As he listened to the man's self-introduction, Thales could not help but clench his fists.
'Kroma.
Of course. '
Thales thought, 'I know this name.'
During the Battle of Eradication seven hundred years ago, Prince Tormond, who was not yet the King of Renaissance, was ambushed and defeated in the Battle of Cold Wind. He was surrounded.
Even the messenger crows that asked for reinforcements were killed by the enemy's falcons in the air. All hope was lost.
During the darkest moment, a courier who was in charge of rearing messenger crows found an injured and weary messenger crow on the battlefield.
The courier had a lowly status, but he was young and fearless. Under everyone's despairing gazes, he held the last wounded crow in his arms and risked his life to sneak into the encirclement. He broke through the falcons and crossbows' blockade, and before he was captured, he let it go at the edge of the battlefield.
A miracle happened.
The wounded crow that could not even fly high in the sky finally brought back reinforcements from the Northlanders, turned the situation around, saved the prince, and achieved the Battle of Cold Wind, which would go down in history.
A few years later, when Tormond was crowned king and Constellation was founded, the messenger who was lucky enough to survive received an edict and was promoted to the title of a count. He became one of the thirteen Distinguished Families in the kingdom, and his family name became one of the three most prominent families in the Western Desert.
This legendary story was simplified into one sentence, and it became the motto of the Kroma Family.
'The One Wing Saves the Master.'
The legendary messenger crow that went through fire and water with the courier and only had one wing left was drawn in a picture book, embroidered on flags, and printed on robes. It became the name of Wing Fort, and it also became the emblem of the Kroma Family for seven hundred years.
'The One Wing Crow.'
Thales sucked in a deep breath and looked at the knight before him.
So, the one hundred or so Raven Whistle Light Cavaliers he saw in the desert, the so-called 'Lightning Crow', the heavy cavaliers who fought against the orcs head-on, and the baron who stole sixty percent of the goods from the freaks …
All of them listened to his orders.
Thales smiled and shook the other man's hand without hesitation.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Count of Wing Fort."
The Count of Wing Fort returned the smile and gently let go of the prince's hand.
"I know that you are tired on your journey back and have experienced many twists and turns, Your Highness, but please be at ease."
Derek turned to the side and revealed the thirteen flags behind him.
"According to the plan, from now on, my two hundred Raven Whistle Light Cavaliers and the one hundred men from the twelve families under Wing Fort will join your escort team until you safely return to Renaissance Palace."
Thales' expression froze.
"I … really appreciate it."
Derek glanced at the monsters and instantly frowned.
"So, these are the men that Baron Williams sent to escort you home?"
"The regular army of the West Wilderness, twenty …"
The Count casually glanced at it and then reported the number.
"Twenty-five?"
"To escort the prince?"
Snake Shooter's expression instantly turned ugly.
"Earl … Earl …"
He appeared very nervous and stammered,
"That, I, no, cough cough, I, we are monsters … We are Stardust … I mean, we are Barons …"
However, Derek did not even look at him. He only spoke to Thales.
"Even though the Baron of Blade Fangs Fangs is busy with official business, I must offend you and say that this is very inappropriate."
"Especially when the baron is a direct vassal of the royal family."
Snake Shooter was a little anxious.
"No, that … the baron is …"
Thales sighed.
"I was the one who asked the baron not to disperse his forces for me, and he had to obey my orders." The prince had to continue the conversation and help the awkward Snake Shooter out of the predicament.
"After all, Blade Fangs Camp has just gone through a lot of hardships."
Snake Shooter looked at him gratefully.
Derek was silent for a while. He stared at Thales.
The prince responded with a smile.
"I understand."
A few seconds later, Derek looked around and flashed a smile.
"Indeed, he cannot disperse his forces now."
Snake Shooter wanted to say something, but Derek had already turned around.
Snake Shooter could only turn his head around and respond to Spirit Blade's mutterings of "how embarrassing" in exasperation.
The Count of Wing Fort raised his voice and gave an order to his subordinates.
"Tell Fark and Kade at the back to send the second and third teams to the capital with me.
The prince's returning team must not lose their dignity. "
His voice was not loud, but his orders were clear and powerful.
Thales could not help but frown as he watched the messenger leave in a hurry.
"Your Grace, thank you for your kindness, but there is no need for this …"
But Derek turned his head around abruptly.
"Forgive me for my persistence, Your Highness."
Thales was taken aback by how serious and serious he was.
"After wandering around for six years, you have returned to the capital. In the eyes of the Constellatiates, will you return with glory or in dire straits?"
Derek stared at Thales as if he wanted to stare his soul out.
"This is very important.
Prince Thales. "
Thales stared at him in a daze. For a moment, he could not understand the count in front of him.
Derek narrowed his eyes.
"And we cannot be too careful. After all, you will never know where the threat will come from."
As he faced the very serious count, countless thoughts flashed through Thales' mind.
The biggest thought was the Duke of Western Desert's words the day before.
'"The powerful nobles and suzerains will rush to find you and draw the prince who has just returned to the kingdom to their side. They will do everything they can to make you stand on their side and turn you into the vanguard to fight against Renaissance Palace.
'"Before you accept their kindness, please remember that they are only against your father. They are not truly loyal to you."'
A few seconds later, Thales suppressed his unnecessary thoughts and nodded politely and amicably.
"Thank you. You have thought about this very thoroughly."
Derek also nodded respectfully. He smiled again.
"Thank you for your understanding."
But the count's words changed.
"I heard that Sir Cyril has already met you?"
'Cyril Fakenhaz.'
When Thales heard this name, he could not help but twitch his eyebrows.
"Yes. Yesterday, he came … to visit me."
Derek stared at him for a while before he smiled and said,
"Oh, I understand how you feel."
'Understand?'
When he recalled his conversation with the Duke of Western Desert, Thales snorted in his heart.
'Really?'
But Derek seemed to have seen through his thoughts. The young Count of Wing Fort chuckled softly.
"A long time ago, after I spoke to the duke for the first time, I spent a whole month to understand what he said to me during that hour of teasing and scolding."
Derek's smile was a little resigned.
"And this does not include the rhetoric and metaphors that come out of his mouth at will."
'Rhetoric and metaphors.'
Thales remembered something, and he could not help but hum in acknowledgment.
He looked at Derek, who was in front of him, with empathy.
"Is that so?"
Thales chuckled dryly.
"Then you know him quite well."
But Derek's reaction was out of his expectations.
"No, Your Highness."
This time, Count Kroma's reply was quick, but it was half-teasing and half-serious.
"I have never understood the duke."
The master of the Single-Winged Crow, the young Count of Wing Fort narrowed his eyes. There seemed to be a profound meaning behind his words.
"Not at all."
— — —
In a dilapidated and remote house in Blade Fangs Camp.
A figure holding a walking stick and wearing a thick leather robe slowly walked into the room.
"I did not ask Gotham to save you and give you a place to hide so that you can drink all the wine in my storage."
In the dark house, a man sitting in front of a table turned his head around slowly and snorted softly. He did not seem to mind.
The man was wrapped in thick bandages from his shoulders to his limbs. He let out an unpleasant laugh.
"Oh, is that so? I'm sorry, savior."
He looked at the guest and raised a wine bottle high in a drunken manner.
"Fortunately, I still have one bottle left. Look, this is the one …"
In the next second, the man let go. With a loud crack, the wine bottle shattered on the ground, and wine spilled everywhere.
The guest watched as the wine splashed on his boots and leather robe. He could not help but frown.
"Oh, oh." The man wrapped in bandages spread his hands and smiled maliciously.
"Now, the last bottle is gone."
The guest was silent for a while in the darkness. He did not sit down, but only said airily,
"Tomorrow, mix in with our convoy and leave the camp. Go back by yourself."
The man's body froze.
"Go back?"
He snapped out of his daze, and his unfocused gaze became clearer.
"What about the mission? What about that brat? "
The guest snorted softly. His gaze was sharp, and his voice was dry and unpleasant.
"I went to take a look. He is being protected.
"Impossible."
The man paused for a while.
"Impossible?"
He repeated in a murmur. His drunkenness gradually faded, and the expression on his face slowly became ferocious.
"That damn brat …"
The man slammed the table. He stood up, gritted his teeth, and said to the guest, "No, no, no.
It's impossible for you, but I can! Give me a route and a sentry. I can sneak up in the middle of the night — "
But the guest rejected him mercilessly.
"No, you can't."
The guest looked at the bandages on the man's body and gestured with his chin.
"You were beaten up badly."
The man shook his head impatiently. He snorted and waved his hand.
"It's just a small injury. Trust me, you should go and see the other guy."
"He's in a much worse state than I am."
The guest in the darkness did not speak. He only carefully sized up the bandaged man.
"I want to believe you."
The guest pressed his hands on his walking stick. His gaze was cold, and his tone was profound.
"Can I?"
These words made the man pause again.
The man's gaze pierced through the bandages, and he stared at the guest for a while.
A few seconds later, the man exhaled and sat down heavily.
"Don't worry, no one will suspect you."
The man seemed to have figured something out and said angrily, "You're right.
He said angrily, "The Secret Intelligence Department, Dragon Clouds City, and that brat who thinks he's smart, they all think that I work for the king. I mean, 'our' king."
The man rubbed his head desperately. He hissed softly, as if he had a headache.
The guest rubbed the back of his hand and snorted softly.
"But this is also the truth, isn't it?"
The man exhaled heavily. He raised a finger and looked at the guest with a displeased gaze.
"Hey!
You only wanted that brat to stay in Northland. You didn't say that he had to stay in Dragon Clouds City. "
The guest stared at the man's finger. He was not upset or angry, but his tone became colder.
"You went to King Chapman, which made things complicated."
"I —" The man seemed to want to argue, but his displeasure quickly weakened when he met the cold gaze of the guest.
The man leaned back against the table and waved his bandaged hand in the air.
"What else can I do?"
Every word he uttered seemed to contain suppressed anger.
"That old witch from the Secret Room has been suspicious of me since a few years ago. Do you know how many people she sent to deal with me after King Nuven died?
"And the Secret Intelligence Department, hmph, if the prince falls into the hands of Dragon Clouds City, they will only force me to go back and save him again. That won't be as simple as being a babysitter."
The guest did not answer. He only listened to the man quietly.
The man exhaled a gloomy and painful breath of resentment. He pressed his head again, and there was a hint of anger in his words.
"Only the supercilious kinslayer king, only when he starts to protect me like Nuven, will the Secret Intelligence Department and the Secret Room stop causing trouble for me …"
The guest looked at the floor and nodded with his walking stick.
"But you screwed up."
His words suppressed the anger of the man in the bandages again.
The man's breathing quickened. After a few breaths, he opened his mouth and let out an unpleasant sound.
"Hah, of course it's easy to just talk while standing."
This time, the man's words were filled with anger and humiliation.
"Why don't you go and fight the Star Killer head-on and fight for half an hour?"
But the guest obviously did not buy it. He only sized up the man and sneered.
"You're covered in burns. You don't look like you've been stabbed."
The man was momentarily speechless, but he quickly raised his voice.
"That's not the point!
"And that damn mask. His skills are better than ten years ago. It was already not easy to fool him by pretending to be unconscious. I even had to drag my injuries into the desert and hide while I chased after him. And I was so f * cking unlucky along the way. I either ran into a large group of orcs or a large army …"
The man stood up. His complaints became more and more urgent, and he became more and more displeased.
"And when I chased him here, contacted the kinslayer king's people, and was ready to take action …
"You damn Constellatiates, stupid Southerners, you actually f * cking caused internal strife in Blade Fangs Camp! Do you know how much effort I had to spend to escape from thousands of rebels and mobs?
"And that brat, he suddenly disappeared from the camp and came back with the Legendary Wing's troops? F * ck me!
"And isn't this your territory?"
The man spoke angrily. He heaved a sigh of anguish and indignation, and pressed his hand to his forehead.
The guest was silent for a while.
"I told you before, once you reach Constellation's sphere of influence, things will become very troublesome."
The guest's voice rose along with the sound of his cane.
"And now, the Secret Room, the Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department, Black Sand Region, the City of Faraway Prayers, oh, and Dragon Clouds City.
"Each of the five parties has a reason to settle scores with you."
The man pressed his head. He felt his head ache even more.
The guest raised his eyebrows. His tone was contemplative.
"What should you do?"
The man breathed rapidly for a while, but he immediately let go of his hand and laughed.
"Looks like I'll have to f * cking come up with five explanations to make them spare my head. F * ck."
His smile was resigned and relieved.
Both of them were silent for a while.
After a while, the guest suddenly asked.
"Can you get through this, old friend?"
The man snorted coldly.
"Of course."
The man rubbed his hands and looked around in disdain.
"I have my ways. Have you forgotten my nickname?"
But the guest's next words made him frown.
"No, you can't."
His tone was heavy, and his meaning was cold.
'I can't?'
The man was a little puzzled.
But soon, he felt that the headache just now was getting worse.
He realized something.
In the next second, the man's body swayed. He supported himself on the table behind him with both hands!
A wave of numbness and dizziness hit him. He could no longer maintain his trembling arms, and he fell on the chair with a thud.
The man raised his eyes in disbelief. He looked at the indifferent guest in front of him, and then at the broken wine bottle on the floor.
"Wine … you …"
"You know, there's a reason why I stored these wines here," the guest said faintly.
"But you just had to say that."
The man breathed desperately, but he felt the strength and senses in his body disappear bit by bit.
'Impossible. I've tested those wines. Tested …'
The man widened his eyes and stared at the guest in front of him.
"As for your nickname, old friend, do you know …"
The guest rubbed his cane and turned around indifferently. He allowed the man's eyes to lose their luster, and he fell to the floor.
"I don't like crows."
The guest stared at the man who was no longer struggling. His eyes were cold.
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