I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 449 Two-Sided Actions
After the mole left, the cramped house, located in an unnamed corner of a slum on the island, fell silent once again.

The little tycoon was still sitting on his rough wooden stool that hurt his bottom. He grinned foolishly, then quickly stopped because of the deliberately loud footsteps coming from outside.

The footsteps paused outside the door, followed by two light knocks and one heavy one, with a specific rhythm. This was Carlos's unique signal.

The silly grin on the kid's face had vanished, replaced by a deep calm. He responded in a low voice.

"Come in."

The wooden door was pushed open, and Carlos's tall figure almost filled the doorway. He wore an old, faded but still clean gray coat, with a rough leather vest over it to block the wind. He carried with him a chilly aura from outside, a mixture of dampness, garbage, and cheap tobacco.

He closed the door behind him, his movements steady and silent. His eyes, weathered by countless battles, quickly scanned the room under the dim oil lamp light, finally settling on the young tycoon.

"Boss."

Carlos's voice was deep and hoarse, like the friction of gravel. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment, his posture still upright like a soldier.

"sit."

The little tycoon pointed to the equally uncomfortable stool opposite him.

Carlos did not refuse. As he sat down, the chair groaned even more alarmingly than before, but he paid no heed, placing his hands on his knees and calmly awaiting instructions. He never asked unnecessary questions, nor did he waste time.

The young magistrate didn't speak immediately; his gaze remained fixed on the flickering flame of the oil lamp, as if he were organizing his thoughts. Inside, only the crackling of the burning wick and the faint, ceaseless whispers of the slums drifted from outside.

"Carlos."

Finally, the young leader spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying an undeniable determination.

"There's a dirty job I need you to do...right now."

Carlos's expression remained unchanged, only his gaze became more focused.

"Your command."

"There are a few minor figures in the city."

The kid continued speaking, his pace steady.

"You know that gossipy dockworker, Old Eel; that lame thug leader from the East District who collects debts, Iron-Crutch Li; and that skinny clerk at City Hall who secretly keeps records.

Carlos nodded slightly. These were all targets that Home Alone had encountered during the series of missions, so of course he remembered them.

"The mole just gave me a big task."

The homebody's voice was even lower, carrying a hint of icy chill.

"It's related to the king here. Once it starts, the island city will be in complete chaos. At that time, the kingdom's hyenas will frantically tear apart any suspicious traces."

If these insignificant little people are caught, as long as any one of them, on the rack or for a few pieces of black bread, mentions that someone once visited them, mentions what we look like, or even just vaguely describes some of the questions asked…

He raised his eyes, his gaze sharp as a knife as he looked at Carlos.

"...The identities of certain individuals and locations of the intelligence agency in Taiwan could be uncovered by following the clues. A mole might only be eyeing the eagles in the sky, forgetting that even ants on the ground can cause trouble. But we cannot forget that."

Carlos listened in silence, his facial muscles remaining perfectly still, only a knowing glint flashing in the depths of his eyes.

He got it.

This is not revenge, not silencing, but a purge, a ruthless elimination of potential threats in the rear before the war begins.

"It needs to be clean and neat."

Home Alone added, his tone completely flat.

"Make it look like an accident, like a vendetta, like the trivial tragedies that happen every moment in this city. Don't leave any trace pointing to us... Are you going alone, or do you need help?"

Carlos slowly stood up, his tall figure casting a huge shadow in the low-ceilinged room, almost completely enveloping the young master. His voice was still hoarse and deep, but it carried an absolute certainty.

“I am enough on my own. After tonight, no one will remember them, and no one will hear anything they shouldn’t have from them.”

He didn't ask why now, didn't ask how to do it specifically, and showed no hesitation or pity whatsoever.

For grenadiers who survived the harshest battlefields in Bohemia, carrying out orders and eliminating threats is an instinct ingrained in their bones.

Especially to ensure the success of larger operations.

The young master nodded, unsurprised by his reaction.

"Go. Be back before dawn."

Carlos nodded slightly again, without saying another word, turned around and opened the wooden door, disappearing into the cold, murky night outside like a silent shadow.

The door was gently closed, shutting out everything from the outside.

The young man remained alone in the room, looking again at the oil lamp. The flame still flickered uneasily, casting his long, distorted shadow on the mottled wall, like a cold, ruthless commander issuing silent orders.

The slums outside remained noisy, but beneath this noise, several precise and silent cleanups were quietly underway.

After giving his instructions, the young master prepared to leave to contact the other players.

As for who to look for, he knew in his heart.

He wasn't the only player in Treasure Island City, but there weren't many truly skilled fighters, so he needed to carefully select one.

Besides fighting ability, personality is also a key factor to consider, as the "Little Boss" team is afraid of some guys with unstable personalities.

……

Deep within the castle on the island, in the king's study.

The air here is completely different from the squalor of the slums, filled with the scent of old parchment, fine ink, and the faint smoky aroma of fireplaces burning expensive pine.

However, a certain invisible, cold pressure is more suffocating than the despair of the slums.

Charles stood in front of the huge arched window, with his back to the room.

Outside the window, the night view of Taiwan's harbor unfolds, with scattered lights blurring in the damp mist, like indistinct, hostile eyes.

He wasn't in the mood to appreciate the night view; he just needed a pose that would prevent others from seeing his expression.

Charles was so confused that he felt his room was too quiet.

In recent days, the nobles who used to buzz around him, vying to express their loyalty, seem to have suddenly become... restrained. The overly respectful bows, the shifty eyes, the whispers that quickly spread in the corners of the banquet hall.

Charles could smell something unusual in the air.

This is his innate instinct.

Charles knew they were plotting something.

The patience of the nobles who had sacrificed their interests by introducing snake people in order to preserve his throne had finally run out.

Charles turned around abruptly, the hem of his magnificent deep red velvet robe drawing a sharp arc.

His face revealed little emotion, only two cold, obsessive flames burning deep within his eyes.

"Somebody come!"

His voice sounded somewhat shrill in the empty study.

In the shadows of the corner of the study, a man dressed in an inconspicuous dark gray uniform, who seemed to be an integral part of the wall, silently stepped forward and bowed slightly.

His codename was Grey Shadow, and he was the head of a secret intelligence agency directly controlled by Charles, reporting only to the King.

"His Majesty."

"Those nobles on that beautiful island..."

Charles's voice was low, yet it sounded like a viper's tongue.

"They've been too quiet lately. I need you to investigate them. Use your people. I need to know every single one of their private meetings, every glance exchanged, and every complaint that might have been overheard."

Especially those few who lost their territory—I need to know what they're plotting in my city, in my court!

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The gray shadow's voice was completely flat, as if he were stating something perfectly ordinary. He had no questions and only needed to carry it out.

"besides."

Charles added that his eyes were even more sinister.

"Keep a close eye on the lower and middle-ranking officers of the Imperial Guard and the city garrison. If anyone suddenly becomes extravagant or seems uneasy... report it immediately."

"clear."

The gray figure bowed again, then, like mercury melting into the ground, silently withdrew from the study.

Charles stood alone in the center of the room, the firelight from the fireplace casting his shadow long and short, twisting and swaying.

He knew that relying solely on the Gray Shadows might not be enough. Those nobles were deeply entrenched, having cultivated their influence in the court and the army for many years.

He needed another kind of power, a power that could reach the heart and bring "sacred" fear.

He quickly left the room and headed towards a secluded small drawing room within the palace.

When Charles arrived at his destination, an elderly man dressed in a dark blue robe embroidered with silver waves and a trident was already waiting for him inside.

His hair and beard were all white, and his face was withered, but his eyes were exceptionally bright, as if they could see through the deepest secrets of people's hearts.

He is the new High Priest of the Church of the Sea God... Gore, a man who, with Charles's strong support, quickly purged the previous administration's forces to ascend the throne.

"Your Majesty, you have summoned me."

Gore's voice was gentle and magnetic, possessing a peculiar power to soothe the soul, but deep within his eyes lay a cold, undisturbed ocean.

"Priest Gor."

Charles didn't beat around the bush and went straight to the point.

“I sense it… a filthy undercurrent is surging deep within my kingdom. The venomous snakes of betrayal are breeding in the shadows.”

Gore nodded slightly, his hands tucked into his sleeves.

"The sea god sees all, Your Majesty. The surging undercurrents will eventually devour the disrespectful. What do you need the church to do for you?"

"I need the eyes and ears of the sea god."

Charles took a few steps closer, his gaze fixed intently on the old priest.

"I need your priests and believers to listen to the voices in every corner of this city, to the taverns, to the markets, to the slums, to the salons of the wealthy ladies... I need to know about any discontent with the status quo, any expectations for the future, any unusual gatherings or remarks."

He paused, his voice growing even colder.

"In particular, regarding any rumors about my loyal nobles, the Church... should have a way to get those who are fearful or greedy to reveal the secrets they hide outside the confessional, shouldn't it?"

A barely perceptible smile appeared on Gore's withered face, a smile devoid of warmth, containing only the chill of the deep sea.

"Faith can both comfort and torment the soul, Your Majesty."

"very good."

Charles nodded in satisfaction.

“Remember, Priest Gor, I gave you your position; we are bound together by fate. Make sure the Sea God is on our side.”

"The sea god always stands on the side of the victor, Your Majesty."

Gore bowed slightly, his tone devout, yet his words carried a stark sense of reality.

After speaking, the old priest slowly withdrew and left, like a ghost from the deep sea.

Charles returned to his room alone once again, went back to the window, and looked at the hazy night outside.

The grey shadows moved in the shadows, the church whispered among the crowds; he had laid two nets, one for the secrets of the secular world, and the other for the fears of faith.

He hoped this would catch those restless vipers.

But the cold, uneasy premonition in his heart did not dissipate; instead, it grew thicker and thicker, like the fog outside the window.

The storm seems to be really coming, and he must make sure he isn't the one torn apart by it.

(End of this chapter)