The Ending War (Part 1)

3:00 PM.

"What's wrong?" Tales put down the quill he'd been using to copy the modern common alphabet, waved his hand impatiently, and looked at Gilbert, who had been staring at him for an hour.

"Forgive my boldness, Mr. Tales," Gilbert said with a light smile. "If you weren't destined to be a wealthy merchant, you might have been a born diplomat."

I shouldn't have told him. Should've just said I played hide-and-seek with that little girl for half an hour in the room—Tales thought gloomily, scratching out the crooked "S" he'd just written.

Tales was deeply annoyed. No other reason—after the negotiation with Serena, recalling the Archduchess's flexible and shifting face between coldness and warmth, he felt something was off.

So, just now, he had Gilbert analyze the situation for him.

Simply put—Tales had been played.

On the surface, Serena had conceded on the blood issue, but this was Mindis Hall. Neither Gilbert, Yordel, Jinnie, nor even that unreliable father, His Majesty, would stand by and watch him lose half a pint of blood a day. In other words:

Eight pints a month was probably exactly what the other side had expected!

So Serena had essentially made no concession at all—and traded it for a vague promise from Tales!

Help her reclaim the throne?

Tales realized with chagrin that he was the real loser in this negotiation.

"Merchant, diplomat—I feel like you're secretly mocking me." Tales lowered his head, flipped open another page of the "Cahill's Collection of Fallen Leaves" that Gilbert had given him, and copied the sentences, identifying words and usages.

Night nears dawn, sky not yet bright, holy sun's past glory hides in nine lands. Land about to crumble, sea about to overturn, evil's brewing power darkens the heavens.

Copying down this couplet of poetry with a Suye-style flair, Tales pursed his lips, struggling to grasp its meaning.

Originally, Gilbert had been especially worried about his shallow cultural foundation and had drawn up a massive, intensive language and literacy catch-up plan—after all, it was common for street-born ruffians to recognize nothing but their own names and the numbers on coins.

But since crossing over, Tales had been paying attention to the script around him. With his language fluency and a brain that seemed to have expanded its memory capacity, after just over an hour of mastering basic letter recognition and writing, he could easily move on to spelling words and copying long sentences.

His speed even made Gilbert sigh, once again attributing it to the Radiant Star Royal Family's superior bloodline.

To that, Tales just rolled his eyes.

"No, your response was quite good." Gilbert walked over to his side, watching him copy the complete long poem of ancient verse. "I had someone look into the Night Kingdom's records and intelligence. Compared to her more skilled younger sister, Serena Corleone, though not widely known, is indeed of the Nightwing Monarch's bloodline. She appeared before the Third Continental War and is likely over four hundred years old."

"Though living under another's roof and in decline, she sent Istrone to pressure you into choosing between her subordinate's loyalty and an alliance's strength, shaking your standing. She also worked hard to remind you that you're not yet the Heir, to undermine your confidence and footing. Both moves show the cunning and depth of a centuries-old Blood Race Archduchess—or perhaps her Extreme Realm steward's shrewdness."

"Fortunately, you didn't let her succeed there, and instead forced her to resort to near-trickery to gain leverage."

Sure enough, an old hag, Tales spat inwardly, continuing to copy.

Gods fall to earth, the Prison River surges, the vast land, blood spreads, endless armies, snowy mountains retreat in collapse. Heroes raise their banners, kings lift their spears, the Empire has fallen, heaven and earth darken, panicked souls, where do they return in desolation?

What the hell is this—Tales frowned, reading the descriptive lines, replying absently: "So you just watched them bully me?"

Gilbert said nothing, only quietly watching Tales.

Wait.

Tales's hand holding the quill suddenly paused, as if something had struck him.

His hyper-efficient brain began automatically gathering every factor, piecing them together.

His own identity.

Serena's identity.

The promise to reclaim the throne.

Their mutual alliance.

Gilbert's inaction.

And Serena's words: I must also work hard to help you become the Heir, ascend the throne!

"Gilbert," Tales tilted his head, mouth agape, staring at the Former Foreign Minister in disbelief: "Was it you?"

The Former Foreign Minister gently parted his lips, his small mustache curving into an elegant arc.

"Right, I remember now," Tales exhaled, realization dawning. "Last night, it was you who told them my identity!"

"You weren't angry at their arrogant attitude, nor ashamed that my status was looked down upon," Tales straightened up at the desk, his eyes suspicious. "This was a scheme you'd planned all along!"

Gilbert neither confirmed nor denied, merely shrugging in a rare playful gesture.

That was enough for Tales to be sure.

It really was Gilbert's plan!

Damn!

"You deliberately leaked my identity, guessing they'd seize the chance to negotiate with the Heir to the Kingdom while he's still down, to strengthen or cement the alliance in exchange for a promise once I become king—maybe a long wait, but they're immortal Blood Race, they can afford it!"

Damn it! Tales cursed Serena under his breath. That old hag, clearly scheming all along, yet putting on a face of desperate eagerness to restore her strength, as if she wanted to charge back to the Eastern Continent tomorrow!

Old bastard! Old hag! Tales thought bitterly.

"I imagine you must have a reason you had to do this?" Tales set aside his emotions, frowning.

In his sight, Gilbert lifted his hat and bowed.

"We and the Corleones—both sides distrust each other, full of suspicion, yet we live under the same roof in the name of cooperation. Even on our own turf, this is far too dangerous."

"As for blood? Safety?" Gilbert let out a scoff, his tone faint. "I've never believed that such unreliable things could guarantee the stability of cooperation—we and the Corleones could turn on each other at any moment, endangering ourselves."

"But now it's different. Your becoming the heir and her reclaiming the throne are tied together. For your help, she must first help you."

"Seemingly by accident, you've used a future king's promise to secure a more stable support in the present." Gilbert smiled mysteriously. "Binding allies through the tether of interests—that is the essence of politics."

"And helping her reclaim the throne?" Tales narrowed his eyes.

Gilbert let out a breath, a glint of cunning flashing in his eyes. "If you don't first become the King, how will you help her reclaim the throne?"

"As for what you said, watching you get bullied by them?"

"Naturally, sharing your burdens is my duty."

"But raising you into a qualified heir and protecting you from harm of any kind—these two responsibilities are equally important to me." Gilbert said with a smile. "Serena Corleone is just a down-and-out foreign dignitary, while you are the future of the Starfall Kingdom. I think this counts as a small test."

A small test? Tales lowered his head and rolled his eyes again.

"If that's the idea, why not just go to them directly and propose an alliance?" Tales replied stiffly, unwilling to let it go.

"My little sir," Gilbert blinked. "Diplomatic negotiations are like sword-fighting. The one who strikes first gains the initiative..."

"...but also exposes their steps and traces. Having them propose the alliance is the best outcome for us."

I'll just sit here and watch you show off—the boy shook his head, fuming inwardly.

Tales muttered resentfully, "Even scheming against your own people. What a despicable diplomat and politician."

"Alright," Gilbert just narrowed his eyes, smiled, and looked down at his pocket watch. "After copying down these meaningless poems for so long, I imagine you're tired."

Tales stopped his pen.

"Take a rest. Since we've touched on politics and diplomacy, let's take this chance to have a history lesson." Gilbert chuckled.

"What binds alliances together isn't always visible interests." Gilbert sat on the expensive sofa, tipping his hat:

"Sometimes it's urgent crises."

"And shared convictions."

Tales put down his pen and began to listen to Gilbert attentively.

"This is also the story of how a group of distrustful, scattered humans and various races became the most loyal of allies." A sharp light gleamed in Gilbert's eyes.

Tales suddenly felt that Gilbert had grown somewhat serious.

"This is what that Cahill's Collection of Fallen Leaves describes—the tale of a war from over six hundred years ago."

But the Earl of Caso's next words made Tales's eyes fly wide open in shock:

"That brutal, dark, bloody, terrifying, heaven-shattering, earth-rending epic war."

"The Ending War."

In a deep, dark chamber, a hoarse, aged voice drifted faintly.

"So, the great houses and noble clans have made their move?"

"Yes, my dear Teacher," a cynical, lazy voice rang out. "At least Transcendent Rank experts, and quite a few Extreme Realm masters, setting out from all sorts of strange places and gathering around the various prefectural cities in the north—they all share one thing in common: when investigated, they have no connection whatsoever to the nobles or lords."

"Can we get an exact date?" the aged voice asked indifferently.

"I'm afraid that's difficult—" the lighthearted voice replied. "Even the Exeter Delegation themselves haven't settled on their exact itinerary. So, should we allocate people to track them down and inform the King?"

After a long pause, the hoarse, aged voice answered decisively:

"No. Your focus remains on that doctor from the Black Street Brotherhood. I want all resources tilted in that direction. Don't underestimate Lancer—he was born here, after all, and knows our methods well."

"Track the movements of all the Black Street big shots, especially the three assassins! Black Sword, Hell Scythe, and Back Curved Blade—finding them is too hard, but at least confirm they're not nearby! I think even Black Sword wouldn't be foolish enough to shelter a mage!"

"Also, even if everything goes smoothly, don't let your guard down. We haven't fought mages in over a hundred years—records and manuals are just references after all."

A long silence.

"Well—fine," the young voice said noncommittally after a moment. "Speaking of which, are we really leaving no survivors?"

"That's—a living mage, you know!"

In the darkness, the sound of someone rising from a chair echoed.

"No need," the hoarse, aged voice followed:

"What has long since vanished, let it be buried completely with the Ending War."

The book page on Qidian was "offline" for three days. Today I suddenly found it back online. Alright then, I, Hu Hanzan, have returned.

Just signed the contract. Begging for collections, recommendations, and word-of-mouth!