Doing Something

The history of the Star Kingdom had never been lacking in bloodshed.

Gilbert's words echoed in the boy's mind once more.

"You're reading too much into what I said, Your Highness."

Cyril snorted and reached down from the platter, picking up a red fruit about the size of a fist that even Tales couldn't recognize. He wiped it on his sleeve.

"I meant that, as the Radiant Star Royal Family's oldest vassal, Falkenhaus had seen too many similar dramas reflected in The Watcher's blade: from the first day to the last."

"So many that we've grown numb to them."

After the Duke of the Western Desolation finished speaking, he completely ignored Tales's suspicious gaze and contentedly took a bite of the fruit in his hand.

But Tales continued watching him warily.

"Is that so?"

Cyril's cheeks trembled. He seemed to be savoring the taste of the fruit, but his haggard complexion and frightening appearance only made the action look more sinister.

"By the same token, the truth behind the Year of Blood no longer matters. Just as, sixty years from now, will anyone still care about the crisis surrounding your grandfather's coronation?"

Cyril leaned back, but his lively, snake-like eyes remained fixed on Tales.

He said indistinctly:

"What truly matters is what the Year of Blood brought us—and how we're going to face it."

Tales looked away, doing his best not to watch the fruit pulp in Cyril's open mouth change from solid chunks to crumbs and then to powder as he spoke.

The Prince said solemnly:

"I don't like putting on an air of mystery."

"And I don't like beating around the bush."

Cyril swallowed a mouthful of fruit and gave a mocking snort.

He propped his left elbow against the armrest and leaned toward Tales. His expression changed