Final Lord

Chapter 278 The Bucks King's Scheme
Charles's gaze grew serious, his long, slender fingers unconsciously stroking the sword at his waist. Fragmented memories from his past life surged through his mind like a tidal wave—the burning Duchy of the Stag, the city walls shattered by elven cavalry, and the white figure who cleared a path for him through blood and fire.

He was unable to fulfill his promise to Wei Yi until his death in his previous life. This regret was like a lingering ailment, which he would think of from time to time, yet he was powerless to change it.

By then, the Principality of the Bucks had been destroyed, making it impossible to investigate the so-called truth.

“But it’s never too late for anything in this lifetime,” the young prince murmured to himself, a resolute glint in his amber eyes. He gazed at the falling maple leaves in the garden, his thoughts drifting far away.

The Gru family hasn't been destroyed yet, but they've been convicted of treason—there must be something wrong here! The memories of fighting alongside Yui in my past life are as clear as yesterday.

Charles's brow furrowed deeper. As a reborn being, he knew better than anyone else Wei Yi's loyalty to House Stag. That pure-hearted, almost obstinate swordsman had once single-handedly held off elven pursuers on a broken bridge for an entire night to cover the civilians' retreat; his character was impeccable, and he could never betray his country.

However, he is still young and has no say in the royal court. He is not even qualified to attend the royal council, let alone get involved in such important military and national affairs.

"I must think of a way." The young man paced anxiously along the garden path, his gilded boots crunching through the fallen leaves. Suddenly, he stopped, a glint of inspiration flashing in his eyes—the Crimson Flame Sword Saint!
This highly respected teacher was not only his swordsmanship instructor, but also happened to be Yui's master. If they could obtain information from the Sword Saint…

Thinking this, Charles immediately straightened his clothes and hurried towards the garden where King Charles the Stag often frequented. Autumn sunlight filtered through the branches of the golden nanmu trees, casting dappled shadows on his handsome face. As he turned past the hydrangea-covered pillars, he unexpectedly saw two figures standing in the gazebo. King Charles the Stag had his back to him, while the mysterious figure opposite him, shrouded in a black robe, instantly made Charles tense.

Just as he hesitated whether to avoid him, the man in black suddenly turned his head. Although they were dozens of meters apart,
Charles felt a chill run down his spine—two scarlet eyes were clearly staring intently at him from the shadows beneath the hood. The next second, the figure of the man in the black robe twisted and vanished eerily in the air, like a pencil drawing erased by an eraser, leaving only a few withered leaves swirling and falling.

"That is..." Charles's heart pounded, a terrifying rumor from his past life suddenly surfacing in his mind. He instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, only to see his father turn around, his gilded crown gleaming coldly in the sunlight. Their eyes met in mid-air, and Charles clearly saw a flicker of wariness in his father's eyes—a wariness he had never seen before.

Upon seeing Charles, the Buck King's deep gaze softened, and the beaded chains hanging from his gilded crown swayed gently with his slight forward lean. Morning light streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a warm glow on his austere face.

“Charles,” his voice was low and gentle, a stark contrast to his imposing presence in court just moments before, “what urgent matter brings you to see your father at this hour?”

Charles knelt respectfully on one knee, the gilded armor striking the marble floor with a crisp sound. He raised his head, his amber eyes gleaming with the fervor unique to youth: "Father, my swordsmanship teacher, Mr. Stansand, has left the palace on official business. I wish to take advantage of this free time to seek instruction in swordsmanship from the Crimson Flame Sword Saint for a few days."

Upon hearing this, the King of the Stags' lips curved into a barely perceptible smile. His slender fingers gently caressed the stag head relief at the top of his scepter, his gaze lingering on the handsome features of the second prince.

Since Charles displayed remarkable talent in cavalry, the usually stern monarch has valued his second son even more.

"Granted." The Buck King's voice held a rare tenderness as he gently tapped his scepter on the ground.

"Chi Yanqing's swordsmanship is indeed something you should learn from. However..." He changed the subject, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Don't tire out the old Sword Saint. He's getting old and can't handle your constant sparring."

Charles's eyes lit up with joy, and he bowed deeply. "Thank you, Father! I will certainly remember your teachings." As he rose, the young man's tall figure shone like a drawn sword in the morning light, full of vigor and brilliance. King Charles the Stag stood beside the gilded columns, the morning light casting dappled shadows on his stern face through the stained glass. This usually dignified king, at this moment, showed a rare hint of satisfaction in his deep eyes.

His long, slender fingers unconsciously traced the stag's head relief at the top of the scepter, his thoughts drifting like fallen leaves swirling in the palace gardens. The starkly different temperaments of Charles and his eldest son Charlton intertwined in his mind—the eldest son as steady as an ancient oak, the younger son as sharp as a newly sculpted sword.

"The eldest is steady and shrewd, the second is incredibly talented. The Bucks family has worthy successors." The Bucks King's deep murmur echoed in the empty corridor, the beaded chains hanging from his gilded crown swaying gently with his slight nod. Sunlight painted his tall silhouette on the gilded floor tiles, and his brocade robe embroidered with the stag's crest gleamed with a dark red luster in the light.

But this relief was quickly replaced by deeper worries.

He turned to look out the window, where the flag of the Dawn Empire fluttered in the distance above the border fortress, its dazzling gold causing his pupils to shrink.

Below the empire are kingdoms, and below the kingdoms are duchies.

The Dawn Empire and the Eagle Kingdom, two formidable forces, weighed heavily on the Stag Duchy, leaving it breathless and forcing it to suppress all its ambitions.

"The Dawn Empire has long been solidified," his voice suddenly turned cold and hard, like an undercurrent surging beneath polar ice caps, "It has no room for the rise of small nations."

The heavy thud of the scepter striking the ground startled the white doves on the window frame. The stag king's gaze sharpened like that of a hawk, as if piercing through the barriers of time and space, staring directly at the colossal entity that loomed over the duchy.

"If the Bucks want to move forward, they must clear the stones from their heads."

At this critical moment, the news brought by the man in black robes lingered in his mind like a venomous snake.

"But of all times, a troublesome little bug has to jump out at this moment." A cold smile appeared on the stag king's lips as he recalled the last words of the mysterious man before he disappeared—that Kate Gru was very likely carrying the gaze of the Mother of Abundance.

This realization made his temples throb. The gaze of the divine is like a third hand on a chessboard, always making a meticulously arranged game unpredictable and complex.

King Bucks raised a hand to rub his temples, his gilded wristband gleaming blindingly in the sunlight. He suddenly recalled that rainy night twenty years ago, the vow he made kneeling before the late king's sickbed, and the meticulous plans he had devised over the years.

"Truly... someone who can defeat Hank's army and summon the messenger of the Mother of Abundance. From which crack in the rock did such a person spring up?"

The stag's sigh dissipated in the autumn wind that swept through the hall. The sound of the scepter and gilded boots stepping on the marble floor was like the heavy footsteps of fate, leading step by step towards a future that had already been set but was full of variables.

(End of this chapter)