Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 580 The Prince Loves to Eat
It took Thales a long time to recover from his distress and confusion.

"what is this?"

He turned to Morat, who was sitting calmly.

The Black Prophet smiled mysteriously:
What do you think this is?

Thales remained silent for a few seconds.

“My father, when he sent me here, said…” the prince’s voice was heavy and somber:
"Let me see the mess I've made."

A mess.

Thales felt a pang of sadness.

Morat said quietly:
"So you see, at least, the banquet and beverage industry in the capital is bound to experience short-term panic and depression."

That damned prince.

Everything he did... had a super, super, super huge impact, okay?

The voice of the wine merchant, Dagori, still seemed to echo in the boy's ears.

“But I didn’t do anything,” Thales murmured.

The Black Prophet's cold laughter reached his ears.

"At your level, doing nothing is also a form of gesture."

Whether you intend it or not.

Thales's gaze was unfocused.

Even just a little bit of drink, or a few sips, is good.

He could hear again the words Princess Iris had spoken to him on the day of the banquet.

I bet by tomorrow you'll feel like everyone's watching you.

Everyone is watching you...

The Duke took a deep breath, then exhaled painfully through clenched teeth:
"They shouldn't... have interpreted it that way."

"But that's what they did."

Morat's voice seemed to come from another room, yet it was no less cold:

"And for the past six years, you have left your homeland, traveled to the far north as a hostage, and been placed under house arrest within high walls?"

The demonic flesh on the Black Prophet's knee surged:
"Excuse my bluntness, but that's your good fortune."

My good fortune.

Thales swallowed hard.

As my thoughts wandered, the interrogation room welcomed a new guest.

"Name."

Raphael picked up his pen, turned to a new page of the document, and stared coldly at the old man opposite him, who was stout and had thick limbs, but whose face was full of tension and unease.

The newcomer was treated much better than Dagori. Although he was also brought in with a hood over his head, the old man was not wearing any shackles or chains and was able to move freely in the chair.

“Yoshimoto, my name is Yoshimoto, sir.”

In stark contrast to the arrogant wine merchant, the old man in the chair was submissive and obedient, even somewhat ingratiating:
"Gibbon Felson, everyone calls me Old Gibbon or Old J-B."

Raphael subtly pursed his lips.

"So, Gibbon Felson, do you know why you're here?"

Yoshimoto forced a smile:

"To be honest, no, I don't really know. May I ask who you are...?"

“The Guard Hall.” Raphael replied without looking up or hesitating.

Compared to his previous interrogation of the wine merchant, Huang Gu Ren's attitude this time was cold and distant.

The old man paused for a second.

“Impossible,” he said with a broad smile, wagging his finger at Raphael.
“I have a relative who works in the security department, and I know their procedures. It’s definitely not like that!”

The skeleton raised its head expressionlessly.

"but……"

The old man looked around, his eyes lit up as he thought of something, and he felt a mix of excitement and curiosity.

“I know this style of doing things,” old Gibbon said, looking mysterious yet slightly smug, leaning forward at the edge of the table, close to Raphael:

"You are from the Kingdom's Secret Service!"

"Right?"

Raphael's expression changed slightly as he watched the old man winking at him.

“I experienced it, a long time ago, when the capital was embroiled in that series of vampire murders,” old Gibbon said, clearly eager to share his experience.

"The infamous Time-Limited Guardian and members of the Secret Service got into a huge fight in my shop..."

boom!
Raphael slammed his hand on the table, interrupting Gibbon.

"Yes."

"You're absolutely right."

The Bone Man's eyes were deep and mysterious. He approached Old Gibbon and spoke softly, as if telling a ghost story:

"We are the Kingdom's Secret Service."

"Work for the Black Prophet."

For a split second, the old man's smile froze on his face.

On the other side of the glass, Thales turned to Morat, but the old man in the wheelchair remained calm and unperturbed.

"what?"

Under Raphael's unfriendly gaze, old Gibbon blinked incredulously and looked around the interrogation room again.

"So, it really is the Secret Department? The Kingdom's Secret Department?"

Old Gibbon saw the still-wet bloodstains on the table, and then shuddered as if remembering something.

"You...you're not lying to me?"

Raphael gave a disdainful snort.

Kingdom Secret Service.

The Black Prophet.

The Kingdom's Secret Service has a daily quota of killing ten people; the Black Prophet bathes in children's blood every night...

Recalling the various mysterious legends, Yoshimoto first smiled uneasily, then curled up in his chair.

His gaze was fixed on a small patch of the table edge, and he didn't dare to breathe.

First of all, I'm not a child anymore, and the Black Prophet wouldn't like that.

And then, hopefully I'm the eleventh person to come here today?

Thinking of this, Yoshimoto wanted to cry but had no tears.

"So, old Gibbon, what do you do?"

"What...does I do?"

Yoshimoto first repeated it blankly, then cleared his throat hard and began to tremble visibly.

"I, I've run a blacksmith shop in the Twilight District for many years, forging, forging, forging, forging, forging iron."

"Blacksmithing?"

Raphael chuckled coldly, and the old blacksmith trembled back and forth in rhythm with his laughter.

"I heard you landed a big deal this morning?"

Big business?
Old Gibbon's face turned pale, but he quickly composed himself.

"Yes, yes, yes, it's just a small deal, nothing big..." Old Gibbon stammered, his face contorted with grief.
"Well, it's not exactly a small matter, hehe, it's more like a medium-sized one, a medium-sized one, a medium-sized one."

Raphael grunted in agreement, raising his pen without looking up: "You..."

"I swear!"

Old Gibbon suddenly shouted:
"I have never used any prohibited weapons or equipment!"

Raphael was startled by the old blacksmith's sudden outburst.

"Military swords, military axes, military hammers, helmets and armor, warhorse stirrups, battle shields, crossbow parts, catapult parts, magic-powered gun stocks, crystal alloys, kitchen knives longer than half a foot, steel spearheads, lethal arrowheads—I'll take all of this junk!"

Old Gibbon's words flowed smoothly and effortlessly, only pausing briefly at the very last sentence:
"—Never built one!"

Seeing old Gibbon trembling nervously, staring wide-eyed and desperately denying the allegations, Raphael, who was prepared to use torture to extract a confession, put down his pen and remained silent for a long time.

That's incredibly frank.

"So, you seem to know quite a bit about... contraband?"

Old Gibbon shuddered again.

He realized something was wrong, sensed something was amiss, and forced a smile:
"Hehe, I'm just concerned about the law... you know, obeying the law."

Raphael looked at the document and picked up his pen again:
"you……"

Old Gibbon shuddered:
"I absolutely did not sell it to them!"

"Absolutely not!"

Startled again, Raphael put down his pen, feeling rather helpless.

"them?"

Yoshimoto's eyes darted around.

He looked away, awkwardly touched his chin, and muttered under his breath:
"It's them, it's them..."

Raphael had figured it out. He put down his pen, closed the file, and leaned back, humming.

The skeletal creature's reaction startled the blacksmith so much that he instinctively trembled and began to dance wildly.

"Coco and the others are nobles!"

"Even if his family doesn't have a noble title, they're at least second-generation playboys who hold official positions, so it should be legal..."

Raphael exhaled and narrowed his eyes with ill intent.

Yoshimoto shuddered again, and swiftly changed his tune:
“Even if it’s illegal, they’ll find ways to circumvent it! I had no choice but to sell it to them…”

Raphael tilted his head and uttered a single word:

"you……"

"I only accepted a deposit!"

Yoshimoto's expression changed again.

He shouted loudly:

"No delivery, no samples, no drawings, not even materials have been received yet!"

As Yoshimoto spoke, he frantically pulled an expensive piece of paper from his pocket:
"Look, all those customers' orders are here! All of them!"

Raphael stared blankly at the trembling order in the old blacksmith's hand.

I don't think I've asked anything yet?

“Alright,” the Bone Man accepted the order with mixed feelings, his inner turmoil unknown to anyone else.

"You're much easier to talk to than the last one."

Perhaps we should go back and investigate this old man's background.

Let's see if he's... a distant relative of the Karabyan family?
After handing over the order, Yoshimoto, looking aggrieved as if to say, "I've done something for the kingdom," cautiously asked:
"This shouldn't be illegal, right?"

"Even so, could this be considered... a confession?"

Raphael glanced at the order and casually grunted, startling old Gibbon once again.

"Let's see..."

Raphael read it aloud so that the person on the other side of the glass could hear:
"So-and-so hereby orders a longsword with the following requirements: it must be clearly of noble use; the material must be of the highest quality; the color must be superb; the luster must be brilliant; it must be easy to maintain; the heavier it appears, the better, but the lighter it actually is, the better; preferably, it should be slightly aged to leave some marks, so that people know it has been wielded in battle frequently..."

Outside the glass, Thales' heart stirred.

Under Yoshimoto's tense yet obsequious gaze, the Bone Man continued reading the first line of the order:
"The grip must be comfortable, it should make a whistling sound when swung, it should be effortless to attack and easy to defend, the design should showcase heroism and chivalry, combining elegance and fierceness, trendiness and classicism, magnificence and simplicity, minimalism and profundity, and most importantly, it should look stylish when carried, making it convenient for painters to paint from all angles..."

Raphael looked up in confusion.

what is this?
In chivalric romance novels, what is the invincible holy sword that can slay gods and demons?
"Well, well," the old blacksmith rubbed his hands awkwardly, then lowered his head shyly.

"Party A, you mean Party A?"

With a strange expression, Raphael did not continue reading the other entries on the list.

"Do you know what they're going to do with the things on these orders?"

Old Gibbon patted his large belly.

"Hehe, you know, these customers are nobles, of course I didn't know—"

"Hmm?" Raphael gave a dismissive nasal sound.

"—But I overheard it by chance!" Old Gibbon's expression turned serious, and he quickly changed his words.

Raphael glanced at him sideways, his attitude subtle.

"They, these aristocratic playboys, have been ordering weapons one after another, and most of them are going to..."

Old Gibbon paused for a moment, then said with a fawning smile:
"决" means "to duel".

Despite having anticipated it, Thales still felt a chill.

duel.

Raphael nodded thoughtfully:

"Do you know why?"

When this was mentioned, old Gibbon became quite animated:

"What else could it be? Of course, it's because Duke Xinghu solved the case like a god last night, and with his agile skills, he defeated the kidnappers in an earth-shattering duel, earning him fame throughout the capital. As a result, now the noble sons are all..."

At that moment, Thales felt a buzzing in his ears.

duel.

but……

In order to mitigate the impact, didn't he make it very clear? "If you want to enjoy its convenience once and for all, you must bear the cost of its barbarity and backwardness."

but why……

Why are there still people, people who...?

For a moment, Thales was afraid to look at the Black Prophet's reaction beside him.

He forced himself to refocus his attention on the interrogation room.

"Among them were two noble brothers who challenged their father to a duel because he had disregarded all decorum and stolen their sweethearts at the banquet... Oh dear, look at the mess this has made..."

Old Jiben's eyes lit up when he talked about gossip and his experiences.

"They even ordered two more, specifying that the materials and style had to be exactly the same, to ensure fairness, because they wanted to duel each other after killing their fathers! Hehe, and then I said, 'What about Father's sword?' So they ordered a third one! Hehehe, isn't that stupid..."

Raphael raised his eyes.

The blacksmith was immediately speechless.

"Listen carefully."

“The materials are running low, the furnace is cold, and the apprentices are on strike,” Raphael’s voice was flat and emotionless.
"Or perhaps you fell in love with a quiet, gentle, yet alluring and fiery young widow in the countryside, and decided to sell your shop, quit your business, and go back to marry her..."

"Huh? Quiet and gentle yet flirtatious and fiery?" Old Gibbon was puzzled.

“You know,” Raphael paused, his expression unchanged:

"The client, you know."

The Bone Man coughed.

“But I don’t care what your reason is,” Raphael coldly handed the order back to old Gibbon:
"Refund the deposit and cancel this order."

The old blacksmith was slightly taken aback.

"Cancel? This is such a big order..."

Raphael ignored him and instead took out a document and pushed it in front of Gibbon:

"If there are no problems, take a look at this confidentiality agreement, sign it, and you can leave."

Old Gibbon looked at the agreement, then rubbed the order in his hand, somewhat reluctant to part with it.

"Well, I don't have a good reason to cancel the order in the short term..."

boom!
Raphael suddenly moved, grabbing Gibbon's hand and his gaze sharp as a sword:
"Then put it in bandages for two months and say you broke your arm."

Gibbon was terrified and let the skeleton man hold his wrist.

“Go to the tax office and show them the sealing wax on this agreement,” Raphael said calmly.
"Someone will pay for the penalty for breach of contract and the cost of the bandages."

Old Gibbon felt somewhat aggrieved.

“But it’s no use,” he wanted to try one more time:
"There are more blacksmiths in the capital than just me—although I am indeed the best—if I'm the only one, those spoiled brats will definitely go to other shops. So why don't I make a few cheap ones that won't kill anyone... Ahhh, go easy on me!"

Amidst old Gibbon's screams, Raphael tightened his grip on the man's wrist, his voice laced with threat:

"So you're saying you want us to cover the medical expenses as well?"

Old Gibbon let out a few muffled sobs, then revealed a smile that was even more painful than crying. He picked up the pen and obediently signed his name, indicating his firm support for the decision of the Royal Secret Service.

"very good."

Raphael released the panting blacksmith.

"Hurry up, we need to rush to deliver agreements to a few other people—or medical expenses."

"The Bone Man said coldly."

Upon hearing this, old Gibbon, who was rubbing his wrists and weeping, immediately perked up:

"Hey, don't miss the Karachi Blacksmith Shop on South Street. By the way, that old bastard is really cunning. For decades, he's been making contraband for scoundrels like the Blood Bottle Gang and the Brotherhood more than once, and he even lied to everyone that it was made in my shop—please don't believe him..."

Raphael glared at him again, silencing old Gibbon's words.

"Alright, I understand. You have a heavy responsibility to curb the bad trend of dueling and maintain the kingdom's law and stability. I understand, I understand..."

The old blacksmith pouted, looking aggrieved, and diligently signed page after page:
"But wouldn't it be enough if you just arrested the people who were dueling? Why make things difficult for us nobody..."

“You see, this is the problem,” Raphael said, glancing intentionally or unintentionally at the one-way glass as he watched him sign the agreement.
“If the kingdom explicitly forbids it, their discontent and resentment will rise to higher levels.”

Raphael looked at the old blacksmith:
"But what if it's a supplier like you who cancels for some reason..."

He squinted and moved closer to old Gibbon:
"Do you have any opinion?"

Old Ji, as if on cue, shook his head faster than his own bellows:
"No, no..."

After signing the agreement, the old blacksmith handed it to Raphael with a fawning expression.

Raphael scanned the signature on it, closed it, lit the candle, and sealed it with sealing wax.

"Very good, then as a reward for your cooperation..."

“In the coming months, the Royal Guard will have a large demand for equipment, and will even need to recruit blacksmiths to build it directly. There will be a large number of new orders.”

Yoshimoto's eyes lit up with delight.

"But only for the military and those who possess this agreement."

Raphael squinted and held up the sealed agreement:

"Do you understand it?"

On the other side of the one-way glass, Thales watched in silence as the ecstatic old Gibbon was hooded and led out of the interrogation room.

"I'm sorry," Morat, in his wheelchair, picked up a cup of tea, sipped it lightly, and smiled.

“Raphael rarely handles these small, basic tasks; he’s not very skilled at them.”

"But don't worry, someone from us will talk to that artisan and regularly follow up on his 'mental health' to ensure that he doesn't resent you or spread rumors to slander you because of this."

"Or... news of orders for specialized weapons for duels may be coming from somewhere else."

Looking at the Black Prophet's meaningful smile, Thales felt increasingly uneasy.

"I thought the nobles of the stars would look down on Exter's customs."

The prince stared at a stain on the glass and said with difficulty.

Morat put down his teacup.

"Dueling is a martial spirit that originated from the empire. In its primitive days, it carried the spirit of chivalry and filled the gaps where justice could not reach."

The elderly man in the wheelchair remained calm and composed, seemingly an outsider:

"Do you know how many centuries our ancestors spent, how much bloodshed and tragedy they endured, how many lives they sacrificed, to eliminate these outdated customs and practices that have become increasingly backward with the times, disregard justice, and tear the country apart?"

His words were like sharp knives, repeatedly slicing open Thales's heart:

"But now, all people see are the deeds of the North Star, and they vie to follow them."

"Especially the story of how you used your wisdom to avoid being killed in Exeter under the guise of a duel."

"And then there's your unparalleled charm last night, which captivated countless young men and women..."

The Black Prophet clicked his tongue and shook his head, not continuing.

But enough is enough.

Thales remained expressionless.

duel.

Is this what he brought to the Star People?
Saving DD and Anke might ultimately lead to the deaths of...more people?
No matter what the situation, you always want to find a way that pleases everyone, a perfect choice that meets your highest expectations.

King Kessel's words echoed in his ears:

Ideally, things should proceed smoothly and without incident.

Avoid the ugliness and sacrifice you least want to face. Thales raised his left hand with difficulty, looking at the scar on his palm.

But damn fate, doesn't it always give you a damn response?

Just as Thales was lost in thought and his heart was filled with turmoil, the interrogation room welcomed its third guest.

This time, a nobleman entered the interrogation room. He was dressed in a low-key yet classic style, and his demeanor was both relaxed and arrogant.

He sat down steadily in the chair, also without shackles, displaying composure and extraordinary demeanor.

It was as if he were the interrogator.

"I know who you are."

Raphael also changed his questioning style, using concise and clear language to get straight to the point:

"And I believe you know who we are."

The nobleman across the table slowly raised his eyes.

He didn't look around like old Gibbon, nor was he as blustering as Dagory.

"of course."

"You are the darkness of the stars."

The nobleman spoke slowly:

"But what I didn't know was that the Secret Service had the power to secretly interrogate the kingdom's nobles without the king's order?"

His gaze was fixed on Raphael, sharp and unbearable.

Raphael smiled.

"Of course not, so this is just an inquiry."

The Bone Man did not ask the other's name, so Thales had no way of knowing it.

"I see," the nobleman sneered, speaking with sarcasm.
"So, your inquiry suggests the invitation was sent in the form of a burlap sack and rope?"

But the eloquent and persuasive Bone Man, who had even engaged in a fierce verbal battle with Thales without losing ground, didn't dwell on the words.

Clearly, judging from the first two defendants, Raphael was adept at adapting his approach to different people and dealing with different individuals in different ways, and he often succeeded in doing so.

"Two weeks ago, you came to Everstar City from Blade's Edge Territory."

Raphael opened the record, his eyes sharpening as well:
"And a week ago, you secretly ordered weapons from a blacksmith named Karachi on South Street in the Twilight Star District?"

"The nobles brought by Blade's Edge," Thales thought silently.

The nobleman's gaze froze, and he remained silent for a moment.

Raphael did not urge him.

The atmosphere in the interrogation room became very oppressive.

Finally, the nobleman let out a cold snort:
"Even ordinary people have the right to carry weapons for self-defense when traveling abroad."

"As a nobleman of the kingdom with the right to arm himself, what law have I broken by carrying a sword for self-defense?"

Raphael smiled very kindly:

"of course not."

“But either you yourself are a master of the highest level, or your enemy is,” Raphael clicked his tongue.
"Otherwise, you wouldn't have needed to order a full...twenty longswords?"

The nobleman from Blade's Edge Territory's gaze turned cold.

“If you want to accuse me of treason,” he said calmly, “in Yongxing City, these weapons are not enough to prove anything.”

Thales, who was listening in on the interrogation, had a premonition that this was a difficult person to deal with.

“I know,” Raphael said, but he sounded relaxed.
"So what are you going to do with them?"

"Or should I say, what are 'you' going to do?"

The nobleman's lips tightened as he stared intently at Raphael.

He seemed to be struggling with his thoughts, and after a long pause, he finally uttered a sentence:

"As someone in the secret department, why ask questions you already know the answer to?"

Raphael smiled with narrowed eyes:

"But I want to hear what you have to say."

The nobleman of Blade's Edge Territory snorted angrily.

He then turned to the one-way mirror and looked directly at Thales:
Who's behind that glass?

Thales was startled.

But Morat beside him remained calm and unsurprised.

It seems this nobleman is quite knowledgeable.

Raphael remained calm even after his trick was seen through:

"Whoever it is, isn't it just what you wanted, to be seen and heard by more people?"

The nobleman frowned slightly.

Raphael beamed and gestured for him to proceed.

A few seconds later, the nobleman finally looked away from Thales.

"We, some nobles of Blade's Edge Territory, have lost land, power, or position for various reasons. We want to jointly petition..."

The nobleman paused briefly, then found a plausible word:
"Appeal."

Raphael nodded:

Where do I file a complaint?

The nobleman, with a cold expression, uttered a place name:
"Mindis Hall".

Thales' eyelids twitched.

Go to the Mindis Hall... to file a complaint?
No.

He thought of Anke at the banquet, and his mood plummeted once again.

"How many people?" Raphael asked casually.

“Thirteen,” the nobleman answered readily.

"Barons, lords, noble knights, and many more are on their way to join."

"Just to seek justice."

justice.

This word carried immense weight, striking Thales's mind with a resounding thud.

"Therefore, at least thirteen nobles and their servants, fully armed, went to the Duke of Starlake to file a joint appeal."

Raphael sighed, somewhat helplessly:
"Back then, if some people got emotional and caused a disturbance, even with the outer guards, the Star Guards, and even the royal guards, it wouldn't be so easy to suppress the situation, right?"

The nobleman glanced at him.

"We are only trying to make our stance clear; we have no intention of hurting anyone."

Raphael chuckled and pressed on:
"Then why is it the Mindis Hall and not the Palace of Rejuvenation?"

The nobleman stared at him with an unfriendly expression.

“You want to emulate that idiot from last night,” Raphael said bluntly, “find the Duke of Starlake’s men, take advantage of his recent return and inexperience, and go to the meeting with your swords.”

"Let's make it a big event."

Big scene.

Thales's eyes were distant.

[Without killing or taking lives, no one will listen... Without shocking the world, there is no way out... Without succumbing to depravity, one will reap bitter consequences.]

Please tell me, Your Highness... what is the reasoning behind this?

That night, the sorrowful and indignant look in Anke's eyes when he stormed the banquet with hostages and forced the emperor to abdicate reappeared in his mind.

“It’s not imitation,” the nobleman seemed offended. “We planned to be earlier and smarter than that Western idiot.”

Raphael clicked his tongue:

"But you must be encouraged by the precedent, especially since that idiot survived."

"So you've made up your minds to knock on Prince Thales' door and force him to see this problem that only His Majesty can solve?"

Inspired by precedents...

This is a problem that only Your Majesty can solve.

Thales unconsciously clenched his fist, but then he remembered that the Black Prophet was still watching from the side, so he had to force himself to loosen his fingers.

"He is also a shining star."

The nobleman leaned back in his chair, speaking calmly and methodically:

"He was sent as a hostage to the northern kingdom and led an expedition to the desert, and was highly regarded by many noble families, including the Four-Eyed Skull."

“Last night, he demonstrated wisdom and skill, courage and vigor, and the ambition to reform the kingdom.”

“He also showed kindness and loyalty, magnanimity and generosity, and did not turn a blind eye to us.”

Raphael listened and nodded, then sarcastically remarked:

"And this is how you loyal ministers and advisors repay the great philanthropist Prince Thales."

"Carrying twenty swords, they 'visited' the Mindis Hall as if they were forcing a palace?"

The nobles of Blade's Edge suddenly looked up!

"He is our future king."

His voice was like steel, each word carrying immense weight, making Thales feel breathless.
"He can afford it."

Raphael remained silent for a moment, without looking at the one-way glass.

"But what if he doesn't want to, or is it inconvenient for him to get involved in these messy matters that involve multiple parties' interests and are impossible to unravel?"

“Then he is not fit to be king,” the nobleman said decisively.

Raphael snorted coldly.

"How dare you say that."

The nobleman laughed, but his laughter was chilling.

"Have you been to Blade's Edge Pass, young man?"

He looked at Raphael, aggressive and unyielding:
"If you haven't been there, just shut up."

"And if you've been there, you'll know: there's nothing we're afraid to say."

Raphael remained silent for a while.

Thales could sense that the Bone People were at a disadvantage.

A few seconds later, Raphael gave a soft hum.

"You seem to be an intelligent man," he said politely, but the implication was clear:

"And you're already sitting here, you know what to do?"

The nobleman turned away, scoffed softly, and pondered for a long while.

But he eventually turned around and said in a deep voice:
"of course."

"I will go back and tell them to withdraw this appeal and protest."

Raphael's eyes lit up.

“Very good,” the Bone Man said happily, closing the file.
"If everyone were as reasonable as you, I wouldn't need to collect overtime pay every day."

He stood up, ready to end the interrogation—or questioning.

But the nobleman stopped him.

"You may have won today, young man."

The nobles of Blade's Edge raised their heads and looked directly at Raphael.

"You stopped us."

But his words were extremely disturbing:
“But as long as the root of the problem is not addressed and the kingdom’s deep-seated problems are not cured, there will be more people like us.”

More like us...

Thales felt his breathing become unsteady.

“Then I wouldn’t mind seeing you a few more times,” Raphael retorted defiantly, “whether here, in the courtroom, or…”

"Inside a certain coffin?"

The nobleman burst into laughter, but the laughter quickly turned into a warning:

"Secret Department, you think this is the solution?"

He stared coldly at Raphael:
“We haven’t been cornered yet. We have families and jobs to consider. For the sake of the bigger picture and our livelihoods, we can still swallow our anger and endure injustices…”

"But what if there's another Anker Bairal?"

"Who will be the next prince to attend court for these very questions?"

The next Anker Bailar.

Thales closed his eyes.

The nobleman led by Blade shook his head disdainfully:
"Just wait, what we've done today won't solve your problems once and for all."

"Neither the Black Prophet nor others."

His gaze was focused, and his tone was firm:

"Only one person can do it."

Although not in the main interrogation room, Thales, who was listening in, also felt like he was suffocating.

Raphael forced a smile:
“Then I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Yes,” the nobleman said, his eyes filled with unspoken meaning.
"You better be."

The nobleman stood up and allowed the two burly men to put a hood over his head without resistance.

The atmosphere in the interrogation room finally became less oppressive.

"Take care, sir, until we meet again!"

Raphael saw the Blade Noble off with a smile, then finally let out a sigh of relief and said in a voice only he could hear:
"I hope not."

On the other side of the glass, Thales emerged from his complex and subtle emotions.

“He is right, Lord Hansen,” he forced himself to speak, “even if I hadn’t stood up last night and responded directly to Anker Bairar.”

The Black Prophet looked at him with great interest.

"One day, something like this will happen again."

"My identity will inevitably attract such surprises again."

Thales gritted his teeth:
"This has nothing to do with what I did last night."

Morat took a deep breath, enduring yet another twitch of the vines on his knees.

“Perhaps you are right, and you can certainly convince yourself of that to make your actions last night seem justified and to put your mind at ease,” the Black Prophet said, his eyes closed. If you didn’t look at his lower body, he would look like an ordinary old man resting with his eyes closed.

“But you know, that’s not what I want you to see.”

Thales suddenly looked up!
"Raphael!"

He spoke loudly, his voice carrying across the other end of the interrogation room.

Raphael calmly turned around and bowed to the unseen dignitary through the one-way glass.

"There are many?"

Thales' breathing became erratic; he clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and raised his voice:

"Cases like these related to my actions last night, including those concerning my activities since returning home..."

"There are many?"

Raphael did not answer immediately; he remained silent and simply bowed again to the mirror.

It wasn't until Thales realized that he was waiting for the chief intelligence officer's permission.

But the Black Prophet beside him remained silent.

Raphael.

He will not obey the prince's orders.

A nameless rage suddenly erupted within him.

It surged into Thales' already inexplicably repressed heart.

It even triggered the sin of the River of Hell—that ferocious beast was scratching at his veins again.

This gave him the feeling of having immense power and boundless fire, yet he had nowhere to vent it and could only suppress it forcefully.

“Raphael,” Duke Starlake said coldly, trying to ignore his terrible condition:
"Reply, answer, me."

A few seconds later, perhaps sensing the Duke's anger, or perhaps understanding the meaning behind Morat's silence, Raphael spoke softly.

"Quite a bit."

"The 'butts' alone have found four more cases today."

Butt.

The prince's butt.

Thales felt like his fist was about to be crushed.

But Raphael continued:

"For example, the number of nobles applying for the position of Royal Guard Officer may increase significantly, because Mr. Karabyan, the first person you received, was a Guard Officer, and the lady-in-waiting who took care of you was also a Guard Officer..."

"For example, the number of members in the Glass Merchants' Guild will increase dramatically, with a massive influx of funds and market fluctuations exceeding expectations. Even if Baron Quentin explains how the accidental breaking of the glass last night wasn't a new royal rule, that's a headache for Lord Joker Mann and Viscount Connie..."

"For example, security will be raised to the highest level for any banquet held in the capital recently, regardless of which family it is. This is because your actions last night objectively encouraged everyone to bring weapons to the banquet, to settle scores and seek revenge, and perhaps even gain some support and sympathy..."

With each word Raphael uttered, Thales' breathing became more labored.

"And this morning too."

Raphael's words were calm and composed, even carrying his usual ease and ease, but for some reason, they sounded so jarring to Thales at this moment:
"A new murder has occurred in the suburbs of Yongxing City."

murder.

Thales' nerves skipped a beat.

"According to the preliminary investigation by the Security Bureau: the deceased was a farm implement dealer, and the murderer was a farmer working in the fields. He confessed to the crime and it was likely an impulsive crime."

Thales swallowed the discomfort that gripped him and managed to speak with difficulty:
"why?"

Raphael hesitated for a moment, seemingly searching for the right words.

Until the Black Prophet coughed slowly.

Raphael sighed softly:
"An eyewitness said that the farm implement dealer, who was the deceased, had spoken with the murderer before the incident."

"He changed his mind at the last minute and wanted to take away the lettuce seeds that the two of them had agreed on beforehand..."

"Price increased twentyfold."

Thales was taken aback.

lettuce.

Price increase.

No.

Do not……

In an instant, a sense of inexplicable bewilderment and confusion overwhelmed his mind and body.

"It is said that the farmer was already poor and struggling to make ends meet, so in a fit of anger and despair, a conflict broke out, until the other party succumbed to his injuries..."

Raphael's voice seemed to come from underwater, elusive yet undeniably real.

"According to eyewitnesses, the reason given by the deceased for raising the price at the last minute was..."

"The prince loves to eat it."

As soon as he finished speaking, Thales' figure swayed!
[The prince loves to eat.]

In that instant, all the anger and resentment seemed to realize the absurdity of his existence and vanished from his senses.

[The prince loves to eat.]

Even the rustling sounds of Raphael, the Black Prophet, and the Black Vine, along with the entire interrogation room, vanished from the surrounding area.

All that remains is emptiness, bewilderment, and sorrow.

And himself.

[The prince loves to eat.]

Thales closed his eyes in a daze, leaned against the wall behind him, and slowly leaned back.

But at that moment, the boy felt that what he was leaning on was not a wall...

Instead, it is a bottomless, endless abyss that never ends.

[The prince loves to eat.]

Dark and depressing.

Cold and deathly silent.

Suffocating.

[The prince loves to eat.]

Good morning, everyone. I'm going to sleep now.


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(End of this chapter)