Kingdom’s Bloodline Chapter 75: Move a rock to the foot

In the dim corridor, Thales stiffened his face, and put his hands on Morat's "wheelchair" covered with black-veined vines (it took him a lot of time to finish his ideological struggle, and he barely touched it) , In accordance with the instructions of the Black Prophet, reluctantly became the driving force of the opponent, pushing him forward.

The black-veined vine seemed to feel his approach, and immediately squirmed and "politely" vacated a space on the back of the chair to make room, just enough to hold a pair of hands.

This only makes Thales feel 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 meditated leisurely.

Thyls twitched at the corner of his mouth and moved on.

It's not that he has never thought of refusing to shirk, but since a vulnerable (?) handicapped old man with a declining age requested so, he had no choice but to do so.

But, are the secret subjects dead?

The young man complained silently:

So much so that I asked a newcomer to help...doing things.

Isn't the kind-faced, dark-hearted, sharp-toothed Raphael doing this job?

The wheels covered with weird vines rolled onto the ground, but weirdly made no sound.

Raphael's figure was hidden in the darkness ahead, only the sound of footsteps faintly came, barely pointing out the direction for Thales.

They moved forward in silence.

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

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

But Thales tried his best to find a gap in the back of the chair as a drop point for his hands, avoiding touching—even if it was difficult—the disgusting black vines, which made his exertion even more inconvenient.

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

The Black Prophet never looked back:

"Are you alive?"

Thyls frowned.

"Most people in the world are muddled. It makes no difference if they are alive or dead," Morat didn't care, his words were hazy:

"Does it matter whether it is alive or not, whether it has its own consciousness?"

Thyls sighed helplessly.

He also pushed a wheelchair to Greveo, a veteran of Longxiao City.

In fact, the night roads in the shield area are potholes and bumps, making it difficult to move around. The old **** in the north has been swearing and grinning and his mouth is not clean, which impressed the begging teenagers and had enough suffering.

But now, Thales would rather work hard, beat and scold, and put Grive in a wheelchair for another year, rather than staying with Morat for even a second.

"What the **** is this stuff?"

"Oh, your lord," the black prophet shook his head and sneered silently:

"You have seen them."

More than once.

Tyles took a breath from his nose, as if he was going to get rid of the other's nagging remarks along with the anxiety in his heart.

"Raphael."

Tyles turned his head unnaturally, forcing himself not to look at the weird rustling vines that stretched back and forth like breathing in the wheelchair, trying to find a topic to divert attention:

"Six years ago, his palm was obviously cut open, but it was intact as before, and he can transmit sound from thousands of miles to talk to you."

"In the face of the burning knight, his sleeves were lit by the sun saber many times, and he always concealed and retreated in embarrassment."

"In the Palace of Valor, my attendant mentioned suspiciously: as if he saw his heart pierced."

The back of Morat's head is fixed, no longer swaying leisurely.

"As the secret science shit-stirring stick of the Night of Dragon Blood, he only behaves well in one place and guards himself."

Tyles' eyes condensed:

"Haoyue Temple."

They are moving at the same speed, and the road ahead is still dark.

The tone of Morat's reply changed slightly:

"So what?"

Thyls's footsteps are a little slower.

"Devil."

The vines on the wheelchair are still squirming, changing angles from time to time, wrapping around other parts of the wheelchair in another posture.

The Duke of Xinghu thought of what Thaker had said, and said in a daze:

"The flesh is food, the soul is hunting."

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

Thyls stared at the vines:

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

Morat tilted his head slightly, and then glanced at the prince.

Thyls came back to his senses, remembered the identity of the other party, and climbed into his heart with caution.

He quickly added:

"I heard that when I was still in North...being hostage."

There was a moment of silence in the corridor, except for the strange noise of black veined vines, crackling like flames and gurgling like running water.

"Oh, you can always find the answer yourself."

Morat is turning his head, smiling in his words:

"As always."

"So, devil and hell," Thales ignored the other party's sarcasm:

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

"It was developed by you, um," Thales glanced at Morat's disgusting wheelchair:

"Medical prostheses?"

It seems that Thales' words aroused interest, Morat shook his head.

"It's not us, Your Highness, it's not us."

"We are just inheriting and imitating, far from the first group of people in the world who are unscrupulous and covet mystery and taboos."

Unscrupulously, covet mystery taboos.

Tyles narrowed his eyes.

"Magic."

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

"It's another legacy left by the wizard, isn't it?"

He sarcastically said:

"It seems that the Kingdom Secret Branch is the orthodox heir to the Magic Tower."

This time, Morat's words were cold:

"I thought Megan Sacrifice had reminded you, Your Highness."

When he heard the familiar name, Thales was slightly surprised:

"Megan Sacrifice—Do you know her?"

The Black Prophet gave a cold snort and 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 sins it creates, and it's equal."

"But you are safe to inherit the legacy of your predecessors," the prince continued, frowning looking at the living creature wrapped in the wheelchair:

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

Morat shook his head:

"You may not yet understand."

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

He is slightly emotional:

"Like all attachments in this world, if you go too far, you will find yourself too deep."

The pursuit is too deep.

Back to bite itself.

Thyls raised his eyebrows.

He suddenly remembered that the two teachers mentioned to him, the three major contracts of the magician:

Do not delve into each other.

Be careful of yourself.

Thinking of this, he tentatively said:

"For example...Magician?"

In that second, Thales was covered with goose bumps on his arm, and the crime of the prison river surged wildly!

In the next instant, the vines on the wheelchair suddenly increased their speed and stretched slightly!

In horror, Thales instinctively released the wheelchair and stopped.

Be fully alert.

The black prophet's figure trembling in the wheelchair, undulating.

He let out a low, weird guttural sound, like dissatisfaction, but also like instinct when thinking.

Like an asthmatic.

Thyles frowned.

What are you doing?

A few minutes later, the black veined vine recovered its original form and became docile again.

"How are you?"

Tyles asked tentatively.

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

For the time being.

"Go on, we are not there yet."

Thyls put away his panic, got into the wheelchair again, and started walking.

"Look at this thing carefully, Your Highness."

Morat is truly sick:

"Do you think it is something beautiful?"

"Our good neighbors in **** are beyond imagination. They are infinitely different and even more powerful in ending," the head of the secret department has a weak tone:

"Even the meat cut from them, each piece looks different."

Thyls stared at the squirming vines, doubting even more.

"And this piece..."

"It seems to be extremely energetic and adapts to the host. It is a surprise gift for doctors when they are helpless."

Morat’s tone tightened:

"But it multiplies indefinitely in the dark and erodes the host. It is an unclean thing that church priests hate."

Like this world, charming and deadly.

Thyls was silent for a while.

"So it can help you tide over the difficulties temporarily, but will eventually kill you?"

Morat smiled.

"Worse, boy," the black prophet said with emotion:

"Worse than that."

Thyls looked forward subconsciously.

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

"Don't worry."

Morat noticed where Thales was looking and hummed softly:

"He is not me, he is still young, he can bear it."

The black prophet's tone fell silent.

Still very young and can bear it.

Thyls frowned:

"Just to save his hands that were abolished by Duke Arund?"

The black prophet silently looked at the black vines on his legs and shook his head:

"It saves more than his hands, child."

The devil is always there, but the devil does not speak.

For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered this sentence.

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

"As the creator of the'Dragon Blood' project, he used to lead the secret department and at least worked with you, right?"

Morat raised his head, his eyes sharp.

"Has he used it?"

Thyls looked at the black veined vines that tightly wound the legs of the black prophet:

"Use this thing to treat my disabled legs?"

This time the silence lasted a long time.

"It's not that no one suggested it."

Morat rarely sent out feelings, and said in a memory of his old friend:

"But your Royal Highness, he smiled and refused. He said..."

Morat stared at his thin hands and looked at the vines on his legs:

"Without these legs, he can stand up and be a complete and sound person."

Thyls' eyes lit up.

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

He is sincere and authentic.

"Of course."

Morat crouched his chest, not without emotion:

"Most people need to fill in the imperfections, not physically."

Looking at Morat like this, Thales suddenly had an illusion: Under the vine-wrapped state, the weak and painful counterpart lost the terrible coat of the Black Prophet, and behaved like a sentimental ordinary old man.

Perhaps, facing Morat like this, he can gain more.

He moved his mind, patted the wheelchair, and the vines on it throbbed:

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

Morat was silent for a while.

Just when Thales thought he was not going to answer.

"According to the agreement, the leader of the blood whistling should stand here now and continue to talk about our cooperation."

Morat sighed:

"But unfortunately, he missed the appointment."

Thyls froze for a moment, then opened his eyes wide:

"Who do you mean...?"

Morat laughed.

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

"I can read my mind."

Tyles' expression changed.

Still come here?

"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 weird "Crasso" 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 Star Secret Division is closer than you think. 】

Sword of Disaster and Kingdom Secret Section.

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

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

Thyls leaned forward slightly, observing the expression of the black prophet carefully.

No.

Thyls’s understanding in his heart:

"It's Nob."

"It's him, he came to report back to you about the Western Wilderness."

That's why he knew he had met Ricky.

Morat raised his head and exchanged a glance with Thales.

"Compared with six years ago, you have become sharp, Your Highness."

He whispered:

"The fear of me has also disappeared a lot."

"It's really impressive."

Thyls pursed his lips.

Really.

Who wrote the secret report about the prince’s "self-assertion and boldness" at the hand of King Kessel?

But at the next moment, Morat asked quietly.

"His Royal Highness, as a witness, can you help me solve my doubts."

"In the Blade Ya camp, what caused the mercenary Ricky to break his promise and voluntarily give up the long-term cooperation with us, leave everything behind and go high?"

Long-term cooperation.

Thyls caught this keyword.

His eyes fell on the creeping vines on the wheelchair.

The flesh of the devil.

For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered the "meat shaved off them" that Morat just said.

That's it.

This is their cooperation.

The words of the Black Prophet brought him back to reality:

"Did you know?"

Thyls came back to his senses.

What caused Ricky to break his promise and go away?

At that moment, he thought of Zachel, who was in his bones, of the world-cleansing front drawn on paper, and of what the penalty knight said, the king who was against the world...

No, I don't know.

Thyls wanted to answer that way.

But he can't.

Because he knows.

Thyls keeps in mind Yordel’s reminder:

Faced with Morat, he couldn't lie.

"Yes."

Thyls answered the conversation naturally, calmly and smoothly:

"Williams."

"Legendary Wings used Ricky's mercenary group to create chaos and regained the camp of Bladeya, and then threatened him: how far and how far."

"I guess he listened."

Williams.

Hearing the name, the black prophet's eyes frozen, and he was silent for several seconds.

"Well, maybe."

Good.

Looking at the reaction of the other person, Thales said silently:

If Sabo really opened the "bad dog that bit someone's leg" bet...

Maybe he can actually win money.

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

Tyles is determined to continue exploring. He endures the discomfort and clicks a little vine, which makes this thing flinch again:

"Ricky gave you these things?"

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

More than this.

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

Connected.

Morat was also silent for a while.

This time, he used to answer Thales with a dark grin.

The second prince was flustered with a smile.

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

"But still not cautious enough."

Thyls was slightly startled.

Not cautious enough.

What do you mean?

Morat put away his laughter, abruptly:

"Raphael's report is right."

Thyls feels bad:

"What report?"

Morat took a look at her and shook his head with a tut:

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

"When in trouble, Prince Thales has the ability and mind. He is good at collecting information from multiple sources, combining intelligence, piecing together clues, observing and thinking from different angles, and then going straight to the subject based on your unconstrained mind. The key point is to creatively give solutions that no one can think of."

"However..."

He changed his style:

"You are too stubborn, too focused on the questions you ask, 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 have deduced, and you will miss the humble but vital details."

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

Thyls's breath stopped.

"You are also too emotional, too concerned about a certain essence of things, lacking the smoothness and comprehensiveness required to deal with complex problems, often confined to principles and ignoring the cost, making impulsive choices that are not understood by ordinary people."

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

The black prophet squinted:

"Even came forward last night."

Thyls only felt the arm pushing the wheelchair stiff.

Why, why did he say this suddenly?

But the other party’s words still came like magic sounds, and couldn’t stop:

"So, you often fall into unpredictable bad consequences after taking a decisive action to win back a city."

"Guessed the beginning, but missed the ending."

The intelligence chief of the secret branch of the kingdom, the black prophet, Lord Morat Hansen faintly:

"Spoken name: Be smart."

"Move a rock to a foot."

At this moment, Thales can't help but think of the team under Raphael:

The prince's ass.

An indignation surged in my heart.

But it was also at this time that Morat gave a light pick and turned the topic back to the original place:

"I mentioned Ricky, I only said that we cooperate, but I never said that it is for this thing."

He looked at the black veined vines under him with contempt:

"Why did you connect the clues confidently and surely, 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 sword of disaster is."

Thyls figured out something, and suddenly became speechless and pale.

"That's the question: this is his most invisible secret. It is absolutely impossible to tell you when he introduces himself."

Morat is very interested:

"The next question will be: when the Bone Prison was creating chaos, with Ricky's skill and blood horn fighting power, what happened to him and how threatened he was... "

"Will you be forced to show your trump card in front of you to show your true identity?"

The black prophet looked at the vines on his legs coldly:

"So that you believe that this thing has the same origin as him?"

"Can you answer me?"

"Your Highness?"

Tyles clenched his teeth and swallowed hard.

Damn it.

In the prison of bones, what happened to Ricky that forced him to show the real demon?

Appeared in the fire, disillusioned before the gods.

The heavy but unstoppable figure of the penalty knight appeared before his eyes.

No.

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

Don't lie, Thales.

Don't lie.

"Legendary Wings."

The prince tried his best to maintain a steady speech rate:

"He gave the bold Ricky a big beating-we all saw his face, like this thing, like a black mine."

The black prophet was silent again.

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

"At least you think you are telling the truth."

Thyls let out a sigh of relief.

However, the next second.

"But, the second time."

Morat's words became cold again:

"Legendary Wings."

"This is the second time you use him to answer questions."

Tyles' complexion changed slightly.

"It is as if you have identified this shield and that he will confirm your words."

The black prophet rubbed his skinny wrist and said in deep thought:

"It was related to him both times. Is it a coincidence?"

Tyles tightened his lips.

"Or, Your Majesty, it’s actually that you don’t want to say much about Ricky’s situation when he revealed his true body, and you don’t know what happened in the prison of bones. You’d rather send me such an annoying good thing to ask Williams. , Throw the troublesome details to that evil spirit who is full of murderous intent and keeps people away?"

What happened in the prison of bones.

At that moment, Thales heard his breathing.

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

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

"Let me guess, maybe you have a tacit understanding with Wings of Legend, you want to cover up certain things, some things that force Ricky to reveal his true body, and even make him abandon the relationship with the secret branch..."

The black prophet meditated:

"Is it the Shield of Deception?"

"Or is it the reason why the darkroom came all the way to the blade camp?"

At that moment, the silhouette of the drill and the fast rope flashed in front of Thales, almost making him tense his whole body.

No, fast rope...

But Morat shook his head:

"No, what you used as an excuse is Wings of Legend. The person who can force Ricky to reveal his true body is at least the same magnitude as him..."

Finally, while Thales was shocked, the Black Prophet loosened his knotted brows and exhaled to end his speculation.

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

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

"Our dear guard, Lord Thacker, is he okay?"

At that moment, Thales just felt cold all over.

"As for the key criminals in the prison of bones who were executed by Williams in the official announcement," the black prophet looked at him with great interest, as if looking at the prey that fell into the hole:

"Although the jealous Baron Bladefang did not give a specific list, I guess..."

"It must include some of the former royal guards who collided with the enemy in the Scarlet Year, right."

The black prophet spoke softly, every word seemed to be poisonous:

"So they were not executed."

"I was let go by you and Williams."

"Ricky the mercenary is the witness."

Thyls has no idea how to think.

He just... said one more sentence.

But the other party can...

"Look? This is what we call..."

Morat gave a chuckle and tapped his fingers on the wheelchair.

"Be smart."

"Move a rock to a foot."

Tyles pushed the wheelchair stiffly, and then he woke up.

I was wrong.

It's so wrong~IndoMTL.com~ The prince's eyes are frozen in the void.

Just like he can make Williams beautiful without being a king.

Even if Morat was in a wheelchair, Feng Zhu died soon after.

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

It's the whole kingdom...

Black Prophet.

"So, Lord Xinghu, you, as the heir to the throne, privately indulge in this group of collaborators with sensitive identities, extraordinary skills, and familiar with the secrets of the palace. What do you want?"

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

"If your father knew, what would he think?"

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