As the moon began to set in the west, Goron Wimberton saw the faint outlines of the capital city's walls emerging and fading in the night.
After several months, he finally returned. The fatigue from the long journey had diminished considerably, yet he remained vigilant. He reined in his mount and signaled his deputy to scout the area.
If the plan remained unchanged, Master Ang would have already replaced the city guards with his trusted men and lowered the side gate suspension bridge after receiving the signal from his deputy.
He stared ahead with wide eyes, afraid of missing the faint glow.
The wait was brief, yet Goron felt time freeze. When his eyelids ached and he nearly gave up, he finally caught a glimpse of the distant flickering—two strikes below the wall, three above, just as planned. He let out a long sigh and waved his troops forward.
In this way, he was only one step away from the throne.
Goron rode through the side gate of the city wall, with his deputy walking beside him.
More than twenty cavalrymen followed him, all silent as they tugged at the reins, guiding their steeds forward at a measured pace.
The walls of Graycastle were built with gray-brown stone quarried from Zhui Long Ridge, which glowed a deep crimson under torchlight, as if stained with blood. This monumental wall, spanning twenty feet in width, cost thousands of laborers, slaves, and stonemasons their lives during its construction.
The impregnable fortress that even a ten-thousand-strong army could not breach was now effortlessly scaled by him. Goron mused that all vulnerabilities originated from within. For some reason, he recalled the New Holy City—its walls, though seemingly more magnificent and unbreakable, might also be breached from within.
"Your Highness, I have been waiting for you for a long time." As they passed through the city gate, Scholar Ang and his entourage stood by the entrance. When they saw Goron appear, the scholar immediately dismounted and bowed in greeting.
Golon cast aside his distractions, likely overwhelmed by emotion and lost in thought. "You did well. Have the palace guards been replaced?" "Your Highness, the plan encountered an unforeseen complication. The Silver Knight, who had pledged to serve you, was transferred to the Southern Realm three days ago. We only managed to replace the guards in the sleeping quarters." Golon frowned. This meant he couldn't bring all twenty-odd men into the palace. The guards wouldn't stop him, but they wouldn't let so many fully armed individuals enter the royal domain.
"Fine, just have two of the palace guards follow me, and the rest guard the entrance to keep outsiders out." After a moment's hesitation, he made up his mind. Though the plan had changed, the situation remained under control. His father's personal guards would usually stay overnight in the outer chambers. If anyone could delay them even slightly, he was confident he could strike them down with his sword.
Stepping into the inner city, he found everything had returned to its original state when he left. Even in the dark, he could still recognize every street. This was undoubtedly his domain. Everyone dismounted and hurried toward the palace. When they reached the entrance, over twenty men dispersed as planned, lying in wait outside. As Scholar Ang had warned, the guards were puzzled by Prince's late return to the capital, but when Goron feigned urgency, they opened the gate without hesitation.
After all, as the eldest son of the King of Graycastle, he was the legal first in line to the throne.
Prince and Scholar Ang traversed the garden and grand hall, with the castle beyond serving as the residence of King Wimbledon III. As the scholar waved his torch back and forth, a guard emerged from the shadows and knelt before them, "Your Highness, please follow me." Goron sniffed, catching a whiff of blood.
Didn't they replace all the guards in the palace? He studied the Guard under the flickering light—it was indeed someone he knew, a knight serving the earl who had supported his claim to the throne. This gave him a slight sense of reassurance.
"What, someone entered the castle?" "Your Highness, Your Majesty summoned a maid in the evening. She witnessed our exchange when she came out," the reply came. "Rest assured, we've taken care of it." Maid? His father hadn't touched a woman in ages—since his mother's passing. Goron felt a twinge of surprise, but now wasn't the time to dwell on such trivialities. He nodded without further words, followed the guard into the castle, with the others trailing behind.
To Goron, this castle was a labyrinth he could traverse from end to end with eyes closed. Having lived here for over twenty years, he knew every secret passage and hidden door inside out. Yet his mission was to persuade his father to pass the throne to him. Sneaking into the royal chambers would be futile—first, he needed to eliminate the guards stationed outside. Only after his father fully grasped his predicament could they sit down and seriously discuss the succession.
If I can't convince him...
Goron. At Wimbledon, he drew a deep breath, gestured for everyone to stop, and drew his twin-handed sword from his back.
The bronze gate at the corridor's end serves as the sole entrance to the sleeping quarters. Beyond it lies the outer chamber, the final line of defense in front of the palace. Typically staffed by two or three personal guards, this area is ready to rush into the sleeping quarters at the first sign of trouble to protect His Majesty.
Golong first pushed the door open slightly, then swiftly darted inside with a shoulder thrust, raising his sword in a defensive stance—yet the outer chamber was eerily silent, not a soul in sight. At the same time, a pungent odor of blood filled the air.
A sinister premonition flashed through his mind, and he dashed straight toward the bedroom.
Then Goron saw an unbelievable scene.
King Wimbledon III sat by the bed in his robe, his upper body leaning against the pillowcase. The robe was unbuttoned, with a sword hilt protruding from his chest. Blood trickled down his swollen belly, soaking the quilt.
Standing beside his father was none other than his younger brother, Tifek Wenbton.
"How... how could that be?" Goron froze in place.
"Like you, brother," Tefiko sighed. "I never meant to do this." He clapped his hands, and a wave of armored warriors surged through the doorway, surrounding the Great Prince. "This was a game I intended to play by the rules. Brother, you know—Third Sister never meant to play this game from the start. And you... well, you knew too. Otherwise, why would you travel all the way to the Royal Capital just to hear Scholar Ang's astrological prophecy? Honestly, I'd have been at a loss without you." "Scholar!" He gritted his teeth and looked back. Scholar Ang stepped back, spreading his hands. "I didn't lie.' The Apocalypse Star is moving farther from the Sun 'means the traveler has strayed from the right path, but it also implies its eventual fall." Now Goron understood. From the very beginning, he had been trapped in a carefully designed trap. The bloodstained scent at the castle gate likely wasn't left by Maid, nor was the excuse of Silver-Handed Knight's transfer. But what crushed his hope most was that Scholar Ang—who had cared for him for over a decade and taught him to read and write since childhood—had ultimately chosen the Second Prince, just like his father.
"Teifei Ke, Wemberton! We're both sons, yet he poured his heart into you alone, granting you the finest domain. And you're the first to turn against him! You're nothing but a Devil from hell!" A flicker of anger flashed in Teifei Ke's eyes, but it vanished instantly. "Do you truly believe that? Dear brother, if this mission fails to convince him to pass the throne to you, would you really give up? Don't fool yourself."