Bang! Bang! Bang!
Crash!
"Who is it? Who the hell is it?!"
A howl like a lone wolf erupted from the main hall of the royal palace, followed by the sound of objects being smashed to pieces. The knights stationed outside exchanged nervous glances, tucking their heads down and remaining silent. At a time like this, anyone bold enough to cause trouble would likely be dragged off for immediate execution.
"Is His Highness inside?" Deacon No. 3 asked as he approached the hall.
"His Highness gave orders—no one enters," A knight said, raising a hand to bar the way.
"Let him in," Lucia's low, raspy voice drifted from within.
"Please," The knight stepped aside.
Creak!!
Deacon No. 3 stepped inside to find the hall in utter shambles. Lucia sat on the floor, hair disheveled, staring at him with bloodshot, icy eyes.
The Deacon's heart tightened, but his face remained a mask of calm. He spoke slowly: "Your Highness, why such anger?"
"Heh..." Lucia gave a cold, dark laugh. "If you can't tell me something that satisfies me, you can go down and keep my father company today."
The reputation he had meticulously cultivated had vanished within half a day because of a few slips of paper. How could he not be enraged? From now on, the stain of patricide would haunt him until he died—and for centuries after.
"Your Highness, a reputation for patricide is nothing to royalty," Deacon No. 3 said, attempting to manipulate him. "History is full of kings who killed their fathers to take the throne. Didn't your own grandfather do the same? And yet, he is still remembered as a benevolent king."
"..." Lucia's expression flickered. He narrowed his eyes. "Not enough."
He was actually looking for an excuse to test Deacon No. 3, using his rage as a cover. He had long prepared for the fact that his father's murder might be exposed; he was simply furious that it had happened before he had officially secured the throne.
"Your Highness, this incident actually serves as a good test of loyalty," Deacon No. 3 said, his pupils shrinking as he studied Lucia. He sensed a deeper meaning behind the prince's gaze.
"Elaborate." Lucia reached for a one-handed sword embedded in the table—he had hacked it there during his earlier outburst.
"I have received fresh intelligence. Grand Duke Kerrac will not be attending the banquet tonight. He is sending only his eldest son," The Deacon said flatly. He knew this single piece of information was sufficient.
"What did you say?" Lucia's eyes constricted. He gripped the sword and began walking toward the Deacon.
"This is the report I just received." The Deacon's face twitched as he instinctively took a half-step back.
"Damn him. Damn him to hell... he actually dares..." Lucia's face turned as dark as stagnant water. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he gripped the hilt, his eyes filled with raw violence. He knew exactly what this meant. Relations between the two families had been fine until now; even if Kerrac were truly ill, he would have made an appearance.
But to send only the eldest son after this scandal broke was too transparent. At best, it meant Kerrac was holding out for more benefits, waiting for the highest bidder. At worst, it was the first sign of rebellion—Kerrac was eyeing the throne and intended to use the patricide rumors to drag Lucia down.
"..." Cold sweat broke out on the Deacon's forehead. He saw the murderous intent in Lucia's eyes and felt a surge of panic. He quickly added, "Your Highness, on behalf of the Luminous Creed, I offer a tribute of ten thousand pounds of wheat."
"Ten thousand pounds?" Lucia raised the longsword, testing its weight. His eyes flashed with a cold light.
"No—thirty thousand pounds," The Deacon corrected himself immediately. Thirty thousand pounds. If they were careful, that was enough to feed a thousand men for a month.
"Then I thank the Luminous Creed for their tribute." Lucia's lip curled into a mirthless smirk. He turned and walked toward the throne, a trace of lingering killing intent in his eyes.
"Whew..." The Deacon breathed a small sigh of relief, though his eyes burned with hidden resentment. A mere puppet had actually dared to threaten his master.
"Has anyone else declined my invitation?" Lucia asked, wiping the blade with a cloth.
"Two Marquises have also claimed to be ill," The Deacon replied.
"How wonderful. Falling ill in this kind of weather..." Lucia's mouth twisted into a frozen smile. "Do they really think I need them that badly?"
"Your Highness, shall I send men to...?" The Deacon made a slicing motion across his throat.
"No. Leave them for now." Lucia looked deeply at the Deacon. He remembered a report stating that on the night Lucy was captured, Deacon had visited the home of one of those Marquises.
He knew some of the nobles were no longer content to be ruled and were starting to have second thoughts. He was also painfully aware that he lacked his father's sheer presence; he couldn't suppress people the same way. Moreover, the Luminous Creed was revealing more of its hand, and he felt his control slipping.
"Understood." A flash of disappointment crossed the Deacon's eyes. If they had killed a few Marquises, he could have installed his own people. Eventually, the Kingdom of Siacan would have been under the Creed's absolute control. He realized the prince was becoming wary—no longer the trusting fool he once was.
"Can you find out who made those papers?" Lucia asked coldly.
"I suspect an outside force," The Deacon said helplessly. They truly hadn't found a lead yet.
"The second prince's faction?" Lucia frowned.
"It's possible." The Deacon nodded. They were the first suspects on the list.
"Go. Find out who did it. I want them alive," Lucia said, waving him off. He knew his only option now was to secure the Grand Duke who served as the Minister of Internal Affairs. Lucy was his best bargaining chip.
"As you wish." The Deacon bowed.
He also wanted to find out who was responsible—whoever it was had just cost him thirty thousand pounds of wheat, grain they had worked very hard to stockpile.
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