...
The light curtain did not directly reveal the secret in Shanks' heart. Instead, it turned the lens toward a private moment between the red-haired brothers.
After Shanks left, he urgently questioned his twin brother, Shamrock.
His tone was filled with a certain suppressed anxiety and a thirst for the "truth."
"Shamrock, tell me more! About matters in the Holy Land…"
Shanks stared fixedly at Shamrock, his gaze sharp, as if trying to dig something out from beneath the other's indifferent expression.
"I must… find the mastermind secretly helping the mermaids! I want to capture him with my own hands, prove my ability, and wash away any potential stain that might have come to the family because of my 'being lost outside'!"
Shanks acted like a "prodigal son returned home," eager to integrate into his new environment and establish merits to solidify his position…
That urgency and ambition were "performed" flawlessly, without a single flaw.
Shamrock listened quietly. In those eyes identical to Shanks', a trace of extremely subtle, almost imperceptible emotional fluctuation appeared for the first time.
His gaze lingered for an instant on the area at Shanks' temple, cleverly concealed by bandages, then swept over the deliberately intensified flame in Shanks' eyes—a mix of pain and unwillingness.
"No need to rush… Is your injury alright…"
"You people simply don't understand…"
Shamrock was concerned about Shanks' wound, but Shanks' voice suddenly dropped low, carrying an exhaustion and anger that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.
He gripped his sword sheath tightly, his gaze ice-cold: "I wasted a full twenty-four years. Having the noblest bloodline yet struggling in the mud and hypocrisy of the lower world… What does that feel like?!"
"No wonder I've always felt out of place with everything around me! That mediocre, filthy, nauseating life!"
Shanks' accusation was emotionally charged, vividly portraying the pain of a "divine son covered in dust," the fury of a "pearl cast into darkness," and the pride of urgently returning to the "promised land" to prove himself!
If not for Roger's earlier earth-shattering deduction coming first, if not for the lingering doubts in their hearts about Shanks infiltrating Mary Geoise…
Even the Roger Pirates comrades who knew him best might have been fooled by his masterful "acting" at this moment, believing he had truly been completely assimilated by Celestial Dragon values and turned into an arrogant, cold "Saint Shanks."
Shamrock fell silent for a moment.
He did not respond or press for more details. Only that perpetually ice-sealed indifferent expression seemed to thaw by a fraction.
Perhaps he was genuinely moved by Shanks' "sincere outpouring," understanding the "struggle" and "longing" in the heart of this younger brother who had been separated for many years and endured hardships.
After all, from the perspective of bloodline theory, Shanks' "experiences" truly warranted sympathy, and his current extremism and urgency were only natural.
The last trace of wariness Shamrock held toward this younger brother seemed to quietly loosen a little.
As the two brothers talked, they stepped into the grand social gathering of the Holy Land, filled with towering figures.
The moment they appeared, it immediately caused a sensation.
Two identical faces—handsome, carrying a unique noble air and sense of detachment—instantly drew every gaze.
Some self-important male Celestial Dragons felt jealousy or displeasure at the Figarland family's twin stars shining so brightly, but due to Saint Figarland Garling's power and their own "upbringing,"
they did not speak out, only their expressions were complicated.
The female Celestial Dragons, however, were practically frenzied. They let out excited shrieks, unabashedly casting admiring and infatuated looks!
Everyone vied to show themselves off, hoping to catch the attention of these two newly ascended "princes."
Shanks once again donned that cold, arrogant mask, ignoring the surrounding clamor as if it were all merely the backdrop he deserved.
Shamrock, as always, remained calm, as though none of it had anything to do with him.
In the distance, Harald silently watched this dazzling pair of twin stars, his massive brows furrowing once more.
Seeing Shanks' posture of perfectly blending into the Celestial Dragon circle, the inexplicable sense of familiarity and doubt in his heart clung on like stubborn water weeds—not only refusing to disappear, but wrapping even tighter.
He always felt… something was off.
That same year, the light curtain's scene switched back to distant Elbaf.
This time it was not the majestic royal castle or the warriors' training grounds, but a relatively remote and peaceful fishing village.
The atmosphere was terrifyingly heavy.
Harald's wife—the birth mother of "Prince" Hajrudin, Loki's stepmother, the kind and cheerful tavern proprietress Ida—had fallen ill.
She lay in a simple yet tidy giant wooden house, her face an unhealthy ashen gray, lips cracked, breathing faint and rapid.
Elbaf's best doctors gathered around the bed, their brows furrowed in worry as they exchanged low opinions, but every face was written with helplessness.
"This kind of minor illness… I'll recover on my own… cough cough…"
Ida tried hard to force a smile, her voice weak yet carrying her usual optimism: "Don't make a fuss. Harald… he's so busy with missions. Don't disturb him…"
"Ida! This is absolutely not a minor illness!"
An elderly giant doctor anxiously refuted her. His thick fingers carefully checked Ida's pulse: "Your condition… it's getting worse day by day! We've used every herb and method we know, and nothing works! This illness… it's very strange!"
Seeing Ida forcing herself to hold on, another doctor tried to say something uplifting: "Lately, every time King Harald returns from a mission, he goes door to door visiting the elders and the elderly in the tribe…
"We can all see it—he wants to formally establish your status, to make you his rightful wife!"
Sure enough, upon hearing this, a faint light rekindled in Ida's eyes, which had dimmed due to illness.
A genuine, happy, and shy smile slowly appeared on her pallid face despite the difficulty.
To her, formal status might not matter, but Harald's heavy-hearted sincerity made her feel that all the waiting and sacrifices were worth it.
"Hey! Outsider old lady!"
Just then, a rough, hoarse voice characteristic of a boy in the midst of voice-changing cracked from the doorway.
Loki—now noticeably taller, with broader shoulders, his face still carrying traces of childishness yet already showing the outline of a warrior—carried a massive warhammer and sat astride a wild bull even larger and more imposing than himself.
Steam still rose from the bull's body; clearly, he had just hunted it down.
After Loki brought the bull over, its enormous size shook dust from the wooden house.
"Feed this meat to that old lady! Such a strong bull—eat it and the illness will definitely be gone! This tavern is… my place to relax! Hurry up and get better so you can reopen for business!"
Though he had always called Ida "outsider old lady" and never once called her "Mom," at this moment, carrying prey far larger than himself and expressing concern in such an awkward way…
Anyone could see that this outwardly rebellious and hot-tempered young giant had long since come to regard Ida as an important family member deep in his heart.
He simply didn't know how—or was too shy—to express it gently.
Seeing Loki like this, the smile on Ida's lips deepened. Though weak, her gaze was incredibly gentle.
"You haven't changed at all… and yet you've grown so much…"
Looking at the grown-up Loki, one of the doctors said with deep emotion: "Hajrudin and his companions heard about it and went out to sea to find doctors for you…
"Ida, you really are loved by two silly sons…"
Hearing the doctor's words, although she thought the children were "making a big fuss over nothing," this heavy love brought her immense warmth and comfort amid her illness.
Outside the light curtain, in reality, the moment Harald saw Ida's sickly appearance, his heart felt as if an invisible giant hand had viciously gripped it!
A strong, ominous premonition coiled around his spine. His breathing grew heavy, and the hand gripping his sword trembled slightly.
His intuition kept warning him: something is wrong! This illness came too suddenly, too strangely!
...