Middil the Brightstar

That evening, under Lady Jinnie's blade-like gaze and relentless scolding, Tales struggled through a dinner filled with rigid rules—a dull, tedious, yet unavoidable etiquette lesson. After all, etiquette as a code of conduct was one of the benchmarks for defining social class. At the very least, he managed to use his knife and fork with trembling hands in accordance with the rules.

However, Tales could sense the anger and dissatisfaction hidden beneath Lady Jinnie's beautiful eyes. He vaguely knew it had something to do with the history of the Star Kingdom that Gilbert had recounted that afternoon.

If the Star Kingdom endures, the Empire shall last forever.

This heavy oath, even to someone like Tales who was not well-versed in the legendary founding of Tomond I, was enough to make his heart race and his blood boil.

Gilbert and the guards filling the hall—whom Tales later learned were all descendants of that remnant army of the Final Empire—were the very embodiment of this sentiment.

Yet, Tales keenly sensed Lady Jinnie's disgust toward this phrase, and even the meaning it represented.

But he dared not ask.

He did not know what attitude this woman, who claimed to be his father's mistress, truly held toward him.

In the way Lady Jinnie looked at him, Tales had seen flashes of fleeting disgust, forced tolerance, and hesitation whenever she drew near, but never a sincere smile.

Thus, the entire etiquette lesson was exceptionally stifling.

Until Lady Jinnie, with her burning gaze, unexpectedly broke the silence:

"You don't like these rules and etiquette, do you?" Watching Tales struggle to bend his wrist to avoid exceeding the standard arc of arm movement while dining, Lady Jinnie suddenly spoke coldly: "Your expression is even uglier than a horse that has just been bridled."

Tales was startled by the sudden question. Flustered, he tried his best to answer decorously: "Er, Lady Jinnie, I know these are necessary, and I am trying my best to adapt..."

But his words were cut off by Lady Jinnie again.

"You certainly must learn these etiquettes," she said coldly, yet filled with mocking disdain.

"But it would be best not to become their prisoner... Walking, sitting, and lying down with a so-called noble posture does not mean you are truly noble."

"Likewise, bearing those glorious and proud histories does not mean you are truly..."

Lady Jinnie did not continue; she subconsciously bit back the second half of her sentence.

Tales felt a chill in his heart.

It seems this lady has a different opinion on Gilbert's teaching methods?

"Lady Jinnie," he probed cautiously, "Gilbert's history lesson this afternoon... you... you seem to not... not..."

"Hmph, don't be ridiculous. That is their great and ancient kingdom... how could I possibly have any opinions on it?" Lady Jinnie sniffed, denying Tales's words, but the latter clearly read the mockery and sarcasm in the court official's eyes.

Tales stared fixedly at Lady Jinnie, looking at this mistress of his father.

"Lady Jinnie," Tales said cautiously and softly, "You were not... a court official for my father from the very beginning, were you?"

Lady Jinnie raised her eyebrows, and the beauty mark at the corner of her mouth trembled slightly.

"And you—you don't like these etiquettes, these rules, or even," Tales hesitated, but after glancing at the knife and fork in his hand, he asked anyway, "you don't like this country?"

The words fell.

Lady Jinnie stared blankly at Tales.

This child.

He is truly sensitive.

Lady Jinnie turned her head to look at the gold and silver Nine-Pointed Star emblem above the fireplace in the study, remaining silent for a long time.

Just as Tales stuck out his tongue, thinking he had asked the wrong thing and preparing to lower his head to continue battling his cutlery as if nothing had happened, Lady Jinnie sighed. She looked distractedly at the knife and fork in Tales's hands and spoke softly:

"I was born in Buckweir City in Shude County. It is a small town on the coast in the east of the kingdom. It is not a prosperous trading port, but it could be self-sufficient through fishing; it was considered a decent place within the Star Kingdom."

"The city lord was my father, and he had a small reputation among the eastern counties. All along, he strictly trained us to follow rules, adhere to etiquette, and become ladies, hoping that one day our family could also become a long-standing, prestigious noble house."

Tales's expression turned serious, and he quickly took advantage of Lady Jinnie's distraction to secretly flex his stiffened wrist.

"But I happened to be a disobedient, rebellious daughter who had loathed these rules and etiquette since childhood."

"To the point that at sixteen, with adulthood approaching, I was a wild girl who couldn't even dance court ballroom dances and was rude in dining and reckless in speech." Under the lamplight, Lady Jinnie smiled bitterly, looking at the moon outside the window, her tone filled with nostalgia:

"My father, of course, would not let me have my way—in short, that memory is not very pleasant. Things became quite strained; the family wanted to strip me of my status and inheritance and send me to the temple to become a priestess."

Tales stuck out his tongue where she couldn't see. He knew that, generally, priestesses in temples took vows of celibacy, serving the Gods for life.

To reach that point, it was probably more than just "quite strained."

Lady Jinnie lowered her head slightly, her eyes dimming, but she immediately looked up, revealing a pleasant smile.

"But just then, His Highness the Prince came to our castle as a guest."

What?

Hearing this, Tales, who was exercising his wrist, stopped.

A prince?

It wouldn't be the kind of cliché plot I'm thinking of, would it?

Lady Jinnie continued:

"He heard my story, but only laughed out loud."

"His Highness publicly pardoned my transgressions and promised me that I would not have to follow the rules and etiquette that noble girls were generally required to observe. But the condition was that after coming of age, I had to find a way to support myself independently, beyond the status of a noble daughter."

This—this is truly cliché, isn't it?

But Tales felt a flicker of doubt in his heart—wasn't the approach and philosophy of that Prince, how should he put it, hmm, a bit too advanced and ahead of his time?

Jinnie, however, seemed to be talking to herself, the corners of her mouth curling up unconsciously, paying no heed to Tales's reaction.

"So, I walked out of my family's castle and followed that Prince to the Royal Capital."

"From reading the court reports for His Highness every day, to being a struggling warehouse clerk, to a scribe earning one copper coin per page, to a secretary at the Vigilant Hall, and finally passing the exam to become a Level 5 Alert Officer... My life was completely transformed because of him."

Tales was stunned. In his impression, Jinnie was a textbook court noble; he had never imagined she possessed such a colorful past.

"Yet, after drifting for many years, I ended up becoming a Court Official after all." Jinnie shook her head with a self-deprecating smile.

"Look at me—a disgrace to the nobility who hates etiquette and rules—now here I am, teaching the heir to the kingdom, teaching him the very etiquette I once loathed the most."

Jinnie finished speaking, her gaze returning directly to the dining table, staring at Tales—his dinner knife had fallen again.

Tales gave an awkward, light chuckle.

He asked a question that even he felt was slightly cliché:

"That kind-hearted Prince, is he—is he my father?"

Your father?

Jinnie's eyes grew hazy for a fleeting moment.

But Tales did not receive the answer he had expected.

He watched as the Court Official turned her head slightly, her face etched with a complex, unfathomable depth.

"No, it wasn't him," Jinnie said softly.

"I still remember the smile on his face when His Highness pardoned me—pardoned a girl in shackles, covered in filth, crying and screaming."

"That warm, inclusive, sunny smile. It was as if he were feeling all the beauty in the world at every moment; no matter how ugly or filthy things were, they could never move him."

"Your father, Kessel, was just a playboy prince back then, famous in the Royal Capital for his arrogance and recklessness, his face always twisted in a wicked smirk that would send ladies into a panic—he had no such reassuring smile."

Tales looked at Jinnie in astonishment.

King Kessel—arrogant, reckless, a playboy prince?

He saw Jinnie's gaze flicker, as if it held infinite nostalgia and sighs, before she slowly breathed out every word:

"That day, the one who came to our castle was the Former King's eldest son."

"His Majesty Kessel's older brother, Middil the Brightstar, the former Crown Prince."

"So, the so-called three experts we thought were sent by the Corleone Family to fulfill their agreement," Duke Jenn frowned, setting down a letter sealed with black fang wax, and folded his hands beneath the Tricolor Iris:

"Were merely losers in an internal clan struggle."

"They used the Corleone Family's name, used our invitations, borrowed our long-range ships, relied on our customs clearance permits, and treated the Cavendish Family like fools, sailing across the Ending Sea, fleeing the Hill of Suffering, hiding in Everstar City, staying in our manor for so long, and even taking away quite a bit of blood..."

"Is that so?"

Standing before his desk, the Extreme Realm Knight, Lord Cassian and Lord Seychelles, said nothing, merely watching with complex expressions as the middle-aged, bald man kneeling on the floor dripped with sweat.

Cassian remembered that this bald middle-aged man had arrived at the Old Duke's service alongside him, having been in the same batch from the Terminus Tower to serve the Cavendish Family's Tricolor Iris.

Unfortunately, the man's skills were insufficient; he was severely wounded in a battle and could only handle clerical duties thereafter. Even so, the Old Duke had pitied his circumstances and trusted him enough to manage the long-range shipping affairs.

What was his name again? Cassian struggled to search his memory, but he couldn't recall it.

"Y-yes... they presented the Holy Blood Emblem that only direct descendants of the Corleone bloodline possess, and that blonde one threatened us with a terrible attitude..." The kneeling middle-aged man, his head nearly touching the floor, stammered in explanation.

"They even had that letter of yours... your personal letter..."

"That's enough," Duke Jenn sighed, rubbing his brow. Ashford, the butler standing nearby, immediately poured a glass of fine wine produced in the Serra Duchy.

Jenn managed a helpless smile: "The fault here does not lie with you. Go now, and remember to be more cautious next time."

The bald middle-aged man looked as if he had been granted a reprieve, nodding repeatedly in apology before trembling his way out of the study under the urging of Seychelles.

"He was once a talent, but he is useless now," Jenn said with a look of regret, raising his glass. "Send him to the Eastern Continent again immediately. Dispose of him on the high seas."

"Do not do it within our borders or territorial waters; I have no desire to commit murder."

Cassian felt a stir in his heart upon hearing this.

"Duke," he said, unable to bear it, "if you keep him, surely he would only serve more diligently in the future..."

Cassian did not notice the signal Seychelles was giving him from the side.

"Ordinary matters are one thing, but I cannot afford any slip-ups with critical, secret affairs like this," Duke Jenn sighed. "He has made a mistake, and his heart already harbors misgivings and shadows—especially since his doubts about his future will only deepen with time."

"And he knows about our contact with the Corleones; this involves that plan."

"You both know how important that plan is."

Cassian finally noticed Seychelles's signal, so he Lowered Head and said no more.

"Next time we set sail, replace him with someone new," Duke Jenn sipped his wine in disappointment. "When my father was still here, their work was never this sloppy."

Ashford replied calmly: "Loyalty and caution both require the passage of time to settle."

Duke Jenn shook his head and sighed, "It is a pity that time is what we lack most—that matter will take place within a month, and since our own men cannot be involved, it is best that no accidents occur."

Seychelles nodded slightly, "My Lord, please rest assured. With the Mercenaries hired at such a great cost, there is more than enough opportunity, even if it were to assassinate His Majesty."

Lord Cassian trembled slightly, not knowing why his colleague would speak so recklessly.

Duke Jenn paused for a moment before shifting his gaze toward Seychelles.

"Do not speak nonsense," the Young Duke said coldly.

Seychelles lowered his head in apology, yet he sneered inwardly:

It seems the Duke is not displeased at all.

"You should set off. Both the Kulen Family and the South Trist Family will be sending men. At this juncture, do not stir up conflict with them."

Duke Jenn's gaze was icy as he cautioned Cassian and Seychelles, "Once those Mercenaries have succeeded, you are to dispose of those who did the deed."

Cassian was jolted, looking up in disbelief, "My Lord! Dispose of them? Didn't we hire them under a different name? Some of them, some of them are my contacts from the Terminus Tower—"

Duke Jenn suddenly turned his gaze toward him!

His eyes were like swords.

Cassian's throat tightened; this Knight of the Extreme Realm could not utter another word.

"Then persuade your friends to turn back," Duke Jenn said calmly, though Ashford knew this was a sign of his true displeasure, "Replace them with someone who is not your friend."

Seychelles yanked hard on the back of Cassian's coat, choking the latter's words back into his throat.

"As you wish, my Lord." The shrewd Seychelles nodded, leading the ashen-faced Cassian away to carry out the order.

Duke Jenn slowly exhaled to steady his mood, looking toward the portrait of the Old Duke in the distance.

"Cassian is getting old."

He said faintly.

"After this matter is settled, send him back to Emerald City, or to his own fief."

Ashford's expression remained calm as he nodded slightly.

"As for those Corleone refugees, Ashford, handle it yourself. Start by investigating the cavalry that suddenly broke into Weed Manor that night," Duke Jenn poured out the dregs of his red wine, his eyes cold, "Contact the Corleone Family—write directly to the Nightveil Queen herself—tell Kotrina what has happened here, and raise our stakes as the situation demands."

Ashford nodded, "As you wish."

"I recall the probing of the Mindis Hall was entrusted to the Blood Bottle Gang. Still no sign of Nekla?" Duke Jenn narrowed his eyes, looking at Ashford.

"No, my Lord," Ashford bowed slightly, "The Blood Bottle Gang is currently leaderless and in chaos. There are rumors that he has gone abroad to search for a Blood Elementalist."

A Blood Elementalist?

Duke Jenn squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp breath escaping his nose.

The upbringing he had received forced him to exert every ounce of his strength to swallow the unrefined words he desperately wanted to say.

"There is no other way. Send our own men to take control of the Blood Bottle Gang." Duke Jenn opened his eyes, his pupils devoid of emotion, and set down his wine glass.

"Within these two months, I want to control every rumor and piece of information within the Blood Bottle Gang's territory, from commoners to soldiers, from nobles to merchants."

Ashford nodded gently.

"The messenger sent to Exeter should be on his way back. Let us see if the Grand Duke Black Sand is willing to seize this opportunity." Duke Jenn leaned back into his comfortable recliner, his eyes narrowing.

Just wait, Father.

The Tricolor Iris will soon take another step forward.

If all goes well.

A quick word.

Wu Jian has a bad habit: I like to upload chapters first and then browse through them repeatedly on the reader interface (it's more efficient that way; I can't see a thing on the writing page), reviewing and editing, sometimes even performing major revisions.

So, for those friends who see an update, check the time first. If it's been less than twenty minutes, it's highly likely that Wu Jian is still editing on his laptop. I'll be making overall adjustments in the background shortly, so don't be anxious—just wait. Check back after half an hour, and that will be the final, polished version.

So, at times like this, just smile.

Don't be impatient. If you happen to read a draft and get poisoned by typos, shaky logic, or a rotten plot, wouldn't that be Wu Jian's fault?

PS: I've been hesitant about a few major plot points lately and am in dire need of feedback from my readers.