Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 599 The Weapon of the Weak (Part 2)

"They're all... Brotherhood members?"

They turned a corner, and Cohen looked at both sides of the street with a puzzled expression:
"They're everywhere?"

Morris smiled but said nothing.

"of course not."

Thales quickened his pace, walked up to them, and said coldly:
"If it had come to that, the Brotherhood would have been wiped out long ago."

At that moment, Thales and Morris's eyes met in mid-air; the former was cold, the latter was playful, and they began a game known only to each other.

But Thales' tone immediately changed:
"But there is no doubt that we were already being watched by the Brotherhood the moment we came into their sights."

Cohen frowned, and Golov instinctively put his hand on his weapon, warily observing every passerby on the street.

“Exactly,” Morris laughed heartily.

“From the moment you stepped onto the first paving stone in the lower city, the artisans, shops, vendors, beggars, merchants, and passersby along the way have already seen you clearly.”

Cohen raised his head and spat out a harsh "Pah!"

"Pah! Everyone knows that the shops on this street have to pay protection money to the Brotherhood. They're all living under your threats..."

But this time it was Thales who interrupted him.

“But he’s not wrong either,” the prince said, looking at a shop where several day laborers were sweating profusely as they unloaded goods. “These people are indeed members of the Brotherhood.”

Cohen was utterly puzzled.

One minute it's not the fraternity, the next it's the fraternity...

Is it really a fraternity?

Morris, however, seemed to be deep in thought:
"Oh, Your Highness, you know?"

“I don’t know,” Thales said, his expression unchanged.

"All I know is that you want to use this opportunity to flex your muscles and show me the fraternity's strength."

Morris, embarrassed that his thoughts had been exposed, turned around.

“Mr. Guardian, and this gentleman... you both come from distinguished backgrounds, so you must know about and have witnessed the Blood Bottle Gang.”

Morris composed himself, chuckled softly, and revealed his contempt and disdain:
“They have existed for a century and are a long-standing and complex ‘gangster aristocracy’ with a deep and solid chain of interests behind them. Most of their members are scum who operate in the gray area, with one hand in the criminal world and the other in the legitimate world.”

Golov's gaze fell on him.

“But…” Morris’s tone shifted, becoming more meaningful:

“Although you may see it as doing the same ‘business,’ the Brotherhood, their mortal enemy, is completely different.”

Just then, Thales spotted a shop ahead, narrowed his eyes, and slowed his pace.

"Different?" Cohen shook his head dismissively.

"You mean, although they're all scum, they're old scum, and you're young scum?"

Leyok behind him let out a cold snort.

"Is this your bar?"

Everyone turned back.

Thales stood still, gazing at a tavern across the street: inside the deserted shop, a man with a fierce face was slumped behind the bar, pawing at the counter with a knife.

Cohen and Grover looked up at the rusty, old iron sign on the roof of the tavern:

May the sunset bless you.

It looks like it was taken from a rural church in the Temple of the Setting Sun.

Thales gazed wistfully at the familiar tables, chairs, and shopfront before him, reminiscing about the countless years he had walked through it:

"That bartender, he looks fierce."

Morris whistled from afar, and the bartender with the menacing face saw them. He immediately drew his knife with delight, looking like he wanted to fight, but Morris then made a downward gesture.

Leyok walked into the bar, patted the menacing bartender on the shoulder, and started talking to him. Eventually, seeing the bartender's disappointed expression, he calmed him down and sent him back.

That's the Sunset Bar.

"Krensky had only been in charge for a few months—his predecessor had his head slapped open in a bar fight."

Morris looked at Kerensky's unapproachable expression, then glanced at the deserted scene at Sunset Bar, and sighed:
"You can probably tell that he's not good at this job."

Thales nodded slightly, his words carrying a melancholy that only he could understand:
"Being a bartender here is probably not easy."

Things are wrong.

The person who used to work behind that bar is no longer there.

Thales shook his head and turned to leave.

“This bar used to be run by an old friend,” Morris said with a sigh, following the prince.

"I have to say, after they moved away, there weren't many people in the fraternity who both knew how to run a bar and could keep the place in check."

“Your old friend must be very capable,” Thales said sincerely.

Hearing this, Maurice gave a complicated "hmm":
"At least, when they were still around, no one dared to fight here."

"Yes, everyone knows this is the Brotherhood's own 'Green Zone'," Cohen snorted angrily, his anger still simmering.
"Anyone else dares to fight here?"

Morris glanced at him.

"Sir, since you say this is your jurisdiction, do you really know this place?"

Cohen was about to speak, but Morris interrupted him by raising a finger:
"Or do you only focus on catching thieves and fining street vendors, keeping an eye on illegal and criminal activities, but never delve into their communities, their families, their mundane daily lives, to see what kind of life they lead when they're not out on the streets making a living?"

Cohen paused.

But he quickly retorted, unconvinced:
“I know that the Lower City is a gathering place for immigrants and poor people; it’s very poor here…”

"poor?"

Morris suddenly raised his voice, looking amused: "Poverty!"

The fat man's expression suddenly changed:
"But what is poverty in your eyes, Mr. Guard?"

"Is it the aristocratic imagination of not being able to eat meat in a meal and not having new clothes for festivals? Or is it the kind of 'poverty' that is described to the extreme in storybooks, where people are 'about to starve to death tomorrow,' so the rich and powerful like to ask them to do charity and donations, which seems tragic but is not realistic at all?"

Cohen's brow twitched as he pondered the fraternity leader's words.

“No, you greenhorn,” Maurice said bluntly, forgetting even the rule about avoiding street slang in front of the prince:

“True poverty lies somewhere in between; it’s neither so stereotypical nor so extremely dire.”

Thales had an idea.

"In fact, true poverty is numbness, endurance, getting by, having no future, being poor enough to die but living a difficult life, and the peculiar dilemma of living in pain but having no reason to commit suicide."

Morris spoke with emotion:
"This kind of poverty is the real plague that can drive people crazy. It is highly toxic, contagious, and can last, but it is not fatal and seems mild."

Cohen thought hard, but ultimately came up with nothing:
"I don't know."

Morris gave a cold laugh.

"Well, you come from a noble family and are a guard officer, living a life of luxury and having easy access to services. It's probably hard to imagine..."

"But some poor people, after working a day's work and exhausting all their resources, received twenty copper coins according to their labor."

His tone shifted:
"However, in the half-day after work, in order to fill his stomach and support his family, he had to use up all of them, leaving none or only one or two..."

"So the next day, he had no choice but to exhaust himself again for another twenty copper coins, which he was destined to spend again."

Both Grover and Cohen frowned.

“Yes, he won’t starve,” Maurice said grimly, stepping down a low, rickety staircase.
"But this must be repeated forever in order to ensure that we 'don't starve'."

"For example, that poor coachman who lost money gambling just now."

"Why do you think he would borrow money to gamble? Do you think he'd be fine just because you prevented him from falling for a loan scam?"

Cohen's expression changed, and he suddenly looked up.

“Poverty is not a swift, clean-cut blade, warden.”

"On the contrary, it is a slowly tightening rope, a patiently rolling millstone."

Upon hearing this, Thales sighed silently.

At this moment, Morris, unhurried and methodical, was like a teacher gently telling a philosophical story:

"It gives you a glimmer of hope, but doesn't let you enjoy the pleasures of life, so it can continue to exploit your life."

"It pushes you to the brink of death, but just barely keeps you from dying, so that you can squeeze out everything from the numbness of day after day."

Morris took a deep breath, as if to savor the sweetness of the air:

"It is called survival—a long death."

With his hands behind his back, Morris unconsciously walked to the front of the group, looking at the tannery emitting a foul stench in the distance, and the hardworking workers inside.

"In towns and countryside, there are always those in the darkest, lowest strata, struggling to survive, yet often ignored by the kingdom: outsiders coming to the city to make a living, farmers who have lost their land, bankrupt and indebted merchants, disabled people who have lost their ability to work, craftsmen eliminated by the market, the poor with nothing but bare walls, beggars without dignity, elderly people without offspring, widows and orphans who have lost their breadwinners, decrepit men who only know how to throw punches after being discharged from the army, and lowly workers who are forced to sacrifice their principles and sell their dignity, yet still suffer discrimination and bullying..."

"They are all impoverished hosts, scattered throughout the country, far more numerous than you can imagine—the Lower City is just the tip of the iceberg, and even that is one of the better ones."

Cohen tried to loosen his clenched fist a little:

“I know, but this can’t be…”

But Maurice ignored him completely.

“They are often unable to speak out, or if they do, no one pays attention or even sees them—even a conscientious and kind-hearted vigilant like yourself.”

"In the official reports of a peaceful and prosperous era, in the passionate and magnificent historical narratives, and in the eyes of most happy people who are well-fed and clothed, they do not even exist—or their existence is only to prove the compassion and morality of others, bringing the latter a correct, hypocritical and cheap self-satisfaction."

Morris's tone suddenly turned cold:
"They are excluded from the discourse, unable to understand, and even less able to feel, what pursuit and desire, ideals and aspirations, dignity and responsibility are—things that can only be seen in bards and stage plays..."

His expression suddenly turned ferocious:

“In this situation, if one does not seek change, one will slowly degenerate into an object or an animal.”

"Faced with a difficult life, a harsh environment, a hopeless future, an unjust reality, an overbearing public authority, and the most pressing need for survival, they must find a way, they must find something to cling to, they must grasp at the last straw..."

Morris's gaze drifted to the sky, through the thick clouds, and then fell back to the ground, landing in the chaotic underground streets:
"So one day, by some opportunity, at some moment, or by some accident, they were forced to come together, watch over each other, help each other, overcome difficulties together, and seek recognition and value."

"It might just be neighbors looking out for each other, or poor people in the same trade having a meal together, or thugs from humble backgrounds banding together for courage—even if sometimes these behaviors aren't actually legal."

Thales silently watched a dozen or so thugs fighting on a street corner.

This time, however, Cohen simply stared at them blankly, showing no intention of intervening.

"Their initial purpose in banding together for warmth was simply to live a less painful life."

"The crimes you abhor—or behaviors that go against mainstream law—are merely a necessary but secondary byproduct."

Morris, who was also watching the fight on the street corner, shook his head at Leyok, who was looking at him questioningly:

"So that's how the Black Street Brotherhood came about, as one of countless low-level gangs in the past."

At that moment, his gaze was ethereal and profound:
"We don't know when or how, but from the moment we appeared, we took deep root in the communities of the underprivileged, born of chaos and relying on chaos."

Just then, a pebble suddenly flew up and hit a thug leader hard on the forehead, causing him to collapse with blood gushing out.

The thugs who were fighting were startled and instinctively stopped.

Everyone turned around and saw Thales stand up and pat his dusty hands.

“You were indeed born into chaos,” Thales said coldly.
"But it also feeds back into chaos."

The thugs realized what was happening and charged over, yelling.

Morris sighed, waved his hand, and Lyok stepped forward with a gloomy face.

“In fact, Your Highness, in the Black Street, in the Underground City, and in the three districts of the Lower City, most of the poor people are not necessarily directly involved in our ‘gray’ activities,” Morris shrugged.

Thales laughed:
"You mean crime?"

Morris nodded:

"But they never hesitated to provide the Brotherhood with favors and tacit understandings, such as keeping secrets, standing guard, occasionally running errands, providing logistics, and even relying on the economic prosperity brought by our 'big business' to supplement their household income."

"Their lives are intertwined with our activities."

On the other side, after taking down the third person, Leyok was finally recognized by the thugs, who scattered in panic without daring to look back.

Cohen stood silently, watching the people disappear into the streets.

"Over time, habits become second nature, repetition becomes the rule, and the Black Street Brotherhood is no longer just a mutual aid organization, nor is it just a violent gang."

Morris clicked his tongue, spreading his arms as if to embrace the dilapidated neighborhood before him:
"It has become the core of these communities, deeply rooted in them, and the mainstay of their symbiotic relationship, becoming an important driving force for maintaining the ecological operation of these communities."

He glanced at Cohen, intentionally or unintentionally:

"This is far more effective and practical than the police station that you only see once every ten days or half a month, the patrol teams that come and exploit you to the bone, the inefficient and lazy low-level officials, the 'relevant departments' that only appear when it comes to city inspections and to fulfill political achievements, the royal decree that only exists on the bulletin board and is treated the same as syphilis treatment advertisements, and the charitable citizens who are full of enthusiasm and morality but have never set foot here, and who are full of sympathy but are far away and only know how to be self-pitying."

"They have evolved their own rules, their own underlying ecosystem."

“‘A copper coin rings louder than a king, and a wine cup weighs heavier than a high-ranking official,’” Maurice said, looking at Thales.
"No offense intended, but this is an old saying often uttered by the scum and scoundrels of the Baki camp."

Thales did not answer.

But Cohen slowly raised his head, his eyes filled with confusion.

Golov had to pull him back to prevent the guard from losing his footing.

"I've fought in the Western Wilderness," the zombie said resentfully, looking at Cohen's dazed expression.

"I've never heard of such a bullshit 'old saying'."

Morris didn't seem to care, waving his hand and chuckling lightly.

"Then you're either still young..."

"Or maybe it's just too much earwax..."

His laughter paused, a chill creeping into his eyes:

"Your ears are plugged."

Glov was speechless for a moment.

"So, yes, most of the people here may be poor, cunning, or repulsive, but most of them have never actually gone with the Black Street Brotherhood to collect debts, steal goods, rob, fight, kill, or commit crimes."

"But they have all provided convenience to the Brotherhood to some extent, and benefited from the existence of the Brotherhood to some extent—even though you abhor these 'benefits'."

Morris sneered:

“These ‘brotherhood members’ may not be directly employed by our core six giants, may not be the purest or most formal members of the gang, and may not have even done any business that even remotely touches on the line, but in many cases, neither they themselves nor outsiders need to distinguish them.”

"Because we are them, and they are naturally close to us."

“We can become them at any time, and they can become us at any time.”

In that instant, Maurice gritted his teeth, stood on his street, and gently clenched his fist:

"They are not a fraternity, but they are better than a fraternity."

"Sir, tell me, how do we 'disappear'?"

"Are you going to send everyone in this neighborhood, from the able-bodied young to the elderly, weak, sick, and disabled, to prison all at once, treating them like fraternity accomplices?"

Cohen was jolted, as if struck by a heavy blow.

Morris turned his gaze to Thales, who was deep in thought and remained silent, and smiled.

"This is the root, the soil, and the essence of the Black Street Brotherhood, Your Highness."

“The Black Silk lineage,” a glint flashed in Maurice’s eyes:
"We are all brothers."

Leyok smiled and crossed his arms, letting the black ribbon on his left arm flutter in the wind.

The Black Silk lineage consists entirely of brothers.

This wasn't the first time Thales had heard this fraternal saying, but his brow furrowed more and more.

“Hmph,” Golov retorted dismissively.
“You are nothing but a rabble, worthless.”

“Even the most undisciplined lord’s conscripted soldiers can make you run away with your tails between your legs.”

Morris glanced at Grover, who was tall and had a military background.

"Yes, many people may think that the Brotherhood, a motley crew of good and bad, is nothing but a weakling compared to the Kingdom's army and violence. They are no match for it and could be wiped out at any time because of a word from some powerful person."

Morris's gaze shifted as he looked at the scene in the underground mall, a ruthless glint in his eyes:
"But don't forget..."

“Unlike large-scale officials and armies, we—including these grassroots people who are inseparable from us—are both timid and weak, full of street wisdom and grassroots cunning, inconspicuous and slippery, always ready to avoid direct confrontation and break up into smaller groups.”

"Even the local guards and patrol teams, who are familiar with the area, often feel stretched thin and powerless when facing us, let alone the army prepared for a large battlefield. It's like a big, thick broom that can't sweep every corner."

"This is the true source of the Brotherhood's confidence."

"This is also the reason why we, born in the void, are weak, isolated, and scattered, yet when faced with behemoths like the Blood Bottle Gang or even the Kingdom's government, we are always powerless to resist and suffer annihilation, but we always manage to rise from the ashes and make a comeback."

"Sir, and this...brother who's been through war, do you understand?"

At that moment, Cohen hesitated, while Glov remained unconvinced.

But neither of them could utter a word.

As for Thales, he simply walked down the street, step by step, quietly and calmly.

“Speaking of which,” the boy sighed, then suddenly spoke:

Do you know Arakka Mu?

Morris frowned.

“The Wrath of the Kingdom is renowned far and wide, Your Highness,” the fat man shook his head:

"But even someone as powerful as him can't do what we can do for you."

That sounds familiar...

Thales smiled.

correct.

The spike of the Shadow Shield... he seemed to have said something similar? "I remember," came the reply from Golov, his eyes filled with admiration.
"In the battle of the altar, Baron Mu took the lead, and his Fury Guard clashed directly with the blocking array composed of the elite orcs of the three tribes. He was brave and fearless, disregarding casualties, and successfully broke through the formation, opening a decisive gap for the cavalry of the Winged Legend and His Majesty's main army."

"It shocked all the allies present—mercenaries, conscripts, and royal standing troops."

"It also laid the foundation for the final victory in the desert war."

Morris and Leyok both tensed up.

Thales' thoughts drifted back to the Dragon Fortress six years ago, and he couldn't help but sigh.

“Arakka Mu, that’s not human,” Cohen said quietly.

"It is a broken soul that is missing a piece and is no longer complete."

Seeing that everyone was looking at him, Cohen snapped out of his reverie and shook his head, saying:

"It wasn't me, it was my old man who said it."

Thales nodded, recalling how, six years ago, the Wrath of the Kingdom carried him on its back as it charged fearlessly through the Black Sand army.

But what he wanted to say was not about the other party's bravery.

“Mu told me he is not the Wrath of the Kingdom,” Thales remarked.
"His bodyguards are the ones."

"All of them."

The others were taken aback.

“Similarly,” Thales turned his head, “the unkillable, enigmatic black sword, he may be the leader and spiritual symbol of the Brotherhood.”

Morris's expression changed.

"But he is not the Brotherhood itself."

Thales gestured with his chin towards the street scene in the underground mall and said confidently:
“These people, and the lives, backgrounds, and experiences they represent, all of these combined make up the true Street Brotherhood.”

“And the fraternity was a symbol of their resistance against numbness and poverty.”

Thales nodded and remarked:

"It is also a weapon of the weak."

Morris was a little surprised, but he quickly recovered and chuckled.

"Your Highness, you are a wise man!"

"So, Mr. Guardian, in this city, you, the Guardian Bureau you represent, and even the kingdom itself..."

Maurice spoke to Cohen, but kept his eyes on the prince, as if waiting for his response.

"You're not fighting gangs, not crime, not even evil," the fat man sneered.

"It is poverty, injustice, indifference, despair, the inadequacy and dissatisfaction of one group caused by the self-sufficiency and complacency of another, and the shadows cast by excessive light."

“You represent the power of this country, standing in the position of the strong, facing the resistance of the weak.”

Cohen looked up and stared at him blankly:
"You mean, when I enforce the law in the lower city, I'm confronting... the weak?"

"Don't let him bewitch you." The boy's words pulled Cohen back from his daze.

Thales' words were calm and powerful:
"That's right, the Black Street Brotherhood is perhaps a weapon that the weak at the bottom of society picked up unintentionally."

"But quite the opposite, Cohen, you are not fighting against the weak."

Based on his past trust in the prince, Cohen felt as if he had grasped at a straw when he was drowning. His eyes lit up and he looked at Thales hopefully.

But Thales' words were even more somber than Maurice's:
"But something deeper, deeper, and more terrifying."

Upon hearing this, even Maurice frowned.

Thales took a deep breath:

"What you are fighting against is the side of the strong, the side you come from, and their long-standing unjust oppression of the weak."

Cohen was stunned.

Even Golov began to think deeply.

“The crimes committed by the lower classes that you punish on the streets every day, the chaos and disorder you feel, and the darkness and suffering you witness are just some of the consequences of this oppression and injustice—whether we want them or not.”

“You drew your sword,” Thales said softly.
"To fight against the wounds it has inflicted."

"There is no struggle in this world that is more painful, yet more precious."

Cohen stared blankly at Thales, his thoughts in turmoil.

“Hmm,” Morris’s eyes darted around:
"Your Highness is better at speaking than I am."

"However, to borrow a phrase from the Tower of Endings."

Morris revealed a sly look:

"How will you use strength to fight against strength?"

"You can only embrace power."

Everyone was silent for a while, even Thales frowned and remained silent.

"I do not understand."

After agonizing deliberation, Cohen gritted his teeth and shook his head:
"There is no such word in the Tower of Termination."

Morris scoffed softly.

“Yes,” the fat man said slowly, his words carrying a deeper meaning:

"It's not inside the tower."

Just then, Thales suddenly asked:

"Who are you, Maurice?"

The fraternity's fat leader paused, beaming with a smile:

"Your Highness, I am Maurice, a lowly scoundrel in the Brotherhood."

Thales snorted coldly.

“No, I’m asking,” the prince said, his eyes flashing coldly as he stared at Maurice.
"who are you."

Morris's smile froze for a moment.

“A petty thug would never say something like that.”

“You’ve already flexed your muscles,” Thales said in a deep voice.
Why not reveal your true form?

At that moment, Maurice's smile vanished completely.

Thales' expression remained unchanged; he simply stared intently at him.

Sensing the tense atmosphere, Golov and Leyok instinctively placed their hands on their weapons and exchanged a hostile glance.

But Maurice only paused for a moment before chuckling softly.

He sighed and looked up at the sky.

"Maurice Ishka."

The fat man's tone was full of sarcasm and hatred.

Ishka?
Thales frowned: he hadn't heard that surname in the prince's lessons.

“I remember you saying that you don’t have a surname.”

Morris lowered his head, nodded, and then shook his head self-deprecatingly.

"It's gone now."

“I come from Dragonsnatch, born in Longsong,” Morris said, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

“Starting from my great-grandfather, our family has served as the private treasurer of the Duke of Changyin City for generations.”

From Dragon's Kiss Land, born in Long Chant City.

Thales' expression changed.

"I see."

“You are from the Duchy of Anrenzo, and your background is not low.”

and……

He is indeed in charge of the accounts.

But Thales immediately pressed on:

"So how did you end up like this..."

Before he could finish his question, Maurice interrupted him and answered decisively:
"Decades ago, the 'Bindi Rebellion' broke out in the Duchy of Anrenzo."

Morris smiled wryly:
"That's a political game for the upper class; in short, it's a complete mess."

"In the end, the incompetent Grand Duke Cid pushed our family out as a scapegoat to appease the anger of his subordinate lords."

Thales sensed Maurice's emotions and didn't continue speaking.

Grover and Cohen exchanged a glance, and even Lewock seemed somewhat surprised.

Morris sighed:

“You know, I was a child when the noose was put around my neck.”

He touched his chubby neck, which was almost shapeless:
“At that time, my mother was hanging to my left. I remember her rope swaying for a long time…”

Thales frowned.

"Outside the gallows, the executioner stood expressionless, like a stone sculpture, while the onlookers were incredibly enthusiastic, like an endless tide."

“I wasn’t very mature then. When I was being strangled, I was just thinking,” Maurice said, staring blankly at the street.

"It's so uncomfortable."

"May the setting sun and the bright moon bless me, and may I be able to breathe some fresh air."

He said quietly:

"Just one bite, just one bite, to ease the pain and make me feel less like dying..."

The atmosphere was somber, and everyone remained silent.

Only Maurice's voice rang out, recounting the past:

"I'd give anything for that breath of air."

Morris's eyes were blank:
"I'm willing to do anything."

The silence lasted for a while, until Maurice snapped out of his reverie.

"So, when I woke up in a mountain of corpses, I understood one thing."

The fraternity leader took a deep breath, savoring the freedom of breathing with immense tenderness:
"This world is not fair, Your Highness."

Morris removed his hand from her neck, revealing the ruthless look unique to a gang leader:
Even the air we breathe.

"You have to fight for it with your life."

“From the mouths of those…who can breathe freely.”

Thales did not speak.

“I have other matters to attend to, Your Highness,” Maurice said, his mood clearly shifting as he turned away. “Excuse me—Leyok will take good care of the rest of your sightseeing tour.”

Before everyone could react to these words, the fat man turned and disappeared into another street corner without looking back.

Thales and the others remained silently in place.

"So, that's my boss."

Regaining from his reverie about Maurice's past, Leyok resumed his intimidating, gloomy expression:
"Where are you going next?"

Grover and Cohen exchanged a glance.

“In fact,” Thales said with a cold snort, staring at the spot where Maurice’s figure had disappeared.
"I was almost robbed of my wallet by a little beggar and almost extorted... I'm really upset now."

Leyok was taken aback.

Both Grover and Cohen were equally astonished.

Thales turned his head and said seriously:
"So, in the lower city, where do these little beggars usually hang out?"

The other side of the street.

Looking displeased, Maurice hurriedly turned a street corner and met up with another person wearing a cloak.

If Thales were here, he might recognize him as the Brotherhood member who had whispered in Maurice's ear when they met.

“Lancer,” Morris said, having no interest in further conversation, addressing the other person by name directly.
"How about it?"

The man in the cloak—the Brotherhood's intelligence chief, "The Sleepless Eye" Lancer Corbion—dropped his hood, his face etched with weariness and exhaustion.

“Prince Thales was assassinated at the banquet last night,” Lancer said calmly.

"Rumors are rampant, but because the assassin is from the Western Wilderness, the rumors are all directed at the feudal lords of the Western Wilderness, saying that they have ulterior motives."

Morris frowned:
"Really?"

Lancer scoffed: "That's how the secret code is supposed to go."

"anything else?"

"Mindis Hall, the prince's residence, has just been sealed off by the royal guards and the city hall, who said they are going to investigate the assassin's trail."

"So, he's not in cahoots with your boss?"

“It’s the former boss! I’m not sure. But I know an old friend has returned to the Secret Service. He used to be the head of the Western Wilderness branch—something big might really be going to happen in the Western Wilderness.”

Maurice didn't speak, but fell into deep thought.

Finally, Lancer broke the silence.

"How does this Shining Star compare to the previous one?"

“I don’t know,” Morris shook his head, a barely perceptible look of confusion on his face:
"It's somewhat similar, but not quite the same—we'll see how Black Sword reacts."

Lancer was not very satisfied:

"You talked to him for most of the day, and this is the conclusion you came to?"

"Hey, why don't you go and chat with him yourself?"

Morris retorted with dissatisfaction:

"Do you know that kid is incredibly slippery, cunning as a devil, and every word he utters is cryptic and malicious?"

“That’s why I need you to go,” Lancer said without a trace of guilt.
"You yourself are this kind of person, you know it all too well."

Morris was speechless with anger.

But his expression quickly changed slightly.

"I remember, a few years ago, you asked me for someone, didn't you?"

Lancer narrowed his eyes: "Who is it?"

"Six years ago," Maurice said, scratching his chin earnestly, "that night of war."

Lancer's eyes darted around, and he immediately located the corresponding memory:
"Yes, a junior accountant. He used to manage abandoned buildings. He was quite capable and ambitious, and he even killed his boss, that good-for-nothing Quaid, for that reason..."

"However, I sent him out of the capital. You know, Rhoda certainly doesn't want the person who killed his son constantly hanging around in front of him..."

Morris interrupted him:

“Write him a letter and look for a list of past beggars.”

Lancer frowned:

"what happened?"

Morris exhaled and kicked the dilapidated wall at the alley entrance, sending a shower of pebbles flying.

“Remember, Lancer? When we first came to the Lower City, we had a lot of trouble in these maze-like, awful streets—Anton would get lost after walking only fifty meters and wouldn’t be able to find his way back to Black Street.”

Lancer did not speak.

He knew that Morris had more to say.

Morris squinted:
"Do you remember who we first hired as our guide in order to get through the lower city as quickly as possible?"

"A beggar."

Lancer answered without hesitation, "We bribed the beggars."

“They are the most inconspicuous, yet they have walked the streets and alleys since childhood and know the way around here best.”

Morris's gaze was fixed on the base of the wall.

“Yes,” the fat man repeated, pondering carefully:

“They are inconspicuous and have been going from street to street since they were young.”

"I know this place best."

Lancer seemed to have figured something out, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"So I have a small guess."

Morris looked up, gazing at the incredibly complex streets of the lower town, his expression profound:
"I want to verify it."

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(End of this chapter)