In the dim corridor, Thales had a stiff face, put his hands on Morat's "wheelchair" covered with black veined vines (it took him a long time to finish the mental struggle, and reluctantly touched it), and followed the instructions.
The instructions of the Black Prophet reluctantly became the driving force for the other party, pushing him forward.
As if sensing his approach, the black-veined vines immediately began to squirm, and "politely" opened a space on the back of the chair to make way for a pair of hands.
This only made Thales feel more weird and hesitant.
"Don't worry, it doesn't bite."
Seemingly seeing the Duke's expression behind his back, the Black Prophet chuckled.
It only eats people.
The old intelligence chief muttered leisurely.
Thales curled his lips and continued to move forward.
It's not that he didn't think about refusing to shirk, but since a vulnerable (?) disabled old man in his dying years made such a request, he had no choice but to comply.
But, are all the people in the secret department dead?
The young man complained silently:
So much so that a new customer was asked to help...with chores.
Shouldn't this job be done by Raphael, who has a kind face but a dark heart and a sharp tongue?
The wheel covered with strange vines rolled onto the ground, but strangely made no sound.
Raphael's figure disappeared in the darkness ahead, and only the sound of footsteps could be heard faintly, barely guiding Thales in the direction.
They moved forward silently.
Facing the back of Morat's bald head that revealed the outline of his skull, Thales felt increasingly depressed and uncomfortable.
Even though he was wearing gloves, the inexplicable touch on his hands was still uncomfortable - the area covered by the vines was moist and warm, and had a weird sticky feeling.
But Thales still tried his best to find a gap in the back of the chair as a place for his hands to avoid touching - even though it was difficult - those disgusting black vines, which made his exertion even more inconvenient.
"Is it alive? Does it have its own consciousness?"
The Black Prophet never looked back:
"Are you alive?"
Thales frowned.
"Most people in the world are ignorant. There is no difference between living and dead." Morat didn't care, and his words were ethereal:
"Does it matter whether it is alive or not, whether it has its own consciousness?"
Thales sighed helplessly.
He also pushed a wheelchair for Grivet, a veteran of Longxiao City.
In fact, the night roads in the Shield District were full of potholes and bumps, with winding twists and turns making it difficult to navigate. The old lame man from Northland kept cursing and swearing, which left a deep impression on the young man who asked for help and suffered a lot.
But now, Thales would rather work hard, be beaten and scolded, and push Grieve in a wheelchair for another year than stay with Morat for even one second longer.
"What the hell is this thing?"
"Oh, Your Highness," Black Prophet shook his head and sneered silently:
"You've seen them."
More than once.
Thales took a long breath from his nose, as if he wanted to expel the other person's nagging words, as well as the anxiety in his heart.
"Raphael."
Thales twisted his head unnaturally, forcing himself not to look at the weird rustling vines on the wheelchair that were shrinking and rustling like breathing, and tried to find a topic to divert his attention:
"Six years ago, his palm was obviously cut open, but it was still intact. He could still communicate with you thousands of miles away."
"Facing the Burning Knight, his sleeves were set on fire by the Rising Sun Saber many times, and he always retreated in embarrassment."
"In the Palace of Heroes, my attendant mentioned doubtfully that he seemed to have seen his heart being pierced."
The back of Morat's head was fixed and no longer shook leisurely.
"As the secret troublemaker of Dragon Blood Night, he only behaves well and behaves in one place."
Thales' eyes focused:
"Haoyue Temple."
Their forward speed remains unchanged, and the road ahead remains dark.
The tone of Morat's reply changed slightly:
"so what?"
Thales' steps slowed down a bit.
"demon."
The vines on the wheelchair are still squirming, changing angles from time to time and wrapping around other parts of the wheelchair in another posture.
Duke Xinghu remembered what Sak'el had said and said in a daze:
"Flesh and blood are for food, and souls are for hunting."
"Apparently visible in fire, disillusioned before God."
Thales stared at the vines:
"This is the flesh and blood of demons."
Morat turned his head slightly and glanced at the prince from the corner of his eye.
Thales came back to his senses, remembered the identity of the other party, and became wary.
He quickly added:
"I heard about it when I was still in the North...as a hostage."
There was silence in the corridor for a while, except for the strange rustling of black-veined vines, sometimes like the crackling of flames, sometimes like the gurgling of running water.
"Oh, you can always find the answer yourself."
Morat turned his head and said with a smile:
"as always."
"So, demons and hell," Thales ignored the other person's sarcasm:
"They exist, right here, in the Secret Division."
"It was also developed by you, um," Thales glanced at Morat's disgusting wheelchair:
"Medical prosthesis?"
Seemingly aroused by Thales's words, Morat clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"It's not us, Your Highness, it's not us."
"We are just inheriting and imitating. We are far from the first group of people in the world who will use any means to covet the mysterious and taboo."
Use any means necessary to covet the mysterious and taboo.
Thales narrowed his eyes.
"magic."
The prince said silently, increasing his pace again to keep up with the faint footsteps ahead.
"It's another legacy left by the mage, isn't it?"
He sarcastically said:
"It seems that the Kingdom's Secret Department is the orthodox successor to the Magic Tower."
This time, Morat's words became cold:
"I thought Priest Megan had already reminded you, Your Highness."
Hearing the familiar name, Thales was slightly surprised:
“Megan Priest—you know her?”
Black Prophet snorted coldly and did not answer his question:
"Believe me, Your Highness, magic is far less magical, interesting and fascinating than it sounds - its gorgeous appearance is as great as the evil it causes."
"But you feel at ease inheriting the legacy of your predecessors," the prince looked at the living creature wrapped in the wheelchair, frowned and continued:
"Whether it's the Bone Prison, the magic lock outside, or...this."
Morat shook his head:
"You may not understand yet."
"But I say this: the secret science is like a lock, locking the door to the world's self-destruction."
He was slightly emotional:
“Like all obsessions in this world, going too far is never enough, and pursuing too deeply will eventually come back to bite you.”
The pursuit is too deep.
Backfire on itself.
Thales raised his eyebrows.
He suddenly remembered the three major covenants of the magician that the two teachers had mentioned to him:
Don’t delve into each other.
Be careful with yourself.
Thinking of this, he tentatively said:
"For example... a magician?"
In that second, Thales's arms were covered with goosebumps, and the sins of the Hell River surged crazily!
The next moment, the vines on the wheelchair suddenly accelerated and expanded and contracted slightly violently!
Frightened, Thales instinctively let go of the wheelchair and stopped.
Be on full alert.
The figure of the Black Prophet was trembling and heaving in the wheelchair.
He made a low and strange guttural sound, which sounded like dissatisfaction or the instinct of deep thought.
Like an asthmatic.
Thales frowned at this.
What are you doing?
After a few minutes, the black-veined vines returned to their original shape and became docile again.
"How are you?"
Thales asked tentatively.
After a while, Morat, who seemed to be seriously ill, took a few breaths and said quietly: "I can't die."
That's it for the time being.
"Keep walking, we haven't arrived yet."
Only then did Thales put away his anxiety, get on the wheelchair again, and start walking.
"Take a closer look at this thing, Your Highness."
Morat said sickly:
"Do you think it's a beautiful thing?"
"Our good neighbors in hell are beyond imagination. They are so different and have the power of termination," the leader of the secret department said weakly:
"Even the meat shaved off from their bodies, each piece looks different."
Thales stared at the squirming vines, becoming even more suspicious.
"And this piece..."
"It seems to be extremely energetic and adaptable to its host. It is a surprise gift for doctors when they are at their wits' end."
Morat's tone tightened:
"But it proliferates indefinitely in the dark and corrodes the host. It is an unclean thing that the church priests hate deeply."
Just like this world, charming and deadly.
Thales was silent for a while.
"So it helps you get through this temporarily, but it will eventually kill you?"
Morat smiled.
"It's worse, kid," the Black Prophet said with emotion:
"It's worse than that."
Thales subconsciously looked forward.
But Raphael's back had already disappeared in front of him.
"don’t worry."
Morat noticed where Thales was looking and hummed:
"He is not me. He is still young and he can bear it."
The Black Prophet's tone fell silent.
You are still young and can bear it.
Thales frowned:
"Just to save his hands that were crippled by Duke Arend?"
The Black Prophet silently looked at the black vines on his legs and shook his head:
"It saved more than just his hands, the child."
The devil is always there, but the devil is silent.
For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered this sentence.
"The former Crown Prince of Midir," something happened. Thales suddenly remembered something:
"As the architect of the 'Dragon's Blood' project, he once led the Secret Service and at least worked with you, right?"
Morat raised his head, his eyes sharp.
"Did he use it?"
Thales looked at the black veined vines tightly entwining the Black Prophet's legs:
"Use this thing to treat your crippled legs?"
The silence lasted for a long time this time.
"It's not like no one has suggested it."
It was rare for Morat to express his feelings openly, and he said in a tone of remembrance of his old friend:
"But His Highness Midir, he refused with a smile. He said..."
Morat stared at his skinny hands and looked at the vines on his legs:
"Without these legs, he can still stand up and become a complete and sound person."
Thales's eyes lit up.
"As expected of him, it is thought-provoking."
He said it sincerely.
"certainly."
Morat hunched his chest and sighed:
"The shortcomings that most people need to fill are not in their bodies."
Looking at Morat like this, Thales suddenly had an illusion: wrapped in vines, the weak and painful opponent had lost the terrifying cloak of the Black Prophet and behaved like a sentimental ordinary old man.
Perhaps, facing Morat like this, he can gain more.
His thoughts moved, he patted the wheelchair, and the vines on it stirred:
"Then how did you get this thing? Don't tell me you have a mine that leads directly to hell?"
Morat was silent for a while.
Just when Thales thought he wasn't ready to answer.
"According to the agreement, the leader of Blood Whistle should stand here now and continue to discuss our cooperation."
Morat sighed:
"But unfortunately, he broke the promise."
Thales was stunned for a moment, then opened his eyes wide:
"You said...who?"
Morat chuckled.
"You know, kid," his weak body trembled slightly in the wheelchair:
"I can read minds."
Thales' expression changed.
Still want this set?
"Yes, I know Ricky, I know the Sword of Disaster, and I also know that you have been together for at least a few hours." The old man in the wheelchair said calmly.
Ricky.
Thinking of the strange identity of the Sword of Disaster "Crasus", Thales put away his surprise.
Let’s continue talking about our “cooperation”.
The Duke of Star Lake remembered what Ricky said in the dungeon:
[Our relationship with the Secret of the Stars is closer than you think.]
The Sword of Disaster and the Mysteries of the Kingdom.
He just gave it a try, but he actually... asked for information?
"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 clearly in his heart:
"It's Norbu."
"It's him. He came to report to you what happened in Xihuang."
That's why he knew he had met Ricky.
Morat raised his head and glanced at Thales.
"Compared to six years ago, you have become sharper, Your Highness."
He said softly:
"Even the fear of me has dissipated a lot."
"It's really impressive."
Thales pursed his lips.
Is it.
Then who typed up those secret reports in King Kessel's hand about the prince's "daring and daring actions on his own initiative"?
But at the next moment, Morat asked softly.
"Then, Your Highness, as someone who has experienced it personally, can you help me clarify my doubts?"
"In the Blade Tooth Camp, what made the mercenary Ricky break his promise and renege on his contract, voluntarily give up his long-term cooperation with us, leave everything behind and fly away?"
Long-term cooperation.
Thales captured this keyword.
His eyes fell on the creeping vines on the wheelchair.
Demonic flesh.
For some reason, Thales suddenly remembered the "meat shaved off their bodies" that Morat had just said.
I see.
This is their cooperation.
The Black Prophet's words brought him back to reality:
"Do you know?"
Thales came back to his senses.
What made Ricky break his promise and fly away?
At that moment, he thought of Sak'el on the bones of the prison, of the Blade of Purification drawn on paper, and of what the Punishment Knight said about the late king who was the enemy of the world...
No, I do not know.
Thales wanted to answer this way.
But he can't.
Because he knows.
Thales kept in mind Yodel's reminder:
Facing Morat, he cannot lie.
"Yes."
Thales answered the words naturally, calmly and smoothly:
"Williams."
"Legendary Wings used Ricky's mercenary group to create chaos and recaptured the Blade Fang camp, and then threatened him: Get away as far as you can."
"I guess he listened."
Williams.
Upon hearing this name, Black Prophet's eyes froze and he was silent for several seconds.
"Well, maybe."
very good.
Looking at the other party's reaction, Thales said silently:
If Saab really made the bet on "a vicious dog that bites off someone's leg"...
Maybe he can actually win money.
"So the Sword of Disaster and the Kingdom's Secret Department are old friends?"
Thales was determined to continue exploring. He endured the discomfort and tapped the vine, causing the thing to shrink again:
"Did Ricky give you these things?"
The black texture on Ricky's face, Raphael's arms, and the Black Prophet's wheelchair.
Not just this.
The Sword of Disaster, Crassus and the Red King, mercenaries and the secret science more than a hundred years ago.
Connected.
Morat was also silent for a while.
But this time, he answered Thales with a dark chuckle.
The smile made the second prince feel a little flustered.
"I say, you have become more perceptive, Your Highness."
"But it's still not cautious enough."
Thales was slightly startled.
Not cautious enough.
What's the meaning?
Morat stopped laughing and said abruptly:
"Raphael's report is correct."
Thales felt bad:
"What report?"
Morat looked her over and shook his head:
"After six years of observation, he said..."
"When you encounter trouble, Prince Thales is capable and ambitious. He is good at collecting information from multiple parties, combining intelligence, piecing together clues, observing and thinking from different angles, and then based on your unconstrained mind, go straight to the topic and grasp the key points, creatively
The earth comes up with solutions that no one can think of."
"However……"
His tone changed:
"You are too stubborn, too focused on the questions you raised, and lack the prudence and rigor required for intelligence work. It is inevitable that you will be misled by the logic of the story you deduced and miss inconspicuous but crucial details."
"For example, a stunning appearance at a state conference."
Thales' breathing was stagnant.
"You are also too emotional and care too much about the essence of things. You lack the tact and comprehensiveness needed to deal with complex problems. You are often limited by principles and ignore the cost, and make impulsive choices that are not understood by ordinary people."
"For example, give it a try in the Palace of Heroes."
Black Prophet narrowed his eyes:
"Even the one who came forward last night."
Thales only felt that the arms pushing the wheelchair were stiff.
Why, why did he suddenly say this?
But the other party's words still came like a magic voice, unable to stop them:
"So, you often end up with unpredictable and bad consequences after taking decisive action to win back a victory."
"You guessed the beginning correctly, but missed the ending."
The intelligence chief of the kingdom’s secret department, Black Prophet, Lord Morat Hansen said quietly:
"Commonly known as: being smart."
"Shot in the foot."
At this moment, Thales couldn't help but think of Raphael's team:
Prince's butt.
A wave of dissatisfaction surged into my heart.
But at this moment, Morat gently raised the topic and changed the topic back to its original position:
"I mentioned Ricky, and I only said we were collaborating, but I never said we were collaborating on this thing."
He looked at the trembling black-veined vines beneath him with disdain:
"But why do you confidently connect the clues and think this thing must come from Ricky?"
The Black Prophet glanced at him leisurely:
"It seems that you already know who the leader of the Sword of Disaster is."
Thales figured something out, and suddenly became speechless and turned pale.
"Then the problem comes: this is his most hidden secret, and he will never take the initiative to tell you when introducing himself."
Morat is interested:
"So the next question will be: when he was creating chaos in the Bone Cage, with Ricky's skills and Blood Whisper's combat power, what happened to him and what kind of threats did he receive..."
"That I will be forced to show my trump card in front of you and reveal my true identity?"
Black Prophet looked at the vines on his legs coldly:
"So that makes you believe that this thing comes from the same origin as him?"
"Can you answer me?"
"Your Highness?"
Thales gritted his teeth and swallowed hard.
Damn it.
In the Prison of Bones, what happened to Ricky that forced him to reveal his true form as a demon?
Appearing in the fire, disillusioned before God.
The heavy but unstoppable figure of the Punishment Knight appeared before his eyes.
No.
The young man shook his head and forced himself to cheer up and answer Morat's question.
Don't lie, Thales.
Do not lie.
"Wings of Legend."
The prince tried his best to keep his speaking speed steady:
"He gave the audacious Ricky a good beating - we all saw his face, like this thing, it looked like it was dug out of a black mine."
The Black Prophet was silent again.
"Very good, you are telling the truth." After a while, the intelligence chief slowly said:
"At least you think you're telling the truth."
Thales breathed a sigh of relief in his heart.
However, the next second.
"But, the second time."
Morat's words returned to indifference:
"Wings of Legend."
"This is the second time you use him to answer a question."
Thales' complexion changed slightly.
"It's as if you recognized this shield and believed that he would confirm your words."
The Black Prophet rubbed his skinny wrist and muttered:
"Both times are related to him. Is it a coincidence?"
Thales pursed his lips.
"Or, Your Highness, you didn't want to say anything about Ricky's situation when he revealed his true form, and you kept secret about what happened in the Bone Cage. You would rather send a troublesome and annoying troublemaker like me to ask Williams, and put the trouble behind
Are you throwing every detail issue at the hands of that evil god who is filled with murderous intent and should not be approached by anyone?"
What happened 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 even more uncomfortable.
But he no longer had time to care about this thing.
"Let me guess, maybe you have some kind of tacit understanding with Legend Wings to cover up something, something that will force Ricky to reveal his true identity, or even make him renounce his relationship with the secret department..."
The Black Prophet mused:
"Is it the Shadow Shield?"
"Is it because Darkroom came all the way to Blade Tooth Camp?"
At that moment, the figures of the drill and the fast rope flashed before Thales' eyes, almost making him tense up.
No, fast rope...
But Morat shook his head:
"No, the one you used as an excuse is Legend Wings. The person who can force Ricky to reveal his true identity must at least be on the same level as him..."
Finally, while Thales was shocked, the Black Prophet let go of his knotted brows, exhaled, and ended his speculation.
"So, we haven't seen each other for more than ten years..."
At that moment, Morat looked at Thales calmly and calmly:
"Our dear Warden of the Guard, Lord Thackerel, is he all right?"
At that moment, Thales felt cold all over.
"As for those key prisoners in the Prison of Bones who escaped from prison in the official announcement and were executed by Williams," the Black Prophet looked at him with great interest, as if he was sizing up prey that had fallen into a trap:
"Although the unruly Baron Blade Tooth did not give a specific list, I guess..."
"It must include some former royal guards who collaborated with the enemy in the Year of Blood, right?"
Black Prophet spoke softly, every word seemed to be filled with poison:
"So they were not executed."
"But he was let go by you and Williams."
"Mercenary Ricky is the witness."
Thales no longer knew what to think.
He just... said one more sentence.
But the other party can...
"See? This is what we're talking about..."
Morat chuckled and tapped his fingers on the wheelchair a few times.
"Being smart."
"Shot in the foot."
Thales pushed the wheelchair stiffly and then came to his senses.
I was wrong.
Big mistake.
The prince's eyes were frozen in space.
Just like he can make Williams look good without being a king.
Even if Morat is in a wheelchair, he will not live long.
But he is still the master of the secret department and the chief intelligence officer of King Kessel.
It's for the whole kingdom...
Black Prophet.
"So, Your Excellency, Duke of Xinghu, as the heir to the throne, what are your intentions in manipulating these sensitive collaborators with extraordinary skills and knowing the secrets of the palace?"
At that moment, Morat spoke slowly, like a poisonous snake: