Chapter 285 : Chapter 285
Chapter 285. An Invitation
In those silver-gray eyes, which were always as sharp as an eagle’s, a rare flash of brief astonishment appeared, only to be replaced immediately by a colder and more complicated ripple.
“…Dead?”
She murmured softly, her voice so light it seemed as though it would be swallowed by the flickering firelight in the fireplace.
Royal affection was as thin as paper. Her relationship with the father seated high upon the throne could not even be called harmonious.
But no matter what, he was still her biological father.
Upon learning that he had long since fallen, and that even after death, his corpse had been denied peace, desecrated and manipulated like a trophy by some petty villain, turned into a string-controlled puppet at another’s disposal…
Even she could not avoid feeling a chill seep out from the depths of her bones, along with… fury.
However, that emotion born from their blood connection remained on her face for less than three seconds.
She took a deep breath and quickly returned to the posture of that shrewd and capable Governor of the Northern Territory.
“Now is not the time for grief.” Sylvia’s eyes once again turned cold and clear.
“Loga, what is even more terrifying than the King’s death itself is this: during the time Moran has been manipulating that puppet, how many ‘mines’ has he planted throughout the entire Astrelia Kingdom by borrowing the absolute authority of the royal family?”
There was not the slightest trace of sorrow in her voice. There was only the absolute calm of someone about to unleash a bloody storm.
“Military rotations, private fiscal transfers, appointments of key officials… If even supreme royal authority has been grasped in his hands, then the heart of this country has probably already been hollowed out.”
A cold glint flashed across Logaris’s lenses. He pushed up the rimless glasses on the bridge of his nose and, in an almost cruelly rational tone, struck directly at the heart of the matter.
“But the fact that he still needs a lifelike string-controlled puppet to maintain the illusion of rule means that he currently does not yet have the confidence to flip the table completely. The power Moran possesses should not yet have reached the point where he can ignore all rules.”
The moment his voice fell, the Anti-Scrying Spellwork arranged in the study suddenly rippled with an extremely unusual eerie-blue light.
Logaris’s eyes shifted, and his right hand almost instinctively covered the spellcasting glove embedded with three high-tier gemstones. But after sensing that familiar mana fluctuation mixed with a faint hint of irreverent playfulness, he slowly lowered his hand again.
The shadows in the corner of the study silently melted like thick ink, and Esmeralda emerged soundlessly from the Shadow Dimension like a purple spirit-cat.
“Sorry to interrupt your heavy late-night discussion.” Her fingertips rapidly spun a short blade, but her tone carried a rare trace of seriousness. “However, I think you may need to look at this thing first. After all, compared to that old fox hiding who knows where, this one came knocking in the middle of the night on his own.”
With a casual toss, a letter traced a precise arc through the air, accurately crossed the messy documents on the desk, and slid down before Sylvia.
The envelope was made of the highest-grade parchment, without any signature. Its opening was sealed shut with dark-red wax, and an extremely delicate hidden pattern was stamped upon the wax.
A red maple leaf.
“Redleaf Manor?” Logaris only glanced at it once, and a trace of understanding flashed through his pale-blue eyes. “Delivered by First Prince Dorg’s people?”
“Ten minutes ago.” Esmeralda stopped spinning the blade, shrugged in boredom, and walked to a nearby single sofa, sitting down with a brash sprawl.
“The other party was highly skilled. They avoided the three hidden sentries I placed on the perimeter, and even my perception almost missed them. But that was clearly a deliberately left opening. Who could understand this? This maneuver was most likely the handiwork of that dear sister of mine, Nevira.”
Sylvia said nothing more. Her slender fingers directly tore open the seal and drew out the letter.
The content of the letter was extremely brief, and the handwriting was careless, carrying a kind of innate, unquestionable arrogance.
“At three o’clock tonight, Redleaf Manor. Bring whomever you wish. Visitors are welcome.”
The signature was a twisted and wild letter “D.”
Logaris glanced over the letter, then told Esmeralda all the top-secret intelligence he had divined through Truth Retrospection earlier.
Moran’s ruthlessness, Kresis’s infiltration, and the old King’s puppetification.
Every word struck the deathly still air of the study like a heavy hammer.
The amused smile on Esmeralda’s face finally stiffened bit by bit, then disappeared.
“Dorg has been staying in the Royal Capital all this time, right under Moran’s nose. With his sharpness, he must have sensed some sign that something was wrong.”
Sylvia took over. “But his overt forces are too weak. The cards he holds are nowhere near enough to oppose Moran, let alone investigate the secrets deep inside the Golden Rose Palace. That is why he wants to negotiate with us.”
Sylvia leaned against the back of her chair, her long legs crossed. She looked at the wax seal on the envelope.
“The enemy of an enemy is not necessarily a friend,” Sylvia said, her voice extremely cold. “But when facing the same monster who might flip the table at any moment, he is absolutely an excellent probing stone.”
Logaris pushed up the rimless glasses on the bridge of his nose, and the lenses reflected the firelight in the fireplace. “Then let us go and test the cards held by that elder brother of yours. Ideally, we should make more people stir up this muddy water in the Royal Capital.”
Ten o’clock at night.
The eastern suburbs of the Royal Capital, Redleaf Manor.
The rain had not lessened. Cold rainwater struck the glazed tiles of the manor, producing a monotonous sound.
Inside and outside the manor, three entire layers of airtight hidden sentries had been arranged. Fourth-Tier Knights wearing waterproof cloaks kept their hands on their sword hilts, patrolling back and forth through the wind and rain like ghosts, their gazes sharp as knives. A high-tier mage’s detection magic eye floated in midair, its eerie-blue light sweeping over every living thing that approached with full, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree coverage.
This was a veritable iron-barrel formation. Not even a fly could think of entering silently.
Inside the private reception room on the second floor of the main building, the light was dim.
First Prince Dorg was draped in a heavy black coat, his entire body sunk deep into a broad leather sofa. He held a cup of Calming Spiritual Tea that was still steaming faintly, and from time to time, he let out one or two deliberately suppressed coughs. His sickly posture was wholly out of place in this murderous environment.
Nevira stood in the shadows diagonally behind him, dressed in Tight Leather Armor, both hands clasped around the black short blades at her waist. Her entire person seemed to have merged with the surroundings, and even her breathing was barely audible.
Dorg glanced at the mechanical mantel clock on the wall.
Ten-oh-five.
He set down the teacup. A shadowy, ruthless glint flashed through his eyes.
They had not arrived yet.
Had they been blocked by the outer defenses, or did they simply not dare to come?
The instant that thought crossed his mind—
RIP!
An extremely faint, strange sound, as though silk had been torn apart in an instant, abruptly rang out in the center of the silent reception room.
Above the expensive Persian carpet in the center of the reception room, space twisted and folded without warning, like a curtain clenched by an invisible giant hand.
Several Aether threads emitting eerie-blue light appeared out of thin air. In less than a second, they forcibly intertwined into a Spatial Gate.