Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 622 After the disaster
The Palace of Reconstruction, Eran Courtyard.

"This is an ancient imperial sword."

In the courtyard, Vanguard Commander Maric swept past two rows of solemn royal guards, one hand holding the hilt and the other supporting the blade, carefully examining the unfamiliar longsword before him:
"Two thousand years ago, Emperor Comora Calother forged them to reward the meritorious subjects of the ancient empire."

"Hey, hey, hey, take it easy!"

A complaint came from behind him, and Marico frowned and turned around.

Between two rows of royal guards, Cohen, his face bruised and swollen, knelt on the ground, his hands and feet bound. He raised his head resentfully:
"That's my family's heirloom sword!"

Doyle, who was also bound hand and foot, bumped into Cohen beside him.

"Shut up."

DD gritted his teeth, glancing worriedly at Marico while simultaneously feeling utterly disappointed in him:

"We're already in this state, can't you just stop provoking him?"

Cohen was about to retort when he glanced around and saw that Wyatt, Grover, Rolf, and the others were all bound and lying on the ground in a sorry state, closely guarded by guards with unfriendly eyes.

The guard's imposing manner immediately diminished, and he said resentfully to Doyle in a low voice:
"Damn it, DD, you told me you were just here to make a show of force..."

“No, my exact words were ‘His Highness likes to joke,’ for example, he often threatens to send Commander Marius to the Bone Prison, but in the end he obediently goes back to practice his sword target…”

"You call this a joke?"

"Weren't you the one who started it at the palace gate? That headbutt you delivered..."

"It wasn't me! I was just standing in front pretending to be fierce, and then someone kicked me in the butt..."

Maric's voice suddenly came:

"A family heirloom sword?"

His footsteps grew louder as they approached, and Cohen and DD immediately fell silent, bowing their heads in unison.

“Yes,” Cohen whispered.

"My father repeatedly told me..."

Doyle bumped into him again.

Maric stopped beside them and chuckled softly.

"It is said that the ancient sword itself possesses special power and indescribable magic."

Marico examined and stroked the "weight-bearer" from various angles, his gaze gradually becoming fascinated:

"Of course, the heroes who have helped the empire expand its territory and conquer the world are all seasoned veterans. If the emperor wants to reward them, how could he possibly use ordinary weapons?"

Cohen and Doyle looked at each other in bewilderment.

Maric gently stroked the mysterious gem on the hilt of the sword:
"Legend has it that they can spontaneously draw energy and matter from blood, soil, air, water, and even from the steel they clash with, sharpening their blades and strengthening their bodies, thus making them impervious to dust, water, blood, and war."

"The weapon itself is like a life and memory; even if it is slightly bent or deformed, it can recover on its own given enough time."

"Its sharpness remains undiminished for a hundred years, and its shape unchanged for a thousand years."

Cohen was taken aback. He looked at his very familiar sword and burst out laughing:

"A thousand years? Ha, it's not that magical. I take it to the blacksmith for maintenance every month. Master Jedi in the tower did say, 'This sword is quite durable.'"

At this point, Cohen's expression changed, and he looked at Maric suspiciously:

"Really, really?"

Maric's gaze drifted into the distance:
"In the Emperor's eyes, only immortal divine weapons can match boundless merit and eternal loyalty."

Cohen frowned.

That monthly maintenance...

Oh no, have I been ripped off by Karachi again? And those shady merchants and blacksmiths at Baki's camp...

"As time goes by and years change, they are scattered all over the world amidst the chaos of war, yet they remain invaluable and rare weapons."

Maric stroked the spine of the heavy-duty sword, lost in thought:
"They have been passed down from generation to generation, never dulling or decaying, serving as swords to save lives and demonstrate loyalty and integrity."

"To us, the descendants of the empire, tell of the glorious past of the empire."

Cohen and Doyle exchanged glances again.

Maric exhaled:

“Long ago, my ancestors also possessed such a sword. Until the Red King’s tyranny, our family fell into decline and we had to sell our ancestral property to rebuild our family business.”

Cohen said "Oh," but then his expression changed drastically as he realized something.

"That...that's definitely not the one!"

“See what I told you?” Doyle whispered angrily beside him, “Marico loves collecting weapons the most…”

Maric vanguard officer snorted coldly, letting the heavy object slam heavily to the ground:
"It's too heavy, it's not suitable for me."

Cohen then smiled with relief.

“I’ve heard of you, Cohen Karabyan, the Twin Towers Longsword from the Vora Territory—wisdom on the left, sword on the right?”

Upon hearing the family's clan language, Cohen frowned.

Maric's eyes flickered:
"You may not know this, but before the Five Dynasties period, before we changed our surname to Marico to avoid disaster, our family genealogies intersected."

Intersection?

Cohen was stunned for a moment, and before he could reply, DD next to him suddenly popped his head out, his eyes lighting up:

"Oh? That's great! By the way, Doyle and Karabyan also have some connection, which means the three of us are—"

However, Maric didn't even look at him, but simply raised his heavy sword again:

"It is not a big mistake for a nobleman to have no ambition."

“But I thought you only clashed with street thieves,” Maric said coldly, “not so foolish as to storm the palace, Royal Knight, Cohen Karabyan.”

"Rebel?"

Cohen was startled and forced a smile, saying:
"Misunderstanding, misunderstanding. I came here for that... you know... have you ever been in a group fight? You know, when two people are facing each other and exchanging threats, and two hundred people stand on either side to intimidate them, yelling and screaming but no one actually lay a hand on them..."

"Twenty people."

But Marico ignored him completely, speaking in a cold tone.

"When you stormed the palace, there were twenty guards on duty, all of them heroes from the vanguard and guard wings, promising young men."

"Faced with the arrogance and barbarity of the powerful, they remained neither humble nor arrogant, and faithfully performed their duties. Even when they were beaten and injured by you, they remained steadfast and unyielding, protecting the palace."

Cohen was taken aback, and said anxiously:

"That's a misunderstanding, I really didn't start it..."

Maric snorted angrily, his dissatisfaction growing:

"For you, it is of course a small, harmless misunderstanding."

"But for them..."

Maric gripped the hilt of his sword even tighter:

"'The death of the late king was caused by this'—this is Your Majesty's comment."

Upon hearing this, the royal guards around him glared even more fiercely.

"It will be recorded in the guard records of those twenty brothers by the flag wing, accompanying them throughout their lives and passing down in the history of the guard."

Marico grew increasingly angry as he spoke:

"Not only have they suffered this great humiliation, but they will also have to take the blame for others afterward—the royal family is never wrong, so the only ones at fault today are them. They will be accused of overstepping their bounds and dereliction of duty, and will live in constant fear of 'offending the prince,' with their punishment yet to be determined and their future uncertain."

"It's all because of...you."

Maric stared at Cohen's stiff smile, gritting his teeth:

“You are domineering, arrogant, bullying, and lawless. You have turned the Palace of Restoration into a mess and brought shame and humiliation to the Royal Guard.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Marico twisted his arm, and the weight-bearer spun once in the air before neatly returning to its sheath.

But as the sheath turned back, it inexplicably bumped into Cohen's lower abdomen!

boom!
Struck by the blow, Cohen collapsed to the ground in pain, slurring his words, "Grass..."

"Sorry, it was an accident when I was sheathing my sword."

Marico said coldly, gesturing to the bearer:
"It's just too heavy."

The prisoners stirred.

"Ahhh!" Doyle exclaimed urgently from the side.

"Um, the prince is no different from the commoner when he breaks the law—oops, I mean, the prince is no different from the commoner when he breaks the law..."

But these words made Maric snort angrily.

"Of course, you are just bullying others and relying on your master's power."

"So not only do you not have to pay anything, but you also just have to smile obsequiously, and then a big shot like the Foreign Minister will come and pull strings for you, openly or secretly threatening me not to use vigilante justice..."

Maric looked at Cohen, who was curled up on the ground in pain, and his breathing quickened.
"Yet, throughout the entire kingdom, no one dares to offend your incomparably noble master."

"Because no matter how outrageous or outrageous he is, no matter how many people he has harmed or how much trouble he has caused, His Majesty will still be tolerant of him and forgive him."

“He will still swagger out, arrogant and haughty, point his finger at me and demand that I let you go, so you can continue to roam free as if nothing happened, and afterwards we will have to give the same story to protect his reputation.”

Marico's mood worsened as he spoke, and he finally gave a sarcastic laugh:
"And the captain would also say, 'It is our duty to bear the burden for the royal family.'"

The vanguard officer looked at Cohen at his feet, his gaze turning slightly cold:

"I know this world is unfair."

"But it shouldn't be like this."

Cohen coughed a few times before finally recovering.

“Well, I understand you,” the guard grinned.

"But if you fucking do that to me again, just once..."

DD, who was frantically trying to signal him to shut up, painfully closed his eyes.

Maric sneered, this time making no attempt to hide it, and lifted the weight-bearer towards Cohen.

Cohen remained unfazed, glaring at him through gritted teeth.

"That sounds nice, but what you're best at..."

A deep, resonant voice rang out at just the right moment:

"Isn't it just about first moving yourself to tears, and then presumptuously taking sides?"

The voice sneered, deliberately drawing out the tone:

"Vicente Marico Big Penis?"

Upon hearing this, everyone was taken aback at first, and then their expressions turned strange.

Big...what?
Maric's expression changed, and he turned away from Cohen, looking at another prisoner.

“Even if you haven’t heard it in person, you should know something about it,” Golov, covered in wounds and looking disheveled, raised his head on the other side and sneered, “The other wings may not know, but the Vanguard Wing members call you that in private.”

"Because no matter what conflicts or arguments arise in the Vanguard Wing, you always like to be the first to stand up, acting like the big brother and upholding justice, spouting all sorts of道理 (reasoning/logic) and putting on airs—what, do you think that as long as you're big enough, everyone will bend over and let you poke them, and that you think it's comfortable for everyone to poke each other back and forth?"

Upon hearing this, the entire Elanting fell silent.

Many royal guards couldn't help but glance at Maricco.

But Maric didn't speak; he just stared intently at Golov, his nostrils flaring.

Among the prisoners, Wyman sighed and nudged DD with his rear end:

"I thought you were the most talkative one—sorry, I forgot you have a sore butt."

Doyle stared at the zombie with equal surprise, as if he were seeing him for the first time.

"But you don't understand anything."

Golov struggled to straighten his bound arms and called out to Maric:
"Every time you spout nonsense to deceive yourself, it's worse than the shit that comes out when your mother's lover is being fucked by your father with his legs between his legs."

The zombie spat out a mouthful of saliva.
"Big Dick Bro".

Silence fell over the surroundings once more.

“The sun is setting,” Doyle whispered, incredulously.

Where did he learn so much trash talk?

After a long, long time, Marico finally took a deep breath, suppressed his emotions, and started walking forward.

“Karen Grover, it’s you again.”

Maric narrowed his eyes as he looked at the large man kneeling on the ground with a contemptuous expression:

Why am I not surprised at all?

Golov snorted coldly and did not answer.

Maric looked at him with a complicated expression: "You were originally one of the best in the Vanguard Wing, from a noble family, with excellent abilities and a promising future—I once thought you were different from those playboys who joined the Guard to gain prestige and build up their resumes."

Doyle, who was listening in, was taken aback: Why did Marico glance at me when he said that?
Maric approached Golov, his gaze turning cold:
"Until you lose control of your lower body and fall into prostitution."

Whoring?

Upon hearing this, all the prisoners, including many royal guards, turned their gazes toward Golov. Cohen nodded subconsciously at first, but then, realizing something, quickly joined the others, forcing a look of surprise on his face.

Only Doyle was surprised:
"You, you're really not gay?"

A hint of anger flashed across Golov's face.

“I didn’t want to say much, since things have been suppressed,” Maric raised an eyebrow:

"But yes, I know that the reason you were expelled and kicked out of the Vanguard Wing was because you were caught soliciting prostitutes on Red Street..."

Cohen nodded, still shaken.

Golov couldn't help but shout angrily:

"None of your fucking business!"

Many people in Elantine were hearing this for the first time, and they couldn't help but frown.

Maric chuckled softly, his expression gradually turning cold.

"How many times?"

The second-in-command questioned:

"First-Class Vanguard Officer Garen Grover, how many times have you taken your paycheck on payday, slipped away to Red Street, and not returned until dawn, empty-handed and exhausted?"

"How many times have you lied to me during roll call at Vanguard Wing, saying you weren't feeling well because you weren't sleeping well?"

"And what's the name of that brothel you frequent? What kind of club?"

With each word Marico spoke, Golov's expression worsened, until the latter finally couldn't hold back any longer:

"I like whoring! So what!"

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" Maric asked coldly.
“Just because a colleague chose one of your favorite prostitutes, you harbored a grudge and plotted revenge, ultimately making a grave mistake and ruining your future.”

Cohen's mind raced, and something seemed vaguely familiar.

Golov remembered something, and his face contorted in a grimace:

"They deserved it."

“I know Menendez is a scumbag,” Maric said coldly. “I also know you have a grudge against him, and I even guessed that he was the one who set a trap to provoke you first.”

"But so what? Are you really stupid enough to take the bait? You have so much heroic spirit that you don't know where to put it, and you lose your mind just because of a few women?"

Golov's eyes trembled, and he clenched his fists tightly.

"Commander Golov, you have degenerated, murdered your colleagues, and maimed your limbs, all because of—the pillow talk of a few prostitutes?"

Everyone, including the prisoners and guards, was astonished and looked at Golov.

The zombie trembled under countless gazes.

But he ultimately suppressed his emotions and let out a cold laugh.

"Have you ever tasted a woman's flavor? Of course not—my big dick is too big, no one can fit it in, how pathetic."

Maric was taken aback.

Golov raised his head, his smile defiant:
“Let me tell you, for that taste, I could kill ten more Menendez.”

Maric's face showed anger:

“He has already been punished—thanks to you, Menendez will be spending the rest of his life in bed.”

Golov turned his head and spat:
"He's lucky. The original plan was for him to live in the ground."

His nonchalant attitude provoked Marico, who stared at him for a long, long time before finally sighing and shaking his head.

"I tried to help you."

Maric said disappointedly:

"Beforehand, I covered for you in the Vanguard Wing and smoothed things over, hoping that Commander Stellie wouldn't find out so quickly that you'd become addicted to prostitution."

“I have visited your brother many times, hoping that he can persuade you with brotherly affection, so that you will see the error of your ways and turn back from your wayward path.”

The two men locked eyes, and Golov frowned.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

Maric shook his head and said:

"Now it seems that you are still deluded and have no remorse."

“After the incident, I shouldn’t have gone to Commander Adrian and Commander Stellie at all, let alone visited the victims to beg them to spare your life and atone for your crimes,” the vanguard officer shook his head in disappointment. “It would have been better to follow the guard’s protocol and get rid of you while you were in the confinement well.”

Golov's gaze sharpened.

He grew increasingly angry, enunciating each word clearly:
"I... I didn't... beg you to do this!"

Maric remained expressionless, and with a twist of his weight, the scabbard struck Golov squarely in the abdomen!

Amidst gasps of alarm, Golov collapsed to the ground in agony.

"You, you made the Vanguard Wing the biggest joke in the Palace of Restoration. The Flag Wing is still keeping a close eye on us because of that rare and vicious infighting within your guard."

Maric paced around him:
“And you not only show no remorse, but you also curry favor with the powerful and escaped punishment, and even have the audacity to return and wreak havoc in the palace.”

"Let the entire Imperial Guard be disgraced by you."

Despite the pain, Golover raised his head.

"Yo, Big Dick Bro?" The disheveled zombie still forced a smile and mocked:
"Your penis is so limp, did you forget to take your aphrodisiac?"

Mariko's eyes turned cold.

"The ancient imperial sword is easy to maintain and durable."

The second-in-command said coldly:

"But if the sword suffers irreversible damage, shatters, or breaks and has to be reforged, the power contained within it will be altered..."

“A newly forged sword, even if it is as sharp as before, is no longer pure and has lost its original appearance.”

Golov stared at him fiercely, showing no sign of backing down.

Maric's gaze swept over the prisoners before him:

"Like the nobles of the stars,"

"Although it has been passed down from ancient times, generation after generation, carrying on the past and ushering in the future, thousands of years have passed..."

Marico raised the weight in his hands:
"It is no longer the empire it once was."

“Yes,” Golov snorted angrily.
"Who knows which generation of your ancestors had a child born from a woman's affair?"

boom!
Golov was knocked to the ground for the third time, and Doyle, standing beside him, turned his head in pain and exhaled.

“I don’t know what Maric did to make the zombie so agitated, but he’ll get himself killed if he keeps going like this,” DD whispered to the prisoners.

"Think of a way!"

Just now.

"But I've heard people say that!"

Wyatt's voice came from behind, causing Maric to pause in his movements:
"Those people whose minds are filled only with thoughts of the empire..."

Wyman raised his head and chuckled softly:
"They have never seen an empire."

Upon hearing this, Maric put down his sword and turned to Wyatt.

DD quietly gave the latter a thumbs up, then wriggled over to the dying Golov and lifted him up.

He truly is Wyatt!
“Wyattus de la Vella, the prince’s attendant,” Maric said coldly.

Wyman nodded and calmly said:
"According to you, this person is no longer under your command."

"Whether to fight or kill, his life belongs to Prince Thales."

Maric stopped in front of him.

"Your Excellency, I deeply respect your father: Count Cassel was a man of noble character and exceptional talent, who made unparalleled contributions to the kingdom."

Maric remained expressionless.
“You should follow in his footsteps and dutifully assist and advise His Highness the Prince.”

"Instead of going along with these criminals."

Once he caught his breath, Golov couldn't help but try to speak again, but Doyle pressed his mouth down firmly.

Wyatt first frowned, then smiled wryly.

"It's not necessary."

The attendant had sharp eyes:
"Not every son deserves his father's glory."

Wyman nodded:

"Just like this sword, no matter how sharp, how legendary, how...pure."

"The empire still perished."

Maric frowned.

"Just like your family, in the end they still sold the sword of their ancestors."

Wyman shook his head:

"That's what brought you to where you are today."

"Is not it?"

"Big Dick Bro?"

Maric's eyesight is getting worse.

Golov was inexplicably furious, while Doyle secretly gave Wyah another thumbs up:

The real Wyman...

So loyal!
Just now.

"Did I miss something?"

A familiar young voice rang out, casual yet causing a stir among the royal guards in the courtyard, who quickly stepped back.
"I mean, besides 'Big Dick Guy'?"

Upon hearing this sound, Maric sighed heavily.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, Thales appeared under the lights, looking exhausted.

The prisoners were immediately invigorated, as if they had seen their saviors:

"Your Highness!"

"Little brat—Your Highness!"

"I thought I'd never see you again—"

"It's saved!"

"I knew it!"

Thales forced a smile, waving and nodding in response to his men's excited shouts. Amidst the commotion, Maric turned and roared:

"Shut up!"

The guards in Erantin shouted and suppressed the prisoners' enthusiasm.

“Alright, the play is over, Vanguard Commander Marico,” Thales waved to Marico, sounding drowsy.
"Untie them."

"The night is too dark, I need someone to accompany me."

The vanguard officer stared at him with a complicated expression and gave a salute first.

“I cannot comply, Your Highness Thales,” Maric insisted.
"They are all suspects who have trespassed into the palace or instigated nobles to trespass into the palace. They must be thoroughly interrogated."

Thales yawned widely, completely unconcerned.

"Listen, I just finished a fierce battle with His Majesty the King, I'm tired, and I don't want to talk to you about this."

“Go ask Adrian,” the prince said, pointing to the way they had come.

He will give you the same answer.

“Then I’ll wait here for the captain’s orders,” Maric said, refusing to back down.

"Please go ahead, but they cannot leave."

Thales glanced around, taking in a group of indignant yet awe-inspiring royal guards.

“Let’s make a deal, Vanguard Maric,” the boy sighed, “if you release my men.”

"I'll give you something in return?"

Maric coldly refused:
"Bribing the palace is a major taboo in the royal family, Your Highness."

But Thales wagged his finger and moved closer to him.

“You know, when we came in, those royal guards at the palace gates,” the prince said with a smile, lowering his voice:
“I suspect them; they harbor ulterior motives and intend to harm the heir to the kingdom.”

Maric's expression changed:
"what?"

Thales stretched his neck, revealing the bandages on it:
“Look, my neck was slashed in that conflict, wow, and I bled so much. Don’t you think that’s an attempt to murder the prince? For the safety of the future king, shouldn’t we find him and give him an explanation? Should we kick him, or them, out of the guard?”

“That’s not the truth, you’re framing me! You clearly used the sword yourself…” Maric’s expression turned terrible.

"Oh! Watch your words!" Thales exclaimed in alarm. "Are you going to tell everyone that Prince Star intends to commit suicide in the Palace of Restoration? Is that the truth or a frame-up?"

Maric froze: "No—"

“If not!” Thales pressed on, narrowing his eyes. “Then tell me, where did the wound on my neck come from? Someone had to have done it, right? Was it you? Or one of your men?”

Maric was both shocked and furious, but he was speechless.

Thales smiled:

"After all, my father also said that the death of the late king was entirely due to your negligence."

"Do you agree?"

The prisoners were stunned.

Maric took a deep breath:

"you--"

“So, let my men go,” Thales said, slapping Maric on the shoulder before he could speak.

"I'll just make sure the flag bearers are not blamed for 'harming the prince,' and that there are no records of 'dereliction of duty' on their resumes. I won't retaliate against them either, how about that?"

Maric's expression changed several times.

Thales clicked his tongue:

"So, Big Dick, are you going to stick to your guns with me to the very end..."

He glanced at the hungry prisoners:
"still……?"

One minute later.

Thales walked through the corridors of the Palace of Reconstruction, surrounded by many survivors (in a jubilant mood).

Their procession was disorganized and disheveled, yet they made quite a racket, creating a great commotion (plus a large black horse that was unhappy because it had missed dinner). The guards and servants along the way all gave way at the sound of their noise.

“I’m sorry, Cohen, I didn’t expect it to escalate this much,” Thales said wearily.

"I just wanted to borrow your family's name, but I didn't expect you to be the first to make a move."

"Forget it, the director will definitely suspend me again when he finds out anyway. I just hope he doesn't dock my pay," Cohen, his face bruised and swollen, clutched his family heirloom sword miserably, tears streaming down his face. "Wait, I remember now, I was already suspended for reflection..."

"And I wasn't the first one to make a move; I was kicked from behind..."

Doyle coughed twice behind him and whispered:

"Does the Director know His Highness?"

Cohen was taken aback, then reacted with unprecedented righteous indignation:

"Ah, Your Highness! It is my honor to lead the charge for you!"

"Given our friendship, I would go through fire and water for you!"

If Cohen wasn't the first to make a move, then...

Thales glanced behind him:
Rolf looked away and snorted coldly.

"Tsk tsk tsk, Little Jia Lun, I never expected this!"

Doyle patted Golov on the shoulder with satisfaction, completely ignoring the latter's discomfort:

"You're one of us!"

"When can we exchange our experiences of visiting Red Town Street?"

Golov snorted angrily, shook him off, and walked forward:

"roll!"

A little embarrassed by the rejection, DD chuckled to Jenard and Willow behind him:
"We...we're close, so we talk casually, very casually."

Wyatt caught up with Thales and said worriedly:
"Your Highness, have you... achieved your wish?"

Thales snapped out of his reverie and forced a smile:
"I'm still alive, right?"

Wyman looked at his expression, hesitating to speak:

"But……"

“By the way, about Vanguard Commander Maric just now,” Thales interrupted him, raising an eyebrow to change the subject:

"He's not bad, is he?"

Golov behind him scoffed dismissively.

"Although he harbored some ambition to gain fame, demonstrate loyalty, and curry favor, in the end, he compromised," Thales scratched his chin.
"He did not push the situation to the brink and ruin his men's future in order to enhance his reputation for being fearless in the face of princes and powerful figures."

“There’s no difference,” Golov said sullenly.

"He's still a self-righteous bastard."

"And those dozen or so idiots who got a good beating from us will probably still be grateful to Big Diao, thinking that he saved them."

Thales shook his head:
You have to give him a way out.

"And we must also tolerate that people are imperfect, chubby."

Upon hearing this title, Golov looked embarrassed and involuntarily slowed down and fell behind.

"Hey, Fatty?" Doyle caught up from behind, his gaze shifting with interest:

"Why does Your Highness call you that? You're not fat, at least not when you're dressed. Could it be... a chubby kid?"

Golov paused, then regained his menacing demeanor:

"Call me that again—"

"—You're in danger." Cohen, looking utterly hopeless, swept past the two of them, listlessly finishing the sentence for the zombie.

The fierce-looking Glov froze.

“He—” Golov started to yell but couldn’t finish. He held his breath and reluctantly said:

"That's right."

Golov glared at DD, snorted coldly, and stormed off.

Doyle was left standing there, bewildered.

When did their relationship become so good?
I'm the zombie's partner, and I'm the grandson of that idiot's great-uncle's brother-in-law, okay?
He had no choice but to turn to Rolf, who was at the very end, and explain helplessly:
"I know they're difficult, right? They completely disregard other people's feelings—"

But Rolf walked past him expressionlessly, not even glancing at Doyle.

"by--"

DD was left awkwardly rubbing his nose, trying to make a self-deprecating joke:

"It's alright, I'm fine, but thank you for your concern, Mr. Rolf. Also, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

His response was a dismissive snort from Jenny the Black Horse.

At the very front of the group, Wyman took a deep breath.

“But I know, Your Highness, that even if Maric doesn’t agree to your terms,” the attendant chuckled.

"You wouldn't let those guards be wronged for no reason, would you?"

I paused for a moment.

He was slightly lost in thought, seemingly pondering something.

The next second, the prince gave a noncommittal scoff:
"Who knows?"

Wyman was taken aback.

Thales didn't say much; he strode forward.

Wyatt watched the prince's retreating figure and couldn't help but speak:
"strangeness."

"What's wrong?" Grover asked casually, looking preoccupied.

Wyman shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, watching Thales’ retreating figure.

"I just feel that something is wrong with His Highness."

Rolf scoffed and made a rude gesture.

"Why?" asked Golov.

Wyman hesitated for a second, then said:
“In the past, he would have easily smiled and said ‘of course’ in response to that question.”

"And they never hesitate."

Rolf was slightly taken aback.

Golov seemed to be deep in thought.

----

The Palace of Rejuvenation, the Royal Guard's quarters.

"The palace alarms have been off for an hour, and no one has come to you to report on you for a long time."

Royal Guard Watchman, Tormond Marius, gently set down his mate tea and said calmly:
"At least tell me what's happening outside!"

"For example, what if the Fuxing Palace caught fire?"

Across from him, Deputy Captain of the Guard and Chief Standard Officer, Vogel Taren, turned to the next document.

"The guards' routine drills are none of your concern," the deputy guard captain said without looking up.
“Our work here is not finished—answer me, have you arranged and deployed the defense and guard duties of the Hall of Mindis in accordance with the regulations of the Royal Guard?”

Marius looked up; the polyphonic array on the wall was still operating, shining brightly.

It faithfully records everything.

"In routine drills, would it require thirty fully armed men to block the entrance to the guard room, surrounding the two of us and allowing us to enter but not leave?" Marius said softly.

There was a moment of silence in the room.

Vogel chuckled and said it casually:

"We need to practice responding to all situations—answering questions."

All situations.

Marius narrowed his eyes: "Even me?"

Vogel raised his gaze and stared directly at his opponent:

"especially you."

Especially you.

Marius closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

“Tell me,” the watchman said helplessly.
"He wouldn't be foolish enough to assassinate His Majesty, would he?"

Vogel's fingers, which were turning the pages of the documents, suddenly paused.

“It’s not that hard to guess,” Marius said, reaching out to close the document’s cover as he addressed the other’s surprise:

"Besides the prince forcing the palace and rebelling, I can't think of any other reason to lock up his captain of the guard here like a thief and make you keep me nagging."

Vogel remained expressionless.

Marius sighed:
"Hmm, that kid shouldn't be that stupid, but who knows, after all, he was taught by people from the North."

Marius looked at Vogel intently: "Listen, if things get out of control, you'll need me."

The two people in the guard room remained silent for a long while.

"Okay, I can let you go."

Marius's eyes lit up.

"Just answer me one thing truthfully."

Vogel stared at the polyphonic array on the wall, having made up his mind.

"That child..."

"It's His Majesty's..."

"Born blood?"

Marius suddenly looked up!

Biological blood.

"What's wrong, Your Highness?"

Marius quickened his pace, pressing for an answer:
"Is he still alive?"

Vogel frowned at the Watchers' reaction and attitude.

"If he's not their biological son, then he is..."

Vogelton paused, stared at his opponent, and tentatively asked:

"His Highness Crown Prince Midil's bloodline?"

Crown Prince Midir.

Marius was taken aback at first, then exhaled and burst into laughter.

He leaned back in his chair.

"So, he's safe?"

“His safety is largely related to this,” Vogel persisted.

"answer me."

Marius chuckled softly, looking back at him with a mocking gaze.

"His Highness Midir died eighteen years ago, in the year 660 of the End Calendar," the Watcher said, looking directly at Vogel.
"As for that child, he is fourteen years old this year."

Eighteen years ago.

Fourteen years old.

Vogel realized what was happening and felt inexplicably embarrassed.

"Okay, then let's—"

boom!
The door to the guard room was kicked open.

Marius and Vogel both turned their heads, one relieved, the other unhappy.

The standard-bearer, Via, walked in with a mournful expression: "Sir—"

“I told you not to disturb me,” Vogel said unhappily.

Via's expression darkened further. He nodded mechanically and made way for the figures behind him.

"That's it?"

Prince Thales stepped into the room, startling the two men sitting opposite him, who simultaneously stood up.

“This is such a run-down place,” Thales said, frowning.
"You guys can really talk!"

Behind him, the heads of Doyle, Cohen, Wyman, and others emerged from the door frame, curiously examining the guard room that only officers could come to rest in.

"Your Highness."

Vogel found it hard to believe:
"You...are all well."

Thales waved to indicate that he understood.

"Your Highness."

Marius, however, remained calm and composed.

"Have fun?"

Thales snorted and rolled his eyes at him.

"What are you standing there for?" The prince waved his hand and turned to leave.

"go home!"

Marius raised an eyebrow at Vogel, indicating that he had no solution.

Vogel realized what was happening and spoke forcefully:
"Your Highness."

"The paperwork for the flag wing is not yet complete."

Vogel approached Thales, blocking his path with a gloomy expression:
"This is an important tradition of the Royal Guard, concerning the safety of the Royal Family. Please understand."

Thales curled the corners of his mouth.

"Who is that?"

"The biggest villain in the guards, even Marius can't do anything about him..."

What will Your Highness do?

"I bet he'll resort to force, like threatening his family, for a silver coin..."

"Then I'll bet on the soft one..."

A chattering sound came from behind me.

Thales' face froze, and he turned around abruptly!
Several heads that had been attached to the door frame vanished in an instant.

The surroundings became quiet.

The prince turned to look at the standard-bearer:
What if I don't understand?

Vogel suppressed his anger, bowed, and smiled:

"Your Highness, allow me to introduce this to you. This is a polyphonic magic array."

Thales followed his gaze to the wall and discovered the strange magic circle that was emitting a faint glow.

magic.

It's magic again.

An inexplicable sense of irritability washed over me.

"It is recording everything we are saying right now, word for word," Vogel said, his tone neither humble nor arrogant, his words perfectly appropriate.
"To be passed down to future generations, for their judgment."

Thales frowned.

"Future generations?"

Vogel nodded:

"Although the polyphonic stones used for recording are extremely rare consumables, many decrees and wills of former kings have been preserved in this way throughout the hundreds of years of history of the stars."

He squinted:
"Many historians wrote books and biographies of the ancient kings and stars, passing on their stories for generations, which also follows this origin."

To write books and biographies, and to spread their fame for generations to come...

Thales paused upon hearing this, and subconsciously straightened his collar.

“Golofer, Doyle, you two accompany His Highness back first,” Marius said calmly.
"I'll be there shortly."

"Not long."

Just as the zombie and DD were about to enter the room, Vogel turned his head and glared at them, turning them back.

Marius and Vogel's eyes met in mid-air.

If there is lightning.

Thales paused, his fingers, which were adjusting his collar, on the spot.

"A polyphonic array? So, no matter what I say now," the boy slowly turned around:
"Behind me, the kings and queens of hundreds and thousands of years, can they all hear me?"

Vogel nodded with satisfaction:
"Yes, therefore, to be on the safe side, Your Highness, you might as well go first..."

“Okay.” Thales sighed and walked toward the wall.

Vogel couldn't help but laugh when he saw this:
"Without proper methods, you cannot disassemble it..."

But Thales simply brought his palms to his mouth, aimed them at the magic circle, and took a deep breath.

"My descendants, listen carefully, listen, listen..."

Vogel looked puzzled.

Marius's expression changed; he suddenly had a bad feeling.

Thales invoked the sins of the River of Hell, focusing on his vocal cords and throat, his voice growing louder and louder.

"Listen...listen...listen..."

The next second, his face contorted in rage, and he roared:

"What the hell are you talking about, you idiot?!"

The guard room was small, but the sound was deafening, like thunder. The lights inside flickered wildly, and even the mate tea in the cups was spilled.

The roar subsided, and the room fell silent, but the echoes lingered in the corridor, reverberating throughout the palace.

The light from the magic circle flickered a few times, then dimmed considerably, barely clinging to life.

Thales let out a breath.

After roaring out that famous cry that will be remembered for generations, he felt refreshed and invigorated.

The prince tidied his appearance, then turned around with satisfaction to face the two petrified men and the stone heads on the doorframe, exuding elegance and grace.

"Excuse me, is the paperwork finished?"

Tired, and the chapters are no longer being written.

If any prohibited words are blocked or modified by the system (I often don't know this because there's no notification), please call me back to correct them.

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(End of this chapter)