In the dim corridor, Thales put his hands on Morat's "wheelchair", which was covered in black-veined vines (it took him a lot of effort to struggle with his thoughts before he reluctantly touched it). Following the Black Prophet's instructions, Thales reluctantly became Morat's means of transportation and pushed him forward.
The black-veined vines seemed to have sensed his approach. They immediately wriggled and "courteously" made space on the back of the chair to accommodate a pair of hands.
This only made Thales feel weirder and more hesitant.
"Don't worry, it doesn't bite."
The Black Prophet chuckled as if he had seen the duke's expression behind him.
'It only eats people.'
The old Chief of Intelligence murmured leisurely.
Thales twitched the corner of his mouth and continued forward.
It was not that he had not thought of refusing, but since a weak (?) with one foot in the grave, he had no choice but to comply. Since the crippled old man had made such a request, he had no choice but to comply.
'But, are the people of the Secret Intelligence Department all dead?'
The teenager complained silently.
So much so that a newcomer is needed to help … with chores.
Shouldn't this job be done by the kind-looking, black-hearted, sharp-tongued Raphael?
The wheels covered in strange vines rolled on the ground, but strangely, they did not make any sound.
Raphael's figure was hidden in the darkness ahead. Only the faint sound of his footsteps could be heard, barely pointing the way for Thales.
They moved forward in silence.
Facing the back of Morat's bald skull, Thales felt more and more uncomfortable.
Despite the gloves, the inexplicable touch on his hands was still uncomfortable. The places covered by the vines were moist and warm, with a strange stickiness.
But Thales still tried to find a gap on the back of the chair as a landing spot for his hands to avoid touching the disgusting black vines, even though it was difficult. This made it even more inconvenient for him to exert force.
"Is it alive? Does it have its own consciousness? "
The Black Prophet did not turn his head.
"Are you alive?"
Thales frowned.
"Most people in the world are muddle-headed. It makes no difference whether they are alive or dead," Morat said indifferently.
"Does it matter whether it is alive or not, and whether it has its own consciousness?"
Thales sighed helplessly.
He had also pushed the wheelchair of Gleeward, a veteran from Dragon Clouds City.
In truth, the roads in Shield District at night were bumpy and uneven. There were many twists and turns, and it was difficult to walk. The old cripple from Northland kept cursing and swearing, which left a deep impression on the teenager who needed his help, and he suffered a lot.
But now, Thales would rather bear the burden, beat, scold, and push Gleeward's wheelchair for another year than stay with Morat for even a second longer.
"What the hell is this thing?"
"Oh, Your Highness." The Black Prophet shook his head and sneered silently.
"You have seen it.
More than once.
Thales exhaled a long breath through his nose, as if he wanted to expel the man's nagging words along with the anxiety in his heart.
"Raphael"
Thales turned his head away unnaturally. He forced himself not to look at the strange vines that expanded and contracted as if they were breathing on the wheelchair. He tried hard to find a topic that could divert his attention.
"Six years ago, his palm was clearly cut open, but it was as good as new, and he was still able to communicate with you via voice transmission."
"Against the Fire Knight, his sleeves were set on fire many times by the Rising Sun Saber, and he always retreated in a fluster.
"In Heroic Spirit Palace, my attendant mentioned doubtfully that he seemed to have seen his heart pierced."
The back of Morat's head was fixed, no longer swaying leisurely.
"And as the sh * t-stirrer of the Secret Intelligence Department on the night of Dragon's Blood, he only behaved and behaved in one place."
Thales focused his gaze.
"Bright Moon Temple."
They did not change their speed. The road ahead was still dark.
There was a slight change in Morat's tone of reply.
"So?"
Thales slowed down a little.
"Devil."
The vines on the wheelchair were still wriggling. From time to time, they would change angles and entangle other parts of the wheelchair.
The Duke of Star Lake remembered what Zakriel said and said absentmindedly,
"Flesh and blood for food, souls for hunting.
"Revealed in the fire, vanquished before the gods."
Thales stared at the vines.
"This is the flesh of a devil."
Morat tilted his head slightly and glanced at the prince.
Thales came back to his senses and remembered the other party's identity. Vigilance crept into his heart.
He quickly added, "I heard it.
"That's what I heard. When I was a hostage in the North."
There was a moment of silence in the corridor. Only the strange rustling of the black-veined vines could be heard. Sometimes, it sounded like the crackling of flames, and sometimes, it sounded like the gurgling of water.
"Heh, you can always find the answer yourself."
Morat turned his head and smiled.
"As always.
"So, devils and hell." Thales ignored the other party's sarcasm.
"They exist here, in the Secret Intelligence Department.
"And developed by you into, hmm …" Thales glanced at Morat's disgusting wheelchair.
"Medical prosthetics?"
Morat seemed to be interested by Thales' words. He shook his head and clicked his tongue.
"Not us, Your Highness. Not us.
"We are just inheriting and imitating. We are far from the first batch of people in the world who are unscrupulous and covet the mysterious taboo."
Unscrupulous and covet the mysterious taboo.
Thales narrowed his eyes.
"Magic."
The prince said quietly. He picked up his pace again and caught up with the faint footsteps ahead.
"Another legacy left behind by wizards, is it?"
He said sarcastically.
"It seems that the Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department is the rightful heir to the Magic Tower."
This time, Morat's tone was cold.
"I thought Priestess Melgen had already reminded you, Your Highness."
Hearing the familiar name, Thales was slightly surprised.
"Priestess Melgen — you know her?"
The Black Prophet snorted coldly and did not answer his question.
"Believe me, Your Highness. Magic is not as magical, interesting, and fascinating as it sounds. Its gorgeous appearance is on par with the sins it has committed.
"But you have a clear conscience in inheriting your predecessors' legacy." The prince looked at the living creature wrapped around the wheelchair and continued with a frown.
"Whether it is the Prison of Bones, the magic lock outside, or … this."
Morat shook his head.
"Perhaps it is not yet time for you to understand."
"But let me put it this way: the Secret Intelligence Department is like a lock, locking the door to the world's self-destruction."
He was slightly emotional.
"Just like all the obsessions in this world, going too far is as bad as falling short. Pursuing too deeply will eventually backfire on you."
'Pursuing too deeply.
Backfire on you. '
Thales raised his eyebrows.
He suddenly remembered what his two teachers had mentioned to him. The Three Major Covenants of Mystics:
'Do not delve into each other.
'Stay true to yourself.'
As he thought of this, he probed.
"For example … Mystics?"
In that second, Thales' arms were covered in goosebumps. The Sin of Hell's River surged wildly!
The next moment, the vines on the wheelchair suddenly sped up and contracted violently!
Terrified, Thales instinctively let go of the wheelchair and stopped in his tracks.
He was on full alert.
The Black Prophet's figure trembled in the wheelchair, undulating.
He let out a low and strange guttural sound, like dissatisfaction, but also like an instinct when he was deep in thought.
Like an asthma patient.
Thales frowned as he watched.
'What's going on?'
A few minutes later, the black-veined vines returned to their original form and became docile again.
"Are you alright?"
Thales asked tentatively.
After a while, Morat, who looked like he had just recovered from a serious illness, panted a few times and said faintly, "I won't die."
For the time being.
"Let's keep going. We're not there yet."
Thales put away his uneasiness, put his wheelchair back on and started walking.
"Look at this thing carefully, Your Highness."
Morat said with a sickly voice,
"Do you think it's something beautiful?"
"Our good neighbors in hell are beyond imagination. They're even more different than the Power of Eradication," the head of the Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department said weakly.
"Even the pieces of meat that are cut off from their bodies look different."
Thales stared at the wriggling vines and became even more suspicious.
"And this one …
"It appears to be extraordinarily energetic and adaptable to its host. It's a surprise gift for doctors when they're at their wits' end."
Morat's tone tightened.
"But it proliferates endlessly in the dark and corrupts its host. It's an unclean thing that the priests abhor."
Just like this world, fascinating and deadly.
Thales was silent for a while.
"So it can help you get through this temporarily, but will eventually kill you?"
Morat laughed.
"It's worse, child," The Black Prophet's words seemed to be rueful.
"It's worse than that."
Thales subconsciously looked forward.
But Raphael's figure had already disappeared in front of him.
"Don't worry."
Morat noticed where Thales was looking and snorted.
"He's not me. He's still young. He can handle it."
The Black Prophet's tone fell silent.
'He's still young. He can handle it.'
Thales frowned.
"Just to save his hands that were maimed by Duke Arunde?"
The Black Prophet silently looked at the black vines on his legs and shook his head.
"It saved more than just his hands, child."
'The devil is always there, but the devil does not speak.'
For some reason, Thales suddenly thought of this sentence.
"The former Crown Prince Midier." For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered something.
"As the creator of Project Dragon's Blood, he used to lead the Secret Intelligence Department, or at least worked with you, right?"
Morat looked up, his gaze sharp.
"Did he use it?"
Thales looked at the black-veined vines tightly wrapped around the Black Prophet's legs.
"Using this thing to treat his crippled legs?"
This time, the silence lasted for a long time.
"It's not that no one suggested it."
It was rare for Morat to express his emotions. He spoke in a nostalgic tone.
"But Prince Midier, he refused with a smile. He said … "
Morat stared at his skinny hands, then at the vines on his legs.
"Without these legs, he can still stand up and be a complete and healthy person."
Thales' eyes lit up.
"As expected of him. It's thought-provoking."
He said sincerely.
"Of course."
Morat hunched his chest and could not help but lament.
"Most of the defects that people need to fill are not in their bodies."
Looking at Morat in this state, Thales suddenly had an illusion. In his state of being wrapped in vines, Morat, who was weak and in pain, had lost his once terrifying appearance as the Black Prophet. He now behaved like a sentimental, ordinary old man.
Perhaps, facing this Morat, he could gain more.
With a thought, he patted the wheelchair, and the vines on it shook.
"Then how did you get this thing? Don't tell me you have a mine that leads straight to hell? "
Morat was silent for a while.
Just when Thales thought he was not going to answer.
"According to the agreement, the leader of Blood Whistle should be standing here now to continue talking about our cooperation."
Morat sighed.
"But unfortunately, he missed the appointment."
Thales was stunned at first, then his eyes widened.
"Who … did you say?"
Morat chuckled.
"You know, child," his frail body trembled in the wheelchair.
"I can read minds."
Thales' expression changed.
'This again?'
"That's right. I know Ricky, I know the Disaster Swords, and I also know that you spent at least a few hours together," the old man in the wheelchair said flatly.
'Ricky.'
Thinking of the strange Disaster Swords' Crassus', Thales put away the surprise in his heart.
'Continue talking about our' cooperation '.'
The Duke of Star Lake remembered Ricky's words in the dungeon.
"Our relationship with Constellation's Secret Intelligence Department is closer than you think."
'Disaster Swords and the Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department.'
He was just trying, but he actually … managed to get some information out of him?
"I thought you said you wouldn't read minds today."
Thales leaned forward slightly and carefully observed the Black Prophet's expression.
'No.'
Thales understood.
"It's Norb.
"It's him. He came to report to you about Western Desert."
'That's how he knew I met Ricky.'
Morat raised his head and met Thales' gaze.
"Compared to six years ago, you've become sharper, Your Highness."
He said softly,
"Even their fear of me has dissipated quite a bit."
"You're really impressive."
Thales pursed his lips.
'Is that so.
'Then who was the one who reported the prince's "presumptuous and reckless actions" to King Kessel's Secret Intelligence Department?'
But in the next moment, Morat asked softly.
"Then, Your Highness, as someone who personally experienced it, can you dispel my doubts?
"In Blade Fangs Camp, what made the mercenary Ricky break his promise, give up on our long-term cooperation, and run away?"
'Long-term cooperation.'
Thales caught on to this keyword.
His gaze fell on the wriggling vines on the wheelchair.
'The flesh of demons.'
For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered what Morat had said earlier about "the flesh cut from their bodies".
'I see.
'That's their cooperation.'
The Black Prophet's words pulled him back to reality.
"Do you know?"
Thales came back to his senses.
'What made Ricky break his promise and run away?'
At that moment, he thought of Zakriel in the Prison of Bones, of the Blade of Purification drawn on the paper, of the former king who was the enemy of the world, according to the Knight of Judgment …
'No, I don't know.'
Thales really wanted to answer that.
But he couldn't.
Because he knew.
Thales remembered Yodel's reminder.
He could not lie to Morat.
"Yes."
Thales answered naturally, calmly and smoothly.
"Williams."
"The Legendary Wing used Ricky's mercenary group to create chaos and recapture Blade Fangs Camp. After that, he threatened him to scram as far as he could.
"I guess he listened."
'Williams.'
The Black Prophet's gaze froze when he heard the name. He was silent for a few seconds.
"Alright, maybe."
'Very well.'
Looking at the other party's reaction, Thales said quietly,
'If Sabot really opened the bet on the "evil dog that bit off a certain person's leg" …
'Maybe I can really win money.'
"So the Disaster Sword and the Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department are old friends?"
Thales was determined to continue exploring. He endured the discomfort and tapped the vine, causing it to shudder again.
"Did Ricky give you these things?"
The black texture on Ricky's face, Raphael's arm, the Black Prophet's wheelchair.
'Not just this.
'The Disaster Sword from a hundred years ago, Crassus and the Red King, mercenaries and the Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department.
'It all adds up.'
Morat was silent for a while as well.
But this time, he answered Thales with a low, sinister laugh.
It made the second prince flustered.
"I say, you've become sharper, Your Highness.
"But you're still not cautious enough."
Thales was slightly startled.
'Not cautious enough.
'What do you mean?'
Morat stopped laughing and said abruptly,
"Raphael's report is very correct."
Thales had a bad feeling.
"What report?"
Morat looked her up and down and shook his head.
"After six years of observation, he said …
"When you're in trouble, Prince Thales is capable and broad-minded. You're good at collecting information from various sources, combining intelligence, piecing together clues, observing and thinking from a different perspective, and then using your bold and imaginative mind, you go straight to the point, and creatively come up with solutions that no one can think of.
"But …"
His tone changed.
"You're too stubborn, too focused on the questions you raise, and lack the prudence and rigor required for intelligence work. It's inevitable that you'll be misled by the logic of the story you deduced, and miss out on inconspicuous but important details.
"For example, your stunning appearance at the National Conference."
Thales held his breath.
"You're also too emotional, too concerned about the nature of things, and lack the smoothness and comprehensiveness needed to deal with complex problems. You're often bound by principles and ignore the cost, making impulsive choices that ordinary people cannot understand.
"For example, your all-out gamble in Heroic Spirit Palace."
The Black Prophet narrowed his eyes.
"Even last night's bravery."
Thales felt the arm that was pushing the wheelchair stiffen.
'Why, why is he suddenly saying all this?'
But Morat's words were still unstoppable, like a demonic voice.
"So, you often fall into unpredictable and terrible consequences after you act decisively to turn the tables.
"You've guessed the beginning correctly, but missed the ending."
The Chief of Intelligence of the Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department, The Black Prophet, Lord Morat Hansen said faintly,
"Commonly known as: Acting smart.
"Shooting oneself in the foot."
At this moment, Thales could not help but think of Raphael's team.
'The prince's ass.'
A wave of indignation welled up in his heart.
But at this moment, Morat raised his eyebrows slightly and brought the topic back to its original topic.
"I mentioned Ricky, and only said that we're working together, but I never said it was for this thing."
He looked disdainfully at the black-veined vines wriggling beneath him.
"But why did you connect the clues so confidently, and think that this thing must have come from Ricky?"
The Black Prophet glanced at him leisurely.
"It seems that you've long known what the leader of the Disaster Swords is."
Thales seemed to have figured something out. He suddenly became speechless and his face turned pale.
"Then here's the problem: this is his most secretive secret, and he would never take the initiative to tell you when he introduced himself."
Morat was intrigued.
"So the next question is: when he broke out of the Prison of Bones and created chaos, with Ricky's skills and Blood Whistle's combat power, what kind of threat did he encounter, and what kind of threat did he encounter …
"Was that why he was forced to show his trump card in front of you, and reveal his true form?"
The Black Prophet looked coldly at the vines on his legs.
"So that you would believe that this thing is of the same origin as him?
"Can you answer me?
"Your Highness?"
Thales clenched his teeth and swallowed with difficulty.
'Damn it.
What did Ricky encounter in the Prison of Bones that forced him to reveal his true form as a demon?
Revealed in the fire, vanquished before the gods. '
The heavy but unstoppable figure of the Knight of Judgment appeared before his eyes.
'No.'
The teenager shook his head and forced himself to focus and answer Morat's question.
'Do not lie, Thales.
'Do not lie.'
"The Legendary Wing."
The prince tried his best to speak calmly.
"He beat up Ricky for being so audacious - we all saw his face. It looked like it came out of a black mineshaft, just like this."
The Black Prophet fell silent again.
"Very well, you are telling the truth," the Chief of Intelligence said slowly after a while.
"At least you think you are telling the truth."
Thales breathed a sigh of relief in his heart.
However, the next second.
"But, the second time."
Morat's voice became cold again.
"The Legendary Wing.
"This is the second time you have used him to answer a question."
Thales' expression changed slightly.
"It is as if you are certain that this is your shield, and that he will prove your words."
The Black Prophet rubbed his skinny wrist and muttered, "Both times are related to him.
"Both times are related to him. Is it a coincidence?"
Thales pursed his lips.
"Or, Your Highness, is it because you do not want to talk about the situation when Ricky revealed his true form, and because you do not want to talk about what happened in the Prison of Bones, you would rather send a troublesome busybody like me to ask Williams and throw all the troublesome details to the fiend who is brimming with murderous aura?"
The encounter in the Prison of Bones.
At that moment, Thales heard his own breathing.
The black-veined vines on the wheelchair began to surge again, making Thales increasingly uncomfortable.
But he had no time to care about it.
"If I were to guess, perhaps you have some sort of tacit understanding with the Legendary Wing to hide something, something that could force Ricky to reveal his true form, something that could even make him abandon his relationship with the Secret Intelligence Department …"
The Black Prophet pondered.
"Is it Shadow Shield?"
"Or is it the reason why the Secret Room came all the way to Blade Fangs Camp?"
At that moment, Stake and Quick Rope's figures flashed before Thales' eyes, almost causing his entire body to tense up.
'No, Quick Rope …'
But Morat shook his head.
"No, you used the Legendary Wing as an excuse. The person who can force Ricky to reveal his true form is at least on the same level as him …"
Finally, while Thales was still in shock, the Black Prophet relaxed his furrowed brows, exhaled, and ended his speculation.
"So, it has been more than ten years since we last met …"
At that moment, Morat looked at Thales calmly and calmly.
"How is our dear former watchman of the guards, Lord Zakriel?"
At that moment, Thales felt a chill run down his spine.
"As for those prisoners of the Prison of Bones who escaped from prison during the chaos according to the official announcement and were executed by Williams," The Black Prophet looked at him with great interest, as though he was sizing up prey that had fallen into his trap.
"Although the unruly Baron of Blade Fangs Camp did not give a specific list, I guess …
"It must include some of the former royal guards who colluded with the enemy during the Bloody Year, right?"
The Black Prophet spoke softly, and each word seemed to be laced with poison.
"That is why they were not executed.
"Instead, they were released by you and Williams.
"The mercenary, Ricky, was a witness."
Thales did not know how to think anymore.
All he did was … say one sentence more than he should have.
But the other party could …
"See? This is what we call … "
Morat chuckled and tapped his fingers on the wheelchair a few times.
"Smart-Ass.
"Shooting yourself in the foot."
Thales pushed the wheelchair stiffly, and only then came to a realization.
'I was wrong.
Very wrong. '
The prince's gaze froze in the air.
Just like how he could not be king and still make Williams look good.
Even though Morat was in a wheelchair, he did not have long to live.
But he was still the master of the Secret Intelligence Department, and King Kessel's Chief of Imperial Intelligence.
He was the entire kingdom's …
The Black Prophet.
"So, Your Grace, as the heir to the throne, why did you, Your Grace, confine this group of prisoners with sensitive identities, extraordinary skills, and knowledge of the secrets of the palace?"
At that moment, Morat spoke slowly, like a venomous snake hissing.
"If your father knew, what would he think?"
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