I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 462 Poison

Dorok huddled in the secret cellar of an abandoned tavern, the damp, musty smell mixed with the sour odor of cheap ale filling his nostrils, but he completely ignored the unusual smell, focusing all his attention on what was above him.

The orderly footsteps of leather boots treading over the stone slabs, the sporadic shouts, and the more unsettling, fragmented yet professional sounds of searching were pounding on the wooden planks overhead.

Dorok instinctively gripped his half-sword, waiting for the wooden plank above his head to be lifted...

During this waiting period, the phrase "a stray dog" suddenly appeared in Dorok's mind like a cold icicle, causing him to shiver involuntarily and then become subconsciously angry.

After the noise above his head subsided, Dorok couldn't help but mutter a curse under his breath, his voice hoarse.

The movement aggravated the wound under his ribs, and a sharp pain made him gasp. Fine beads of cold sweat quickly appeared on his forehead.

The wound was caused by a halberd grazing Dorok when he broke through a checkpoint of a nobleman's private army. The wound wasn't deep, but it stung and was clearly inflamed.

He needed clean bandages, disinfectant from Bagnia, and a scalpel to cut away the rotting flesh.

Thinking of this, Dorok subconsciously tugged at his thick, stiff, coarse cloth coat, which reeked of sweat and fish... It was partly responsible for the infection of his wound.

He had casually stolen the clothes from a clothes rack. They were baggy and bulky, perfectly concealing his original conspicuous chainmail and muscular physique. They also barely covered several roughly bandaged wounds on his body. He wore a dirty, tattered felt hat pulled down very low, obscuring most of his face.

His own wanted posters are now plastered all over the streets. Although the portrait is crude, the bounty on it is high enough to make any outlaw envious and interrogate anyone who resembles the portrait.

To avoid unnecessary trouble, Dorok was also forced to disguise himself to some extent.

Because once discovered, noble private soldiers, royal guards, and even local gangs and assassin guilds would swarm in like sharks smelling blood... Just like now, Dorok has been discovered at some point, leading to a search of his temporary hideout.

The players have gone from hunters to prey; the daytime streets of Taiwan are now off-limits to them, and every move feels like dancing on a knife's edge.

Most of the surviving players had to use sewers, abandoned houses, and even garbage dumps in residential areas to hide their tracks.

From dawn until now, night has fallen. Dorok has already experienced three skirmishes. He was forced to kill several people and was separated from the other players before he barely managed to shake off his pursuers and scurried into this temporarily safe corner like a rat.

"Damn it..."

Dorok cursed again, then lay down quietly and logged off... He wasn't planning to leave right now.

Although it's not safe here, and there will definitely be a second wave of searches later, leaving now is obviously more dangerous.

He wanted to log off here to discuss with other players, find out how many people were still alive in Treasure Island City, and where the nearest other players were.

Dorokh knew the main quest wouldn't go so smoothly, and the nobles on the island would certainly react to their assassination attempt.

However, the current counterattack is so fierce and sudden that Dorok can't help but wonder if the players have been betrayed.

But who is the betrayer?
Of course, it's the gray-clad man who suddenly appeared and is now nowhere to be found!
The players in Treasure Island City are in a bad situation, but when Dorok logged off to contact others, he realized just how bad it was.

Before the assassination, there were about a hundred players in the city. The number wasn't large, and they were divided into several small groups, but overall they still had a certain fighting capacity.

However, now, no more than ten players are still alive in the city, and Dorok's Tiger Crouching Cannon has been lost in the continuous attacks.

After all, a cannon without gunpowder is often less useful than a fire poker.

There were too few players, and Taiwan was currently a boiling cauldron. The remaining players didn't have much to do except wait for the resurrected players to arrive.

How much longer do we have to wait?

It will take at least three days for the first batch of players who died to arrive.

"Fortunately, this period of time is not too long, and we can get through it by simply hiding."

After re-logging back online, Dorok tended to his wounds, thinking to himself, but little did he know that something big was about to happen.

After this incident, the nobles and guards quickly stopped chasing after the fleeing players.

……

Evil always happens at night, like now.

The night was as dark as ink. In a secluded courtyard on the side of Earl Hawke’s old mansion, the guards were much more relaxed than those on the main road outside.

The nobles placed Prince Charles under house arrest here more as a political symbol and a bargaining chip, and did not really expect that someone would dare to defy public opinion and directly storm this place... especially against the backdrop of a city-wide manhunt.

However, the gray shadow arrived.

Like a true ghost, he led a few of the core, most silent "sardines," using his precise understanding of the building structure and patrol gaps to quietly eliminate several hidden sentries on the perimeter.

Their movements were as swift as lightning and as precise as a scalpel, clearing a path with exquisite crossbows and armor-piercing daggers, taking down any guards who stood in their way with almost no extra sound.

When the grey shadow slipped into the bedroom where the prince was being held captive like a wisp of smoke, ten-year-old Charles was still fast asleep. When he was awakened and saw this suddenly appearing, hooded, dark figure, he was so frightened that he almost screamed.

"Keep quiet, Your Highness."

The gray shadow's voice was low and strangely tinged with a barely perceptible apology.

Prince Charles recognized the familiar voice, one that often appeared beside his father, and the fear in his eyes was instantly replaced by immense joy and hope.

He practically pounced on her, his little hands gripping the cold hem of Gray Shadow's clothes tightly, his voice trembling with both tears and boundless excitement.

"Did Father send you? I knew it! I knew Father was alright... Let's go! Let's get out of this terrible place!"

The child's words were innocent and full of dependence, and the ecstasy of surviving the ordeal was like needles piercing the heart of the gray shadow.

His face was expressionless, even colder than usual, but only he knew that his body beneath the black robe was trembling slightly.

After hesitating for a long time, little Charles slowly went from delight to doubt. Even the sardines outside the room couldn't help but knock on the door to remind Gray Shadow. At that moment, his trembling finally subsided, and he no longer hesitated.

Gray Shadow reached into his pocket, pulled out a small bottle, and handed it to little Charles.

"Drink it, Your Highness. You'll fall asleep after drinking it, and I'll take you out of here."

"Oh."

Naïve young Charles had no doubts whatsoever, grabbed the bottle, and drank it all in one gulp.

"Guards, take the little prince away... and leave what we brought here."

"Yes."

……

The candlelight cast King Charles's shadow long on the stone wall, distorting and twisting with the flickering flame.

He was leaning over a rough map of Taiwan's urban area, his fingertips slowly tracing across it, as if planning the next invisible battle.

The door to the secret room opened silently, revealing a gray figure kneeling on one knee in the hallway outside, as silent and submissive as ever.

At this moment, he seemed to still carry the chill of the night and a very faint, almost imperceptible smell of blood.

"His Majesty."

His voice was deep and steady, revealing nothing unusual.

Charles did not look up immediately; his attention seemed to still be on the map.

"Is the matter done?"

His tone was calm, as if he were inquiring about the progress of a routine official matter.

Gray Shadow's Adam's apple bobbed almost imperceptibly, but his voice remained completely flat.

"Yes, Your Majesty, the mission is complete. The guards at Hawke's old residence have been eliminated, the target... has been dealt with, and the site has been properly prepared."

Charles finally raised his head, his gaze a gray shadow, a satisfied, cold smile on his face. That smile contained no grief for losing his son, only the smug satisfaction and cruelty of a successful scheme.

"very good."

He nodded approvingly.

"I did it cleanly and efficiently. Now I'm just one step away from completing the puzzle. Victory is within reach."

He leaned back in his chair, his posture much more relaxed.

“You always execute my orders perfectly, Grey Shadow. I am very satisfied.” Grey Shadow lowered his head, his hood concealing all his expressions. His Majesty’s praise felt like a hot iron branding his soul.

How to execute commands perfectly?
Do not……

What should he say at this moment?
His heart was churning with turmoil, and countless words welled up at his lips. He wanted to say something, but in the end, all of these words were suppressed by an invisible, cold force.

He saw the undisguised satisfaction with the outcome in His Majesty's eyes, and the fanaticism that led him to indulge in his own calculations.

Silence was the only option, a choice so heavy that it made it almost impossible for Gray Shadow to breathe.

Charles seemed oblivious to his shadow's inner struggle, or rather, he simply didn't care.

Charles waved his hand, his tone becoming casual.

"Go down. This operation has taken a toll. Let your men rest and recuperate. There's still a lot to do."

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

Gray Shadow's voice was extremely dry, and he had almost exhausted all his strength to keep it steady.

He lowered his head deeply to conceal any possible emotional turmoil, then stood up and silently retreated as if a part of his soul had been ripped away.

His steps seemed heavier than usual, each step like treading on invisible thorns. The shadows of the corridor gradually swallowed his figure until his back disappeared completely.

Charles's gaze returned to the map, his fingers tapping on the table as he began to plan his next move.

Outside the secret chamber, Gray Shadow leaned against the cold stone wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath of the stuffy air in the palace corridor.

The air was thick with the smell of power and the bloody scheming, making him feel suffocated.

He ultimately said nothing.

She chose to bury that heavy secret, along with that excruciating sense of guilt, in the darkest corner of her heart, and bear it alone.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze had returned to its stagnant calm, but deep within it lay a trace of an imperceptible, eternal weariness and resolve.

He pulled his hood tighter, silently blending into the darkness deeper into the corridor, continuing to play the role of a emotionless shadow who could only perfectly execute orders.

However, from this moment on, some things have changed forever.

……

When news of the Little Prince's assassination reached the Imperial Guard's camp, it was like a boulder thrown into a stagnant pool, causing an unprecedented uproar and uproar!

Initially, there was an unbelievable, deathly silence.

When the news reached the barracks, many soldiers were cleaning their weapons or tidying their armor, preparing for another day of tedious and confusing blockade patrols.

When whispers began to come from the officers, when those hushed, horrified words—"the prince," "dead," "Hawk's old residence"—spread like a plague, the entire camp seemed to be emptied of sound.

Immediately following was a huge, suppressed buzzing sound.

The soldiers looked at each other, seeing the same shock, bewilderment, and a rising, chilling anger in their comrades' eyes.

"How could this be!? His Highness, he..."

"Aren't there joint guards protecting them? Are all those noblemen's guards useless?!"

"How did the assassin manage to infiltrate?!"

The voices of doubt and anger were initially scattered, but they quickly coalesced into a more acute and fatal question.

"Your Highness, why were you sent away in the first place?!"

A young soldier's trembling voice broke the silence of their small circle.

"Why did General Roderick and his men hand His Highness over to those nobles?"

This question, like a poisonous thorn, precisely pierced the pre-existing wounds of doubt in everyone's hearts.

Yes! Why?
When the generals decided to hand over the prince as a symbol and guarantee to the newly established noble council, many lower-ranking officers and soldiers were puzzled or even resistant.

After Charles's assassination, Charles Jr. was the King's only bloodline and the rightful heir to the kingdom, and should have been protected by the Royal Guard to the death!

What kind of nonsense is it to hand it over to those nobles who each have their own agendas and who were just confronting the Janissaries in the streets?
But military orders are absolute, and despite their confusion, they chose to obey.

Perhaps the generals have deeper considerations?

Perhaps this is a political compromise?
But now, the prince is dead! He died under the "protection" of the nobles!
All the "maybes" and "compromises" have turned into naked irony and betrayal!

"If they don't hand over His Highness..."

An old soldier muttered to himself, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“If His Highness stays in our camp and is guarded by us brothers day and night, how could those Bagnian bastards possibly succeed?! How could those useless nobles possibly be left unchecked?!

"That's right!"

Immediately, someone with red eyes echoed in a low voice.

"It was the generals! They're the ones who pushed His Highness into the fire!"

Once the seeds of doubt are sown, especially when watered by bloody results, they will grow wildly.

"Did they already collude with the nobles?"

"Or... do they actually intend to..."

Although the words "traitor" were not shouted out loud, they hovered like a ghost in the hearts of every soldier, and their eyes were filled with fear and growing hatred.

Senior officers attempted to suppress the unrest, announcing stricter discipline, demanding that soldiers remain calm, trust their superiors' judgment, and declaring it a clear Bagnians plot to sow discord among the Minieses.

But to the lower-ranking soldiers, these orders and words sounded weak and even jarring.

"Calm down? How can we calm down? It's His Highness the Prince who died!"

"Trust your superiors? It was the orders from your superiors that killed His Highness!"

"Sowing discord? If they hadn't sent His Highness away first, how could anyone else have sown discord!?"

The atmosphere in the military camp quickly shifted from initial shock and uproar to a suppressed, boiling resentment and widespread distrust of superiors.

The soldiers were still in uniform and still carrying weapons, but their eyes had changed. The way they looked at the messenger officers and high-ranking generals was no longer one of obedience, but rather one of scrutiny, suspicion, and cold distance.

Trust, the most fundamental cohesive force of this army, is collapsing at an unprecedented rate.

Many mid-level officers are also caught in a huge dilemma.

They understood the power struggles and helplessness at the top better than the soldiers, but the prince's death also impacted their loyalty.

They were caught between dubious orders from their superiors and boiling resentment from their subordinates, caught in a dilemma and at a loss.

Some of the officers, who were already dissatisfied with the policies of the higher-ups or who had a stronger sense of justice, began to have their morale begin to shift.

The Royal Guard, the most powerful armed force in the island city, appears outwardly intact, but its interior has been cracked by the news of the little prince's death, creating a bottomless rift.

The generals' authority was fatally challenged, and the soldiers' loyalty needed to be reconsidered.

And all of this was exactly what Charles, deep in the palace, wanted to see.

Chaos had already taken hold, and the weapons he wielded—doubt and hatred—had successfully pierced the hearts of his disloyal subjects.

Besides the Royal Guard, the chaos among the nobles became even more severe, and their conflicts intensified. The so-called royalists and parliamentarians even secretly sent assassins to physically eliminate each other's enemies.

"Fight, kill, it'll be my turn to clean up the mess soon."

Charles muttered to himself.

(End of this chapter)