Final Lord

Chapter 317 Unity of Heart and Mind between Ruler and Minister
"Cultists of evil spirits! Cultists of evil spirits!" Charlie suddenly sprang to his feet, the beaded curtain of his gilded crown rattling violently with a clattering sound like a torrential downpour. His gilded boots slammed into the ground, shattering the light and shadow, and he overturned the bronze lampstand beside him. Burning whale oil splattered across the ground, creating ferocious fire serpents that projected the two figures facing off onto the gilded wall, like two ancient behemoths locked in combat.

"You keep calling them cultists—" Charlie's voice suddenly lowered, each word like a poisoned icicle, "Where are they?!"

His bloodied fingertips traced across the Crimson Flame Sword Saint's charred face, leaving five scarlet marks. "Show me!"

"I do not know!" The Crimson Flame Sword Saint's roar shook the pillars of the hall, causing dust to fall. The flames on the heavy sword on his back suddenly surged, scorching and distorting the surrounding air.

The leaping flames, like angry crimson dragons, sizzled and seared the old man's back. "That's why I must launch a major operation to drag out these maggots hiding in the shadows!"

Acrid smoke rose between the two, and the Crimson Flame Sword Saint's scalded skin peeled away in patches like a dried-up riverbed. But the old man remained kneeling motionless, like an ancient sword driven into the ground, refusing to bend an inch despite the flames. The stag emblem branded on his chest gleamed eerily in the firelight, and amber pus oozed from his festering wounds.

Charlie suddenly staggered backward, his gilded crown hanging askew by his temple: "Are you crazy?" For the first time, there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Who can prove that you've mobilized troops to suppress cultists, and not to prepare for a rebellion?"

The Crimson Flame Sword Saint suddenly looked into King Charles's eyes and exclaimed in a booming voice, "Your Majesty, you can!"

These four words pierced through King Charles's mind like a sharp sword, causing his pupils to shrink abruptly.

The Crimson Flame Sword Saint's voice was hoarse and heavy, like rust scorched by flames. He slowly raised his face, which was burned by the flames, and crimson fire flickered in his cloudy pupils. Every wrinkle was etched with the vicissitudes of time and the pain of the moment.

“Your Majesty,” his Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty, his voice seeming to be squeezed out from the depths of his chest, “thirty years ago, at the council of nobles, you stood under the gilded dome of the council hall, facing the opposition of the entire court of nobles.”

Do you remember who was the first to draw their sword and guarantee the success of your grand expansion plan?

The Crimson Flame Sword Saint's fingertips dug deep into his palms, blood dripping from between his fingers, blooming into dazzling red plum blossoms on the gilded floor tiles. His voice grew increasingly agitated, and the Crimson Flame Greatsword on his back erupted with even more intense flames, making his white hair appear like burning silver threads.

"If His Majesty were still the same mighty ruler who dared to defy the entire Council of Nobles, he would never have come into contact with those vile things."

The old man suddenly straightened his hunched back, and his burned skin made a tearing sound that made your teeth ache.

"Then even if I mobilized all the troops and aimed the demon-slaying arrows at every window of the palace, you would never suspect that I was plotting a rebellion!"

His words struck the silent study like a heavy hammer, making the crystal lamps jingle.

Those eyes, reddened by the flames, stared directly at King Charles, filled with a complex mix of disappointment and hope.

"Because you will know...you can know..."

The Crimson Flame Sword Saint's voice suddenly choked up. He bit his tongue hard, forcing himself to stay awake through the pain.
“Just like I knew you back then. Between a true ruler and his subject, there is no need for evidence, no need for explanation, only…” He suddenly ripped open the blood-stained collar of his shirt, revealing the stag emblem branded with a hot iron, still bleeding.

"This trust etched into our very bones! A bond of unity between ruler and subject!"

Charlie gave a self-deprecating, bitter laugh. His face, beneath the gilded crown, flickered in the candlelight, his once spirited eyes now as dim as extinguished embers. His long fingers unconsciously traced the stag emblem on the armrest of his throne, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

"And now?" The king's voice was as soft as a dream, or a sigh carried on the night breeze. The whisper echoed softly in the empty, gilded hall, as if questioning the capriciousness of fate.

“Now…” The Crimson Flame Sword Saint suddenly coughed violently, his hunched body trembling like a flickering candle in the flames. Sparks of blood spilled from his charred lips, each drop hissing as it hit the ground. He struggled to prop himself up, his body consumed by flames, the burning greatsword emitting a mournful clang as the ancient runes on its blade exploded one after another, transforming into tiny, crimson sparks that drifted into the air.

"This old minister has confirmed it," the old man's scalded hands gripped tightly around the stag emblem branded on his chest, tearing open his festering flesh, "Your Majesty has been in contact with cultists!"

"Your Majesty—" The old man suddenly looked up and let out a heart-wrenching wail, a cry that contained half a century of loyalty and the piercing sense of betrayal he felt at this moment.

His battle-wounded face was contorted in the flames, and his cloudy pupils reflected Charlie's sudden pallor. "Your Majesty is confused!"

This heart-wrenching cry echoed for a long time in the gilded hall, as if to shatter all the false pretenses.

The crystal shards trembled slightly on the carpet, each reflecting a different image: Charlie's ashen face, the charred body of the Crimson Flame Sword Saint, and the Crimson Flame Greatsword burning its master to ashes. The whole scene resembled a collapsing dynasty, where all loyalty and trust turned to ashes in the flames.

Charlie staggered back a step, his gilded crown hanging askew on his forehead. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he simply slumped back onto the throne.

At his feet, the reflections in the crystal shards gradually distorted and deformed, eventually transforming into raging crimson flames.

They know each other too well. No evidence is needed at all; just a face-to-face talk like this will make all the secrets disappear.

“You don’t understand, Lord Chi Yan.” Charlie gave a bitter laugh, a laugh as hoarse and heavy as metal polished by sandpaper. He turned to look out the window, where the lights of the capital flickered in the night, like countless pairs of peering eyes.

"I am still that Charlie who refuses to be forgotten, still that Charlie who reviews memorials until late at night, still that Charlie who desires a prosperous and strong nation." His fingertips lightly traced the windowpane, leaving a clear mark on the accumulated dust. "That's why I have some things I absolutely must do."

The Crimson Flame Sword Saint jerked his head up, sparks flying from his burning greatsword on his back. "For example?" the old man pressed impatiently, his voice hoarse with urgency. His scorched hands gripped the throne armrests tightly, leaving five charred finger marks on the gilded surface.

Charlie turned abruptly, his icy blue cloak tracing a chilling arc in the candlelight. His pupils contracted into dangerous slits in the shadows, and he spoke, enunciating each word clearly:

"Destroying the Dawn Empire and ushering in a chaotic era will provide a glimmer of hope for our Stag Duchy!"

(End of this chapter)