Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 583 One of them

In the interrogation room, Belicia and Raphael both left.

Thales stared motionlessly at the empty room on the other side of the glass, his eyes lifeless and his feelings complicated.

Sunset Bar...

Yara...

Familiar names echoed in his memory, each time stirring up endless waves.

Since that conversation with Gilbert, he, burdened by the responsibilities of being a prince, had buried those feelings deep within his heart.

Until just now.

Thales clenched his fists instinctively.

Despite being unthreatened by any external threats, the sin of the River of Hell continued to surge and roar within his veins.

"Your Highness, would you mind giving me another push?"

Morat's pleasant and soothing voice, accompanied by the constant sizzling of the black vein vines, pulled Thales back to reality from his complicated thoughts.

But this only made him more agitated and restless.

Thales slowly turned around and looked at the Black Prophet.

But Thales did not move, nor did he reach for the wheelchair beneath the old man's knees, which disgusted him immensely.

why.

Why here...?

In front of the person he feared most.

"You brought Belicia here on purpose, didn't you?"

Thales remained expressionless and spoke in a cold tone.

The elderly man in the wheelchair put down his teacup and turned around without a care in the world.

"It's not just to show me the consequences of my actions."

Thales's gaze turned cold as he stared directly at Morat:
"You know her identity, her past."

"You know about my past."

"So you deliberately had Raphael mention Sunset Bar."

“In front of me.”

The Black Prophet stared at him, a smile spreading across his wrinkled face.

"How is it, Your Highness? Are you surprised?"

For some reason, this smile seemed so awkward to Thales.

proud.

dark.

hateful.

There must be a purpose.

"What do you mean by this? What are you going to do?"

Thales stared intently at Morat, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Old man."

The interrogation room instantly became oppressive and heavy. The black veins on the old man's wheelchair and knees began to writhe uneasily, moving at an extremely fast frequency and making a hissing sound.

In the darkness and deathly silence, the Black Prophet chuckled.

Unfazed by the prince's anger and accusations, he turned his wheelchair around to face Thales:

"I thought you would be very happy to see how much Secret was concerned about your wish and let you hear news of your childhood playmate again."

Morat gazed wistfully at the boy before him:
“Thales…”

"prince?"

He deliberately left a very long pause between the two words, causing the boy to frown.

They seemed to return to that afternoon in Mindis Hall, where Thales—the beggar, the bastard, the boy with a secret and an uncertain future—met for the first time the most terrifying and insidious spymaster of the Star Kingdom, who was hunting down a forbidden calamity.

At that time, Ginny, Gilbert, and even Yodl were by his side, and even the old hag Serena helped him out.

But now, in the Kingdom's secret service's lair.

No one can protect him.

Except for himself.

“But when I asked you for help back then, you already said,” Thales stared coldly at the old man:

"Only when I am strong enough can I talk about protecting them."

"Otherwise, they will only become my...weakness."

His gaze was resentful:
"Being hampered by others".

Morat clicked his tongue softly:
“Very good, you still remember.”

The Black Prophet's expression turned cold, and the surrounding temperature instantly dropped.

"Then why did you ask Count Gilbert Cassel to search for them continuously over the years? And why did you go to such lengths to keep them from my notice?"

Thales felt a chill run down his spine.

he knows.

Duke Starlake looked at Morat's smile: the old man before him knew perfectly well about his request to Gilbert to find someone.

as always.

but……

Yara.

Thales called out the name once again.

No.

He cannot let the Black Prophet find her.

Because that girl was not just Yara.

She is Yara Sarityton.

The Flower of Assassins.

“Look? This is the problem, the reason why you and the Secret Service have been at odds for so many years,” Morat’s cold, sharp gaze was fixed on him, as if he had already won him over:
"We always go our own way, with no communication between superiors and subordinates."

The black vines coiled around his knees again, rustling softly, like many venomous snakes entwined together, eerie and dangerous.

Thales gritted his teeth.

The agony of having his disguise torn off and his heart ripped open in the Palace of Restoration, the heart-wrenching guilt of witnessing countless tragedies in the interrogation room, the dissatisfaction with the Secret Service's repeated setbacks over the years, and the worry for Yara and the beggars—all of these at this moment flowed into Thales's veins, merging with the sin of the River of Hell into his tormented nerves.

It ignited the discontent in his chest.

He pointed directly at the old man in front of him.

"I told you, shut your sniffing nose and stay out of my business."

Thales gritted his teeth and said:

"Or have you decided to use them as leverage to threaten me?"

The Black Prophet laughed out loud:

"Your Highness, you are in a perilous situation in the North."

"Therefore, I am not surprised that they have many concerns, find it difficult to trust us, and even doubt our motives."

"In fact, your prudent approach and thoughtful consideration are good things..."

Thales interrupted him with a cold laugh.

"Then why did you remain silent for the past six years? Why did you wait until I returned to China to reveal this to me?"

Morat paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

“You are right, Your Highness.”

"We started to focus all our attention on this matter..."

The old man's tone hardened:
"Precisely because you have returned to your country."

"Because you, as the Duke of Star Lake, are only now—to be precise, just now when you expressed your dissatisfaction with my wheelchair—truly worthy of being called 'powerful'."

Morat looked towards the other end of the interrogation room:
That's why we let you see what just happened.

"Your 'weakness'."

weakness.

Thales shuddered.

"What do you mean?"

The Black Prophet grinned.

"Your Highness, you are mature beyond your years and exceptionally intelligent. You understand His Majesty's purpose in sending you here without me having to say a word."

“Regarding the ‘mess’ you see,” the old man turned to the empty room on the other side of the glass, where black vines swayed back and forth, as if constantly watching Thales:
"What do you think?"

A mess.

Thales felt a void in his heart.

Before he could answer, Morat slowly said:

"Unemployed workers at the winery..."

"An order for dueling weapons from the blacksmith's shop..."

"The nobles of Blade's Edge are protesting..."

With each word he uttered, Thales became more and more dazed.

"A murder case stemming from lettuce..."

"And also, the northern girls on Red Street..."

These, all of these are...

Thales' lips moved slightly, but he couldn't utter a single word.

"I know."

Morat's tone softened:

"You feel wronged, depressed, sad, and indignant."

"None of these things were actually what you intended."

"But that is the power of authority."

The power of authority.

Thales was speechless.

The Black Prophet continued to stare at him, his smile full, but his eyes held no warmth.

"Before this, I'm sure everyone—whether it's Count Caso, Lady Ginny, or even His Majesty—has warned you: as the Prince of Stars, the Duke of Starlake, and the heir to the throne of this kingdom, your decisions will have far-reaching and far-reaching consequences."

Thales took a deep breath: "I know, I'll find a way to make amends..."

But Morat suddenly raised his voice, drowning out his confession:
"But perhaps they didn't tell you the crueler part: compared to your high position, what you do is actually insignificant."

"No amount of remedy can make up for it."

Thales looked up in surprise.

"what?"

It's unimportant?

To no avail?

The old man wheeled himself to him, his voice hoarse:

"Because your 'action' itself is more influential than its content and substance."

"What matters is not what you did, whether you did it or not, or whether you did it right or wrong, but that you were there."

At that moment, the Black Prophet's eyes were like bottomless black holes, possessing an unprecedented suction force that firmly enveloped Thales:

"It is your position and your existence."

What matters is not what you did...

Your position and existence...

Thales frowned and met the old man's gaze.

But what came to his mind were the words of another "person":
[Thales, this world doesn't hate us... What they can't forgive and find unacceptable isn't our actions...]

Rather, it is our existence.

"Under the power of authority, your position is different from others, and the gap is fixed. So no matter what you do at the top of the power hierarchy, what is meant to happen will happen."

The Black Prophet's expression was indifferent, his gaze distant, looking at Thales, but more as if looking into the distance:
"The slightest ripple from you will turn into a raging torrent."

"You describe it lightly, yet with rich and vivid colors."

"Your whisper is deafening."

Morat sighed slowly, filled with inexplicable emotion:

"Power, it pours down like a torrent of thunder, destroying everything: from you, to that nobleman of the Blade's Edge, to the merchant Dagory and the blacksmith old Gibbon, to Miss Belicia and that poor vegetable farmer, all the people of the kingdom are no exception."

"No one can save it, no one can stop it."

"This is the 'weakness' that ultimately prevents you from reuniting with your childhood friends after many years."

Thales was stunned.

"Your Highness, if I may be frank, finding their whereabouts is quite simple..."

But what happens after you find it?

Gilbert's words echoed in my mind:

Have you ever considered the potential impact your rewards, acts of gratitude, or even just your covert observation might have on them?

Doing one thing is simple, but perfectly managing the countless consequences it brings is incredibly difficult.

Thinking of this, Thales became even more sullen.

"You mean... no matter what I do, power will always distort my actions, and as a prince, I can only accept it in exchange for a cold and hardened heart?"

Morat remained silent, carefully examining the boy before him.

The interrogation room was quiet for a while.

Until the Black Prophet's gaze refocused:

"In fact, to prevent such accidents and losses, at the top of power, at the top of the crowd, and around us..."

"A high wall was built here."

Thales looked up.

The Black Prophet's eyes gleamed, and he spoke with absolute certainty:
"A buffer wall to prevent someone as important as you from making a mistake that leads to eternal regret."

"Thus separating us from the torrents and thunder of power."

Morat turned his wheelchair around and looked at the empty interrogation room:
"Thus we have social etiquette, lifestyle fashion, storefront decoration, behavioral style... These seemingly unrelated factors are all the result of power, the social dam that it builds itself in the course of its operation."

“Use differences to separate groups of people, use distinctions to divide people into superior and inferior, use rejection to label categories, and rely on disruption to regulate behavior.”

"To tell the world: They are all that we are not."
Thales frowned.

The Black Prophet's vision is sharp:
"That's right, they blocked communication, fostered estrangement, bred conflict, and marked class distinctions."

"But it also created a natural floodgate for rampant and barbaric power."

Looking at the puzzled Thales, Morat snorted softly:
“Yesterday, if you had drunk that glass of wine according to etiquette, if you had followed aristocratic fashion and eaten something else, if you had clearly stated ‘Duel is strictly prohibited’ on the door, if you had maintained the royal family’s consistent aloofness instead of welcoming protesters like Anker Bailar indiscriminately…”

Morat then changed the subject:
"And this is the 'weakness' you exposed yesterday—at least one of them."

He did not continue.

But Thales' brow furrowed even more.

The prince suddenly remembered that on the day he returned to Everstar City, Marius had inhumanely prevented the prince from showing his face in public, insisting that he stay discreetly in the carriage, saying that this would "save a lot of trouble."

And he...

He arrogantly returned a sword to Marius.

Morat exhaled, letting the black veins on his knees stretch out haphazardly:

"Most nobles and high-ranking individuals grow up under such norms from childhood, almost instinctively: they know to act with self-control, to speak cautiously, to behave in accordance with etiquette, and to be serious and upright. They subconsciously practice the principles of separation and division in order to avoid becoming a bad example and a breach in the dam, allowing power—whether it be a top-down attraction or a bottom-up buoyancy—to devour them."

With a feeling of utter despair, Thales snorted sarcastically.

"You mean I need to go back to school and retake my etiquette classes?"

But the Black Prophet's eyes hardened, and he ignored his interruption:

"But this also fosters a habit in these people that they are unaware of: they are used to doing it, as if it were an instinct, but they don't know why they do it."

"They cannot cross this high wall and dam. Outside of the norms, they will be at a loss when faced with the barbaric behavior of power after it has broken free of its restraints."

The elderly man in the wheelchair looked directly at Thales, his tone changing:
“But Your Highness Thales, you, you are different.”

Thales was taken aback.

The Black Prophet slightly curled the corners of his mouth:
"Although you are of noble birth, you rose from humble beginnings."

"You stand on the upper reaches of the great river, yet you understand the towering waves on the lower reaches of the river better than most noble sons and纨绔官戚 (sons of wealthy and powerful families).

"And today you see how they originate from the tiny ripples beneath your noble fingertips in such an inconspicuous way."

Thales bit his lower lip.

"First, there's this mess, then there's my past..."

The prince suppressed his inner turmoil and confusion:

"After all this talk, do you want me to stand on this high wall, make choices and sacrifices between the gains and losses of power, ignore and accept the 'giant waves' that follow the 'ripples', only then can I overcome my weaknesses and become truly 'strong'?"

At this point, Thales felt a pang of bitterness.

Morat gazed at him for a long, long time.

But unexpectedly, the old man shook his head in the end.

"Do not."

"I told you to eliminate your weaknesses."

"But the methods need not be rigid."

The next second, the Black Prophet's tone became urgent, each word carrying force:
"A slight ripple can turn into a raging torrent."

"A light touch can create a rich and colorful effect."

"A whisper can be deafening."

Morat's eyes flashed, as if they held a blade:
"From another perspective, this is not a weakness, but a strength."

"It is the true power of authority."

"A power that so many people dream of."

At that moment, Thales had a strange feeling:
The old man in the wheelchair before me became the deepest point in endless darkness, swallowing all the light.

King Nunn, King Chaman, King Kessel… these people all seemed to be gazing at him from the other side of the darkness.

The black vines emitted ominous sounds and writhed more violently.

"Your aversion to drinking has caused countless brewers to lose their jobs due to the suspicion and doubts of banquet organizers regarding your preferences..."

"But your clear taste in wine can also force wine merchants to rack their brains to brew better wine, or to try every means to expand new export channels."

The Black Prophet suddenly became aggressive:

"Your reckless duel at the banquet will cause hundreds of young people to die in the streets due to a moment of impulsiveness."

"But your bravery and fearlessness in the face of duels can also inspire the kingdom's martial spirit and sweep away decadent music."

"Your tolerance and leniency towards lawless individuals like Bailar will make countless subjects restless and tempted to rebel."

"But your rigorous pursuit of justice and life can also warn against the evil in people's hearts, deter unhealthy tendencies, and unite noble people to go through fire and water for you."

"Your behavior at the banquet sets a bad example, which will attract unscrupulous people who are eager for profit to follow suit. Ordinary people will find it hard to predict whether they will suffer a loss or a gain."

"But you can also issue decrees with a flick of your wrist, speak words that bring about results, guide the direction of the kingdom, and open up a path for the future."

Thales stared blankly at the head of the secret service's intelligence department.

The old man said in a sinister tone:
"You, who are also on both sides of the high wall, should focus on these things, rather than lingering anxiously over the ruins of power after the flood has passed."

The power of authority.

Thales stared at Morat, his mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts.

But then he recalled another saying: "Believe me, your people will always give you unexpected and contrary-to-expectations feedback."

People will always respond to rulers in ways that are unexpected and catch them off guard.

The Duke of the Western Wilderness seemed to stand before him once more, his face contorted in a hideous grimace, giving him a knowing smile.

Thales felt a pang of sadness.

“But you did,” he said with difficulty:

“My ‘action’ itself is more influential than its content and substance.”

"No matter what I do, there will always be countless messes, and if I try to fix them..."

"That's right!"

The Black Prophet interrupted him loudly, his voice, sharp as a snake's tongue, surprisingly powerful at this moment:
"That's why you need to be even more focused and give it your all,"

“Strive to make your actions meaningful and substantial,” he said, pointing a finger to Thales’ heart:
"Beyond itself."

"Transcend its original sin of position and existence, and in turn, cover its weaknesses."

"Are you worried that with the added advantage of your position, your concern for your childhood friends will become their ferryman on the River of Hell?" The Black Prophet suddenly brought up what Thales cared about most: "Then you need to think even more about how to make your concern, your actions, transcend the limitations brought by your position of power, and drive away that deadly ferry."

Thales's expression was uncertain, and his mind was in turmoil.

"What you need to do is not to make amends, but to take control. Not to stand on this high wall and sigh, but to ride this high wall and ride the waves."

The Black Prophet sneered: "There's a proverb in the Far East..."

"A gentleman uses things, while a petty person is used by things."

Thales fell into deep thought.

“Your Highness,” Morat pressed his hand on the arm of his chair, the black veins on it gradually calming down, “This is how the late King was.”

"That's how it is with Crown Prince Midil."

"Your Majesty Kessel is the same."

Upon hearing the familiar name, Thales frowned deeply.

He stared intently at the other person:

"What if...I can't do it?"

The Black Prophet laughed.

"You can do it."

Morat turned his wheelchair around, turning his back to the prince.

“You can do it from the moment you return home.”

"You were already prepared."

"Just one step away from the goal."

He said in a sinister tone:

"It's just that you're too cautious, too fearful, and too wary of its unpredictable power and possible consequences."

Thales clenched his teeth, his thoughts unsettled.

A few seconds later, he suddenly looked up at the Black Prophet's back.

"I do not like you."

“I know,” Morat said without turning his head.

"But as I said, whether you like me or not is not important."

"The important thing is whether your dislike for me can transcend our pre-existing relationship," the old man said slowly.
"Under your control, it brings real benefits."

Thales' expression changed slightly.

Morat took a deep breath, turned his wheelchair, and prepared to leave.

Just now.

Will you be lonely?

The Black Prophet paused.

Thales glanced at him from behind:
"Lord Hansen, you said before that it had been a very long time since you had met someone who could lie to you without feeling guilty or burdened."

"That feeling must have been very lonely."

Morat remained silent, his back to Morat standing alone.

"So……"

Thales' tone changed slightly:
"The Scarlet Witch".

At that moment, Thales saw the black veins on the Black Prophet's wheelchair twitch.

"Is Ms. Cassandra, who is said to be able to fool you and doesn't hesitate to lie to you, one of those women? Is she one?"

Morat remained silent, while the black vein vines wriggled back and forth, becoming increasingly jubilant.

The atmosphere in the interrogation room became very subtle.

A few seconds later.

"Please forgive me, I am old and my energy is limited."

“I’m going to rest now,” the Black Prophet said, his body still, but the demonic vines on his knees trembled menacingly, covering the wheel and turning it into an endless expanse of black.
"Raphael, treat His Highness well and make sure he feels at home."

Thales turned his head in surprise and realized that Raphael was already standing in the doorway.

The man from the desolate bone bowed respectfully.

Meanwhile, Morat's wheelchair, covered in dark vines, rolled eerily and astonishingly, carrying him forward until it disappeared outside the door.

The interrogation room returned to silence and relaxation.

Thales stared blankly in the direction the Black Prophet had gone.

"So, his wheelchair can actually move on its own."

He murmured:

"There's absolutely no need for me to push."

Raphael came to his side and smiled:
"Sometimes, some people, may just need that push."

Thales sighed.

"How have you gotten along with him all these years?"

Raphael raised an eyebrow and looked at the doorway where the Black Prophet had disappeared.

“He said,” the Bone Man said calmly:

“And I listen.”

Thales snorted darkly:

"I guess so."

Raphael smiled easily and gestured towards the door:
"As I said, you'll only suffer more when you get to the Secret Service."

The prince sighed and followed Raphael out of the interrogation room.

"Belicia, that girl's gone?"

With mixed feelings, Thales walked past the portrait of Princess Theodora, the "Supreme Star" ("I didn't even look at you, what the hell are you cursing me for, you narcissistic idiot!"—Thales's inner monologue of impotent anger), and asked casually.

Raphael nodded:

"What, do you want to spend a little more time with her?"

Thales frowned at him, his face showing displeasure.

Raphael smiled easily and raised his hands in surrender.

Thales glanced at him sideways and gave a soft snort:
"But you... Cohen?"

“He’ll be fine,” Raphael said without batting an eye or showing any shame, “when he realizes he’s not me.”

“But you won’t,” Thales said coldly, with a hint of defiance, “when he realizes you’ve sold him out.”

“It’s alright,” Raphael said, completely unburdened and relaxed.
"He's used to it."

"And Cohen, well..."

Raphael paused slightly, a smile playing on his lips, and kept his thoughts to himself:
He can't beat me.

"Raphael."

The two walked in silence for a while, then Thales suddenly spoke up:

Do you do this often?

"Wipe my...butt?"

Raphael frowned and turned around.

“Morat said I’ve never been on the same page with the Secret Service—we always go our separate ways and never communicate,” Thales said quietly.

"Have I caused you... a lot of trouble?"

Raphael sighed softly.

"Probably," he replied casually, without saying anything more.

Thales gave a soft sneer.

Is it.

"But it wasn't all trouble, was it? I think I... was helpful?"

Thales thought about the mess he had made that day and the mess that Miko had cleaned up for him.

What you need to do is not to make amends, but to take control.

Raphael remained silent for a while.

"Do you want me to tell the truth?"

Thales looked at the Bone Man.

"National Affairs Conference, Dragon Sky City, Great Desert, Blade Fang Camp..."

Raphael remained expressionless as he counted the locations one by one:

"Basically, in all the situations where you 'play it by yourself,' single-handedly saving the world, what you help with is..."

"It's all counterproductive."

Thales's expression changed.

"No way?"

Raphael turned his head and gave him a polite, fake smile.

"But--"

Thales caught up with him, and said indignantly:
"The State Affairs Conference... if I hadn't persuaded Jenn..."

"We have a backup plan."

"In Dragon Sky City, if I hadn't gone back and defeated Lumba..."

"We also have backup plans."

"The Great Desert..."

"As expected."

"Baki Camp..."

"Completely counterproductive."

Thales, unable to catch his breath, said unhappily:
"really?"

Raphael shrugged: "The Kingdom's Secret Service is the most meticulously planned place in the Stars. We have a backup plan for any unexpected events—including yours, the prince's butt is one of them."

Upon hearing the name, Thales took a deep breath, reminding himself not to get angry.

"Okay, let's take that most outrageous example..."

"Six years ago, when you executed 'Dragon's Blood,' did you ever imagine it would spiral out of control like this? Saridon? Shadow Shield? Dark Chamber? Chaman Rumba?"

Raphael glanced back at him.

"of course."

"Everything was expected."

Thales was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter in exasperation:

"You secret service... you really dare to say that?"

Raphael shook his head and slowly said:
"This is true."

"The status and function of the Secret Service, as well as the relationship and strength between the two countries, have already determined the consequences once the Dragon Blood War begins."

"But most importantly, no matter how things develop, it's still within acceptable limits and hasn't exceeded our expectations."

"Even if there are unforeseen circumstances, they will be covered by the backup plan."

Thales scoffed dismissively.

"Really?"

Thales took a deep breath, recalling his recent conversation with the Black Prophet about the consequences of power:

"Chaman became king, and his ambition surpassed that of Nun."

"The devastation in the north is far worse than expected."

"With the prince captured, the succession to the throne is in doubt."

"These are also part of the plan?"

The two continued to move forward.

"Didn't we say it before? Whether Rumba wins or Nunn wins, it'll still be a fight to the death," Raphael said casually.

"After the dragon's blood, Exter will inevitably shatter into pieces, unable to reassemble, just like now."

"As for Lumba's ambitions, the situation in the North, or your whereabouts..."

"Everything is in the plan."

Ok.

Thales sneered repeatedly as he listened, crossing his arms:
"And what about the disaster?"

"What if that giant crimson octopus in Dragon Sky City goes out of control, and the Sky Queen doesn't come?"

Raphael remained silent for a while.

"Don't worry, we also have a backup plan."

The Bone Man said calmly:

"Even if the dragons don't come, we have absolutely foolproof ways to completely suppress the blood calamity."

Recalling the power of the mage Giza, Thales smiled sarcastically.

Is it.

I have serious doubts.

"So, what about the fact that your plan was seen through by the Scarlet Witch and instead used to lay eggs? What's your backup plan?"

“Since we’re going to Dragon Sky City, we’ll inevitably have to confront the Dark Chamber head-on,” Raphael said calmly.

"Being blocked by them was within expectations."

"You've come out safely, haven't you?"

Thales curled the corners of his mouth and shook his head.

It sounds like he's just being stubborn.

"What about when King Chaman entered Valhalla, preparing to rally the dukes and form an allied army to invade the stars?"

The prince said coldly:
"Don't tell me that was expected?"

"There's also a backup plan?"

Raphael didn't even turn his head:
"of course."

Thales shook his head dismissively and sneered:
"Yes, the backup plan is to have the little boy turn around and rush into the chimney of Valhalla..."

Raphael suddenly stopped in his tracks!
They stopped.

Thales turned around in confusion.

"This should have been top secret, but, Your Highness, since you have such suspicions..."

At that moment, the prince suddenly noticed that the skeleton's expression was extremely serious.

"Let me put it this way."

Raphael's red eyes stared straight at him:
"Do you really think that if Lombard had successfully framed you as the assassin of King Nuen back then, or even persuaded the dukes to send troops south, we would have had no means of countermeasures?"

Countermeasures...

Thales frowned slightly.

"Furthermore, as you stand here, after six years believing you were the sole savior of the world, turning the tide..."

The prince's expression changed slightly.

Raphael's tone was mysterious, carrying a profound meaning:
"And how do you know that back then, in Valhalla..."

"An ally who secretly colludes with us and cooperates with us..."

Raphael said quietly:
"Is there only one Rumba?"

The words fell.

Time seemed to stand still in that one second.

Thales was completely stunned.

There's only one Rumba.

what……

mean?
In the quiet corridor of the Secret Society, Raphael stared expressionlessly at the astonished Thales.

"It may be impolite to say that, Your Highness."

"Even though your choice back then was quite bold."

Beside them, Alf, the "Oriental Beauty," gazes serenely at them from her portrait.

"But you are just one of countless spare pieces in the game..."

Raphael narrowed his eyes, his tone profound:

"One of them."

Thales was stunned for a full ten seconds.

One of them?
In that instant, Thales felt as if he had returned to the bloody battles of six years ago, and heard the clamor of Dragon City all over again.

Calamity strikes, Nun dies, Black Sands enter the city, the Grand Dukes' Alliance, southward to the stars, the Grand Duchess, King Chaman...

but……

Scenes from the past flashed through my mind.

Thales felt his thinking was rigid and sluggish.

Dragon Sky City, Hall of Heroes.

Everything from the past, like a beautiful painting, was just torn to shreds by Raphael.

but……

No.

One of them.

Do not!
Raphael smiled with satisfaction at the prince's distracted expression and turned back around.

But right now.

"Bailar".

The skeleton turned around in surprise.

“Anke Bailar, the assassin from last night.”

Thales slowly raised his head, looking dazed, and murmured something.

"Raphael, I want to see him."

The prince frowned, a hint of impatience in his expression:

"Now."

You can't block me this time, can you? (I'm back, please vote for me!) [They are all that we are not. — Wright Mills, *The Power Elite*]

(End of this chapter)