Kingdom’s Bloodline
Chapter 608: The End Of A Rebellion

Except for the faint sound of breathing, the Ballard Room was eerily silent, as quiet as a graveyard. But for Adrian, the chief commander of the Royal Guards, this was one of the most agonising, torturous, and painful moments of his life.

Flames flickered, and the shadows of the blades swayed.

The setting sun painted the walls in a deep, unsettling shade of red.

Separated by just a table’s width, the Supreme King and the Duke of Star Lake sat there, locked in a heavy silence, not saying a word.

Everyone else remained as silent as if under a spell, caught in a strange and fragile tranquilly, gripped by fear and tension.1

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, King Kessel’s deep, controlled voice broke the silence, “Why?” why

The King’s words, though spoken calmly and slowly, carried a burden too heavy to bear.

In response, a low, almost ironic chuckle escaped the lips of the young Duke.

Thales rested his forehead against the hilt of ‘Load-Bearer’, heaved a sigh, and suppressed his laughter.

“You should’ve seen this coming, shouldn’t you?” he asked.

“After you summoned me to the palace and then conveniently cleared out the Mindis Hall,” Thales lifted his head, his eyes as sharp as lightning.

“Your Majesty?”

The Prince’s reply was casual and indifferent, but it oddly relieved the tension that had gripped many for so long.

The King stared at his son, the blue ocean in his eyes regaining its inscrutable depth.

Without much thought, he let out a soft hum, turning his head as if the person in the opposite seat wasn’t worth more than a passing glance.

“Adrian, Marigo.”

The Chief of the Royal Guards and the second-in-command Vanguard both straightened up and respectfully placed their hands over their chests.

“Your Majesty?”

“Your Majesty!”

King Kessel picked up a piece of paper from the table and started reading aloud.

“The Duke of Star Lake is suffering from extreme fatigue and shows signs of mental instability.” The King’s words, delivered so casually, sent shockwaves through everyone present, even prompting a faint frown from Thales.2

“Have the Royal Guards escort him back to Mindis Hall for some rest,” the King continued. “Keep it discreet. The Imperial Conference will proceed as planned.”

Marigo readily followed orders, and before he could enthusiastically signal, a few bold yet disgruntled guards had already stepped forward.

Gilbert was horrified, exclaiming, “Your Majesty! This is not advisable!”

Even Prime Minister Cullen frowned and added, “Your Majesty, shouldn’t you reconsider this decision?”

The men of Mindis Hall outside the door were equally on edge. Wya and Ralf, who had been the first to act, soon found themselves at knifepoint with several blades held against their throats. Glover was pinned down on the ground by his fellow Vanguard Division comrades, gasping for breath, while D.D.’s loud cries were muffled by a hand clamped over his mouth, leaving him with nothing more than a desperate “no”.

The battle-hardened Kohen used the black horse as a shield to put up a fierce struggle. This briefly threw the Royal Guards into chaos. But at some point, a scar-faced man emerged from the Ballard Room and quietly approached Kohen from behind. Whatever he said had a startling effect—it froze the burly man in his tracks, and then the scar-faced man struck him on the back of the head with a powerful blow, sending him sprawling to the ground.3

Jennie, clearly agitated, bared her teeth, but an experienced veteran guardsman quickly lit a torch and advanced, intimidating the large black horse into obedient submission. The imposing black horse, despite its size, whimpered and immediately complied, choosing safety over resistance.4

Thales, with a quick glance, realised he was on his own—even though their entry into the palace had been nothing short of chaotic.

“But, Your Majesty,” Adrian, in his role as Captain of the Royal Guards, raised his hand to restrain the eager Marigo and cautiously ventured, “The distance from here to the Mindis Hall—” “Fabio Adrian,” the King interrupted, his gaze still fixed on the parchment, not bothering to look

up.

As soon as Lord Adrian heard his full name, he immediately lowered his head and fell silent.

“I’ve already shown enough patience today,” the King continued, “with everyone.”

Though he was addressing the Captain of the Guards, everyone present, including Gilbert, felt a shiver run down their spines.

“Let’s not test it any further.”

At that very moment,

A sudden, sharp metallic sound rang out, jolting everyone present. They all turned to the source.

What they saw was Thales, the young Duke, holding onto the hilt of Load-Bearer, the Ancient Empire’s sword, and giving it a few good taps on the Ballard Room’s floor, as if he were casually inspecting the craftsmanship of some antique.

The repeated metallic strikes echoed, filling the room.

Ignoring the collective gasps from those around him, Thales, with the help of the Sin of Hell’s River, managed to hoist Load-Bearer onto his shoulder, offering it an impressed whistle.

A few guards who had been about to rush forward found themselves hesitating, taking in the scene.

Load-Bearer

That blockhead’s family heirloom sword certainly lived up to its name. Not only was it superb quality, but it was also as heavy as it came.

Just holding it steady without dropping it took a toll on him, let alone making sure he didn’t accidentally slice himself with its razor-sharp edge—a quite fitting reflection of his title, really.

“I can’t shake the feeling that this room is just too plain,” the Prince remarked, maintaining a cheerful tone despite the icy edge of the blade pressing against his shoulder. He looked up, addressing the tense gathering. “Maybe we should spruce it up a bit, like hanging another painting... something along the lines of...”

Thales narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on an immediate seriousness. “‘The Ascension King’s Sacrificial Offering’?”5

In that moment, many involuntarily held their breath.

Thales noticed their reactions and let out a cold, unbridled chuckle. “Or perhaps ‘The Iron Hand King Slaughters His Son’?” slaughters his son.

Initially stunned, the crowd nervously turned their gaze towards the King.

“Please, Your Highness, let’s not continue with this jesting!”

Seeing the situation quickly deteriorate, Gilbert spoke sternly. He, usually so respectful of the Prince and typically so composed, now wore a troubled expression as he called the young Prince by his name. “Thales!”6

However, Thales simply responded with a faint smile, saying nothing.

The only vivid detail in the scene was the setting sun casting a crimson glow on his collar.

In light of the Prince’s reaction, Lord Adrian sighed in resignation and turned his gaze back to the King.

Seated at the head of the long table, the Iron Hand King seemed to come back to the present, slowly raising his eyes from the letter.

“This is the Kingdom’s Imperial Conference,” he stated matter-of-factly, casting a casual glance at his son while snorting without a care. “I don’t have the time to listen to a whiny kid throwing a fit.”

Among the courtiers, a few exchanged uncertain glances as King Kessel’s tone grew colder. “If he wishes to take his own life, so be it.”

so be it

In the midst of the stunned silence, Thales couldn’t help but clench his teeth.

“The Jadestar has no need for a fool.”

The Iron Hand King lowered his head once more, returning his gaze to the letter. “Nor a coward.”

All eyes were back on the Duke of Star Lake.

The courtiers watched him with bated breath, hanging on to his every expression and word, while the guards kept a keen watch on his every move and the glinting sword’s edge.

Thales felt a familiar chill within.

In that moment, it was as though he had been transported back six years—back to Dragon Clouds City, back to the Hall of Heroes within the Heroic Spirit Palace.

Back then, the Born King and the five Archdukes had fixed their gazes on him with the same piercing intensity, like a barrage of arrows aimed at him and the unwieldy sword he struggled to hold.

They waited.

Waited for him to take his own life.

Or to surrender.

Six years had come and gone.

Nothing had changed.

Except for one thing.

Thales’ gaze hardened, the Sin of Hell’s River flowing steadily, aiding him in keeping a firm grip on the Load-Bearer resting on his shoulder.

The sword in his hand was no longer an unbearable burden.

“Then, Father, does that make you a fool and a coward?” Thales calmly stated, his words cutting like a sharpened blade. “Or perhaps you no longer wish to be a Jadestar?”

As the words landed, the insulting content directed at the King first brought about a deathly silence before setting off a storm of commotion.

The King did not move, his eyes piercing with an icy glare.

Since the Bloody Year, when Kessel Jadestar was crowned King, eighteen years have passed.

In the era of the Iron Hand King’s reign, the last time someone openly defied or insulted the Supreme King was during the National Conference six years ago.

And that disrespectful, traitorous duke had long been incarcerated, destined to spend the rest of his days behind iron bars.

Many who had hoped for a swift resolution of the situation found their wishes dashed, prompting disappointed sighs.

The royal guards exchanged grave looks, tightening their grips on their weapons, and nodded to each other as a final confirmation.

“Your Highness...” Gilbert’s face was etched with a sense of resignation, and he closed his eyes, choosing not to speak further.

However, in an unexpected turn, the King moved slightly and set the letter aside.

“Oh?” King Kessel’s curious voice disrupted the silence, and it stopped several guards who had been preparing to strike from behind.

The King fixed his gaze on his son for a long, reflective pause.

But this time, something new shimmered in Kessel’s eyes.

“Why?”

Though it was just a single word, lacking any context, Thales understood exactly what he was asking, as if there were an unspoken connection between Jadestars.

“You know why,” Thales replied calmly, tapping the spine of his sword and articulating his words steadily. “No matter the reason, if the heir to the throne were to die in Renaissance Palace, your rule would suffer an unprecedented and devastating blow.”

“The same goes for Constellation.”

the heir to the throne

die in Renaissance Palace

In just a few brief words, the courtiers collectively furrowed their brows, their minds buzzing with a myriad of thoughts.

King Kessel kept his gaze firmly fixed on Thales, his eyes slowly widening.

“By pushing me to my death here, Father, you’re essentially sealing your own fate and digging your own grave,” Thales boldly stated.

“Of course.” Thales shrugged casually, his tone relaxed. “If you wish to end your own life, feel free.”

In that moment, an icy chill settled over the Iron Hand King’s expression.

Nevertheless, Thales stood his ground, locking eyes with his father.

“In any case, the Jadestar has no use for a fool.”

“Nor a coward.”

Thales’ words lingered heavily in the room.

At that very moment, everyone present was left in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on their Prince.

Lord Adrian couldn’t help but sigh in a mixture of resignation and anguish.

Perhaps there had never been a more bone-chilling conversation between a father and son.

The temperature in the Ballard Room plummeted to its lowest point.

A few seconds later, King Kessel broke into laughter—a cold, bitter one.

“It’s too late,” he said, leaning forward slightly and stepping out of the shadows, as if letting the evening sun paint the resolute lines of his face. “Way too late.”

The Iron Hand King’s laughter came to a sudden halt.

“From the moment the heir to the throne breached the palace boundaries with intent to rebel,” he stated.

When they heard the word ‘rebel’, several ministers turned their heads, their disbelief plain to see. “The Kingdom’s rule has already taken a major blow, one that’s beyond repair,” King Kessel continued.

Thales’ expression grew darker.

Gilbert, in torment, buried his face in his hands. The Prime Minister massaged his temples, nursing a headache. Vicar General Guy closed his eyes, as if in prayer.

“All because of your short-sighted blunders,” King Kessel declared, his tone detached. “Your threats and deals are now worth absolutely nothing, child.”

Thales exhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and lowered his head.

There was no denying it.

Kessel hadn’t changed.

He was still the same man, just as he had been when Thales first met him.

He wouldn’t budge.

He wouldn’t give in.

He wouldn’t retreat.

If anything, he had grown more resolute and decisive.

The sunlight disappeared from the Prince’s hair.

The hilt of the Load-Bearer hung low, resting against his knee.

Kessel snorted and turned to the others.

“What are you all waiting for?”

But before the Royal Guards could react, Thales suddenly opened his eyes.

“Then why?”

“Why brand me as mentally unstable?”

The Duke of Star Lake’s words rang out loudly, reverberating within and beyond the Ballard Room.

“Why insist on escorting me back to Mindis Hall?”

“If there’s no turning back, why not just order my execution here and now?”

Thales tightened his grip on the Load-Bearer, sitting upright once more.

Facing his adversary squarely.

King Kessel snorted in response, his reaction swift and sharp.

“You’re awfully sure I wouldn’t dare?”

“You most certainly can!” The Prince’s retort was full of conviction.

“You could end my life right here, dispose of the body in secret, then announce that Prince Thales died in Mindis Hall due to a sudden illness—just like ‘Mist King’ Mindis the First!”

Mist King

“No...” Gilbert realised the dire implications, his face paling.

The Iron Hand King’s gaze was a sharp blade, drilling into Thales.

But Thales didn’t wait for a response. He abruptly rose to his feet!

“But there’s one condition!”

Amidst the sound of swords being drawn and shouted orders, the Prince propped his sword on the table with one hand, pointing forward with the other, shouting fiercely, “Every single person here who witnesses the King killing his own son, be it ministers or guards, must vow to keep this gruesome secret locked away for years, decades, or even a lifetime! Even if it means resorting to murder to ensure their silence!”

At that moment, Viscount Kenney, Lord Krapen, Advisor Solder... all the courtiers exchanged incredulous glances, struggling to grasp the gravity of what they were hearing.

“Ah!” Master Kirkirk reacted quickly, covering his eyes and stammering, “I-I-I-I-I just came for the meeting today; I didn’t see anything—”

But before he could finish, Duke Cullen roared like an old lion, silencing the Chief of Finance. “Shut up, Kirkirk!”

The Chief of Finance was about to say more, but Lord Solder intervened, pulling him close and sealing his mouth shut.

Lord Adrian, with urgent gestures, did his best to appease the security personnel, who were nearly losing control due to the sudden turn of events.

The tension in the room reached its peak.

“It has to be this way!”

However, Thales paid no heed to the others; his entire focus remained on the King before him. He gritted his teeth and gasped,

“You wouldn’t risk leaking the news, repeating the disgrace of the Ascension King’s offering, undermining the royal authority, and jeopardising your rule.” But it seemed he had miscalculated.

“Ascension King? A disgrace?”

King Kessel on the throne was both furious and amused.

“If sacrificing one Prince could truly recreate the greatness of King Alan the First, what’s there that can’t be done?”

With these words, the ministers and guards were once again filled with shock and unease.

Thales winced in pain, gritting his teeth as he endured the pressure.8

Unbeknownst to others, his shoulder ached beneath Kohen’s hefty sword, slowly going numb.

The Sin of Helfs River coursed through his veins, offering relief from the pain but coiling his

nerves.

In contrast to the many adversaries he had faced before—King Nuven, King Chapman, Zayen, Fakenhaz. Asda, Giza, the Ugly-Faced Woman, and Stake—it was argued that the Iron Hand King might not be the strongest, the strangest, or the scariest.9

But one thing was undeniable: He was the most resolute.

He tolerated no threats, feared no worst-case scenarios, and hesitated at nothing, even if it meant both sides would suffer.10

Compared to him, Roman Williams, whose shoulder bore the brunt of the pain, was the gentlest, most considerate, and most agreeable person in the world.11

Seeing things spiralling out of control, Prime Minister Cullen, who was presiding over the Imperial Conference, felt compelled to intervene.

“Your Highness! Your Majesty!”

“As both Jadestars, father and son,” the old Duke sighed deeply, his words laden with solemnity, “how did it come to this?”12

Jadestars

father and son

These words made Thales clench his fists as he re-evaluated the sharp features of the Iron Hand King.

But at the same time, echoing in his ears were the haunting questions of Samel, the traitor in the Prison of Bones: “Was it a patricide, or a fratricide?"13 patricide

The Sin of Hell’s River began to roar, much like a fierce beast, tearing at the confines of its cage.

Thales stared at Iron Hand King’s neck, his expression void of emotion.

He couldn’t help but recall the night of the Dragon’s Blood, when the head of the Born King fell to the ground.

Reality told him that a king’s head was nothing special. It would make a sound, roll, and bleed just like an ordinary person’s when it hit the ground.

Just like an empty, rotten watermelon.

Thales tightened his grip on the sword hilt once more.

“Stay put, Bob.” King Kessel’s words came out cold and ruthless, dismissing the Prime Minister’s input. “Since it’s a family matter, outsiders ought to mind their own damn business.”

His words were straightforward, rough, and lacked any pretence of politeness, which left Prime Minister Cullen, a respected figure of great seniority, visibly unsettled.

Others wisely refrained from adding their thoughts.

family matter

Thales, on the other hand, couldn't help but scoff, not letting it slide.

“Yeah, like a good old family feud.”

His voice dropped, chillingly calm, “without a murder or two, why pay attention, right?”14 The King’s gaze faltered for a moment, perhaps taken aback by the stark change in Thales’ tone. Across the room. Advisor Solder recollected something and let out a sigh, “You’re reminding me of Prince Horace, Duke Thales.”

Lord Adrian creased his brow deeply and, for the first time, placed his hands behind his back, secretly issuing orders to the guards.

“Horace. Horace?” The King sneered. “The boy’s got a long way to go.”

Kessel the Fifth turned to Thales, offering him any further opportunity, “The show’s over, child.”

“You have ten seconds,” Iron Hand King’s smile faded as he coldly gestured towards the Royal Guards,

“Drop your weapon.” “Or, heads will roll.”

The Sin of Hell's River churned restlessly, and his heightened senses allowed him to hear the soft, cautious footsteps and the faint rustling of uniforms as countless guards closed in on him. drop your weapon or, heads will roll

Ten seconds.

All of this.

Could only buy him... ten seconds.

The Sin of Hell’s River surged uncontrollably.

Thales stared fixedly into King Kessel’s eyes, holding back his urge to leap up and swing his sword.

He knew King Kessel meant business.

But, unfortunately, so did he.

“I understand, Father,” Thales said, his expression intense and his words cutting through the tension like a knife—cold as his opponent’s.

“You're not one to give in or show any weakness, and you still want to tackle this head-on, just as you always have,” Thales said as he drummed his fingers on the Load-Bearer, making a heavy metallic sound resonate.

“But let us be real; deep down, you’re not exactly thrilled about it.”

The young Prince ignored the diverse range of glances from the courtiers, the guards rising in response to the King’s signals, and even the weight of the sword resting on his shoulder. His eyes remained locked on the far end of the long table, where his adversary sat—a foe he didn’t choose but had to face.

The Sin of Hell’s River kept bubbling.

“You don’t want to risk losing the whole game over a single pawn.”

Thales locked eyes with King Kessel, edging the sword’s blade a little closer to his neck.

“The whole game?”

The Iron Hand King let out a dry chuckle.

“Ten seconds are up, and let us be real, child; you’re not as indispensable as you would like to think.”

“In that case, neither are you, Father'."

In an unexpected twist, Thales exploded with a loud shout, both hands gripping the sword hilt as he held the blade horizontally against his own throat.

The Sin of Hell’s River surged fiercely.

“Compared to a kingdom that’s been around for six hundred and eighty years or an empire that’s lasted two thousand years, you and I, we’re just... nothing'."

Thales’ eyes blazed with anger, his body leaned forward against the table, and the heavy sword on his shoulder trembled from his waning grip, “Nothing more than specks of dust.”

The Sin of Hell’s River continued to rage within him, refusing to be silenced.

King Kessel scoffed and raised his hand, poised to strike.

“Unless, Father,” Thales ground his teeth, ignoring the pain in his neck, feeling everything around him blur, leaving only those deep azure eyes,

“We live for Constellation.”15

live for Constellation

The Iron Hand King’s expression changed.

His hand hung motionless in mid-air.

It was as if time itself had frozen at that pivotal moment.

“Halt! Fall back! Retreat! Retreat!” Lord Adrian urgently called out, halting several Royal Guards who were eager to act before the King’s orders.

“Well,” Viscount Kenney took a deep breath, mustering the courage to intervene, “maybe we could—”

But Prime Minister Cullen’s heavy hand came down hard on his shoulder!

Forcing the Minister of Trade's well-intentioned words back down his throat.

The Duke of the Eastern Sea, expressionless, simply placed a finger against his lips.

Having weathered many storms, he knew this was a conversation meant just for Jadestars, a language only understood by the royal family.

The stifling silence persisted for a long time.

Until the King’s voice softly drifted in.

“What are you planning?”

His voice, smooth as flowing sand, carried an underlying sharpness.

Thales took a deep breath and smiled.

In this moment, his tone was both relieved and relaxed.

“Just fifteen minutes.”

The Prince said, taking a distant look,

“Constellation, the whole Kingdom, from top to bottom, all it needs is for us to be alone..

“These fifteen minutes.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened; a few drops of crimson blood seeped out and fell onto the council table between Thales’ blade and his collar.

King Kessel didn’t respond.

His gaze was fixed on the blood stain on the table.

One second, two seconds.

Finally, the King slowly lowered his raised left hand.

In its place, his right hand formed a fist and struck the table hard. “Everyone.”

King Kessel’s voice turned cold.

“Step back.”

At those words, the crowd burst into an uproar.

Upon hearing that, Thales couldn't help but exhale heavily. ‘Damn it."

The Sin of Hell’s River quieted within him begrudgingly.

The Prince took a few deep breaths, leaning back in his seat and resting the Load-Bearer between his knees.

It was then that he noticed that, despite the winter’s chill, the hilt he held in his palm had long been drenched with sweat.

And in that very moment,

“No, Marigo!”

The Sin of Hell’s River within Thales suddenly awakened and roared to life! ‘Oh no!’

Thales instinctively reached for his sword.

But he was too slow.

Just as Adrian exclaimed,

Suddenly, Thales felt a blur in front of his eyes and a sharp pain in his chin. Stars danced before his gaze.

A muffled impact, bringing with it an intense pain to Thales' abdomen and sapping all resistance from his body.

Following that, under everyone’s astonished gazes, the Load-Bearer slipped from his grasp and

clattered loudly to the ground, swaying uncontrollably.

After three seconds, a groggy and pounding-headed Thales slowly opened his eyes, panting in agony.

“The rebellion is over, Your Highness.”

It was Marigo, the second-in-command vanguard of the Royal Guards, who had him pinned firmly to the ground. He had twisted Thales’ arms under his armpits and planted a knee on the Prince’s throat, making it difficult for him to catch his breath or speak.

“This punch? Is for our brothers at the palace gates.”

The vanguard, eyeing the blood at the corner of the Prince’s mouth, reluctantly pulled back his fist and spat to the side.

“You little punk.”