurry figures of him and Morat, one sitting and one standing.

However, in the next moment, a point of light appeared on the mirror, and the entire mirror lit up.

Thales frowned and stepped back, but he immediately noticed that the "mirror" revealed another, larger room, and Raphael standing in it.

“One-way glass,” Morat chuckled, “is made by infiltrating with asphalt crystal, and it’s quite expensive.”

"We can see them, but they can't see us."

I know, I've seen it before, who are you trying to fool?

Dissatisfied, Thales kept those words to himself.

"Where is this?"

"trial room."

Morat answered simply:

"Please keep quiet, Your Highness. We are not yet able to achieve perfect one-way communication—it's not something we can do cheaply."

Thales frowned, looking into the room on the other side of the glass, where Raphael was speaking to several of his men, who then left the room.

The Bone Man turned around and nodded slightly in the direction of the Black Prophet and Thales.

Who are you going to interrogate?

Thales asked in confusion:

“Anke Bailar last night?”

Morat did not answer the prince, but instead looked around at the dim surroundings and sighed:
"Ah, whether I'm here or there, I miss this place so much."

"This glass panel, in particular, is of great significance. When we moved, we moved it almost exactly as it was."

"Why?" Thales stared at Raphael on the other side.

The Black Prophet gave a soft snort.

“Eighteen years ago,” he pointed to the one-way glass, his eyes sparkling with a stark contrast to his previous aged appearance:

"On the other side of this glass is a nobleman named Exeter, who is in the prime of his life but infamous."

"The Earl of Mandon from Black Sand Territory."

He whispered a name:
“His name is Chaman Lumba.”

Thales was taken aback and looked at the glass again.

"And here I stand in your place, while in mine sits the Crown Prince of the Stars..."

Morat exhaled, his eyes filled with reminiscence:

"Midiel Shining Star".

In the dimly lit and oppressive room, the Black Prophet slowly spoke:
"The dragon's offspring devours the dragon king, the oath must be fulfilled, new blood replaces old blood, and the great furnace is about to be opened."

"That year, Dragon Blood—a top-secret plan targeting the chieftain of an enemy nation, to unveil the curtain of revival for the stars, and to place the final move on the chessboard of a wise ruler—emerged on both sides of this glass."

"The rules are simple: they lie to us, we know they're lying, they know we know they're lying, but they keep lying to us, and we keep pretending to believe them." — Elena Gorokhova, A Mountain of Crumbs, 2010
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(End of this chapter)