Kingdom’s Bloodline

In the dark corridor, Thales had a stiff face, and put his hands on Morat's "wheelchair" covered with black-veined vines (it took him a lot of effort to finish the ideological struggle, and he reluctantly touched it), according to the black The prophet's instructions reluctantly become the driving force of the other party, pushing him forward.

The black-veined vine seemed to have sensed his approach, and immediately squirmed, "politely" making room for a space on the back of the chair, just enough to accommodate a pair of hands.

This only made Thales feel more weird and hesitant.

"Don't worry, it doesn't bite."

Seeing the Duke's expression behind his back, the Black Prophet giggled.

Can only eat people.

The old intelligence chief said leisurely and silently.

Thales twitched the corner of his mouth and continued to move forward.

It's not that he never thought of refusing to shirk, but since a weak (?) disabled old man in his dying years made such a request, he had no choice but to comply.

But, are all the people in the secret department dead?

The teenager complained silently:

So much so that I asked a newcomer to help... do chores.

Shouldn't that kind-hearted, sharp-tongued Raphael do this job?

The wheels covered with weird vines hit the ground, but there was no sound strangely.

Raphael's figure disappeared in the darkness ahead, only the faint sound of footsteps could be heard, barely pointing out the direction for Thales.

They advance silently.

Facing the back of Morat's bald head, which showed the outline of the skull, Thales felt more depressed and uncomfortable.

Even through the gloves, the inexplicable touch on the hands is still uncomfortable - the place covered by the vines is moist and warm, and there is a weird sticky feeling.

But Thales still tried his best to find a gap on the back of the chair as a landing point for his hands, avoiding touching—even if it was difficult—the disgusting black vines, which made it even more inconvenient for him to exert his strength.

"Is it alive? Does it have a consciousness of its own?"

The Black Prophet didn't even look back:

"Are you alive?"

Thales frowned.

"Most people in the world are confused, and there is no difference between living and dying," Molat didn't care, and his words were vague:

"Does it matter if it's alive or not, if it has a consciousness of its own?"

Thales sighed helplessly.

He had also pushed a wheelchair for Dragon Clouds City veteran Griveau.

In fact, the night roads in the shield area are bumpy and bumpy, and it is difficult to walk with twists and turns, and the old cripples in the Northland keep cursing and grinning with unclean mouths, which impresses the young people who want others and suffers enough.

But now, Thales would rather bear the burden of hard work, be beaten and scolded, and push Griveau into a wheelchair for another year, rather than stay with Morat for even a second.

"What the hell is this thing?"

"Oh, Your Highness," the Black Prophet shook his head and sneered silently:

"You've seen them."

More than once.

Thales let out a long breath from his nose, as if he wanted to expel the other party's nagging remarks, together with the anxiety in his heart.

"Raphael."

Thales turned his head unnaturally, forcing himself not to look at the strange vines on the wheelchair that stretched back and forth like breathing, trying to find a topic to divert attention from:

"Six years ago, his palm was obviously cut open, but it was still intact, and he can still communicate with you through sound transmission for thousands of miles."

"Facing the Flaming Knight, his sleeves were ignited by the Rising Sun Saber many times, and he always backed away in embarrassment."

"In the Palace of Heroes, my attendant mentioned it dubiously: It seems that he saw his heart being pierced."

The back of Morat's head was fixed, no longer shaking leisurely.

"And as the crap stick of the secret department in the night of dragon's blood, he only behaved in one place and kept his own place."

Taylor's eyes focused:

"Holy Moon Temple."

Their forward speed remained unchanged, and the road ahead was still dark.

The tone of Morat's reply changed slightly:

"so what?"

Taylor's footsteps were slightly slower.

"demon."

The vines on the wheelchair were still squirming, changing angles from time to time, using another posture to wrap around other parts of the wheelchair.

The Duke of Xinghu remembered what Sackel said, and said in a daze:

"Flesh feeds, souls hunt."

"Appears in the fire, disillusioned before the gods."

Thales stared at the vines:

"This is the flesh and blood of the devil."

Morat turned his head slightly, and glanced at the prince from the corner of his eye.

Thales came back to his senses, recalled the other party's identity, and became vigilant.

He hastily added:

"I heard that when I was still in Bei... as a hostage."

There was silence in the corridor for a while, except for the strange rustling of black-veined vines, sometimes like the crackling of flames, sometimes like the gurgling of running water.

"Oh, you can always find out for yourself."

Morat was turning his head, with a smile in his words:

"as always."

"So, demons and hell," Thales ignored the other party's insinuation:

"They exist, right here, in the secret department."

"It's also developed by you, um," Thales glanced at Molat's disgusting wheelchair:

"A medical prosthesis?"

Seemingly aroused by Thales' words, Morat shook his head.

"Not us, Your Highness, not us."

"We are just inheriting and imitating. We are far from the first batch of unscrupulous people who covet mysterious taboos."

Unscrupulous, coveting the mysterious taboo.

Thales narrowed his eyes.

"magic."

The prince said silently, and increased his pace again to keep up with the faint footsteps ahead.

"It's the legacy of the mage again, isn't it?"

He sarcastically said:

"It seems that Kingdom Secret Division is the orthodox successor of the Magic Tower."

This time, Morat's words were cold:

"I thought Priest Megan had already warned you, Your Highness."

Hearing the familiar name, Thales was slightly surprised:

"Priest Megan—do you know her?"

Black Prophet snorted coldly, but did not answer his question:

"Believe me, Your Highness, magic is far less magical, interesting, and fascinating than it sounds—its gorgeous appearance is comparable to the crimes it has caused, and it is equal."

"But you can inherit the legacy of your predecessors with peace of mind," the prince continued, frowning as he looked at the living creature wrapped in the wheelchair:

"Whether it's the prison of bones, the magic lock outside, or... this."

Morat shook his head:

"Perhaps you haven't figured it out yet."

"But let me say this: the Secret Science is like a lock, locking the world's door to self-destruction."

He was slightly emotional:

"Just like all obsessions in this world, too much is too late, and too deep a pursuit will eventually eat back at yourself."

Search too deep.

Backlash against itself.

Thales raised his eyebrows.

He suddenly remembered what the two teachers had mentioned to him, the three major promises of magicians:

Do not delve into each other.

Be yourself.

Thinking of this, he tentatively said:

"For example... a magician?"

In that second, Thales' arms were covered with goosebumps, and the crime of Hell River surged wildly!

In the next moment, the vines on the wheelchair suddenly accelerated, and stretched slightly violently!

Frightened, Thales instinctively let go of the wheelchair and stopped.

Be on full alert.

The black prophet's figure was trembling in the wheelchair, ups and downs.

He made a low, weird guttural sound, like dissatisfaction, and also like the instinct of meditation.

Like an asthmatic.

Thales frowned.

What are you doing?

A few minutes later, the black-veined vines returned to their original form and became docile again.

"How are you?"

Thales asked tentatively.

After a long while, Molat, who seemed to be seriously ill, took a few breaths, and said quietly: "I can't die."

For now.

"Go on, we're not there yet."

Thales put away his anxiety, put on the wheelchair again, and started walking.

"Look carefully at this thing, Your Highness."

Morat said sickly:

"Do you think it's something beautiful?"

"Our good neighbors in hell are beyond imagination, and the differences are even greater than the power of the end," the leader of the secret department said weakly:

"Even the meat that was scraped from them, each piece looks different."

Thales stared at the squirming vines, feeling even more suspicious.

"And this one..."

"It seems to be super energetic and adaptable to the host. It is a surprise gift for doctors when they are at a loss."

Morat's tone tightened:

"However, it proliferates indefinitely in secret and erodes the host. It is an unclean thing that the priests of the church hate."

Like this world, fascinating and deadly.

Thales was silent for a while.

"So it helps you get over it for a while, but it kills you eventually?"

Morat laughed.

"It's worse, kid," Black Prophet said with emotion:

"Worse than that."

Thales looked forward subconsciously.

But Raphael's back has long since disappeared in front of him.

"don’t worry."

Morat noticed where Thales was looking, and hummed softly:

"He's not me, he's young, he can take it."

Black Prophet's tone fell silent.

Still young enough to bear it.

Thales frowned:

"Just to save his hands, which were abolished by Duke Arend?"

The Black Prophet silently looked at the black vines on his legs, and shook his head:

"It saved more than his hands, boy."

The devil is always there, but the devil is silent.

For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered this sentence.

"The former Crown Prince Midil," Thales suddenly remembered something:

"As the conceiver of the 'Dragon Blood' project, he once led the secret department, at least he worked with you, right?"

Morat raised his head, his eyes sharp.

"Has he used it?"

Thales looked at the black-veined vines tightly entwining the Black Prophet's legs:

"Use this thing to heal your crippled legs?"

This time the silence lasted for a long time.

"Not that no one suggested it."

Morat seldom expresses emotion, and said in a tone of remembering the old man:

"But His Royal Highness Midil, he refused with a smile. He said..."

Morat stared at his skinny hands, looking at the vines on his legs:

"Without the legs, he can stand up and be a complete and able-bodied human being."

Taylor's eyes lit up.

"As expected of him, it is thought-provoking."

He is sincere.

"certainly."

Morat stooped his chest, not without emotion:

"Most of the gaps that people need to fill are not in the body."

Looking at Morat like this, Thales suddenly had an illusion: wrapped in vines, the weak and painful opponent lost the terrifying coat that the Black Prophet once had, and behaved like a sentimental ordinary old man.

Perhaps, facing such Morat, he can gain more.

With a thought, he patted the wheelchair, and the vines on it trembled:

"Then how did you get this thing? Don't tell me you have a mine that goes straight to hell?"

Morat was silent for a while.

Just when Thales thought he wasn't going to answer.

"According to the agreement, the leader who whistled with blood should have stood here now and continued to talk about our cooperation."

Morat sighed:

"But unfortunately, he missed the appointment."

Thales was taken aback for a moment, then opened his eyes wide:

"Who did you say...?"

Morat giggled.

"You know, child," his weak body trembled in the wheelchair:

"I can read minds."

Thales' expression changed.

Come back to this set?

"Yes, I know Ricky, I know the sword of disaster, and I also know that you have been together for at least a few hours." The old man in the wheelchair said lightly.

Ricky.

Thinking of the strange "Krasu" with the sword of disaster, Thales put away the surprise in his heart.

Continue to talk about our "cooperation".

The Duke of Star Lake remembered Ricky's words in the dungeon:

[Our relationship with the Secret Department of Stars is closer than you can imagine. 】

The Sword of Disaster and the Secrets of the Kingdom.

He just tried it out, but he really... asked for information?

"I thought you said, don't read minds today."

Thales leaned forward slightly, carefully observing the expression of the Black Prophet.

No.

Thales realized in his heart:

"It's Nob."

"It's him, he came to report to you about Xihuang."

That's why he knew he had met Ricky.

Morat raised his head and exchanged a glance with Thales.

"Compared to six years ago, you have become sharper, Your Highness."

He said softly:

"Even the fear of me has dispelled a lot."

"It's impressive."

Thales pursed his lips.

Is it.

Then who typed up those secret reports about the prince's "self-assessment and audacity" at King Kessel's hand?

But at the next moment, Morat asked softly.

"Then Your Highness, as a person who has experienced it, can you explain it to me?"

"In the Saber Camp, what made the mercenary Ricky break his promise, voluntarily give up his long-term cooperation with us, and leave everything behind?"

Long-term cooperation.

Thales captured this keyword.

His eyes fell on the creeping vines on the wheelchair.

The flesh and blood of demons.

For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered what Molat had just said about "the meat that was scraped from them".

I see.

This is their collaboration.

Black Prophet's words brought him back to reality:

"Do you know?"

Thales came back to his senses.

What made Ricky break his promise and go away?

At that moment, he thought of Sakel at the bottom of the bone prison, the front of the world that was painted on paper, and the former king who was an enemy of the world as the punishment knight said...

No, I do not know.

Thales wanted to answer that.

But he can't.

Because he knows.

Thales kept in mind Jodl's previous reminder:

Facing Morat, he couldn't lie.

"Yes."

Thales answered the conversation naturally, calmly and smoothly:

"Williams."

"Legendary Wings used Ricky's mercenary group to create chaos, took back the Saber camp, and then threatened him: Roll as far as you can."

"I guess he listened."

williams.

Hearing this name, Black Prophet's eyes froze and he was silent for several seconds.

"Well, maybe."

very good.

Looking at the other party's reaction, Thales said silently:

If Sabo really played the "dog that bit off someone's leg" game...

Maybe he can actually win money.

"So the Sword of Disaster and the Kingdom's Secret Department are old friends?"

Thales was determined to continue exploring. He endured the discomfort and clicked on the vine, which made the thing shiver again:

"Ricky gave you these things?"

The black texture on Ricky's face, Raphael's arm, and the black prophet's wheelchair.

More than that.

The sword of disaster more than a hundred years ago, Crassus and the Red King, mercenaries and secret subjects.

connected.

Morat was also silent for a while.

But this time, what he used to answer Thales was a low, dark smile.

Laughing so that the second prince flustered.

"I said, you have become sharper, Your Highness."

"But still not cautious enough."

Thales was slightly taken aback.

Not cautious enough.

What's the meaning?

Morat put away his laughter and said abruptly:

"Raphael's report is quite right."

Thales felt bad:

"What report?"

Morat looked at her and shook his head with a tsk:

"After six years of observation, he said..."

"When you encounter trouble, Prince Thales is capable and has a heart. He is good at collecting information from multiple sources, combining intelligence, piecing together clues, observing and thinking from different angles, and then relying on your unconstrained mind to go straight to the topic and grasp the key points, and be creative. provide a solution that no one can think of.”

"However……"

His words changed:

"You are too stubborn, too focused on the questions you raise, and lack the prudence and rigor required for intelligence work. It is inevitable that you will not be misled by the logic of the story you deduced, and you will miss the inconspicuous but crucial details."

"For example, Guoshi made a stunning appearance at the conference."

Thales caught his breath.

"You are also too emotional, care too much about the essence of things, lack the smoothness and comprehensiveness needed to deal with complex issues, often stick to principles and ignore the cost, and make impulsive choices that are not understood by ordinary people."

"For example, let it go in the Palace of Heroes."

Black Prophet narrowed his eyes:

"Even last night's coming forward."

Thales only felt that the arm pushing the wheelchair was stiff.

Why, why did he say this all of a sudden?

But the other party's words still came like a magic voice, which couldn't be stopped:

"So, after you take decisive actions to win back a city, you often fall into unpredictable and bad consequences."

"Guessed the beginning correctly, but missed the ending."

The chief intelligence officer of the Kingdom's Secret Division, Black Prophet, Lord Morat Hansen said quietly:

"Common name: Pretending to be smart."

"Lifting stones and smashing feet."

At this moment, Thales couldn't help but think of the group under Rafael:

Prince's ass.

A wave of resentment welled up in my heart.

But at this moment, Morat picked it up lightly and brought the topic back to its original position:

"I mentioned Ricky and only said we were working together, but never about this thing."

He looked contemptuously at the black-veined vines under him:

"But why do you connect the clues confidently, thinking that this thing must come from Ricky?"

The Black Prophet glanced at him leisurely:

"It seems that you already know what the leader of the Disaster Sword is."

Thales figured something out, suddenly lost his voice, and his face turned pale.

"Then here comes the problem: this is his worst secret, and it is absolutely impossible for him to tell you when he introduces himself."

Morat is interested:

"So the next question will be: when the Prison of Bones robbed and created chaos, with Ricky's skill and the fighting power of blood and whistle, what happened to him and what kind of threats he received..."

"Will you be forced to show your hole cards in front of you and show your real body?"

Black Prophet looked coldly at the vines on his legs:

"So that you can believe that this thing comes from the same source as him?"

"Can you answer me?"

"Your Highness?"

Thales clenched his teeth and swallowed hard.

Damn.

What did Ricky encounter in the Prison of Bones that forced him to reveal himself as a demon?

Appearing in the fire, disillusioned before the gods.

The heavy but unstoppable figure of the punishment knight appeared in front of his eyes.

No.

The teenager shook his head, forcing himself to cheer up and answer Morat's question.

Don't lie, Thales.

Do not lie.

"Legendary Wings."

The prince tried his best to keep his speech steady:

"He beat up Daredevil Ricky - we all saw his face, like this thing, digging out of a black mine."

The Black Prophet was silent again.

"Very good, you are telling the truth," the intelligence chief said slowly after a while:

"At least you think you're telling the truth."

Thales breathed a sigh of relief from the bottom of his heart.

However, the next second.

"But, the second time."

Morat's words became indifferent again:

"Legendary Wings."

"This is the second time you've used him to answer a question."

Thales' complexion changed slightly.

"It's as if you've decided on this shield and that he will confirm your words."

The Black Prophet stroked his skinny wrist and murmured:

"It was related to him twice, is it a coincidence?"

Thales pursed his lips tightly.

"Or, Your Highness, in fact, you don't want to say much about Ricky's situation when he revealed his true body, and you are so secretive about what happened in the prison of bones. You would rather send a difficult and annoying person like me to ask Williams, and let the troublesome The details of the problem are all thrown to that evil god who is full of murderous looks and keeps people away?"

Encounters in the Prison of Bones.

At that moment, Thales heard his own breathing.

The black-veined vines on the wheelchair started the next round of surging, making Thales even more uncomfortable.

But he has no time to take care of this thing.

"Let me guess, maybe you have some kind of tacit agreement with Legendary Wings to cover up certain things, something that forced Ricky to reveal his true identity, and even made him abandon his relationship with the Secret Division..."

Black Prophet pondered:

"Is it the Shadow Shield?"

"Or is it the reason why the dark room came all the way to the Saber Camp?"

At that moment, the figures of the drill and the fast rope flashed in front of Thales' eyes, almost making him tense up.

No, fast rope...

But Morat shook his head:

"No, you are using the Legendary Wing as an excuse. The person who can force Ricky to reveal his true body must at least be in the same level as him..."

Finally, while Thales was shocked, the Black Prophet let go of his knotted brows, let out a breath, and ended his speculation.

"So, I haven't seen you for more than ten years..."

At that moment, Morat looked at Thales calmly and calmly:

"Our dear Warden of the Front Guard, Lord Thackel, is he all right?"

At that moment, Thales only felt cold all over.

"As for those key criminals who escaped from the prison in the official notice and were executed by Williams," the Black Prophet looked at him with great interest, as if sizing up prey that had fallen into the trap:

"Although the unruly Baron Saber didn't give a specific list, I guess..."

"It must include some former royal guards who collaborated with the enemy in the bloody year, right?"

Black Prophet spoke softly, every word seemed to be poisonous:

"So they weren't executed."

"It was let go by you and Williams."

"Mercenary Ricky is the witness."

Thales no longer knew how to think.

He just... said one more sentence.

But the other party can...

"See? That's what we call..."

Morat chuckled, and tapped his fingers on the wheelchair a few times.

"Pretend to be smart."

"Lifting stones and smashing feet."

Thales pushed the wheelchair stiffly before he came to his senses.

I was wrong.

Big mistake.

The prince's eyes froze in the void.

Just like he can make Williams look good without being a king.

Even if Morat sits in a wheelchair, his life will not be long.

But he is still the master of the secret department, and the chief intelligence officer of King Kessel.

It's the whole kingdom's...

Black Prophet.

"So, Your Excellency the Duke of Xinghu, as the heir to the throne, what is your intention to connive these key collaborators with sensitive identities, extraordinary skills, and knowledge of the secrets of the palace?"

At that moment, Morat was slow, spitting out a letter like a poisonous snake:

"What would your father think if he found out?"

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