Chapter 621: After the Disaster

Renaissance Palace, Elan Courtyard.

“This is an Ancient Empire Sword.”

In the courtyard, Pioneer Officer Marico swept past two rows of stern-faced Royal Guards, holding the hilt in one hand and supporting the blade with the other, carefully observing the unfamiliar Longsword before him:

“Two thousand years ago, the ‘Great Emperor’ Komora Carloth forged them to reward the meritorious subjects of the Ancient Empire.”

“Hey, hey, hey, be careful with that!”

Complaints came from behind, Marico frowned and looked back.

Between the two rows of Royal Guards, the bruised and swollen Cohen knelt on the ground with hands and feet tied, stubbornly raising his head:

“That’s my family’s ancestral sword!”

By his side, also tightly bound, Doyle bumped into Cohen.

“Shut up.”

D.D clenched his teeth, worrying as he glanced towards Marico, while speaking resentfully:

“We’re already like this, can’t you stop provoking him?”

Cohen, unwilling to back down, was about to retort, but he glanced around with the corner of his eye: Wyatt, Golov, Rolff, and the others were all bound, lying defeated on the ground, closely watched by unfriendly guards.

The vigor of the Patrol Officer instantly lessened, and he whispered discontentedly to Doyle:

“Damn it, D.D., you told me we were just going to make a show of

force…

“No, my exact words were ‘His Highness likes to joke, like how he often threatens to send Officer Maillot to the Bone Prison, but in the end, he obediently goes back to being a sword target for practice…” “You call that a joke?”

“Weren’t you the one who started the fight at the palace gate? That headbutt of yours…”

“It wasn’t me! I was just standing in front acting fierce, and I don’t know who kicked me from behind…”

Marico’s voice suddenly came through:

“The family sword?”

The sound of his footsteps drew nearer, and Cohen and D.D instantly

fell silent, lowering their heads in unison.

“Yes,” Cohen whispered:

“My old man nagged a thousand times…”

Doyle bumped him again.

Marico stopped by their side and chuckled softly.

“It is said that the ancient swords possess special powers, with unspeakable magic.”

Marico examined and touched the “Bearer” from every angle, his eyes slowly becoming fascinated:

“Of course, the meritorious subjects who expanded the Empire’s territories and conquered the world were all experienced and battle-hardened experts. If the Great Emperor were to reward them, how could he use ordinary weapons and common iron?”

Cohen and Doyle exchanged glances.

Marico gently stroked the mysterious gemstone on the hilt of the sword:

“Legends say they can draw energy and matter from blood, soil, air, moisture, and even the steel they clash with, sharpening their blades and strengthening their bodies, hence dirt can’t stain, water can’t rust, blood can’t corrode, and battle can’t break them.”

“The weapons themselves are as if alive with memory, and even if they are slightly bent or deformed, they can restore themselves given enough time.”

“Their edge remains unblunted through the centuries, their form unchanged through the millennia.”

Cohen was stunned, staring at his incredibly familiar ornamental sword, he blurted out with a laugh:

“Thousands of years unchanging-ha, how is that possible? I have to take it for maintenance at the smithy every month, although Master Jeddy from Tali did say ‘this sword is quite durable’-“

At this point, Cohen’s expression changed, and he looked at Marico

suspiciously:

“Really, for real?”

Marico’s gaze drifted away:

“In the eyes of the Great Emperor, only immortal weapons are worthy of immeasurable achievements and eternal loyalty.”

Cohen furrowed his brow.

That monthly maintenance…

Damn, have I been swindled by Calacci again? And those crooked

merchant blacksmiths at Blade Fang Camp…

“As time passes and eras change, they have been dispersed around

the world amidst the turmoil of war, yet they remain exceedingly rare

and godly weapons.”

Marico caressed the spine of the Bearer, thoughtful:

“They have been passed down through generations, never becoming

dull or decrepit, using the sword to measure a person, to manifest

loyalty and sincerity.”

“To tell us, the later generations of the Empire, of the once great days

of the Empire.”

Cohen and Doyle exchanged looks once again.

Marico exhaled deeply:

“A long time ago, my ancestors also possessed such a sword. Until the

tyranny of the Red King, when our family fell from grace and had to

sell the ancestral sword to revitalize our house.”

Cohen let out an “Oh,” but then his face changed dramatically:

“That… that definitely isn’t this one!”

“See what I told you,” Doyle whispered angrily by his side: “Marico

loves collecting weapons…”

Pioneer Officer Marico snorted coldly, letting the Bearer thump

heavily onto the ground:

“Too heavy, not suitable for me.”

Cohen then allowed himself a relieved smile.

“I’ve heard of you, Cohen Kalabian, from the Volare Domain with the

Twin Tower Longsword-‘Wisdom on the left, Longsword to the

right”?”

Hearing his family’s motto, Cohen couldn’t help but frown.

Marico’s eyes twinkled:

“Perhaps you don’t know, but before we changed our name to Marico

to avoid disaster five generations ago, your and my family trees had an

intersection.”

An intersection?

Cohen was puzzled for a moment and before he could reply, D.D. by his side lit up, poking his head out:

“Oh? That’s good to hear. By the way, there’s also an intersection between Doyle and the Kalabians, which means that all three of us are

However, Marico didn’t even look at him, only picking up the heavy sword again:

“As a noble, having no great ambitions is not a major fault.” “But I thought you only quarreled with street thieves,” Marico said coldly. “Not that you were foolish enough to storm the palace and rebel, Knight of the Imperial Seal, Cohen Kalabian.”

“Rebel, rebel?”

Cohen was startled and forced a smile: “Misunderstanding, it’s all a misunderstanding. I came here to, well,

you know… Have you ever brawled in a group? Like when two people

talk tough face-to-face, with two hundred people standing on both sides making a lot of noise but nobody actually starts fighting? That

kind of thing…”

“Twenty men.”

But Marico was not listening to him at all, his tone ice-cold. “When you stormed the palace, there were twenty guards on duty, all

from the Pioneer Wing and Guard Wing. Fine men with promising

futures.”

“Facing the arrogance and rudeness of the powerful, they were

neither servile nor overbearing. They were loyal to their duty, enduring your beatings and injuries, yet they remained resolute, protecting the royal court.”

Cohen was taken aback and said anxiously:

“It was a misunderstanding, I swear it wasn’t me who started it…”

Marico huffed angrily, even more displeased:

“Of course, to you, it’s just a small, harmless misunderstanding.”

“But for them…”

Marico’s grip tightened on the sword hilt:

“The death of the former king, the disaster starts here’-that’s His

Majesty’s comment.”

As these words were spoken, the looks in the eyes of the Royal Guard members around him turned fiercer.

“It will be recorded in the service records of those twenty brothers in

the Flag Wing, following them for life, passing down through the history of the Guards.”

Marico grew increasingly furious as he spoke:

“Not only have they suffered this terrible disgrace, they will also have

to take the punishment for others-The Royal Family is never wrong, so the ones at fault for today’s events can only be them. They will bear the blame for presumptuousness and negligence, living in constant fear of offending the prince, unsure of their punishment, their future uncertain.”

“All because of… you.”

Marico glared at Cohen, who was wearing a rigid smile, and said through gritted teeth:

“Arrogant and domineering, swaggering with impunity, you’ve turned the Renaissance Palace into a toxic mess, bringing shame and

humiliation to the Royal Guards.”

Once

he finished speaking, Marico swung his arm, and The Bearer

spun in the air, neatly returning to its scabbard.

However, as the scabbard turned back, it mysteriously hit Cohen right

in the gut!

Bang!

Struck by the blow, Cohen fell to the ground in pain, his words

slurred, “Motherf…”

“Sorry, an accident while sheathing my sword.”

Marico said coldly, patting The Bearer:

“What can you do when it’s just too heavy.”

The prisoners stirred up a commotion.

“Ah ah ah,” Doyle hastily said:

“You know, the prince should be punished just the same when he-

spit spit spit-I mean, the prince should be held blameless just like the

commoners…”

But this only made Marico huff in anger. “Obviously, you’re just riding on the coattails of power.”

“So not only do you not have to pay for anything, you just need to grin

and bear it, and soon after, big shots like the Minister of Foreign Affairs will come forward to pull strings and greet you, threatening me both openly and behind the scenes not to administer private

punishment…” Marico looked at Cohen, who was curled up in pain on the ground, his breathing growing faster:

“Especially when the entire Kingdom wouldn’t dare to offend your oh-so precious masters.”

“Because no matter how reckless or outrageous he is, no matter how

much trouble he causes and how many people he harms, His Majesty will still pardon him, forgive him.”

“He will still strut out arrogantly, pointing at my nose demanding I release you, to allow you to continue being above the law, as if nothing ever happened, while we have to align our stories afterward

to protect his reputation.”

As Marico spoke, he grew more disgusted, finally letting out a

mocking laugh:

“And the captain will still say, ‘Bearing burdens for the Royal Family is

our duty!”

The Pioneer Officer looked down at Cohen with a chilling gaze:

“I know this world isn’t fair!”

“But it shouldn’t be this way.” Coughing a few times, Cohen slowly recovered.

“Look, I get where you’re coming from,” the Patrol Officer said, baring

his teeth:

“But if you f**king hit me again, just once more…”

On the side, D.D. was frantically signaling him to shut up, then

painfully closed his eyes.

Marico let out a cold laugh; this time, he made no effort to conceal it

as he raised The Bearer, pointing it at Cohen. Cohen, undaunted, glared back at him, teeth gritted.

“Nice words, but what you’re best at…”

A heavy voice chimed in at just the right moment: “Isn’t it just moving yourself, then self-righteously taking sides?” The voice sneered, deliberately dragging out the words: “Vincent Marico, Big C**k Brother?”

At this, everyone first froze, then their expressions turned strange.

Big… what? Marico’s expression changed; he turned away from Cohen and looked toward another prisoner. “Even if you haven’t heard it to your face, you should have some inkling, right?” Golov, covered in wounds and looking wretched, lifted his head on the other side and sneered: “The others might not know, but everyone in the Pioneer Wing calls you that behind your back.” “Because whenever there’s any conflict or disagreement in the

Pioneer Wing, you always like to be the first to step up, playing the Big Brother who handles justice. All talk and gesture-how is it? You think if your d**k is big enough, everyone will just bend over for you to poke them, and they’ll think it’s perfectly comfortable to be poked over and over?”

As Golov spoke, the entire Elan Court fell silent. Many of the Royal Guards couldn’t help but glance at Marico.

But Marico didn’t speak. He just stared at Golov, nostrils flaring. Among the prisoners, Wyatt sighed and bumped D.D. with his rear:

“I thought you were the one who could talk the best-sorry, forgot

you were hurt in the ass.”

Doyle also looked at the ‘zombie’ with surprise, as if he was seeing him

for the first time.

“But you don’t know shit.”

Golov strained to raise his bound arms and shouted at Marico: “Every time you spout bullshit to deceive yourself, it’s worse than the

crap your mom squirted out while she was being f**ked into the sky

by your dad with her head between his legs.” The ‘zombie’ spat viciously:

“Big C**k Brother.”

There was silence all around once again. “Sunset above,” Doyle whispered incredulously, “where in the world did he learn all this trash talk?”

It took a very long time before Marico took a deep breath, composed

himself, and walked forward.

“Garren Golov, it’s you again.”

Marico narrowed his eyes at the tall figure kneeling on the ground with a contemptuous expression,

“Why am I not surprised?” Golov snorted in response without saying a word.

Marico’s gaze on him was complicated, “You were once among the

best of the Pioneer Wing, born into nobility, talented, and with a bright future-I thought you were different from those playboys who only join the Guards to gold-plate their résumé.”

Doyle blinked in surprise as Marico looked at him while saying that. Marico came beside Golov, his gaze turning cold:

“Until you couldn’t control your lower half, falling into prostitution.” Prostitution?

As soon as these words came out, all the captives, including many Royal Guards, turned their eyes simultaneously towards Golov. Cohen first nodded subconsciously, then hurriedly joined others in feigning

surprise after realizing something.

Only Doyle was truly shocked:

“You,

you’re really not gay?”

A hint of anger appeared on Golov’s face.

“I didn’t want to say too much, since the matter was suppressed,”

Marico raised an eyebrow,

“but yes, I know, the reason you were stripped of your rank and

kicked out of the Pioneer Wing is because… while soliciting

prostitutes on Red Lane Street…”

Cohen nodded with trepidation.

Golov couldn’t help but rage:

“What the f*ck does that have to do with you!” Many people in Elan Court heard this for the first time and frowned.

Marico let out a short laugh, his expression growing colder.

“How many times?”

The Deputy Pioneer Officer questioned:

“First-class Pioneer Officer Garren Golov, how many times did you

take your pay on payday and sneak off to the Red District until dawn,

returning exhausted and broke?”

“How many times during the Pioneer Wing’s roll call did you lie to my

face, claiming your lack of spirit was due to poor sleep?” “And the brothel you frequented, what was it called? Which club?”

With each question Marico asked, Golov’s expression worsened, until

he finally couldn’t hold back:

“I f*cking love prostitutes! So what!”

“So what? So what?” Marico said coldly, “Just because a colleague chose the prostitute you liked, you

harbored a vendetta, plotted revenge, and eventually made a grave

mistake, ruining your career.”

Cohen’s mind spun, finding something vaguely familiar.

Golov, seething, said fiercely,

“They deserved it.”

“I know Menendez is a scumbag,” Marico said coldly, “and I know you

have a history with him, even guessing he was the one who set you up

first.”

“But what of it? Are you really that stupid to take the bait willingly?

Have you nowhere to put your heroic pride, so a few cooing women

can make you lose your mind?” Golov’s eyes trembled, and he clenched his fists tightly. “Officer Golov the Vanguard, you’ve degenerated yourself, plotted against your colleagues, injured your brothers-all because of-a few

whores’ pillow talk?”

Everyone, captives and guards alike, was taken aback and turned their

gaze towards Golov.

Facing countless eyes, the zombie trembled all over. But, eventually, he managed to suppress his emotions and scoffed.

“Have you ever tasted a woman? Of course not-Big C**k Brother is

too big, after all. No one can take it, pity.”

Marico was taken aback.

Golov lifted his head, his smile challenging: “Let me tell you, for that taste, I could kill ten more Menendezes.”

Marico’s face turned to anger: “He has already been punished-thanks to you, Menendez will spend

the rest of his life bedridden.” Golov spat contemptuously as he turned his head: “He’s lucky. Originally, he was supposed to rot in the ground.”

His indifferent attitude provoked Marico, who looked at him for a very

long time before finally shaking his head with a sigh.

“I tried to help you.”

Marico said disappointedly,

“Before, I covered for you in the Pioneer Wing, hoping that Commander Stelli wouldn’t discover your addiction to prostitution

too soon.”

“I visited your brother multiple times, hoping he could persuade you

with fraternal affection to come to your senses and return redeemed.”

As they looked into each other’s eyes, Golov furrowed his brow,

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

Marico shook his head,

“Now it seems you are so deeply mired in your ways with no intention

of repentance.”

“After it happened, I shouldn’t have gone to Commander Adrian and Commander Stelli, let alone visit the victims, requesting them to spare your life so you could atone by serving. Instead, I should have adhered to the Guards’ practice and disposed of you while you were

in solitary confinement,” the Pioneer Officer said with a shake of his

head in disappointment.

Golov’s gaze sharpened.

He grew increasingly angry, stressing each word:

“I, didn’t, ask, for, you, to do it!”

Unfazed, Marico twirled The Bearer in his hand, the sword’s scabbard

hitting Golov squarely in the belly!

Amid the shocked gasps of the crowd, Golov fell to the ground in

pain.

“You made the Pioneer Wing the biggest joke in the Renaissance Palace, and the Flag Wing is still watching us like a hawk, all because

of that rare violent discord among the guards,” Marico said as he

paced

around him.

“And not only do you show no remorse, but you also clung to power

and connections to escape your punishment, even having the

audacity to come back and wreak havoc in the Royal Court,” he said.

“You’ve brought shame to the entire Imperial Guards.”

Golov endured the pain and raised his head. “Oh, Big C**k Brother?” the bedraggled zombie said with a forced

smile, tauntingly:

“Your jab feels so limp. Did you forget to take your potency pills?”

Marico’s gaze turned cold.

“The swords of the Ancient Empire might be well-preserved and

durable,”

the deputy pioneer officer said coldly:

“But if the blade suffers irreparable damage, shatters or breaks, and

must be reforged, the power within it will change…”

“The newly forged sword, even as sharp as before, will no longer be

pure and will lose its former glory.”

Golov glared back at him fiercely, not showing any weakness.

Marico’s eyes swept over the captives: “Just like the nobles of Starlight,” “though passed down from ancient times, generation to generation,

paving the way for the future, after thousands of years…”

Marico lifted The Bearer in his hand:

“It still ultimately does not resemble the Empire.”

“Indeed,” Golov snorted angrily:

“Who knows which generation of your ancestors was sired by

someone your grandmother had an affair with?”

Bang!

Golov was knocked to the ground for the third time, while Doyle

beside him twisted in pain and exhaled sharply.

“I don’t know what string Marico struck in the zombie to make him

explode like that, but he’s going to get himself killed if he continues,” D.D whispered to the captives:

“Think of something!”

Just then.

“But I’ve heard people say!”

Wyatt’s voice came from behind, causing Marico to pause:

“Those whose minds only contain the Empire…” Wyatt raised his head and said with a light laugh:

“Often have never seen the Empire.”

Upon hearing this, Marico lowered his sword scabbard and turned

toward

Wyatt.

D.D stealthily gave the latter a thumbs up and wriggled over to the

critically injured Golov, propping him up.

Truly the real Wyatt!

“Prince’s Attendant Officer, Wyatt Cassel,” Marico said coldly.

Wyatt nodded and calmly said: “According to what you say, this man is no longer under your

command.”

“His life belongs to Prince Thales whether to beat or to kill.”

Marico stopped in front of him.

“Your Honour, the attendant officer, I respect your father: Count Cassel was of high integrity and extraordinary talent, contributing

great deeds to the Kingdom,” Marico said expressionlessly.

“You ought to follow in his footsteps, diligently assisting and advising

His Highness the Prince,”

“instead of mixing with these criminals.” Golov, regaining his breath, couldn’t help but open his mouth to

speak, only to be forcefully silenced by Doyle.

Wyatt first frowned, then smiled sardonically.

“There’s no need for that,” he said sharply as the attendant officer:

“Not every son is worthy of his father’s glory.”

Wyatt

gestured with his mouth:

“Just like this sword, no matter how sharp, legendary, or… pure it is.”

“The Empire still fell.”

Marico’s brows furrowed.

“Just like your family ended up selling the ancestral sword in the end.” Wyatt shook his head:

“Only to achieve what you have today.”

“Isn’t that right?”

“Big C**k Brother?”

Marico’s expression grew increasingly worse. Golov inexplicably became angrier, while Doyle again secretly gave

Wyatt a thumbs up:

The real Wyatt…

“Such spirit!”

Just then.

“Did I miss anything?”

A familiar youthful voice came, casual yet causing a stir among the

Royal Guards in the courtyard, prompting them to step back:

“I mean, aside from ‘Big C**k Brother”?” Hearing this voice, Marico sighed heavily.

In the midst of the commotion, Thales appeared under the light, his

face

weary.

The captives immediately felt a surge of hope, as if seeing a saviour:

“Your

Highness!”

“Little fart-Your Highness!”

“I thought I’d never see you again, wah-“

“We’re saved!”

“I just knew it!”

Thales

squeezed out a smile, waving his hand here, nodding there,

responding to the

excited shouts of his subordinates.

In the bustling crowd, Marico turned and barked angrily:

“Shut up!”

The guards in the Elan Court reprimanded one after another,

suppressing the enthusiasm of the captives.

“Alright, the show’s over, Pioneer Officer Marico,” Thales waved his

hand at Marico,

“Untie them.”

speaking wearily:

“The night path is too dark; I need company.”

The pioneer officer watched him with a complicated expression and

bowed first.

“I can’t comply with that order, Prince Thales,” Marico insisted:

“They are all suspects who have nobles to trespass, and must be thoroughly interrogated.”

trespassed the palace or incited

Thales let out a big yawn, unconcerned.

“Listen, I just fought the king for three hundred rounds, I’m tired and

don’t want to argue with you about this.”

“Go ask Adrian,” the prince pointed towards the way they came:

“He’ll give you the same answer.”

“Then I’ll wait here for the captain’s orders.” Marico wouldn’t show

weakness:

“You may go, but they cannot.”

Thales looked around, taking in the sight of the angry yet reverent

Royal Guards.

“Let’s make a deal then, Pioneer Officer Marico,” the young prince

sighed, “If you release my men.”

“I’ll give you something in return?” Marico snorted in rejection:

“Bribing the palace is a grave taboo of the Royal Family, Your

Highness.”

But Thales shook his finger and moved closer to him.

“You know, those Royal Guards at the palace gate when we came in,”

the prince said in a lowered voice with a smile:

“I suspect them of harboring ill intentions, planning to harm the

Kingdom’s heir.”

Marico’s gaze shifted:

“What?”

Thales stretched his neck to show the bandage:

“Look, my neck was slashed during that conflict, wow, and so much

blood was spilled; isn’t this attempted murder of a prince? For the

future

king’s safety, shouldn’t we ferret them out for explanation? To

expel him, or

them, from the Guards?”

“That’s not the truth; it’s slander.” Marico’s expression soured.

Leaving the captives watching in a daze.

Thales smiled: “That’s not for you to decide.”

“After all, my father also said that the former king’s death was all due

to your

negligence, right?”

“What do you say?”

Marico took a deep breath:

“You-“

“Let my men go,” Thales interrupted before he could speak, patting Marico’s shoulder with a slap: “And I’ll put in a word for the Flag Wing, ensuring those lads won’t

bear the blame of ‘injuring a prince’ or have any ‘negligence’ tarnishing

their record, nor will I seek revenge against them. How about that?”

Marico’s expression changed several times.

Thales clicked his tongue:

“So, Big C**k Brother, are you going to stubbornly resist me all the

way…”

He glanced at the captives, who were hungry for release:

“Or…?”

A minute later.

Thales walked the corridors of Renaissance Palace, surrounded before

and after by many who had a narrow escape (and were quite elated).

Their

procession was disheveled and shabby, yet they made a

considerable racket, and all the guards and servants they passed gave

wide berth (not to mention a large, unhappy black horse that

them a

had missed

supper).

“Sorry Cohen, I didn’t think it would get this big,” Thales said wearily:

“I just wanted to borrow your family’s reputation; I didn’t expect

you’d be the first to take action.”

“Oh well, the head will surely suspend me again anyway. I just hope

he doesn’t dock my pay,” Cohen, with a beaten-up face, lamented

while holding his family’s heirloom sword, tears and snot mingling together: “No wait, I remember now, I’m already under suspension for

reflection…”

“And the first person to take action just now wasn’t me, it’s because

someone kicked me from behind..”

Doyle coughed twice from behind and whispered:

“Does the head know the prince?”

Cohen was stunned, then came to his senses with unprecedented

clarity, righteously declaiming:

“Ah, Your Highness! It’s my honor to lead the way for you!”

“Given our relationship, I’m willing to walk through fire and water for

you!”

If the first one to take action wasn’t Cohen, then…

Thales glanced back:

Rolff looked away, snorted coldly.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Little Garren, who would’ve thought!” Doyle patted Golov’s shoulder with satisfaction, completely ignoring the other’s discomfort:

“You’re one of us, too!”

“When are we going to share our experiences of visiting the Red

District…”

Golov growled angrily, shaking him off and moving ahead:

“Get lost!”

D.D, who had been rejected, felt a little embarrassed and chuckled

sheepishly to Gernard and Wilo behind him:

“We… our relationship is good, and we speak quite casually, casually.”

Wyatt caught up with Thales’ steps, expressing his concern:

“Your Highness, have you… got what you wished for?”

Thales, lost in thought, came back to reality and managed a strained

smile:

“I am still alive, aren’t I?”

Wyatt looked at his expression, and hesitated:

“But…”

“Right, about Pioneer Officer Marico just now,” Thales raised his eyebrows to interrupt him, changing the subject:

“He’s not too bad, is he?”

Rolff behind him snorted disdainfully.

“Even though he harbors intentions to curry favor and show loyalty,

in the end, he compromised,” Thales scratched his chin:

“He did not push the situation to the brink just to maintain a

reputation in front of a prince for not fearing authority, risking his

men’s futures.”

“No difference,” Golov grunted gloomily:

“He’s still a self-righteous bastard.”

“And those dozen idiots we beat up will probably still thank Big C**k

Brother, thinking he saved them.”

Thales shook his head:

“You have to give him a way out.”

“And we must tolerate it: people are not perfect, fatty.”

Hearing the nickname, Golov looked embarrassed and involuntarily

slowed down, falling behind.

“Huh, fatty?” Doyle caught up from behind, his eyes lit up with

interest:

“Why does His Highness call you that? You’re not fat, at least not with

clothes on. Could it be that… fatty?”

Golov halted, his fearsome aura returning:

“Call me that one more time-“

“-you’ll be in serious danger.” Cohen, who seemed to have lost all

interest in life, swept past the two of them and lethargically finished

the sentence for the zombie.

The fearsome Golov’s expression stiffened.

“He-” Golov was halfway through his threat but couldn’t continue;

holding his breath, he unwillingly said:

“He’s right.”

Golov glared at D.D, snorted coldly, and stomped away angrily.

Doyle was left standing there, looking confused.

Since when were they so close?

I’m the zombie’s partner. I’m the one who’s the grand-nephew of that idiot’s uncle by marriage, okay?

He had no choice but to turn to the last person, Rolff, and explain helplessly:

“I know, they’re tough to deal with, right? Completely inconsiderate of others’ feel-“

But Rolff walked past him expressionlessly without giving Doyle a second glance.

“Ouch-“

Only leaving D.D to rub his nose awkwardly and mock himself to thin air:

“It’s okay, I’m fine, but thanks for asking, Mr. Rolff, and it was a pleasure working with you.”

The black mare Jenny responded with a disdainful snort.

At the front of the group, Wyatt took a deep breath.

“But I know, Your Highness, even if Marico didn’t agree to your terms,” the attendant officer said with a smile:

“You wouldn’t have let those guards be framed for nothing, right?”

Thales paused for a moment.

He was slightly distracted, lost in thought.

The next second, the prince snorted noncommittally:

“Who knows?”

Wyatt was taken aback.

Thales didn’t say much more. He took large strides, moving forward.

Wyatt watched the prince’s back figure and couldn’t help speaking

out:

“Strange.”

“What is it?” Golov, preoccupied with his thoughts, asked casually. Wyatt shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking at Thales’ back:

“I just feel that something is off with His Highness.”

Rolff snorted with contempt and made a rude gesture.

“Why?” asked Golov.

Wyatt hesitated for a second, then said:

“In the past, he would have easily laughed off that question and confidently said ‘Of course!

“And he would never hesitate.”

Rolff looked slightly startled.

Golov appeared contemplative.

Renaissance Palace, Royal Guard’s Duty Room.

“The alarm in the royal court has stopped for over an hour now, and

no one has come to tattle on you for quite some time,”

the Guard Watchman, Tomond Maillot, put down his mate tea and said indifferently:

“At least tell me, what happened outside?”

Opposite him, Vogel Taren, the Vice Captain of the Royal Guards and Chief Flag Officer, flipped to the next document.

“Routine exercise of the guards, nothing to worry about,” the vice captain said without lifting his head:

“Our work here isn’t done yet-the defense and guard duties at

Mindis Hall, have they been arranged according to the regulations of the Royal Guard?”

Maillot lifted his head, the resound array on the wall still glowing brightly.

“Does the daily exercise require thirty fully armed people to block the entrance of the duty room, encircling us both, allowing no one in or

out?”

There was silence in the room for a while.

Vogel laughed lightly, dismissively:

“We have to practice for all contingencies-answer the question.”

All contingencies.

Maillot narrowed his eyes: “Even me?”

Vogel raised his gaze, shooting straight at the other man:

“Especially you.”

Especially you.

Maillot closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath.

“Tell me,” the Watcher said helplessly:

“He didn’t go to assassinate His Majesty, did he?”

Vogel’s fingers, flipping through documents, paused abruptly.

“Actually, it’s not so hard to guess,” Maillot held out his hand, closing the cover of the file, and addressing the other’s surprise: “Apart from the Prince raising troops in rebellion, I can’t think of any other reason why they would lock up his Personal Guard Captain like a thief in here and have you drag me out for a chat.”

Vogel’s face remained expressionless.

Maillot sighed:

“Well, the kid probably isn’t that stupid, but who knows, raised by

Northerners.”

Maillot looked at Vogel seriously: “Listen, if the situation becomes uncontrollable, you’ll need me.”

The two men in the duty room were silent for quite a while.

“All right, I can let you go.”

Maillot’s eyes lit up.

“Just answer one thing truthfully for me.”

Vogel gazed at the resound array on the wall as if making up his mind.

“That child…”

“Is he His Majesty’s…”

“Biological offspring?”

Maillot’s eyes snapped open!

Biological offspring.

“What’s wrong with His Highness?”

Maillot sped up his speech, pressing:

“Is he still alive?”

The Watcher’s reaction and attitude made Vogel frown.

“If he’s not biological, then he is…”

Vogel paused for a moment, gazing intently at his opponent, probing:

“Blood of Crown Prince Mider?”

Crown Prince Mider.

At the mention, Maillot first froze, then let out a breath and laughed

loudly.

He leaned back in his chair.

“So, he’s safe?”

“His safety has a lot to do with this,” Vogel insisted:

“Answer me.”

Maillot chuckled softly, looking back at him with mocking eyes.

“Prince Mider perished eighteen years ago, which was End Era 660,”

the Watcher looked directly into Vogel’s eyes:

“As for that child, he is fourteen this year.”

Eighteen years ago.

Fourteen years old.

Vogel realized his mistake, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

“Alright then, we should-“

Bang!

The door to the duty room was flung open.

Maillot and Vogel turned their heads in unison, one relieved and the

other displeased.

Flag Officer Vea walked in with a mournful face: “Officer-“

“I said not to disturb,” Vogel said unhappily.

Officer Vea’s expression darkened, and he mechanically nodded,

stepping aside to reveal the figure behind him.

“Is it here?”

King Thales stepped into the room, causing both seated men to start,

rising to their feet simultaneously.

“Such a shabby place,” Thales frowned and said:

“You two sure can talk, huh?”

Behind him, Doyle, Cohen, Wyatt, and others peeked curiously

through the doorway, eyeing the duty room reserved only for officers

to rest.

“Your Highness.”

Vogel spoke with slight disbelief:

“You are… all well.”

Thales waved his hand to show he understood.

“Your Highness.”

Maillot, however, looked indi

“Had fun?”

Thales snorted coldly, giving him a roll of the eyes.

“You, what are you dazed about,” the prince waved his hand and

turned away:

“Let’s go home!”

Maillot gave Vogel a raised eyebrow, indicating that he was helpless.

Vogel caught on and spoke firmly:

“Your Highness.”

“The paperwork for the Flag Wing has not been completed.”

Vogel stood in front of Thales, blocking his path ominously: “And this is an important tradition of the Royal Guard, concerning the

safety of the royal family, please understand.”

Thales curled up his lips.

“Who is that?”

“The big villain of the Guard, you see, even Maillot is helpless against

him…”

“What will Your Highness do?”

“A silver coin, I bet he’ll play it tough, like threatening his family…”

“Then I’ll bet on a soft approach…

Chirping noises came from behind them.

Thales’ face stiffened, and he turned around sharply!

A few heads perched on the doorframe vanished all at once.

Quiet settled around them.

The prince looked back at the Flag Officer:

“What if I don’t understand?”

Vogel suppressed the annoyance in his heart, bowed, and said with a

smile:

“Your Highness, allow me to introduce this-this is the Resound

Array.”

Thales followed his gaze towards the wall and noticed the strange

array that was emitting a faint light.

Magic. Always magic.

A nameless irritation flooded over him.

“It is faithfully recording everything we say here and now,” Vogel

spoke with neither servility nor overbearing manner, his words well

chosen:

“For the future generations to inherit and review.”

Thales furrowed his brow.

“Future generations?” Vogel nodded:

“Although the Resound Stone used for recording is an extremely rare

consumable, many decrees and wills of past kings have been preserved in this way over hundreds of years of Starlight history.”

He narrowed his eyes:

“Many historians have written and recorded the deeds of the Starlight

Monarchs, perpetuating them for all eternity, all originating from this.” Writing records, perpetuating for all eternity…

Upon hearing this, Thales came to a pause and subconsciously straightened his collar.

“Golov, Doyle, you go back with His Highness first,” Maillot spoke up,

his tone calm:

“I will be right behind.”

“It won’t be too long.”

Zombie and D.D were about to enter the room, but Vogel glared at them, making them retreat.

The gazes of Maillot and Vogel met in mid-air.

Like a spark of electricity.

Thales’ fingers, which were straightening his collar, paused.

“A Resound Array? So, you’re saying that no matter what I say now,”

the young man slowly turned around:

“The kings and queens from hundreds or thousands of years behind me can hear it all?”

Vogel nodded agreeably:

“Yes, hence for thoroughness, perhaps Your Highness would prefer to proceed first…”

“Okay then.” Thales sighed and walked toward the wall. Vogel could not help but chuckle at the sight: “Without proper means and methods, you won’t be able to dismantle

it…”

But Thales cupped his hands over his mouth and faced the array,

taking a deep breath.

“My descendants, listen carefully, listen, listen…”

Vogel looked puzzled.

Maillot’s expression changed suddenly, a sense of foreboding coming

over him.

Thales invoked the Sin of the Prison River, focusing on his vocal cords

and throat, his voice growing louder and louder. “Listen… listen… listen…”

The next second, his face contorted with fury, he let out a roar:

“Listen to your motherfucking bullshitting asshole-“

The guard’s duty room wasn’t very big, and the roar like thunder was

deafening, causing the lights within the room to flicker wildly, and even the mate tea in the cup was spilled over.

The roar subsided, the room returned to silence, the only sound left was the echo in the corridors, reverberating through the court. The array’s light flashed rapidly for a few moments, eventually dimming significantly, barely holding on to life. Thales exhaled deeply.

After shouting out this legacy for the ages, he felt refreshingly

clear-headed and extremely pleased.

The prince straightened his appearance and turned back, satisfied, to

the two petrified men and the few stone heads on the doorframe, his

demeanor gentle and graceful:

“May I ask if the paperwork is done?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep