Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 701 The Plan
Kongming Palace, the encampment of the Xinghu Guard.

“Please, Attendant Caso,” Commuto, his arm bandaged, sat on his bunk, his expression helpless. “Just let me go! I’m not like them. I swear I’ve never used your name outside. It’s all other Wyas, sorry, all other people…”

Wyatt Cassel, who was holding the notebook, turned pale.

Nothing.

It's ok.

calm.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Wyatt forced a polite smile. “Please, Captain Commuto, think back carefully, when you fought that King Lausanne II, did he…”

"no!"

"I haven't finished speaking yet—did you notice that there were some subtle differences in his movements...?"

"nor!"

Just then, a relaxed voice came from outside the door:
"what happened?"

Kommuto's eyes lit up, as if he had been granted a pardon:

"Hey you, you've come at the perfect time! The prince's attendant has something to ask you!"

Huaiya was taken aback by what he heard, but Lao Kong ignored his injured arm in a sling, jumped off his bunk and rushed out of the room, disappearing into the corridor as if the kitchen was about to serve dinner.

The attendant was speechless for a moment, then could only purse his lips and turn to look at the newcomer:
"Yes, I have a few questions to ask... Oh, it's DD, never mind then."

After saying this, Wyman shook his head and sighed, then walked past Doyle in disappointment.

DD had just brought back a bag of almond tarts from the dessert shop. He was all smiles, but then looked puzzled. He only extended half of his hand to hand over the tarts before losing sight of them, creating an awkward situation.

Wyman walked to a table, where a burly figure covered in bandages was sitting, carefully wiping his sword.

"Hey, Vanguard Commander Golov..."

The burly figure paused in his movements.

"once."

While still recovering from his injuries, Golov turned his head and wiped the same spot on the sword dozens of times with a rag: "I, well, I did it once."

But only once.

Really, only once.

"What? What? Once?" Wyman was completely confused.

"your name."

my name?

Wyman paused for a second before he reacted.

"What? You, you? You too... Why you? How could it be you? I don't understand. It's one thing for others, but why you too..."

As he spoke, Golov's expression grew increasingly cold and stiff, which made Wyman realize something, and he quickly shut up.

No, no, no, Wyatt Castle, no, that's not what you're asking about, not that...

And you don't care at all, you shouldn't care. It's just a name, what's the big deal...

Yes, yes, I don't care...

not give a damn about……

Wyman took a deep breath, calmed himself, and asked in a gentle voice, holding the notebook:
"Excuse me, Vanguard Officer Garen Grover, may I borrow a few seconds of your time to ask you a few questions?"

Golov's gaze sharpened:
"If it really is just a few seconds."

"Then, how many minutes?"

"No." The zombie's decisive reply caused Wyman's expression to crumble.

"Well... considering you used my name before?"

Golov stopped wiping his sword.

The zombie remained silent, but slowly raised its head and looked at Wyman.

His movements were slow yet extremely imposing, and his stiff face and lifeless eyes made people inexplicably uneasy.

strangeness.

Why is this big guy staring at me like that?
He was clearly in the wrong, but why do I feel like I'm the one who's wrong?
Several seconds passed, and Wyman felt uneasy under her gaze. Unable to bear it any longer, he could only manage an awkward smile.
"Okay, alright then, well, maybe, maybe next time, next time..."

With a cold expression, Golov watched Wyatt leave, secretly letting out a sigh of relief from an angle where no one could see him, and began wiping his sword again.

Fortunately.

You passed the test again.

No need to apologize.

But no sooner had Wyman left than a large bag of almond tarts was slammed onto the table.

"Hey, what's wrong with Wyman?"

DD, unfazed by Golov's death stare, plopped down with a bite of pie, not forgetting to pull another one out of the bag.

“I don’t know,” Golov stared at Doyle for a while, and finally could only sigh in his heart, reluctantly taking the almond pie DD handed him. “It’s been several days. Whenever he has free time, he grabs people to question them. Asking them once isn’t enough; he keeps asking them in different ways.”

DD frowned and looked into the distance: Rolf was sitting on a box in the corner, clanging and banging on his worn-out combat prosthetic right leg. Wyatt cautiously approached him and coughed.

Rolf didn't even look up, and just snorted.

What's wrong with this self-important young master now?
Is it a payment reminder?

Wyman's smile was bright:
"Hey Rolf, old friend, good day yesterday? How's your leg?"

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a snap, and Rolf's badly worn combat prosthetic limb abruptly broke off at the joint and fell to the ground.

A metal lock popped out of the prosthetic limb and rolled around on the ground with a clattering sound.

Rolf raised his head, looked coldly at Wyman, and made several hand gestures:
What do you say?

Wyman watched this scene awkwardly and blinked.

"Looks like you might have to go back to using those old, rheumatic legs of yours... By the way, I have a question I'd like to ask..."

Before he could finish speaking, Rolf grabbed his prosthetic leg, snorted, and turned to face the wall.

He only turned his back to Wyman.

The attendant stood there dumbfounded, his mouth agape.

“You might not want to bother him at this time, really Wyman,” DD called out, waving a pie at Wyman and Rolf with glee. “The mute, well, he had some things to deal with yesterday, some unresolved issues.”

An unbreakable bond?
Wyman was taken aback.

The next second, Rolf suddenly turned his head!

What? How could he...?

Rolf stared at DD in disbelief for a moment, then seemed to understand something. He looked at Golover, and, filled with shock and anger, gave him the middle finger:

[Fuck you, you can't control your mouth, can't shut up, can't keep secrets, you're a bastard zombie who lives without parents, dies without children, eats nothing, shits on bugs, deserves to be an orphan, a stupid zombie who gets gang-raped...]

Golov was taken aback, and subconsciously shook his head:

"No, I didn't! It wasn't me! I didn't say anything! I don't know anything... Fuck! Fuck you, DD!"

He felt wronged but didn't know how to defend himself, so he could only look at DD, who was smug and oblivious, with intense resentment.

"An unbreakable bond? What does that mean?" Huaiya looked at the group of gestures and responses with suspicion, completely baffled.

The zombie and the mute both froze.

Rolf swallowed hard, his breathing quickening.

Golov frowned deeply, gripping the rag tighter and tighter.

"Oh, it's so obvious, can't you see it?"

Officer Doyle pointed gleefully to Rolf's prosthetic arm:
"His prosthetic leg! Look, it's all tangled up, still attached—oh, now it's broken, haha, isn't it a tangled thread that's hard to sever?"

The words fell.

"Boom!"

Rolf's other prosthetic limb fell heavily to the ground.

The mute stared coldly at DD, his expression displeased.

Golov's gaze grew increasingly terrifying.

Wyman felt like he'd heard a terrible joke, and looked at him with boredom and helplessness.

"Uh, yeah, I'm sorry," DD sensed something was wrong. He stopped smiling, instinctively shrank back, and looked at everyone while biting into his pie. "Um, is it true that we can't even joke about legs? I didn't mean to make fun of you—uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-sorry..."

Before he could finish speaking, Golov suddenly stood up, grabbed two pies, and shoved them hard into Doyle's mouth.

"Ugh, zombie, stop ugh, I didn't say anything about you..."

"Why is he so energetic today?" Ignoring the inhumane scene opposite him, Wyman pulled out a chair, put down his notebook, and stretched his chest.

"Ugh... I really... I'm just kidding... Why... ugh..."

"Because he's an idiot." Rolf gestured coldly.

“Because he brought back the teddy bear from his bedside,” Golov said angrily, letting go of DD who was coughing painfully. “And Lord Marius is still in bed.”

"Oh."

Wyman was flipping through his notes when he heard this and suddenly realized what was going on.

"What did you write on it?" a female voice came from the side.

Everyone turned their heads at the same time, and a dashing figure walked towards them.

"Mira!"

DD swallowed a bite of pie, quickly stood up, and opened his arms wide with a look of surprise:

"Isn't this my savior, the Neverwinter Sword of the North, the invincible steel warrior, the brave and fearless good girl Mira!"

Miranda, already familiar with the atmosphere of the guard, walked past the disappointed DD without looking up (and casually took a piece of pie), sat down next to Wyman, and turned her gaze to the notebook on the table.

“Nothing, Ms. Arund,” Wyatt shook her head and spread out her notebook, “just some…summary notes.”

“Just call me by my name, after all, we both studied under Teacher Shatil,” Miranda’s black gloves were gone, replaced by tightly wrapped bandages. “What kind of summary record?”

That would be even worse; would I have to call you "Chief Miranda"?
Wyman muttered to himself.

“And we were still comrades-in-arms, Mira, remember?” DD squeezed into the conversation. “I fought three hundred battles with that Lausanne II for you…”

“I’ve noted down some suspicious things,” Wyatt ignored the noise Doyle made, turned a page, and pushed it in front of Miranda. “Like this one, Lausanne II’s skills.”

Golov, who was wiping the blade, frowned upon hearing this:

What happened to his fighting skills?

"Simply put, his strength fluctuates greatly. Sometimes he is so strong that dozens of people cannot do anything to him when they surround him, while at other times even DD can be on par with him."

“Hey, be polite!” DD protested, annoyed.

“He’s hiding his true strength,” Miranda said, carefully examining the notes. “I’ve fought him twice. The first time, I only felt he was a strong fighter among the super-class fighters, but the second time…”

She squeezed her bandaged hand, lost in thought.

"Is that so? But why? Why would a master of the highest level hide their strength?" Wyman asked, puzzled.

"Because he is just like His Highness."

Everyone turned their heads to look at Doyle.

“During martial arts class, His Highness’s ‘Great Wave’ finishing move was quite intimidating at first, very skillful and precise, but once the time was up, he collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolled back, and he could only gasp for breath,” DD gestured as he spoke. “That Losang is probably like His Highness—his strength is limited, which is why he seems to fluctuate in strength, you know?”

"Don't let His Highness hear this." Wyman looked around nervously.

“Then it should be strong first and then weak,” Golov disagreed. “Shouldn’t it be like Losang, weak first and then strong?”

“That means it’s the other way around. He’s usually weak,” DD thought wildly. “He needs to meet a certain condition, like taking drugs, to become stronger?”

The group looked at each other, but ultimately had no answer.

“And then there’s this,” Wyatt turned to the next page, “Based on everyone’s recollections and Commander Marius’s subsequent assessment, there’s something very strange about Lausanne.”

"Isn't Terrorblade still bedridden? How can you still ask questions?" DD was surprised.

"Yes, I asked him when I went to visit him."

"Impressive, you even dared to bother him," DD gave a thumbs up. "I just visited Terrorblade too, and even brought a gift, but his attitude was..."

"The lord told him to get lost," Golov revealed from the side, unsurprisingly earning a resentful look from DD.

“You mean,” Miranda interrupted, looking intently at Wyah’s neat handwriting, “that Lausanne II’s injuries?”

Wyman nodded.

"He was shot by young master Bozdorf's arrow at the Diop mansion and fled in haste, but he appeared at the dock warehouse the next day and fought with the mute and vanguard officer Golov, but he was completely unaffected and did not seem to have been injured."

Glov and Rolf both frowned.

Miranda's gaze was focused:
"And just a few hours later, he was surrounded by the guards, yet he remained agile and showed no signs of injury. In fact, his stamina was astonishing, and he fought for a long time without showing any signs of fatigue."

Wyman nodded and said:

"So, either I made a mistake while compiling information from everyone's observations, or..."

“It’s probably some kind of medicine that temporarily masks his pain,” Golov guessed. “I know of a wondrous herb called Sel, including its close relatives, which was once made into drugs by unscrupulous pharmacists. It can relieve pain without affecting mobility and also induce a state of euphoria…”

"How did you know?" Wyman asked curiously.

“I’ve seen people take this drug before,” Golov said, turning to the other side, unwilling to elaborate. “Dumb guy, when that hitman chased us out of the sewers, his mental state was definitely different. He was overly excited and talking nonsense, right?”

Rolf, sitting in the corner, did not answer; his expression grew increasingly serious.

“Or he has a special power of ending, which can heal wounds in a very short time,” Miranda pondered. “When I was in the Tower of Endings, I heard that there were such precedents in the ‘Miracle’ lineage.”

“That possibility cannot be ruled out.” Wyatt immediately began taking notes.

Just then, a worried voice came from the side:

"Anomaly."

Everyone stiffened and turned their heads in unison.

DD's gaze was uneasy: "It's an anomaly."

"Wh-what drop?" Wyman exchanged suspicious glances with the others and asked hesitantly.

"A strange phenomenon? You guys haven't heard of that?"

DD snapped out of his daze and looked at everyone in disbelief.

Everyone shook their heads.

“I heard it from Toledo, well, actually he let it slip when I tricked him into saying it, so don’t tell anyone else,” Doyle said, unusually serious, gesturing for everyone to gather around. “According to him, when you were hunting down that King Losang II, he was performing some kind of evil descent, draining all life from within a ten-mile radius, leaving nothing alive!”

Doyle’s tone was quite mysterious and unsettling.

The crowd, gathered in a circle, looked at each other.

But after much deliberation, Wyatt finally couldn't help but speak up:
"Nothing can survive... How did Commander Marius and the others, including His Highness, survive?"

DD waved his hand unhappily, as if blaming him for interrupting.

"Listen to me, that's a curse, a curse! Fanatical cultists perform forbidden blood sacrifices, drawing power from evil and heretical practices. It's terrifying and cruel. Of course, bringing the dead back to life and healing bones is no problem, but the price is unimaginable. Perhaps every time they have to sacrifice a living person, drinking blood, eating flesh, skinning and gnawing bones..."

After a moment of silence, everyone retreated in unison.

“Crazy,” Golov said dismissively.

“Superstition.” Wyman shook his head, pursing his lips.

"Hmph." Rolf looked at him with disdain.

"Next." Miranda didn't want to listen anymore.

“Oh dear, there are a lot of people on the south bank who believe in this weird stuff… Don’t disbelieve me, then how do you explain that King Losang II?” Doyle said anxiously.

But Wyman had already turned to the next page:
"And then there's his special ability. Although he defeated King Losang II, we still haven't figured out how it works. According to the mute, abilities that affect mental powers are extremely rare..."

"Timely awareness".

"What?" Wyman looked at Miranda, who had suddenly spoken.

“There was an old gardener in Hamburg, who was very old and a little confused. He always mistook me for my grandmother,” Miranda recalled. “He would complain about my uncles as if they were still children.”

“I know that my great-aunt had the same symptoms before she died,” Doyle said. “She would think that when she was young, she would always mistake me for my grandfather and cry and beg me to marry her instead of her sister.”

“Wow,” Wyman exclaimed incredulously, “your grandfather was really… uh, happy?”

“That’s because you don’t know my grandfather,” Doyle sighed. “Believe me, the truly happy person who didn’t marry him was my great-aunt.”

“Many people become demented and confused as they get older, but they still think they are young,” Miranda said.

“I’m good at this, I don’t even have to wait until I’m old,” DD said happily. “Every morning when I open my eyes, I feel like I’m still eighteen years old…”

“It’s eight years old,” Golov scoffed dismissively, “after all, he’s been a teddy bear since he opened his eyes.”

Doyle shut up awkwardly and handed over a pie.

"In short, these elderly people have a problem with their understanding of memory; they can't distinguish which memories are from the past and which are from the present."

“That means…” Wyman seemed to understand.

Miranda nodded and continued, "Lossan II's ability is not to create illusions or hallucinations, but to temporarily confuse memories and disrupt our sense of time, that is, our perception of the sequence of time, making us forget the present and think that we are still living in the past."

"Like a dream?" DD asked.

“People are aware of their dreams, they vaguely know that they are false, that they are dreams,” Miranda shook her head, “but in his ability, you can’t tell the difference—because those are our memories, scenes that actually happened, undeniably real, so they are flawless, making us believe them without a doubt and unable to extricate ourselves.”

Upon hearing this, everyone fell silent.

Our memories...

A scene that actually happened...

Unwavering belief, unable to extricate oneself...

"Fuck him!" Golov slammed his fist on the table.

"No need to bother, he's already dead." Doyle sighed, looking sullen.

"Ms. Aaron, how did you figure that out?" Wyatt asked, puzzled.

“His Highness said it. I don’t know why, but he said the ability is called ‘evil whispers’ and he seemed very certain that it’s related to time,” Miranda shook her head as well. “The rest is my own deduction—my power of termination has a special understanding of human perception.”

“The evil whispers… As expected of Your Highness,” Wyman sighed, his tone filled with admiration and helplessness: “And you, madam, truly the chief seed.”

“As expected of a prince,” Doyle said, crossing his arms with the same seriousness. “And you, Mira, truly worthy of being the top seed.”

Rolf, standing in the corner, curled his lip in disdain.

Golov looked at the two men with a strange expression, hesitated for a long time, and then whispered, "Uh, well, yes."

Please, the chief has absolutely nothing to do with this.

Miranda raised an eyebrow, suppressing the urge to complain and roll her eyes, and turned to the next page of her notebook.

“So, according to the recollections of Lord Marius and Vanguard General Golova,” Wyatt said, regaining his composure, “the evil whispers—Lossan II’s supernatural power, both in its timing and duration, appear chaotic, disordered, and even uncontrollable, which is incompatible with his exquisite and unparalleled swordsmanship. And according to His Highness, Lossan’s swordsmanship and supernatural power cannot be used simultaneously; once he begins to fight, his focus is divided, and his supernatural power weakens…”

“Indeed, his exquisite swordsmanship and chaotic, uncontrollable superpowers are incompatible, creating numerous contradictions within him,” Miranda mused.

"What does that mean?" Doyle asked, puzzled.

"When you go to the battlefield, do you carry two mutually exclusive weapons? Especially since you can only choose one at a time?" Golov asked coldly.

“That’s normal. Swordsmanship is something you learn yourself, but superpowers are innate,” DD said, munching on a pie. “Just like me, I’m handsome and dashing, with an extraordinary air, but my parents gave me a very ordinary name.”

Everyone instinctively covered their faces and let out helpless groans.

“Teacher Shatil said that a warrior’s fighting style, finishing power, weapon, even superpowers and personality should be unified and coordinated. The heart of the sword must never be separated from the essence of the sword,” Wyman pondered. “The higher the level you want to reach, the more you need to do this, otherwise it will be difficult to create a powerful warrior.”

“That’s not what old Joaquin said,” DD said sheepishly. “He said that one should learn from a wide range of sources, master many skills, and use one’s opponents as a mirror in order to ultimately see oneself.”

“That’s not actually contradictory,” Wyman said. “Speaking of which, that guy is from the same school as you. Do you have any new information to provide?”

“Yes,” DD said without a hint of shame, “he’s dead.”

Everyone sighed in unison.

“Speaking of which, this also puzzles me: why did King Lausanne II conceal his identity?” Wyatt picked up his pen. “It’s easy to understand. Who would dare to do something bad openly…”

“No, that’s not all. According to my investigation,” Wyman turned to another page, “when he caught up with you in the sewers, his identity was already exposed because of that female gang leader. He was recognized as a former assassin from the Blood Bottle Gang…”

“But he still carefully concealed his face, even putting his mask back on when it tore, as if afraid of being recognized in public,” Golov recalled something, “Why?”

“Is it possible that he isn’t actually Lausanne,” Miranda asked, “but is just using the name of Lausanne II? And that there’s someone else behind that mask?”

“I don’t think Catherine will admit her mistake; after all, she’s a local leader.” Golov shook his head.

“In short, there are too many suspicious things about this guy, and there’s always another layer to peel back,” Wyman frowned. “There are too many things that I still can’t figure out.”

“In any case, he’s dead,” DD said with a clear conscience. “Such a powerful explosion at close range, even if he had survived by chance, he would have been charred and maimed, missing limbs, and wouldn’t have lasted more than a few days.”

Everyone was still shaken and nodded silently.

"What's on this page? A map?"

“That’s right, I got it from the Security Bureau, a map of the Emerald City area.”

Wyman pulled a map from his notebook and spread it out for everyone to see:

“Here, here, and here—these are the areas where the Blood Bottle Gang has been attacked in the past few weeks. Based on intelligence gathered by the undercover officer from the Golova Vanguard, and cross-referencing it with files from the Security Bureau, I tried to circle the crime scenes, add the dates, and deduce the approximate number and even the hideout of the attackers—most likely King Lausanne II and his associates—but…”

"but what?"

Wyman hesitated for a few seconds, then pointed to several red dots on the map:

"The attacks on the Blood Bottle Gang, if linked together, do indeed form a circle, encompassing a significant portion of Emerald City, but the distribution is uneven—for example, here, the Harvest Casino has been attacked several times, resulting in the deaths of at least six gang members, and the same goes for this underground boxing ring, where fighters go missing every week..."

“That’s Gamandia and Gutierrez’s business, two ruthless characters,” Golov said through gritted teeth.

Wyman continued, “But within the same radius, here, the theater street where the flesh trade is conducted is peaceful and there has not been a single attack. And here, the paper mill and weaving workshop protected by the Blood Bottle Gang are also peaceful.”

“It’s Franco and Jaga’s territory. Don’t worry, they’re dead,” Golov snorted.

“In short, this big circle, the scope of these attacks, it’s uneven, like, like…” Wyman pointed to the big circle he had drawn on the map, hesitating.

“Like someone who’s not focused when eating pie,” DD had a sudden inspiration, “scooping here and there with a fork, making a mess of it?”

“Uh, right?” Wyman replied reluctantly.

Everyone frowned.

"Because Lausanne II's attacks were not random, but planned and targeted: Catherine's subordinates, such as Gamandia and Gutierrez, were targeted to provoke their discontent, while other leaders, such as Franco and Jaga, were deliberately spared, showing favoritism to incite conflict among the leaders."

Golov spoke coldly:
"As we all saw, the gang members who had suffered too much damage were filled with resentment. Incited by Red Viper and the Wanderer, they turned on those gang members who were living a peaceful life and enjoying the fruits of others' labor. Catherine was overthrown and removed from power."

No one else could get a word in edgewise on this topic, so Wyatt could only nod.
"Maybe."

Wyman remembered something and turned to another page:
“But speaking of ‘Phantom Blade’ Catherine, Vanguard General Golov and the mute said that you two escaped together into some remote sewer, a place that even the officials of Emerald City didn’t know about, a place beyond the reach of the Blood Bottle Gang, dark and narrow, like a maze… But if even the Blood Bottle Gang didn’t know about that place, how did King Losang II find you?”

"Could there be a traitor? Did he betray your positions?"

“Catherine said that the Blood Bottle Gang has people who specialize in training hunting dogs, especially skilled at tracking,” Golov pondered for a moment, “while we’ve just fought our way out of the warehouse shootout, and we’re covered in filth that we can’t wash off.”

"This still doesn't make sense. If he really did use the Blood Bottle Gang's hounds to track you down, why was only Losang the one who showed up in the end, with no other gang members?

“Because of his superpower, ‘Evil Whispers’ cannot distinguish between friend and foe,” Miranda guessed. “Besides, with his skills, bringing more people would only be a burden.”

"Because he doesn't want more people to know what he's doing? And he doesn't trust his own gang members, or rather, his former gang members?" Doyle said something that didn't make everyone frown and groan.

Wyman pondered for a moment.

"That leads to the next question: if King Losang II returned to Emerald City to seek revenge for what happened years ago, then..."

“What exactly happened to the Blood Bottle Gang back then?” Miranda continued, “and what was its connection to Catherine? What made Lord Lausanne II so angry, yet so patient, waiting all these years to return here for revenge?”

"Where did Catherine go after that?"

Wyman was slightly lost in thought: "I need to see her and clarify some doubts."

“Your Highness has let her go,” Miranda replied. “She cannot return to the Palace of Emptiness with us, and as for where she went, only Your Highness knows.”

“And given that woman’s personality,” Golov snorted, looking at Rolf, “she probably won’t be content, nor will she settle down.”

Wyman was silent for a moment.

"What about the defense attorney? If I could ask him..."

“No,” Golov said. “He was terrified and mentally unstable. He calls everyone he meets ‘wife’—of course, His Highness instructed that the official line should be that he is dead.”

"Really, are you sure? Has he really lost every last shred of reason? Not even a little bit?"

Rolf shook his head.

Wyman was still persistent: "What about his wife? Are there any clues...?"

“We investigated and found that his wife is mentally unstable and has been living in the countryside. We heard that she has been childless for many years and is under too much pressure,” Miranda shook her head. “Over the years, many people have advised him to divorce and remarry, but he has refused.”

Doyle frowned:

"He sounds like a devoted and good man."

"A good person?" Golov shook his head dismissively. "Hmph."

"So what did you do with him afterward?"

“The old place—I mean the sewers,” Golov said. “After he went mad, he seemed to fit in there, at least he got along well with some stupid, deformed big guy.”

Everyone fell silent.

Miranda sighed:
"It's a pity. Among so many cases of cover-ups by Duke Jann, I originally thought he would be the breakthrough."

Wyman nodded regretfully, but then changed the subject:
"But it's not entirely without clues, look here."

Wyman flipped to a very late page in his notebook, where there were long, hand-drawn tables:

"Among these victims, Dagory Moss was a businessman and a front man, responsible for making money and business intelligence; Diop was in charge of the slush fund and was responsible for contacting outsiders like the Blood Bottle Gang; Jeff Rene was a former Director of the Security Service; Slimani also worked in the Security Service and is now a defender for the Emerald City's elites... I've discovered that these four people have something in common."

DD is making my eyes dizzy:

"Uh, they're all men?"

Wyman paused for a moment.

"Are they all very rich?"

"Are they all bald?"

Miranda sighed: No wonder he's related to Cohen.

Helpless, Wyman tapped his notebook with his pen:

"Seriously speaking, all four of these people have worked for Emerald City or Kongming Palace, or at least have some connection to it."

DD scratched his head: "His Highness said that their positions are special, and the reason they have to die is to strike at Kongming Palace."

Wyman nodded:

"Moreover, they are all prominent and influential people. Their resumes, even if not smooth sailing in their official careers, are at least smooth sailing."

Miranda's eyes flickered.

“That leads to the next question,” Wyman said. “According to you, before Slimani died—or rather, before he went mad—he told His Highness: ‘There’s another person who’s been silenced these days, and he was an underground boxer who did underground fights?’”

Golov frowned: "Yes."

DD scratched his chin, trying to appear engaged in the conversation: "Thugs who fight in underground boxing matches..."

“From the four prominent figures before, to this underground boxer… the difference in their identities is too great. Who exactly is this boxer?” Miranda asked astutely.

"His Highness sent us to investigate as soon as he returned: I just got the list of all the underground fighters who went missing in the last two months when the Blood Bottle Gang was attacked. There are more than a dozen of them, and they are all basically related to the Blood Bottle Gang, but we don't know which one it is. We are still completely clueless," Wyman shrugged.

“We can go find Gutierrez of the Blood Bottle Gang, the underground boxing ring is his territory,” Golov snorted, “tie him up and let Morgan, who’s all nice and polite, give him a piece of his mind.”

“Good idea,” Wyman nodded. “Unfortunately, the Blood Bottle Gang has just gone through a bloodbath, so it’s definitely not a good time to make a move now.”

“And don’t forget, Duke Jann is certainly quite unhappy about what happened yesterday, and he’s keeping a close eye on our every move now,” Miranda said.

“His Highness Thales personally went to deal with him, so there’s definitely no problem.” DD finally found a familiar topic.

"Another point……"

Wyman continued speaking, and before anyone knew it, everyone was listening intently:

"According to you, the defense attorney Slimani, though respected, is a coward who faints at the sight of weapons."

“At least before he goes crazy, yes,” Golov said definitively.

"Then why was he so brave? Knowing that there might be something wrong behind so many murder cases, he still had the guts to investigate further, until he was targeted and his own life was in danger?"

"Is it out of consideration for his former superior? That dead former head of security, Jeff Rene?"

“Gratitude? I don’t think so.” Golov shook his head in denial.

"Professional instinct?" Doyle shrugged. "A defense lawyer, you know—I have a lot of cases, and I've dealt with this kind of person quite a bit."

“Because he’s a coward,” Miranda suddenly said, drawing everyone’s attention.

"How to say?"

Miranda raised her head, her gaze sharp:
“It is precisely because Slimani is guilty and afraid of death that after seeing those murder cases, he was afraid that he would be the next to die, so he wanted to find out the truth and put his mind at ease.”

Everyone was stunned.

"How ironic? Afraid of death, so he investigates, investigates, and then gets himself killed?" DD asked in bewilderment.

"Is this some kind of dramatic self-fulfilling prophecy?" Golov asked.

But Miranda remained silent, deep in thought.

A few seconds later, Wyman's expression changed as he realized what was happening:
“I understand now. The key here is: why did Slimani feel guilty after seeing those murders? Why did he feel that he would be the next to die?”

Miranda nodded, decisively:

"Because he was one of them."

"What member? A member of what?" DD was completely confused.

“One of them was silenced! They—Moss, Diop, Rene, Slimani, plus that guy who did underground boxing—five people. They weren't isolated, and their successive deaths weren't to sow discord between us and the Sky Palace,” Wyatt said, increasingly surprised. “On the contrary, they must have some kind of connection. Maybe they were members of the same secret society, maybe they were all involved in a certain secret, maybe they all knew the same person, maybe they even did the same thing…”

Miranda raised her head, her tone certain:
"And very likely, that's why these people were silenced and their deaths were covered up."

Everyone tensed up.

“I… I need to find some time to talk to that local city hall clerk again,” Wyatt said, lost in thought, his face grave. “I need more detailed biographies of these dead…more information.”

He stood up and was about to leave when Miranda called him back.

“Wyatt, all these notes in your notebook, all these suspicious points, all these…details,” Miranda squinted, “were all written down by you after you discovered them?”

"Correct."

Wyman snapped out of his daze and forced a smile:

“Unlike Your Highness and you, Madam Arend. I’m slow-witted and have a slow reaction time, so I can only use this clumsy method: I write down anything I don’t understand to remind myself of these clues.”

Rolf snorted under his breath in the corner.

You should see his room; the walls are covered with sheets of paper, one after another, filled with words and various charts, even the ceiling is covered.

Miranda sized him up for a while.

“I know my strength is limited,” Wyman said with a wry smile, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. “And I’m not as lucky as you, able to share His Highness’s burdens and risk your lives in battle with a sword…”

"This luck is for you, I don't want it." DD immediately raised his hand.

"...The tasks assigned by my superiors were the easiest, most boring, and least rewarding; I had to use my father's position and reputation to curry favor with all sorts of officials..."

"The easiest?" Golov curled his lip.

Wyman spread his hands: "In short, I can only do my best to contribute within my capabilities."

“No, you are very capable, Attendant,” the female swordsman praised. “Now I know why Châtillon took you under her wing.”

Wyman was flattered and a little embarrassed.

“As expected of the son of a cunning fox.” Golov’s words made Wyman’s smile freeze slightly.

“No, my stepmother has dealt with Count Cassel, and she says he is naturally quick-witted, insightful, and a rare genius,” DD said, flipping through the notebook and looking at the beautiful handwriting that he could never achieve in ten lifetimes, with a look of astonishment and uncertainty. “But look at this, Wyman, you absolutely cannot be a genius.”

Everyone, including Wyman, was taken aback.

"Uh, manners?" Golov whispered.

"Because you are Wyman."

DD put down his notebook, abandoned his plan of "maybe I can do it too," and sighed:

"Unlike any other Wyah—the true Wyah."

Upon hearing this, Wyman's expression changed.

The others instinctively turned their heads.

Golov frowned, and forced a smile, saying, "Politeness?"

But unexpectedly, after a long pause, Wyman suddenly laughed.

He took a deep breath, sincere and frank:
"Thank you, Officer Doyle."

“Have you reported these findings, these points of doubt,” Miranda asked, “to His Highness?”

“No, we haven’t had time yet,” Wyatt shook his head. “Time is short, Lord Marius is bedridden, and His Highness has been very busy these past few days. He already has enough to worry about.”

"Like running away from home to go on a date with your fiancée?" Miranda joked, which was rare for her, and everyone laughed.

“Don’t even mention it,” DD sighed painfully. “Yesterday I went back to the theater to cover for the new actor, and the most painful thing was explaining to Caquere, who was in charge of monitoring the prince, that the prince hadn’t disappeared, but was just playing hide-and-seek with Miss Kevin Deer…”

Wyatt suddenly turned around, startling everyone.

"what happened?"

“I remember now,” Wyman said, startled. “His Highness said that Slimani went to the theater yesterday to see the person you mentioned—Officer Caquere.”

"So what?" Doyle asked, puzzled.

Wyman's expression grew increasingly grave:

"So, if the defense attorney is indeed 'one of them,' and after seeing the murder case, he becomes suspicious and wants to investigate, through what channels would he do?"

Miranda's eyes flickered.

“Not only that, when that wine merchant was murdered, it was this Caquere who took me and Aaron to the prison to check on him,” Golov’s face turned cold. “And he was so smooth-talking that he shirked responsibility and told us that the wine merchant was killed by someone hired by his enemy.”

“The defense attorney wouldn’t approach him for no reason. This local guard must know something, perhaps the reason these victims were silenced!” Miranda frowned.

“I will report directly to Prince Thales,” Wyatt nodded. “Today is the selection of the Emerald Festival, and Caquere will, as usual, guide the prince and accompany him throughout the event.”

“I’m going to see the horror—is Commander Marius awake yet?” Miranda said thoughtfully. “He needs to know about it.”

On the other side, Golov's eyes gleamed with malice:
"Then I'll find a few big guys, Morgan or Bastia, and we'll put that Caquerey in a sack—"

"Wait! That guard is from Kongming Palace. We can't just tie him up and interrogate him like this!" DD grabbed the zombie.

"We have to do something!" the zombie complained.

"Hey, zombies, you don't understand. Kidnapping people for important figures is a fine tradition—cough cough, specialty—of our Guardian Wings," DD cautiously looked around, blinked, and revealed an evil smile. "Who uses sacks these days? Listen to me, we'll be fine, hehe, let's plan?"

Plans, plans.

Wyman and Miranda exchanged a strange look, but they nodded nonetheless.

Everyone stood up and went about their respective duties.

“I never would have guessed,” DD said to Golov, looking at Wyatt who was adding something to his notebook. “The real Wyatt has this ability.”

"Everyone has their own strengths," the zombie succinctly stated.

"And you, how did things go with that mute guy yesterday?" DD pointed to Rolf in the distance. "You two seemed to be having quite a lively exchange today..."

Golov's expression changed.

"Bah! I didn't die at his hands, even if the gods are watching, the sun shines brightly, and the setting sun protects me," the zombie said viciously. "That damned idiot who played with the wind—"

"Huh?" DD's eyes widened.

"what happened again?"

"you've changed."

"What has changed?"

“No, I just suddenly realized that you seem much more cheerful,” Doyle said with delight. “Compared to before, your temper has improved, you talk more, and even the sentences you speak are much longer?”

what?
Open, cheerful?
Golov was stunned.

"And you seem to no longer mind me calling you a zombie?"

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Golov's expression changed drastically!
"Humph!"

He snorted angrily, slammed his fist on the table, and stormed off.

"Hey, don't go!" DD chased after them, "We're still planning a kidnapping, aren't we..."

Just then, a muffled thud was heard, and the door to the room was violently pushed open!

The group was immediately startled, and Golov even raised his longsword.

"Foby's standard-bearer's order! Everyone, those on leave, return to your posts immediately; those already on duty, work overtime. As for the wounded, as long as they can still move their fingers, assemble and depart immediately..."

The man who burst in was Kommuto's bodyguard, panting heavily and extremely anxious: "The prince will be attending the election today, and we will provide full protection, with the highest level of security!"

Wyman and the others were relieved.

“But the election doesn’t start until the afternoon, isn’t it a bit too early now?” Wyman asked doubtfully.

"Highest alert?" Golov didn't understand.

"That's right, because something really big just happened!"

Komuto's anxiety made everyone tense:

"This very morning, an official in Emerald City was murdered!"

Everyone was shocked.

"Another one?" Golov sheathed his sword.

"Six people, six lives." Wyman gripped his notebook tightly.

"I heard he was beheaded in a gruesome manner, and the whole city is in an uproar. The Emerald Legion has been mobilized—there's no time to lose, get moving!" Kommuto added hastily.

Everyone instinctively started to move, except for Miranda, who frowned:
"Then why are you so nervous? Why are you even concerned about the wounded—"

"Because malicious rumors have been spread in the city!"

Koumto gritted his teeth:
"The mastermind behind the murder is—Prince Thales!"

At that moment, everyone was completely stunned.

The room was silent.

"No way, not again?" Wyman remembered something and couldn't believe it.

With a clang, Rolf landed on his asymmetrical metal prosthetic leg. He limped but had a cold expression. He grabbed his weapon and walked out.

"Why? Why are these rumors spreading like this?"

Miranda suddenly had a bad feeling: "Who was the dead person?"

Komto sighed deeply:

"It's an old acquaintance, the special-class security officer sent by Kongming Palace to be in charge of His Highness's security, the one who has been accompanying him the whole time these past few days—"

Everyone held their breath.

"Cacquerre".

Snapped!
The bag of pies on the table fell to the floor.

"I, I just, I did that..."

Still reeling from the shock, everyone turned their heads in unison.

Doyle stood there, holding the last surviving almond pie, staring at everyone in disbelief.

"It really is just—a plan, a plan!"

(End of this chapter)