Three in the afternoon.
"What is it?" In the study, Tales set down the quill he had been using to copy the contemporary common alphabet and impatiently waved his hand, looking toward Gilbert, who had already been staring at him for an hour.
"Forgive my presumptuousness, Mr. Tales," Gilbert said with a faint smile. "If you had not become a merchant wealthy enough to rival a kingdom, you might have been a born diplomat."
I should never have told him. I should have just said that the little girl and I had played hide-and-seek in the room for half an hour. Tales gloomily crossed out the crooked "S" he had just written.
Tales was extremely displeased. After the negotiations with Serena, he had recalled the Archduchess's flexible, ever-changing face, shifting between coldness and warmth, and had felt that something was amiss.
So, just now, Tales had asked Gilbert to analyze the situation for him.
Simply put—Tales had been played.
It seemed that Serena had compromised on the matter of blood, but this was Mindis Hall. Whether it was Gilbert, Yordel, Jinnie, or even that rather unreliable father of his, His Majesty, none of them would stand by and watch him have half a pint of blood drawn every day. In other words:
An eighth of a pint a month had been exactly the amount she expected from the beginning!
So Serena had made no concession whatsoever—she had traded it for Tales's vague promise!
Help her reclaim the throne?
Tales was annoyed to discover that he was the loser in this negotiation.
"Merchant, diplomat—I feel like you're secretly making fun of me." Tales lowered his head, reopened the Cahill's Collection of Fallen Leaves Gilbert had given him, and copied the sentences inside, identifying the words and their usage.
"Night approaches, yet dawn has not come; the Holy Day's former radiance lies hidden beneath the earth.
"The land is on the verge of collapse, the sea is about to overturn; evil gathers its strength beneath the darkened sky."
After copying these two lines in the Eastern Suye style, Tales pursed his lips and struggled to understand their meaning.
Gilbert had originally been especially worried about his shallow cultural foundation, and had specifically drawn up a vast, intensive language and literacy program for him. After all, it was perfectly normal for a street thug to know nothing except his own name and the numbers on coins.
But after coming to this world, Tales had always paid attention to the writing around him. With his fluency in the language and a brain that seemed to have expanded its memory capacity at some point, he had needed only a little over an hour to master recognition and writing of the basic alphabet before smoothly progressing to sounding out words and copying long sentences.
The speed had even left Gilbert sighing in amazement. He could only once again attribute it to the excellent bloodline of the Radiant Star Royal Family.
Tales's response was to roll his eyes.
"No, your response was quite good." Gilbert walked to his side and watched him copy out the complete ancient hymn. "I had someone look into the Night Kingdom's information and intelligence. Compared with her highly capable sister, Serena Corleone is not well known, but she is indeed descended from the Nightwing Monarch. She appeared before the Third Continental War, and is very likely more than four hundred years old."
"Though she is living under another's roof and has fallen into hardship, she sent Istrone to pressure you first, forcing you to choose between your subordinate's loyalty and the strength of an alliance, shaking your reputation. She also did her utmost to remind you that you are not yet the Heir to the Kingdom, undermining your confidence and resolve. Both actions displayed the cunning and scheming of a Blood Race Archduchess of many years—or the shrewdness of that Extreme Realm steward."
"Fortunately, you did not let her succeed in this regard. Instead, you forced her to obtain leverage through an almost shameless method."
She really is an Old Witch. Tales spat inwardly and continued copying.
"The gods descend into the mortal world, the Prison River surges; the weathered earth spreads with blood, endless armies advance, and snow-capped mountains crumble.
"Heroes raise their banners, kings lift their spears; the Empire has fallen, heaven and earth are without light. In panic, where can the lonely living return?"
What kind of nonsense is this? Tales frowned as he read the descriptive lines and replied distractedly, "So you just watched them bully me?"
Gilbert said nothing. He merely looked quietly at Tales.
Wait.
The hand holding Tales's pen suddenly stopped, as though he had thought of something.
His high-powered brain began spontaneously gathering every factor and assembling them into a coherent sequence.
His own identity.
Serena's identity.
The promise to reclaim the throne.
Their Covenant.
Gilbert's indifference.
And Serena's words: "I'll also do my best to help you become the heir and ascend the throne!"
"Gilbert," Tales said, raising a brow. He opened his mouth wide and stared incredulously at the Former Foreign Minister. "It was you?"
The Former Foreign Minister gently curled his lips into a smile, his small mustache bending into an elegant arc.
"Right, I remember now." Tales exhaled and realized the truth. "Last night, you were the one who told them about my identity!"
"You weren't angry because of their arrogant attitude, nor were you ashamed that they looked down on my identity." Tales straightened up beside the desk, his gaze suspicious. "This was a plan you had prepared from the beginning!"
Gilbert neither confirmed nor denied it. He merely gave a rare, playful shrug.
That immediately confirmed it for Tales.
It really had been Gilbert's plan!
Damn it!
"You deliberately leaked my identity because you guessed that they would probably seize the opportunity to negotiate with the Heir to the Kingdom while he was still down on his luck, consolidating or strengthening the Covenant in exchange for my promise to take the throne one day. It might take a long time, but they are an immortal Blood Race. They can afford to wait!"
Damn it! Tales cursed Serena inwardly. That Old Witch clearly had a plan all along, yet she had pretended to be desperate to recover her strength, as though she could not wait to return to the Eastern Continent and kill her way back tomorrow!
Damn old man! Damn Old Witch! Tales thought bitterly.
"I assume you had a reason you absolutely had to do this?" Tales suppressed his emotions and frowned.
In his vision, Gilbert lifted his hat and bowed.
"We and the Corleones do not trust each other in the slightest. We are suspicious of each other, yet live under the same roof in the name of cooperation. Even on our own territory, that is far too dangerous."
"As for blood? Safety?" Gilbert gave a mocking laugh and said quietly, "I have never dared believe that these unreliable things could guarantee the stability of our cooperation. We and the Corleones could turn against each other at any moment, endangering ourselves."
"But things are different now. Your becoming the heir and her reclaiming the throne have been tied together. To receive your help, she must help you first."
"Though it appears to have happened by accident, you obtained more reliable support for the present with a future king's promise." Gilbert smiled mysteriously. "Binding allies together through mutual interests—that is the essence of politics."
"And helping her reclaim the throne?" Tales narrowed his eyes.
Gilbert exhaled, a sly glint flashing through his eyes. "If you do not become king first, how will you help her reclaim it?"
"As for what you said about watching them bully you..."
"It is naturally my duty to relieve your burdens."
"But cultivating you into a qualified heir and protecting you from every kind of harm are equally important responsibilities to me." Gilbert smiled. "Serena Corleone is merely a fallen foreign dignitary, while you will be the future of the Starfall Kingdom. I suppose you could call this a little test."
A little test? Tales lowered his head and rolled his eyes again.
"If you had this idea already, why not simply approach them and propose an alliance?" Tales replied stiffly, still unwilling to accept it.
"My young sir," Gilbert said with a blink, "diplomatic negotiations are like swordplay. Though the side that strikes first gains the initiative..."
"...it also exposes its steps and movements. Having them propose the alliance is far better for us."
I'll just quietly watch you show off. The boy shook his head and thought resentfully.
Tales muttered unhappily, "You even scheme against your own people. You really are a despicable diplomat and politician."
"All right." Gilbert merely narrowed his eyes and smiled as he lowered his head to glance at his pocket watch. "You have been copying these meaningless poems for quite some time. I imagine you are tired."
Tales stopped writing.
"Take a break. Since we have brought up politics and diplomacy, let us use this opportunity for a history lesson." Gilbert smiled.
"Sometimes, what forges an alliance is not merely visible interest." Gilbert sat on the expensive sofa and adjusted his hat.
"It is also an urgent crisis."
"And a shared faith."
Tales set down his pen and began listening to Gilbert seriously.
"This is also the story of how a group of mutually distrustful humans and various scattered factions became the most loyal of allies." A sharp light appeared in Gilbert's eyes.
Tales suddenly felt that Gilbert had become somewhat serious.
"This is the story of the war described in that Cahill's Collection of Fallen Leaves, the war that took place more than six hundred years ago."
But Earl of Caso's next words made Tales's eyes fly wide open:
"That cruel, dark, bloody, terrifying, heaven-shattering and earth-rending epic war."
"The Ending War."
In a deep, dark secret chamber, an old, hoarse voice drifted through the gloom.
"So the great houses and noble clans are making their move?"
"Yes, my dear Teacher." A languid, flippant voice rang out lazily. "There are at least Transcendent Rank experts, and quite a few Extreme Realm Experts, setting out from various strange places and gathering around the northern commanderies. They all have one thing in common: after investigation, they have not the slightest connection to the nobles or lords."
"Can you obtain the exact date?" the old voice asked indifferently.
"That will probably be difficult." The relaxed, cheerful voice replied, "Even the people from the Exeter Delegation themselves have not settled their exact itinerary. So should we assign people to continue investigating and notify the king?"
After a long silence, the hoarse, aged voice finally replied decisively:
"No. Your focus remains on that doctor from the Black Street Brotherhood. I want all resources diverted there. Do not underestimate Lancer. He was born here, after all, and knows our methods well."
"Investigate the whereabouts of every Black Street bigwig, especially the Three Assassins! Black Sword, Hell Scythe, and Back Curved Blade. Finding them will be extremely difficult, but at the very least, confirm that they are not nearby! I doubt Black Sword would be stupid enough to shelter a mage!"
"Also, even if everything goes smoothly, do not let your guard down. It has been more than a hundred years since we last fought mages. Records and manuals are ultimately only references."
After a long while.
"Well... all right." After a moment, the young voice replied noncommittally, "But speaking of which, are we really not leaving anyone alive?"
"That is a living, breathing mage!"
In the darkness, the sound of someone suddenly sitting up from a chair rang out.
"No need." The old, hoarse voice followed.
"Let what has long since vanished be completely buried along with the Ending War."
The book's page on Qidian was "disconnected" for three days. I suddenly discovered today that it was working again. Well then, I'm back!
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