Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 705 Major Events
"Oh! That's really cruel! Blood is flowing like a river, it must hurt a lot... But even though he severely injured his opponent, Brother Ba Li wasn't in a hurry. He remained cautious, neither lowering his shield nor his spear, but slowly pacing around, circling closer to his opponent... Oh! That was a brilliant defense, Brother Ba Li's attack failed... Wait! Brother Ba Li was just luring the enemy, now it's his real attack... Ouch! I don't want to get hit like that, it looks too painful... Ah! Another turn! Gentlemen, remember to cover your ladies' eyes, this scene isn't suitable for helping them sleep... Aren't you going to surrender? If it were me, I would surrender to avoid excessive bleeding... That's right, that's right! The opponent threw down his weapon, he raised his hands in surrender! The battle is over! The referee, the doctor, and the stretcher team rushed in... Despite the helplessness, perhaps the resentment, and a slight despair, it was absolutely worth it, after all, no matter how generous the prize money is, you have to be alive to enjoy it first!"

As the sun set and the sky was ablaze with sunset colors, dozens of one-on-one duels were fought in the arena. Even the loud-voiced hosts on the stage were replaced twice. The audience was overwhelmed by the continuous stream of duels and cheered with excitement. Finally, when people lit the eternal lights and ignited torches in the arena, illuminating the entire arena as bright as day, the final eight winners were determined.

In the arena, the warriors, illuminated by the inextinguishable lamp, raised their spears and shields and roared to the sky.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this duel, who will be the last one to advance to the quarterfinals, is the warrior from the desolate mountains across the ocean—Azai Juyong Balige!"

The host's voice, transmitted through a specially designed microphone and thanks to the arena's circular layout, reached every corner of the arena, eliciting enthusiastic cheers from the audience.

"Listen to the cheers from the entire arena, even the 'Never-Ending Lights' are trembling! You can tell people absolutely adore Brother Ba Li. They call him 'Wild Mountain Torrent' because a fight with him is never boring!"

Messengers recruited specifically for the election were hurrying back and forth between the stands and even inside and outside the venue, relaying information such as the battle situation, rankings, and matches. Before long, louder and more indistinct cheers (or boos) came from outside the venue, while further away in the city, someone even set off fireworks, lighting up the darkening night sky.

“This Ba Li Ge has some real skills.” DD stood in the aisle below the Duke’s stand, holding paper and pen, looking at the blood-soaked, spear-wielding, roaring Wild Mountain Man in the arena, and nodded slightly.

“He can’t shake his battlefield habits, so he drew blood,” Morgan, who was next to him, lowered his head and lit his pipe, agreeing softly. “He only showed some skill when he reached the quarterfinals, but… humph, there are so many other things he could do with that ability, why does he have to come here to perform?”

“Hey, everyone has their own ambitions,” DD said, leaning on the low railing beside him, scribbling something. “If it were me, I would definitely prefer to receive flowers and cheers in the ring and arena rather than have my head severed and blood spilled with no one to wrap my body.”

Morgan scoffed dismissively and turned to walk away.

The host's amplified voice rang out again, drowning out their whispers:

"More than a hundred contestants passed the preliminary rounds of this selection, including many well-established and popular players who were naturally the favorites, as well as many young and promising newcomers who were exciting to watch, and some unknown but surprisingly talented players who made a name for themselves! This is a spectacle that has not been seen for many years! Finally, after going through layers of fierce competition and overcoming obstacles, the final eight were determined!"

As the host spoke, the eight finalists emerged from their tents one after another, accepting cheers from the audience while keeping a watchful eye on each other.

DD squinted, intently observing the contestants while diligently taking notes.

"found it!"

The voice behind him startled Doyle, and he almost dropped his pen and paper. He only breathed a sigh of relief after he saw who it was.

"You scared me to death! I thought Terrorblade had come back to life... Oh, Wyman, wait a minute, yes, you, the real Wyman, catch your breath," DD put away his pen and paper, and helped the sweating, panting Wyman up. "What did you find? A betting spot with a rake bonus?"

Wyatt was taken aback.

The next second, the host's voice suddenly rang out, startling them all:
"First up is Kong Geyou, the 'Hundred-Step Ranger,' selected by the New Suburbs Guard and the Night Workers' Guild. He wields a greatsword to uphold justice and throws knives to punish villains! His skills were honed through his life as a mercenary and adventurer! It is said that he has traveled thousands of miles and seen hundreds of cities before finally deciding to settle down in our beautiful Emerald City. In the New Suburbs, he upholds justice and is respected by all! Within a hundred paces, villains vanish without a trace; where the ranger is, the citizens are safe! Ladies and gentlemen, this is one of the top eight in this selection: the Hundred-Step Ranger!"

Amidst the chaotic cheers and applause around him, Wyatt had to raise his voice:

"What betting... no, I mean, I just found several clerks from the city hall and several secretaries from the chamber of commerce, using my father's name to coerce and bribe..."

"What? Coercion and bribery? You?" DD was somewhat surprised.

“I know, I didn’t want to either, but given the current situation—anyway, I’ve roughly figured out that lawyer’s resume, and there’s one thing worth noting,” Wyatt remembered something, pulled out his notebook, and snatched it from him, “Lend me your pen, mine’s broken, while my memory is still sharp…”

"Wait, I'm still using it—"

Before DD could protest, he heard Wyman murmur:
“Slimani, twenty years ago, passed the formal civil service exam and qualification review to become a full-fledged guard officer. He has a good reputation in the department, is helpful, and his colleagues praise him as ‘the guard’s pen’ and ‘reporting expert’…”

Doyle felt the name sounded familiar and scratched his ear.

“Not surprising.” A deep, heavy voice came from behind, startling Doyle.

"A zombie! That scared me half to death! I thought..."

DD turned around and said righteously and sternly:
"Where have you been? You know, this is a critical time, and His Highness needs manpower!"

Golov had just returned from off the court. He was holding his bandaged arm and squinting at the notes in DD's hand:
"You mean the manpower for calculating odds and placing bets?"

“Ahem, now’s not the time for that,” DD said calmly, closing his notebook and odds sheet before turning to Wyman. “And then? Keep going, what happened to Slimani?”

Wyman didn't notice this little incident. After quickly finishing his notes, he handed the pen back to DD, who then started scribbling and revising the odds sheet again.
"Nine years! Nine years ago, at the most crucial moment of accumulating seniority for promotion, Slimani suddenly resigned from his position as a guard and switched careers to become a defense lawyer!"

"Resign? Why?"

Not far away, the Emerald Legion soldiers kept a watchful eye on the big man from the Starlake Guard—until the fierce Grover stared back at them, not giving an inch.

"Because he ran into trouble." Another voice came from behind.

The group paused all at once.

"Lao Kong!"

Doyle, who was looking at his notes under his owl's head, shuddered again. He couldn't take it anymore: "Don't you guys make a sound when you walk?!"

"You were too focused on writing."

Kommuto, the guard officer, raised an eyebrow, but then paused, taken aback:
"Hey, Young Master Casso is writing important things in his notebook, but what are you doing with your notebook...?"

DD swallowed hard. Fortunately, the host's voice rang out again, drowning out their words:
"The handsome and agile swordsman, Levin Jabari, was once a lead performer in a circus troupe in Tarlund. An old knight discovered his talent for weapons, and he switched to swordsmanship, winning countless championships with unstoppable momentum! Known as the 'Free Sword Dancer,' he moved with effortless grace and ethereal skill in the battles leading up to the quarterfinals, navigating the final moments with unparalleled skill, driving every lady wild! Good heavens, if the election were decided by voting, then gentlemen, we can declare this the end now!"

In the arena, a lightly armed knight, whose helmet was decorated with feathers, gracefully brandished two rapiers, bowed to the surrounding stands, and was greeted by a shower of flowers and coins.

“Oh, it’s this guy dressed like a peacock, there’s something wrong with him,” DD perked up at the sight of him, looking at his notes, “In at least two fights, his opponents were clearly quite strong, but they always made some flashy but impractical moves and then mysteriously lost to him, and just happened to lose in the last few moves, creating the impression that this guy persevered, fought to the end, and finally turned the tables and won.”

“No wonder, I felt his odds changes were a bit…tsk tsk, I guess someone’s going to lose badly.” Komuto suddenly realized.

“It’s okay, my stepmother said money is fluid,” DD said, picking up his pen and chuckling, “If someone loses, it means someone else is going to make a profit…”

"Guard Komuto, why did you say that Slimani resigned because something happened? What happened?"

Wyman squeezed in front of them, looking serious.

Seeing that everyone was looking at him, Kommuto straightened his collar, looking satisfied.

"Actually, it wasn't Slimani, but his old boss, whom I reckon was also a backer and protector—the also-dead Jeff Rene. Rene was originally the head of the Security Bureau, a slippery old fox, someone who could never find fault with anything, someone who wouldn't offend either the legitimate or criminal world. Even if the entire Security Bureau were raided, and all his superiors and subordinates were imprisoned, he could still get away with it..."

Kommut smiled mysteriously:
"Until ten years ago, René was stripped of his position as the head of the Canal District Security Bureau and demoted to a first-class security officer. Later, he was also found guilty of embezzlement and bribery... Heh heh, with him down, Slimani probably couldn't stay in office either, so he had no choice but to resign?"

Wyatt pondered for a moment, then wondered:
"How did you know?"

Upon hearing this, Komuto's face fell. He pulled out his empty wallet and sighed in anguish:
“I contacted an acquaintance at the local security bureau and borrowed a lot of money from him to place bets…”

DD slapped his thigh, filled with regret:

"Hey! Why would you lend him your money if you have it all?"

"Ten years ago?" a female voice suddenly rang out.

Everyone turned around at the same time.

"Mira!"

DD instinctively put away his notebook, only breathing a sigh of relief after seeing who it was:

"You scared me!"

But Miranda ignored her and pressed on, "Officer Commuto, you said Rene lost his post ten years ago?"

Koumto nodded:
"To be precise, well, not exactly precise, the rumor in the security department is that Rene was ousted by his political enemies..."

"Denver Boo, the 'Snow Beast'!"

The host's voice was raised inappropriately:
"Look! This is a beast you absolutely don't want to see on your journey! From beyond the Quegur Glacier, north of the ancient 'last line of defense of mankind,' a savage northerner who has lived a life of raw meat and blood since childhood, eating the elements and sleeping in the open, ferocious and terrifying! He can eat the food of eight people in one meal, and can chop down a mongrel as tall as two people with one axe! Roaring is his only language, madness is his only personality trait, and cruelty is his greatest faith! Contestants who encounter him should be careful, while those who bet on him should be happy!"

A filthy giant appeared in the center of the arena, threw down his double-edged axe with a bang under the lights, pounded his chest and roared, eliciting gasps from the stands.

“Another braggart,” Miranda couldn’t help but chuckle. “Apart from the orcs and the Glacier Outposts trained by the End of the Castle, no one can survive north of the Thirty-Eight Outposts—unless you carry two hundred barrels of eternal oil and five hundred carts of firewood with you, burning them in rotation every day to keep warm.”

Everyone was stunned, and their gazes toward the giant man became increasingly strange.

“And also,” Miranda shook her head, “the further north you go, the smaller the axes get, and the weapons become more and more suitable for carrying close to the body. By the time you reach the thirty-eight watchtowers covered in ice and snow, where water freezes instantly…”

“I see,” DD’s eyes lit up, and he reopened his notebook to take notes. “I understand now, thank you.”

“That’s called being curious.” A voice came from behind DD’s shoulder.

"Holy crap—Little Silly Lion!"

Doyle turned around, hands on his hips, and roared, "Didn't your father teach you not to approach people from behind?!"

“No, because there’s no need,” Paul Bozdorf calmly replied. “In the Western Wilderness, people who don’t even know someone is approaching from behind basically can’t survive.”

DD choked.

“So, ten years ago, Rene lost his job, and nine years ago, Slimani resigned,” Paul turned to Wya and the others, “right?”

Wyman's eyes lit up:
"Young Master Bozdorf, you've noticed it too?"

Paul shook his head:
"Please, I'm not some young master. Besides, I just found out some information about this morning's victim, who was also our old friend, the Caquerete-class guard officer: guess when he was promoted from the position of prison guard captain to become a guard officer?"

Miranda's eyes flickered:
"Ten years ago?"

"No, but it's close, it was eleven years ago."

Golov raised an eyebrow:
"Eleven years ago, Caquere was transferred... How did you know?"

Paul pointed his thumb behind him and said, "In one of the stands, there is a nobleman who is said to be from a branch of the Bozdorf family and whose family immigrated here from Hellfire Castle."

"Moved from the Western Wilderness to the South Bank?" Kommut clicked his tongue. "How ancient must that branch be?"

“Quite far off, so far off that I think he’s just a conman who wants to use the election to infiltrate high society, swindle and rip off the rich.”

DD's eyes lit up: "So?"

“So I patiently listened to him recount his family history, pretending not to know that he had mispronounced my grandfather’s name,” Paul said nonchalantly. “Then we started talking, and he was eager to spill all the local information he knew, including that the guard, Caquere, used to be a gatekeeper at the Emerald City prison. He was corrupt, demanding bribes and deceiving his superiors. All the swindlers and bandits who had been there hated him.”

Wyman's eyes flickered:
"But Caquerey eleven years ago..."

But DD waved his hand to interrupt him: "Hey, don't interrupt, let's get back to the main topic. What happened to that conman who impersonated your family?"

Wyatt was incredulous: "The main topic? Isn't it—"

"Oh, then he got drunk and started saying he had inside information, that he knew who the predetermined champion was, and that he was going to place a bet to make a fortune. But when he reached for his wallet, he realized it was missing. He was filled with regret, but then looked at me expectantly and asked if I had any spare cash." Paul said expressionlessly.

"And then? Did you lend him the money?" DD looked at Paul expectantly.

"Then I took him home."

Wyman was startled: "Go home?"

“Don’t worry, he’s still alive,” Paul said calmly. “This is common in the Western Wilderness.”

alive?

Everyone looked at each other in bewilderment, except for DD, who sighed in disappointment.

“So, Paul,” DD closed his notebook and said seriously, “do you have any spare money?”

Paul frowned, but before he could reply, the host's voice rang out again:

"Tate Bischoff! The black-armored foot warrior from Maple Cape Coast has won many battles in a row, but they are all laughable: his opponent in the first battle messed up at the shoulder armor connection, his opponent in the second battle tripped and fell, and in the third battle, Bischoff himself fell down, but accidentally broke his opponent's thigh! In the fourth elimination round, the expert who returned from the Tower of Termination withdrew at the last minute, and Bischoff advanced with a bye, shockingly entering the final eight! In view of this, the audience has given him the nickname: 'The Sword of Destiny'!"

As he was introduced, the black-armored warrior took two steps forward and awkwardly raised his hand to wave, but there were few people responding in the stands, only laughter.

“The opponent withdrew at the last minute… Hmm, this guy might also have something going on, trying to balance the odds…” Kommuto shook his head repeatedly.

“Someone—someone with money and power—wanted him to make it to the quarterfinals, so they bribed his opponents, including the one who withdrew,” Paul said grimly.

"Isn't this manipulation a bit too obvious?" Wyman frowned.

“Oh, no, no, you don’t understand… The trick here is that only the one who withdrew from the competition wasn’t bribed,” Doyle said, beaming. “So he was forced to ‘withdraw’ from the competition, and that’s why it’s so obvious.”

“This Bischoff,” Miranda suddenly said, “I’ve watched his fights, and his rhythm is anything but simple.”

DD pricked up his ears: "Rhythm? What does that mean?"

Miranda's eyes shone brightly: "He's got some skills, and it's not just about being funny and lucky."

Everyone paused in unison.

Golov frowned. "Is that so?"

"You mean... all those times before, when he looked so clumsy and comical, it was all an act?"

DD's expression changed slightly. He glanced around, sensing the atmosphere in the stands, and instantly understood:
"Oh no, a double play! The dealer is winning both ends!"

The next second, Doyle grabbed the betting slip and frantically began to scribble over it.

"Of course, everyone! Next up is the biggest favorite in this selection! The most formidable force among the top eight!" The voice rang out again in the arena.

A man covered in blood stepped out of the tent, drawing cheers from the crowd.

"Azai Yi Ju Yong Ba Li Ge!"

Inside the arena, the host was practically roaring from the stage:

"As a warrior from the Barren Mountain who came to the conference from the Hambur Dynasty, he was originally a brave warrior who could take on ten men single-handedly on the battlefield, repeatedly achieving meritorious service. He was a soldier who charged into battle, a choice of a hundred battles! His spear was fierce and accurate, and his iron shield was extremely strong and powerful. He was a battlefield nightmare who took down enemy chieftains and destroyed enemy camps amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood! It is said that the 'Heavenly Wisdom Tarar' of the Hambur Dynasty once summoned him and personally bestowed upon him the name 'Gathering Warrior'! However, Ba Li Ge refused the unimaginable reward, because he did not covet high-ranking positions and riches. He only wanted to fight fiercely on the battlefield, challenge the strongest opponents, and push the limits of life! In the previous battles, his opponents suffered many casualties, and blood flowed all over the ground. It was real and cruel, but Ba Li Ge was still deeply loved by the audience. This is the charm of 'Barren Mountain Torrent'!"

“Look, there’s still someone who can fight,” Miranda said with a hint of surprise. “Look at his footwork and coordination. Damn, this guy is the real beast.”

“I don’t like his eyes,” Morgan said, staring intently at the equally menacing-looking Ba Li Ge, clenching her fists. “If I were to run into him on the street…”

“If he rushes up to the stands and attacks His Highness…” Golov surveyed the distance from the arena to the Duke’s stands, lost in thought.

“Shoot him,” Paul said, frowning. “There’s no need to get into close combat with him.”

“Call more people,” Kongmutuo said, looking at Bali Ge’s bulging muscles and crisscrossing scars. “There’s no need to even fight.”

"Everyone, let's get back to the main topic!"

Wyatt waved his fist, trying to draw everyone's attention back from the election: "Although nothing much has happened for several hours, don't forget, His Highness said our situation is critical..."

DD yawned widely.

Paul spoke up at the opportune moment: "So, whether it's Slimani, Rene, or Caquere, their life trajectories all underwent a major change. Some rose, some fell, all exactly nine to eleven years ago..."

Wyman said worriedly, "Unfortunately, I can't find the biographies of the other two deceased, the wine merchant Morse and the wool merchant Diop..."

“Diop is the same,” Golov suddenly said, drawing everyone’s attention.

Feeling uncomfortable under everyone's gaze, Golov coughed:
"He was just a tannery apprentice, the lowest rung even in the craftsmanship. He wouldn't be invited to the kind of celebrations where everyone would get together for drinks during the Revival Day holiday..."

Everyone froze, staring intently at the zombie.

"Until ten years ago, Diop suddenly met a benefactor, made a fortune, opened his own processing workshop, and then switched to the fur business. Orders and customers came in droves... Why is everyone looking at me?"

"Vanguard Officer, how did you know that?" A few seconds later, Wyman asked the question that had been on everyone's mind.

Golov instinctively turned his head away, avoiding everyone's gaze: "Oh, I just kept watch for three hours, nothing happened, so during my shift break I started working on Wyman's notes, and I dragged the mute guy along, and we went for a stroll around the street stalls and night market, and we just happened to run into a few Blood Vial Gang members..."

"Nothing happened?" Morgan asked incredulously.

"Studying the notes?" DD asked incredulously.

"Shift work?" Komto asked incredulously.

"You and the mute?" Wyman asked incredulously.

"A street market?" Paul asked incredulously.

"You just wandered around?" Neshi, who had been punished by having to work extra shifts, was equally incredulous.

"You guys should be normal!"

Miranda harshly criticized the others, then turned to him incredulously: "Gollov, you just said, 'Just happened to run into'?"

Faced with so many strange looks, Golov was embarrassed:
"So, that's all they told us... Wait, shouldn't the focus be on ten years ago...?"

Fortunately, the host saved the zombies once again:
"Please be patient, everyone. The fierce battle between the top eight will begin immediately after the team competition! That's right, the most chaotic, bloodiest, and most unexpected multi-player team battle! As far as I know, at least five of the final eight will participate in the team battle. Hehe, this is the ultimate test of physical strength, endurance, intelligence, logistics, and even interpersonal skills. Will any of them be able to stand out and recreate the miracle of the 'Sword of Light' from back then, winning ten battles in a row, unstoppable by ten thousand men, and simultaneously winning the individual and team championships?"

Amidst the roaring cheers, more contestants came onto the field, many of whom had been eliminated in the previous solo battles. They quickly formed groups of two or three, each creating their own teams.

"Here it comes! Let me hear more noise! ​​This is the most thrilling team battle ever! Champions can fall, the weak can fight back, underhanded tactics can lead to victory, and recklessness will surely result in defeat! Are you ready!"

On the other side, Miranda crossed her arms:
"Want to know something else?"

She beckoned the guards to gather around, raising their voices amidst the cheers of the crowd:
"There's a bodyguard guild in Emerald City, and many of its members are swordsmen who graduated from the Tower of the End..."

“I also came from the Tower of Endings, how come I don’t know?” Upon hearing the familiar words, Neshi, who was standing guard nearby, immediately perked up her ears.

The crowd was annoyed by his interruption and turned away in unison.

"Did you graduate?" Golov scoffed.

Neshi's expression changed.

"Are you a seed?" Wyman asked helplessly.

Neshi's eyelids twitched.

"Are you the chief?" Commuto sighed.

Neshi's lips twitched.

"Are you the heir to the North?" Paul asked calmly.

Neshi shuddered!
"Are you our lovely Mila?" DD asked seriously.

Neshi was taken aback.

Boom!
With a muffled thud, Miranda effortlessly withdrew her elbow, leaving Doyle clutching his abdomen and bent over in pain.

On the other side, Neshi was unharmed, but he was also absent-minded, swaying and slumping into a corner.

"In short, the Bodyguard Guild also nominated several people to participate in this election, and I talked to them..." Miranda continued.

“Speak,” DD straightened up instantly, opened his notebook, picked up a pen, his eyes shining, “Who should we bet on?”

thump.

With another muffled thud, Golov punched Doyle, making him groan and forced him to retreat behind the others.

“A few old buddies told me,” Miranda shouted, “that ‘Lossan II’ was a mysterious figure with uncanny swordsmanship. At least when he was a Blood Bottle Gang assassin, nobody in Emerald City knew his true identity. But he died in a decisive battle with the Black Street Brotherhood in the capital—guess how many years ago?”

Everyone changed their colors.

"Could it be that……"

"Ten years ago?" a voice came from behind DD.

"Holy crap, you scared me again! You walk so quietly—" DD, who was studying the betting slip in his hand, jumped suddenly, then realized what was happening and grinned, "Oh, it's the standard-bearer! I've been waiting for you here for ages..."

Hugo Forbes stood behind everyone with a gloomy expression, causing everyone to stiffen and become solemn.

As everyone knows, when the terrifying blade is gone, 'ghosts' and 'gardeners' are the highest level of existence.

“To be precise, it was eleven years ago, at the hands of the Forbes standard-bearer,” Miranda continued. “Eleven years ago, many people witnessed King Lausanne II die at the hands of the Black Sword.” DD’s eyes changed: “Hey, but I heard from the zombies and the mute—maybe only the zombies—that the female boss confessed that King Lausanne II was killed by someone else?”

Hugo shook his head.

Miranda pondered for a moment and said, "That's not important. The key to this news is..."

"Eleven years ago?" Wyman frowned and snatched DD's pen.

Hugo gave a soft hum:
"I've overheard some of your discussion, so..."

He took a deep breath:

"Dagori Moss, a wine merchant, was heavily in debt and lost everything during the Bloody Years, but his business suddenly started to improve eleven years ago. He even started doing long-distance business, eventually expanding his business all the way to the capital..."

Hugo glanced at everyone:
"Of course, we later learned that he was recruited by Emerald City at that time."

Miranda exclaimed in surprise: "Eleven years ago again?"

Everyone fell into deep thought.

DD leaned forward and whispered, "Your Excellency, Commander, what is it you...?"

"Don't ask about the way to the flag wing," Hugo repeatedly refused.

DD gave a helpless look and shrank back.

But when he shrank halfway, his expression suddenly changed.

"Wait, you, you, and all of you..."

Doyle pointed to each and every one of the others, incredulously:
"Could it be that you've been diligently gathering intelligence for the past few hours?"

“Of course, we’re in a critical situation,” Wyatt replied, deep in thought. “What else could we do?”

DD glanced at Wyman's matter-of-fact expression and the notebook in his hand, then silently put away his own notebook.

“Then here’s the problem.” Miranda narrowed her eyes.

“Moss, Diop, Slimani, René, Caquere, even Lausanne II…” Wyatt read out the names in the notebook.

“Eleven or ten years ago,” Golov whispered, “the year 669 or 670 of the End of the Calendar.”

“Eight years after the bloody year, four years after the end of the Desert War,” Paul pondered seriously, “and two years before the prince’s return…”

"And the sixteenth year after I was born..." DD nodded solemnly.

"What exactly happened in Emerald City back then?" Komuto recounted.

"It must be a big deal that could change so many people's lives and even cost them their lives," Miranda pondered.

Everyone worked together to think, or at least pretended to think.

Miranda's eyes darted around, and she looked at Hugo:

"Your Excellency, the standard-bearer? You are knowledgeable and have a special duty, so you must know the answer to the riddle?"

Hugo remained silent for a moment.

“Yes, I know, or rather, I guessed,” the standard-bearer sighed, “but this matter involves…”

Hugo glanced cautiously to his left and right, seemingly wanting to say something but then stopping himself.

"Forget it, let's talk about it later."

Miranda cried out in alarm, "But His Excellency the Standard-Bearer..."

But Hugo shook his head and decisively turned and left.

"Don't overthink it, just do your job well."

Everyone was stunned as they watched Hugo's departing figure.

“He knows, but he won’t say,” Paul mused.

"What is he worried about?" Wyman asked, puzzled.

“I’d like to know too,” Miranda said, pursing her lips.

"A major event that happened eleven years ago..."

While he was thinking, DD suddenly slapped his thigh!
"Hey, that's easy—"

After saying this, to the astonishment of the others, Doyle crouched down, peered over the railing, and waved to a casino messenger who was jogging past below the stands:
"Hey! Zabi! Wait! Do you remember me?"

"Ah! Of course I remember!"

The young messenger, barely a teenager, carrying a large cloth bag, stopped in his tracks upon hearing this, looked up and saw DD, his face immediately lighting up with a smile.

"Are you Mr. Wyman from Stand Six?"

At that moment, the area around the railing fell silent.

Even DD froze, his hand hovering in mid-air.

He swallowed hard, clearly feeling the air pressure around one of the people behind him drop sharply.

Everyone stepped back in unison, making room in the middle for Wyatt Cassel, the real one, who was holding a pen and paper, head bowed deeply, trembling slightly.

But unfortunately...

"So, Mr. Wyman, do you still want to place a bet?"

Zabi was extremely excited:

"One more round? The team matches are already closed, and it's too chaotic to bet on, but the quarterfinals are a different story. Maybe we can win this time, Mr. Wyman?"

Feeling the icy warmth at the back of his head, DD slowly forced out a miserable smile:

"Hehe, yes, yes, then let's... let's play again..."

Under the sympathetic gazes of everyone, "Mr. Wyatt of Stand Six" stiffly reached into his pocket and shakily pulled out his betting slip.

"Alright, one bet on Bishofer!"

Zabi took the betting slip and coins, beaming with joy:

"A distinguished guest from the sixth grandstand—Mr. Wyman!"

As the drums and music began, the team competition officially started. Encouraged by the host, the contestants, who had already formed teams, roared and charged at each other. Some formed cliques to unite against the enemy, while others quietly retreated to save their strength for self-defense. Of course, some roared and plunged into the crowd. Before long, some people had already been injured.

The cheers from the stands around the arena were unprecedented and deafening. Fireworks dotted the night sky with a dazzling array of colors, creating a lively and bustling scene.

But DD shuddered, feeling only a deathly silence behind him.

It was cold and desolate.

"Uh... well, everyone, believe me, after carefully observing these matches and accurately calculating the odds changes, I roughly know which players are just there to make up the numbers, which are predetermined, who's suspicious, who has connections, who has real talent, and who's just relying on odds... Of course, there are only one or two left that need further observation, but I have a general idea of ​​where to place bets..."

The crowd exchanged bewildered glances. Doyle tried to smooth things over, while Wyah's expression remained hidden in the shadows, a mixture of longing and unfulfilled desire.

DD became increasingly aware that something was seriously wrong, and quickly changed the subject to the messenger:
"Ahem, by the way, brother, let me ask you something else: what major event happened in Emerald City eleven or twelve years ago?"

"Huh? Something big?"

Zabi, who was happily collecting his winnings, was suddenly stunned:
"Why ask this? What kind of thing qualifies as a big deal?"

Doyle gave a stiff, forced smile.

"Hehe, hehe, is that so? You, you see that big brother behind me with the notebook and a serious face? So we're playing a two-person quiz game, and the winner gets money—how about I share some with you?"

Zabi was initially surprised, then waved his hand dismissively:

“Oh, no need, no need. You’ve done so much for my business today, Mr. Wyman…”

The air pressure behind me dropped a little.

“Ahem,” DD quickly interrupted him, “Um, Zabi, eleven years ago? Something big?”

"Big news...big news...oh, I've got it! Emerald City just celebrated its 10th anniversary last year, and our casino had a special promotion for it. This is definitely big news..."

Miranda leaned against the railing, her expression deep: "Tenth anniversary? Commemorative celebration? Commemorating what?"

"Of course, it's to commemorate eleven years ago," the young Zabi puffed out his chest, beaming with pride, "Lord Jann returned to Emerald City, quelled the rebellion, and officially succeeded as the new generation—the Duke of the South Bank!"

"Nothing could be bigger!"

At this moment, everyone was stunned.

After the young messenger left, everyone looked at each other in bewilderment, and even Wyatt momentarily forgot about the grudge they had just had.

"Eleven years ago, the Duke succeeded to the throne and quelled the rebellion. What does that mean?" Wyatt murmured.

He looked up at everyone and suddenly noticed that some people looked serious, while others looked incredulous.

"why?"

Wyatt pressed on, "Why were all these victims promoted or changed careers after the Duke of the South Bank ascended the throne, and then murdered one after another eleven years later?"

"Why does Your Excellency, the standard-bearer, remain so silent about this matter when you clearly know it?"

No one answered.

Kommuto's face was deathly pale as he cautiously surveyed his surroundings.

Morgan shook his head dismissively and spat.

Paul frowned and remained silent.

Golov's face remained stiff as a corpse, but he clenched his fists.

Miranda looked up at the Duke's Stand, her expression turning grim and her gaze sharp.

Only DD, in an attempt to make up for his earlier mistake, slapped his thigh and readily answered.

“That’s simple. According to your theory, the real Wyatt,” Doyle said, getting more and more carried away, feeling that the logic had never been so smooth before, “of course, there’s something fishy about the Duke of the South Bank’s succession, and all these dead were people who knew about it, which is why some were promoted, some changed careers, and until they were purged and silenced—”

The next second, Doyle realized something, and in his shock, he shuddered and bit off all his words.

isn't it?
Duke succeeded, ascended to the throne...

"What did you say? What's suspicious?"

Wyman breathed heavily, his voice trembling, and asked:

"Who, who's suspicious?"

With a loud bang, roars and cheers erupted from several stands once again.

The team battles in the arena had reached a fever pitch. People were constantly falling down with screams and being dragged out by dedicated medics, while others roared and fought relentlessly.

"Come! Fight! Battle! Burn! Shine! Warriors! The setting sun is with you!"

The host shouted frantically:

"Fight to the death, spill your blood on the earth, and let the elector shine!"

But in that instant, Wyman felt as if the arena before him had changed:
It is no longer an arena for contestants and spectators; the fighting arena and stands have become the most inconspicuous parts.

On the contrary, hundreds and thousands of well-ordered Emerald Legion soldiers filled every sentry post, guarded every exit, and kept a close watch on every tier of the stands, effectively blocking every road around the Star Lake Guard, making it completely impassable.

The Duke's accession to the throne...something's fishy...

Wyman swallowed hard.

"Everyone, stay calm and don't make a sound. We know nothing. Everything will proceed as usual," Miranda said in a deep voice.

But clearly no one dared to get "excited" anymore.

No one can get up "as usual" anymore.

The armor and shields of the surrounding soldiers were emblazoned with bright iris symbols, each one exuding a murderous aura and fully armed, subtly guarding the most prestigious stands.

On that spot, their sworn brother—the vigorous and capable Duke of the South Bank, Jann Kevin Deer—sat comfortably.

Knowing the truth...silencing them...

Wya's breathing quickened.

The boy dressed in the nine-pointed star outfit sat next to Jann, his brows furrowed.

He seemed to be thinking about something.

"Someone must go and inform His Highness to bring him down..."

Wyman spoke with difficulty:
"If the Duke's ascension to the throne was truly illegitimate, and His Highness were to expose it..."

"Shut your beak, you real Wyatt!" Kommuto hissed angrily, disregarding his usual politeness. "And don't look over at His Highness!"

Everyone froze, no longer daring to move.

Everyone on these railings had their necks stiff, staring intently at the group battle in the arena.

"Oh God, why did I have to ask?" DD lamented. "The standard-bearer wouldn't say, he wouldn't say, there must be a reason why he wouldn't say!"

"Does His Highness know about the Prince of Thales?" Wyman stiffly looked up.

“His Highness is smarter than us…” Miranda said through gritted teeth.

Golov didn't speak. He quietly glanced to the side, observing the entrances and exits of the arena, but the more he looked, the heavier his mood became.

“Wait, what if His Highness knew…” Paul suddenly spoke up.

"That would be even more dangerous."

Miranda shook her head: "Think about it, what if Jenn knew that His Highness knew... even if it was just a suspicion..."

Oops.

Everyone's hearts sank again.

"I will go and gather everyone—quietly."

"No! It will arouse suspicion."

"Everyone, I have something to tell you, but don't panic right away..."

"What should I do?"

"I'll go send the code..."

"Notify the flag bearer first..."

"Everyone, well, uh, I was just focusing on analyzing a certain player's performance, odds, and match history..."

"The standard-bearer must have already taken action!"

"Calm down, leave one by one..."

"Um, everyone? Seriously, there's this player who doesn't seem to be a pre-selected player, nor does he seem to be playing seriously. I mean, he's seriously disrupting the bookmakers' odds calculations..."

"Then what should Your Highness do?"

"He carried weapons, a warning weapon, and his usual dagger..."

"What? You want him to draw his sword and fight his way out?"

“I’ll take him downstairs and tell him that Terrorblade is critically ill…”

"Marius is in the Palace of the Empty City! Is there a better excuse?"

"Everyone!!!"

Someone shouted, startling everyone!
Everyone turned around and discovered that the person who spoke was DD.

"That move, the player, the odds, the performance—it wasn't real skill, nor was it an act... No, no, it can't be, why..."

Doyle was covered in sweat and looked panicked. He raised his hand with trembling hands.

Everyone looked at each other, surprised and apprehensive.

"Doyle, calm down!" Miranda said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t panic, DD, take a deep breath, I’m here,” Golov knew this might be a panic attack on the battlefield, and he quickly said, “I’m watching your back.”

"No!"

But DD interrupted him.

"That player I've been closely monitoring, the one whose odds don't align with the bookmaker's principles..."

Doyle pointed to the field and said, trembling:

"I just saw him use a 'locking formation' move in the group melee, a classic one."

Miranda was taken aback: "What do you mean?"

"That is, that is a move from the Legion Ten Styles."

Everyone was stunned.

Several seconds later, Miranda slowly came to her senses, staring at the chaotic battle below the stage.
"Wha, what?"

“I know, I’ve told myself so many times that he’s dead, that there’s no way out for him… But, but there’s always a voice telling me that he’s not so easy to kill… Oh no, I swear, that was definitely a ‘Guardian’ move!” DD’s voice was distorted.

“DD…” Golov said with difficulty.

“How is that possible?” Wyatt exclaimed incredulously.

“Yes, it’s highly unlikely, but I swear that technique, that skill—that’s him.”

DD swallowed hard, his face ashen as he stared at the flashing swords in the arena.

"Los Santoro II is still alive."

"Just blend in with these players who are fighting each other."

"Now."