Lord: My Shop Connects to Modern Times

On the eve of the coronation ceremony, the moonlight in the capital was exceptionally bright.

Alfred Winster stood at the window of the mansion, looking at the full moon, but he had no interest in appreciating it whatsoever.

The room was full of people.

Two hundred elite cavalrymen from the north were already waiting outside the city.

The three hundred imperial guards transferred from the Ministry of War, led by his trusted confidants, were ambushed on the west side of the palace.

He also had fifty private soldiers under his command, all of whom were ruthless characters who had seen blood.

"Your Highness." The representative of the Duke of the North, a burly knight, approached him. "Everyone is here. We await your command."

Alfred did not turn around.

He was thinking of his father.

The man who sat on the throne, looking at his father with those terrifyingly calm eyes.

Three months ago, his father would pat him on the shoulder and say, "Alfred, you're becoming more and more like me."

Two months ago, he couldn't even see his father anymore.

Three days ago, his father suddenly appeared at the court assembly and passed the throne to George.

George.

That good-for-nothing who only knows how to study.

What gives him the right?

"Your Highness?" the knight called again.

Alfred turned around.

"What did the Mage Association say?" he asked. "How many of their members are on our side?"

"Two novice mages, three intermediate mages, and one advanced mage are willing to join our team."

The knight paused, then continued, "As you know, most of those people aren't really interested in who will inherit the throne. These few were won over by promising them benefits."

"That's enough," Alfred nodded.

Mages are extremely rare. If one in a thousand people can become a proper warrior, then one in ten thousand mages is probably the rarest.

Moreover, he knew the temperament of the people in the Mage Guild well; they were immersed in their magical research and didn't like to meddle in worldly affairs.

Having six now is already quite good.

"Make your move at 3:45 PM," he said. "I'll lead my men straight to the palace. You split into two teams: one to go to George's side, and the other to guard the palace gates. Don't let anyone in."

"yes!"

The knight accepted the order and departed.

The people in the room gradually left, leaving only Alfred.

He looked at the sword hanging on the wall—a gift from his father on his eighteenth birthday, with a ruby ​​inlaid on the hilt and the words "Courage and Perseverance" engraved on the blade.

My father said at that time, "Alfred, you have courage and determination, and you will surely achieve great things in the future."

He reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword.

The cool touch calmed him down a bit.

If he succeeds tonight, he will be king. If he fails…

No, we cannot fail, and we must not fail!

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door to go out.

……

The third quarter of Hai hour.

The west gate of the palace.

Alfred, with fifty private soldiers, stealthily infiltrated the palace walls.

There were fewer guards patrolling than usual.

He had already inquired about it—Maurice had transferred most of his guards to the east wing, ostensibly to "strengthen security during the ceremony." This gave him an opportunity.

The journey was smooth and unobstructed.

The outline of the palace came into view in front of us.

Four guards stood at the door, and they were all unfamiliar faces.

Alfred waved his hand, and his private soldiers rushed out of the shadows.

With a flash of light, the four guards fell to the ground before they could even utter a sound.

He strode to the door and kicked it open.

Then he froze.

In the bedroom, the father sat on a chair by the window, holding a book in his hands, reading intently.

"Alfred." His father looked up, a smile spreading across his face. "You've come."

The other party spoke in a calm and unperturbed tone.

Alfred gripped the hilt of his sword and took a step forward.

"Father."

The father closed the book, placed it on his lap, and said, "Sit down."

There was no surprise, no anger, no doubt.

The other party was as calm as if he had known he would come, knew he would bring his troops in, and knew that four people were already dead outside the door.

Alfred did not sit.

Why George?

His father looked at him, his eyes still as calm as a still pond.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"No, you understand, Father."

The father tapped the book cover, not answering his question directly: "I've been reading the history of the Winster family lately, and I've discovered that our Winster family has been glorious ever since we began ruling the Dawn Empire."

"It is because of descendants like you and Alex that the Winster family has survived to this day."

Alfred didn't respond. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his eyes fixed on his overly composed father.

"What exactly are you trying to say? Father, I'm asking why George was chosen as the heir to the throne!"

The father did not answer immediately.

He smiled again, but this time it was a smile that carried a hint of mockery, unlike the calm and collected smile he had given before.

"I was just praising you, child. An impulsive person can't be a good king."

The next moment, he seemed to have lost interest in teasing Alfred, his mocking smile fading as he paused:

"Because George is the chosen one."

"The chosen one?" Alfred's voice rose:

"What do you mean by 'chosen one'? He's only ever studied since he was a child, never involved himself in politics, never befriended ministers, and never had any contact with the military! What makes him worthy of being called the chosen one?"

"Because he's easy to control, Your Highness."

A voice, not belonging to either of them, suddenly came from the shadows behind the screen in the bedroom.

"Who!" Alfred exclaimed in surprise.

Deep within the palace, behind a screen, a person emerged.

The other person was wearing a gray robe, with his head bowed and eyes downcast, just like usual.

Morris.

But at this moment, Morris was completely different from usual.

He looked up at Alfred.

Those eyes—the first time Alfred had truly looked into those eyes—held no trace of humility, no trace of deference, only an indescribable depth.

Like a well.

Bottomless.

"It's me, Second Prince." The other person's voice was gentle and soft.

"Maurice!"

Alfred instinctively took a step back and glanced at his father.

His father's familiar smile returned, but this time, it sent a chill down Alfred's spine.

He shifted his gaze back to Maurice.

"What are you doing here?!"

"Your Highness, I am His Majesty's personal physician. Is it strange that I am here?"

Alfred gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

"Who exactly are you?"

Maurice smiled. It was the exact same smile his father had given him just moments before.

"Who I am is not important," he said. "What is important is that I can tell you what you want to know."

"Then why George?" Alfred remembered that the other man had just said that his fourth brother was easy to control.

"Because we need him."

Alfred's pupils constricted slightly.

"you?"

"Yes." Maurice took a step forward, getting closer to him. "We."

Alfred took a step back.

He suddenly realized that something was wrong with everything that was happening tonight.

My father is acting strangely, Maurice is acting strangely, and even this palace seems eerie.

"Who exactly are you people?"

Morris looked at him with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Have you heard of the Church of the End?

Alfred's mind went blank.

The Church of the End.

He had heard the name before—in secret reports from the Ministry of War, in battle reports from the Eastern Frontier, and in some vaguely documented files.

It was a cult that was explicitly banned by the empire—no, it was a cult banned across the entire continent. It was very ancient, and no one knew when it first appeared.

Very little is known about them; they are said to be related to monsters, to be cruel, and so on...

But why target the royal family? Why target the Dawn Empire?

"You...you are cult members?"

Morris did not deny it.

He simply nodded slightly.

"Cult?" he murmured the word, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Call me whatever you like."

Alfred's hands were trembling.

It wasn't out of fear, it was out of anger.

"You've taken control of Father?"

"Controlled?" Maurice glanced at "Charles VI" sitting by the window. "Do you think he's being controlled?"

Alfred looked at his father.

My father was still sitting there, with that strange smile on his face.

It doesn't feel like being controlled.

But it's definitely not normal.

"I regret to inform you that your father passed away some time ago."

"This body is merely a shell that I created."

Morris apologized, but his tone was as if he were calmly recounting something trivial.

"!!!"

Alfred's mind went blank.

Gone...

What does that mean?

He drew his sword sharply, the tip pointing directly at Maurice.

"You—you all—"

Morris did not move.

He just looked at Alfred as if he were looking at a sulking child.

"Second Prince, do you want to kill me?"

Alfred gritted his teeth.

He wanted to kill. Of course he wanted to kill.

But he didn't move.

Because he suddenly realized one thing—Maurice had not shown any fear from beginning to end.

He was alone, facing himself with fifty private soldiers, facing the sword in his hand, yet he remained as calm as if he were having a conversation.

That's not right.

"You're wondering why I'm not afraid," Morris said. "You're wondering if I have something to rely on."

He paused.

"You're right."

As soon as he finished speaking, the curtains around the palace suddenly moved.

It wasn't the wind blowing—the windows were closed, so there was no wind at all.

Instead, something was moving behind the curtain.

Alfred gripped his sword tightly, staring intently at the curtains.

Then he saw a hand.

The hands were grayish-white, dry, and looked like those of a dead person, emanating wisps of black smoke.

Then there was another one.

Then comes the face.

A distorted face, with two dark red lights where the eyes should be.

Monsters! And the kind mentioned in the Eastern Realm! Special kinds of monsters!

Monsters emerged from behind the curtain, one, two, three...

There are five in total.

They formed a semicircle, blocking Morris's way.

Alfred's heart nearly stopped beating.

How did a monster end up here?

This is the royal palace! This is Father's bedroom!

"Shadowservants, that's what we call them," Maurice said, pointing to Charles VI by the window.

"By the way, the father you see now is essentially a shadow servant, only I've given him a 'human shell.' The material, well, is your father's own body."

Alfred broke out in a cold sweat.

Anger, shock, fear.

In an instant, several emotions rushed to my brain.

He forced himself to calm down, then turned and ran.

But the entrance was already blocked.

Three more monsters squeezed in from outside the door, blocking their escape route.

He had nowhere to escape.