Chapter 594: Grudges

"You mean Constance Jadestar, my aunt?"

Thales repeated it almost unconsciously.

Constance.

The Little Calamity.

The runaway bride.

And...

"The Tenth Powerhouse?"

"Mm-hmm." Morris first smiled knowingly, then his mood sank.

"I still remember the day we finally made it back to the borders of Constellation after all the trouble we went through. Little Calamity suggested we drink ourselves senseless as a farewell, so we slipped into some rich bastard's wine cellar. We cried, laughed, and drank until dawn. That was how she earned that title. Of course, once we sobered up, we realized the 'wine cellar' full of liquor she found was actually the supply depot of Archsea City's Central Watch Hall."

Thales raised an eyebrow. He remembered the "glorious" stories Aunt Elise had once told him about Constance's past, and asked tentatively:

"I heard she was very... lively?"

"Lively?"

Morris recalled the past and sighed helplessly.

"Black Sword said that when the Sunset Goddess created Constance, she must have caught a cold. Her hand slipped and she dropped Constance's soul into the Prison River for a rinse. Then, pretending nothing happened, she hurriedly fished it out while none of the gods were looking and stuffed it back in any old way..."

"Because of her, and because of all the trouble she caused along the way..."

Morris' expression was both sweet and bitter.

But he shook his head, cut himself off from the past, and became grave again.

Listening to him, Thales could not help but smile. He began imagining his famously unreliable aunt wandering the world with the Nine Powerhouses.

But when he thought of the cold little stone urn in the Jadestar family tomb, his smile faded.

"So that was how you met Horace."

Thales returned to the present and asked earnestly:

"You don't seem to like him very much?"

At the sound of that name, Morris' expression also turned ugly.

"No one liked him."

The Brotherhood's fat man snorted coldly.

"And he didn't like anyone either."

No one liked Horace.

With Morris' attitude toward Horace, a question naturally surfaced in Thales' mind.

"Then why?"

The prince frowned in puzzlement.

"Why did you still risk your lives and do those things for him?"

Morris gave him a meaningful look.

Then he scoffed softly, his face full of disdain.

"We weren't doing it for him."

His voice became cold when he mentioned the name.

"Horace, that cold-blooded butcher, that twisted, inhuman bastard."

Cold-blooded butcher.

Thales became even more confused.

"But..."

"We were willing to go through fire and water for Black Sword, just as he would for us."

The fat man cut him off, unwilling to say more.

"That was all."

Thales considered his words and tried to understand them.

"So let me make sure I have this right. Black Sword decided to risk his life for Horace, or perhaps to serve Horace, and then you helped him?"

Morris' gaze drifted.

"Your Highness, everyone comes and goes in this world with their own positions and their own reasons."

Thales stared at him. He slowly understood.

"Then what was the relationship between Black Sword and Horace?"

He took a step closer.

"Did Black Sword owe Horace something, or did Horace give him something?"

Morris did not answer.

He merely narrowed his eyes at Thales.

"Why did you stop?"

Thales frowned.

"What?"

Morris tilted his head toward the shelves.

"You were just talking about the Secret Intelligence Department's movements."

Thales looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Right."

The prince turned back to the shelf.

"The department's current actions are gathered in three directions."

"The Western Desert is the most urgent. They are investigating the military system, noble grudges, and political history there. If that matter keeps developing, it may very well become war and bloodshed. Also, the Blood Bottle Gang's origin and old lair are tied to that place."

"The South Bank is different. Commerce there is prosperous and life is wealthy. If the Secret Intelligence Department needs the Blood Bottle Gang or the Brotherhood for something, you should understand that better than I do."

"As for Blade Fief, I know very little about it. It is probably related to its local pattern of enfeoffment."

Morris pressed him.

"Just three names? Three ducal territories?"

Thales chuckled softly.

"It is the Secret Intelligence Department. What else did you expect?"

Morris tried to digest the information, his expression changing.

"The Western Desert, the South Bank, Blade Fief, and us. You have to be joking."

Thales did not try to soften it.

"Do you think a prince came all the way down to the infamous Lower City District just to joke around with a gang leader?"

"Who knows?" Morris snorted. "Maybe Your Highness came here because you were chasing women."

Thales gave him a polite but completely false smile.

Morris thought for a while, then raised his head.

"Fine. Suppose what you say is true. Suppose something huge really is happening behind the scenes. Then what do you want us to do?"

He spread his hands.

"To put it simply, when it comes to important affairs of the kingdom, what can street thugs like us do? Lie down and let it happen?"

Thales was silent for a moment.

"Morris."

The prince spoke casually.

"Back then, when you and the other Eight Powerhouses accepted that outrageously expensive job, did you ever imagine that you would end up touching the royal family with the longest history in the world?"

"Did you ever imagine your lives would become what they are now?"

Morris' face tightened slightly, and his eyes became deep and dark.

Thales took a breath.

He walked to the next shelf.

"Everything in this world is connected by chains."

He reached out and gently brushed the dusty spine of a ledger.

"Invisible chains."

"People and people. Events and events. Groups and groups. Places and places. They are all linked together."

"Not in a simple line, not one to one. More like being embedded inside one another, pushing, pulling, rubbing, scraping. Sometimes, two things that seem to have nothing to do with each other are actually connected by a chain that has been stretched very far."

Thales turned back.

"Pull one end, and every other end moves. Then those other ends pull back."

Morris listened without speaking.

"Sometimes, a bloody fight between two gangs in the Lower City can influence who finally owns a throne."

Morris frowned.

"I don't understand."

"You do."

Thales smiled faintly.

"The shift in strength between the kingdom's two largest gangs is an interesting barometer."

"A kingdom's affairs are reflected at the bottom. Iron, mines, grain, agriculture, taxes, prices, stock, interests, livelihoods. The Blood Bottle Gang has ties to great nobles and lords. The Brotherhood is rooted in the poor and lowly. When the balance between them is lost, they fight. Or they negotiate."

Morris stared at him.

"You're exaggerating."

"From finance to markets, from budgets to taxes, from administration to livelihood, there are countless gates from top to bottom. Are you saying the king wiggles a finger, and street thugs start fighting?"

Thales' smile widened.

"See? You understand quite well."

Morris' expression froze.

"At least better than the man from intelligence named Lanser."

The fat man's face twitched.

Thales continued:

"I believe you when you say you served Horace because of Black Sword. But that still does not explain something."

"After Horace died, after the Bloody Years passed, what kept you in Eternal Star City? What kept you in the swamp of the Lower City? What made you become a gang at the very bottom and take root here, spending your whole lives in this place?"

Morris did not immediately answer.

After a long while, he said:

"Black Sword once said that after he returned from the North, one day, a little prince might come to ask about the connection between the Brotherhood and the Bloody Years."

Thales was taken aback.

Morris looked at him.

"That day has come."

Thales slowly realized that it had never been a coincidence that they recognized him.

Black Sword's chains were tighter than he had thought.

"Don't tell me the Brotherhood was founded to avenge Horace."

Thales shook his head.

"He wasn't that charming."

Morris snorted.

Then, instead of answering, he asked:

"Have you ever sorted flax bundles?"

Thales blinked.

"No."

"I have."

Morris looked away, as if seeing something far beyond the shelves.

"You grab the roots, look at the head and tail, then take the bundles one by one. You beat them, sort them, stack them neatly in order."

"At first, it looks simple. Finite. Manageable."

"But very soon, loose strands spring out again. As you keep working, the bundles you just sorted also start coming apart. More and more strands escape your control, tangling with the others."

"In the end, the whole pile becomes one mess. You can't find the head. You can't find the root. You can't hold it still. You shake it, and it tightens. You try to break free, and it twists around you."

Morris lowered his head and looked at his hands.

"Then your hands and feet are caught in it too. It binds you tighter and tighter."

"All the flax becomes one unrecognizable knot. Facing that mess, you sink deeper and deeper, helpless."

Thales was quiet.

The invisible chains.

Morris looked at him again.

"To noble-born people, invisible chains are troublesome?"

He smiled without warmth.

"Next time, try sorting flax. Experience the suffering of ordinary people."

Thales let out a breath.

"What happened to the other Nine Powerhouses?"

Morris fell silent.

Thales remembered the confrontation between Asda and Black Sword.

In that instant, he understood that the answer might not be pleasant.

"What happened during the Bloody Years?"

Morris remained silent.

The prince thought of the people in the Prison of Bones, and of those names buried in history.

He looked at Morris' face and decided not to press further.

"Enough."

Thales turned and walked toward the door.

At the medicine shop counter, Grove, the shopkeeper, nervously rubbed his hands.

"Young master, about the typhoid medicine... where should I deliver it?"

Glover stepped in front of him at once, blocking him from getting too close to Thales.

Thales glanced at the medicine shop, then at Morris behind him.

"Keep it here for now."

He said calmly:

"I will notify my good local friend, Morris, to come pick it up."

Grove froze.

Morris, who had been listening from the side, smiled broadly.

"Of course."

Kohen frowned.

"Since when did you become good friends..."

Thales ignored him and turned to Jeni.

"Goodbye, Miss Jeni."

He nodded.

"Thank you."

Jeni looked at him and smiled with a calmness that did not quite match the place.

"You're welcome. It is only right."

She bowed slightly.

"Take care, kind young master."

Thales looked at her for a moment.

"You too."

He gestured for Glover to pay Grove.

Glover reached for his money pouch.

Then he froze.

He remembered that he had handed his pouch to Xixi at the Leia Club.

The guard's expression stiffened. He looked at Kohen.

Kohen's expression stiffened too.

After all, after all the salary deductions he had suffered, the police officer was not much better off.

At that moment, Layork appeared at the doorway like a shadow and laughed coldly.

"A Watch officer buying medicine on credit. How impressive."

Kohen glared at him.

"Shut up."

Morris cheerfully stepped forward.

"Put it on the Brotherhood's account."

Grove's face immediately turned bitter, and his legs nearly gave out.

Morris clicked his tongue.

"The real account this time."

He tossed a purse onto the counter.

Grove stared at the purse, stunned.

Morris then walked over and put an arm around Grove's shoulder.

His smile did not change, but his voice cooled.

"Also, Grove."

The shopkeeper shivered.

"If I hear again that you hit your wife..."

The smile vanished from Morris' face.

Grove nodded again and again, trembling.

Only then did Morris let him go and leave with Thales.

After the group disappeared, Grove collapsed weakly into Jeni's arms.

"Who... who was that?"

Jeni looked toward the door. Her expression was deep and distant.

"A friend."

She said softly:

"From a long, long time ago... a little friend."

Grove stared at her in surprise.

"You have a friend like that?"

Jeni did not answer.

After Thales and Morris had vanished completely, Grove forced out a flattering smile.

"Jeni, about that dress you liked last time..."

Jeni rolled her eyes.

On the muddy underground street, Glover and Kohen walked close to Thales, one on each side.

Morris followed behind them, chatting quietly with Layork and another subordinate.

The people of the underground street first looked at Thales and the others with greedy, malicious eyes. But once they saw Morris, those gazes immediately scattered and fled.

"If Your Highness wanted to help that lady..."

Glover spoke after hesitating for a while.

"There were more suitable ways."

Thales glanced at him.

"Without making her think I was what?"

Glover's face turned awkward.

"Flirting with her? Lusting after her?"

Kohen immediately coughed.

"Your Highness, on the matter of proper love and courtship, I must say that harassment and flirting are very different things..."

"I know."

Thales interrupted him.

He looked at Glover.

"You're right. I wanted to help Jeni, not hurt her."

Glover nodded.

"I understand."

Thales walked for a while in silence.

"Is she happy?"

He asked suddenly.

"Is she truly satisfied with that husband? With that kind of life?"

Glover's answer came quickly.

"No."

He paused.

"But at least she gritted her teeth and found a way to live."

Thales looked at him.

Glover's expression was heavy.

"Lily told me before. Life is bitter and ugly. So what? You still have to get it done."

"Whether your posture looks pretty or not doesn't matter."

He raised his eyes.

"Even in a pile of shit and piss, a person can live with dignity."

Thales was silent for a long time.

"You are a survivor, Garen Glover."

Glover shook his head.

"No."

He looked back toward the medicine shop.

"She is."

Kohen sighed.

"I didn't really understand what she said about scales and bread."

The police officer scratched his head, looking unusually troubled.

"But when she said that no matter whom she married, it was just trading her skirt for bread, I felt... sad."

Thales looked at him.

"Why?"

Kohen thought for a long time.

"Because that is her life."

His voice was low.

"She should be able to use other things to exchange for other things. Better things. But everyone only sees her skirt. They keep throwing bread at her, as if that is the only trade she is allowed to make, as if she has no other choice."

Glover glanced at him.

"There must be men who can see more than her skirt and give more than bread."

He paused.

"For example, you?"

Kohen did not blush or joke as he usually would.

This time, he was very serious.

"That wouldn't solve it."

"It is not a problem that can be solved by one good man, or even twelve good men."

He looked at the street ahead.

"I feel like what she is facing is an enemy that cannot be defeated."

Glover frowned.

Kohen continued:

"On the Western Front, I once captured a group of gray bastards. Orcs. They had raided the border and hunted caravans."

"I asked their leader why orcs hunt humans."

"I thought he would talk about blood feuds, history, pride, or profit."

"But he just said, because humans hunt us."

Kohen's hand unconsciously moved toward his sword hilt.

"So I asked him, can we stop hunting each other?"

"He laughed and said, yes. As long as one side kills all of the other."

No one spoke.

"At that moment, I felt very tired."

Kohen's brows furrowed.

"Bored. Trapped. Helpless. Afraid."

"It was as if my sword had struck an invisible iron wall, not flesh or an axe."

"Maybe my heart of the sword wavered then. I wrote to Raphael, an old friend at the Tower of Eradication."

Glover looked at him.

"What did he say?"

"He wrote back and asked me a question."

Kohen lowered his eyes.

"Since the Age of Ignorance, humans have won war after war against the orcs. We have bled for a thousand years and died for a thousand years. Then why has peace never come?"

Glover was quiet for a while.

"Because neither we nor they want peace."

"Or are used to peace."

Kohen nodded.

"Jeni's words gave me that same feeling."

"Why do people think she can only trade her skirt for bread?"

"Why do they only see her skirt and men's bread?"

"Why is she only allowed to have a skirt, while men are the ones allowed to have bread?"

The underground street was muddy and dim.

Kohen's expression grew more bitter.

"That enemy is like an iron wall."

"More terrifying than any enemy I have ever fought."

"Even demons and Calamities."

"Even if I entered the Extreme Realm, inherited my title, and commanded armies, I still could not defeat it."

Thales stopped.

He raised his head.

In the dark, it was as if countless invisible chains rubbed against each other, making a sound no one else could hear.

Kohen spoke softly:

"But she is only an ordinary woman."

"She only has one pair of hands."

"That is unfair."

Glover said nothing, but his expression showed that he was thinking the same thing.

Thales turned around.

"If you can think that, Kohen..."

The prince looked at the police officer.

"Then she has two pairs of hands now."

Kohen froze.

Thales gave him a faint smile.

"Your brain may not be very bright, but compared with most people in this world, at least it isn't broken."

Kohen opened his mouth.

Before he could respond, Glover suddenly spoke.

"Thank you."

Kohen turned to him blankly.

"What?"

"Thank you, you blue-skinned idiot."

Kohen stared at him, baffled.

Glover's face remained expressionless.

"For Lilian."

Kohen fell silent.

Glover looked away.

"I know that after that incident, you kept helping her. You drove away those who harassed her."

He paused.

"Thank you for lending her another pair of hands."

Kohen looked at him in stunned silence.

"My dear little friend!"

Morris' cheerful voice sounded from behind them, breaking the strange atmosphere.

The fat man squeezed forward with a smile.

"Allow me to guide Your Highness through the main underground street."

Kohen's face changed.

"No. We are decent people. We do not deal with..."

Thales stepped past him.

Glover calmly reached out and held Kohen back.

Thales looked at Morris.

"You talked with the other members of the Brotherhood already?"

Morris' smile stiffened slightly.

"With Black Sword, for example?"

Morris laughed awkwardly.

"At least you no longer think I came here to joke."

The fat man sighed.

"But think about it. You only gave us three distant place names and told us that the Secret Intelligence Department is doing something vague there."

He leaned closer to Thales and lowered his voice.

"So we should wag our tails at you, lick your boots, and run before your horse like house dogs? Like the red headscarves used to do?"

Thales smiled.

"Morris, you don't look like an ordinary street thug."

The youth put an arm around the fat man's back in return, his words smooth and composed.

"You lack that crude numbness of someone who only lives day to day, drunk on survival."

"As you said, I handle the accounts."

Morris blinked.

"Before spending, I need a budget."

His eyes shifted slightly.

"And I think what Your Highness wants to deposit with us is probably more than that batch of medicine."

Thales nodded.

He recognized that they had reached the territory of the Black Gold Casino, the sacred ground of lower-level gamblers.

"First, I am not Horace, and I am not the Black Prophet."

"I am not your master, but I am not your enemy either."

Thales narrowed his eyes.

"You should understand what value someone like me has."

Morris said nothing.

Thales chuckled softly.

"But I believe what you owe me is also more than that batch of medicine."

Morris' gaze sharpened.

Thales, however, continued looking ahead calmly and ignored him.

After several seconds, Morris snorted and laughed, then released him.

"You said Constance was your blood aunt, right?"

Thales turned his head.

Morris' expression cooled.

"Then do you know how she died?"

Thales' heart tightened.

He remembered Gilbert's lessons and sighed.

"The Shadow Shield and Sariton..."

"Asda."

Morris spoke softly.

Thales' words stopped.

"Asda Sakern."

The fat man's voice sounded especially careful on the filthy, chaotic street.

Yet between the words, a coldness remained.

Thales raised his brows. No matter how he thought about it, he had not expected that name to appear here.

"What?"

Morris snorted softly and looked into the distance.

"Eighteen years ago, in this city..."

His tone became distant and hollow.

"The Air Mystic."

Morris spoke lightly, as if he did not care.

"That undying monster."

"In front of Renaissance Palace..."

"Killed Constance."

Killed...

Killed...

It took Thales a full three seconds to digest the meaning of those words.

The image of that graceful, calm, elegant tutor appeared before his eyes.

Constance?

But the youth could only widen his eyes and repeat what he had already said.

"What?"

Morris looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale the smell of blood from years ago.

"She bled from all seven orifices. She endured the cruelest pain in this world. Then she died silently with her eyes wide open."

"Our Little Calamity. Our Little Powerhouse. She just lay there on the ground, staring blankly at the sky."

The fat man's voice trembled.

"Alone."

"Helpless."

"Cold."

At that moment, Thales shuddered slightly and found himself unable to breathe.

Just like the feeling that teacher had given him countless times.

"What?"

He could only repeat it a third time.

"Crushed to death with her..."

Morris stared at the sky in a daze, ignoring the Second Prince's question completely.

"Were several other idiots from the Nine Powerhouses. Real idiots. How could humans possibly defeat a Mystic, defeat a Calamity? Why did they go up? Why did they go to die?"

"Right in front of me and Black Sword."

In that instant, countless chaotic thoughts flooded Thales' mind, almost exceeding what he could bear.

But among them, on that night under Nakaru's giant statue, Black Sword's words to the Air Mystic were especially clear:

Twelve years ago, when you monster massacred people in front of Renaissance Palace, why didn't you have such concerns?

Then came the final words of that terrifying girl as she vanished into ash on that same day:

Beware Asda.

Thales breathed in a daze.

"Putting aside territory and profit, this is the real private grudge between us and the red headscarves of the Blood Bottle Gang."

"Black Sword, and the Black Street Brotherhood..."

Morris lowered his head. Without realizing it, his fists had clenched tight, and his words trembled.

"Our existence..."

"Is so that one day..."

He turned to look at Thales, his eyes red.

"Those monsters who cannot be killed..."

"Will pay the price."