The heavy stone walls shielded the cold wind and the clamor of the outside world, leaving only the almost inaudible sound of the burning lamp oil.
Regent Prince Arlence sat leaning by the chair, draped in a snow-white animal pelt, yet his face appeared even more bloodless than the fur. The shallow bruises under his eyes resembled frost marks, slowly descending.
His chest rose and fell at tis with a slow, at tis with a rapid frequency.
But there were no signs of poisoning, no swelling, nor any fatal symptoms recognizable by the physicians.
If not examined carefully, one might even mistake him for a sleeping person, rather than a regent prince struggling daily with impending death.
Moreover, a new Dragon Throne Council was set to convene in two days.
This grand council concerning the Empire’s future was supposed to be presided over personally by Arlence.
And now, the only reason he could barely remain conscious was due to his sheer willpower holding on; otherwise, he would have collapsed months ago.
Today, there were more renowned physicians than usual: imperial physicians, grand mages, Dragon Ancestor priests, Windstopper dical officers...
They surrounded Arlence, taking turns examining him, touching his forehead, checking his pulse, using magic power for observation, inspecting through prayer...
Ultimately, they all lowered their hands without exception, their expressions heavy.
"His Highness exhibits no abnormalities."
"It’s unlikely he’s poisoned."
"It seems more like... his life force is being drained, leaving no trace."
As these words fell, the bedroom was so quiet that even the flicker of the fire sounded piercing.
Under the shadows, a young guard stood rigidly.
He had only been transferred here three months ago, responsible for close attendance, which was supposed to be a negligible role, rely serving, reporting, and exchanging cups of water.
Witnessing the Regent Prince, who could stand for half an hour at morning councils, now appearing to be scattered by the wind even while seated.
Today, His Highness was unable even to lift his eyelids at tis, lying stiffly on the bed, motionless.
The golden patterned small box on the table was half-open.
Within it lay the ochre leaf spirit essence fruit, still and silent, the deep red and ochre hues interwoven like roasted flesh, its skin tightened to the point of cracking, its shape resembling a shriveled heart.
This was no ordinary fruit, said to be a rarity that might erge from the southern forests once every hundred years.
In nearly a century, only two had been found in the entire Empire; its existence was more akin to legend than to produce.
And its potency was trendous, capable of forcibly activating spiritual power, stimulating the soul, allowing the dying to montarily return to a state of clarity, akin to enveloping a dying fla in a layer of fiery shell.
But what it could offer was rely a montary spiritual revival, with no ability to combat physical decline or the passage of life.
The air retained a trace of sweetness and sourness from the fruit pulp being bitten, an unpleasant taste resembling so sort of high-tier alchemy potion’s scent, stinging the nostrils and serving as a reminder that its nature was entirely a temporary facade of consciousness.
Arlence consud that small bite.
At the mont of biting, the young guard witnessed the Regent Prince’s gaze being back from utter dispersion, as if a drowning man was yanked out of icy waters at the last possible second.
Arlence lifted his head, his voice weak but commanding: "...Adjust the lamps brighter."
This brief clarity was almost miraculous for the young guard.
"Yes, sir." He hurriedly stepped forward to adjust the lamp wick.
The firelight increased a little with his action, illuminating half of Arlence’s face.
It was a face exceedingly weak but devoid of illness.
Pale yet clean, hollow yet free of the contortion of pain.
As if soone was silently extracting the fla from within, while the skin maintained its original form.
The young guard’s heart thumped heavily.
If this wasn’t an illness... then did the awakening from the fruit signify that His Highness was truly recovering?
He couldn’t quite pinpoint what felt wrong, but he pieced these fragnts into an answer he was willing to believe: His Highness was improving.
This was also the ssage he needed to send.
Given his secondary identity, he couldn’t miss a single clue about the Regent Prince’s life or death.
Late at night, he quietly retreated to the corridor outside the bedroom.
Snow wind poured in through the window’s crevice, blowing fine dust across the stone bricks.
Only after verifying that no one was paying attention did the young guard extract a thin tal plate from his boot.
His fingertips trembled slightly from the tension, yet he endeavored to keep it straight:
「After the Grand Prince consud the ochre leaf spirit essence fruit, his ntal state noticeably improved. All renowned physicians declared him free of poison and malady. Regent Prince His Highness is no longer in peril.」
After carving the secret ssage using fighting energy, he took a deep breath, placed the tal plate into a signal box, and pressed the covert pattern.
Inside the chanism, a gentle sound proceeded, a discreet gray-feathered pigeon erged from a hidden compartnt beneath the corridor, fluttering its wings.
In the next mont, it soared upwards, crossed the palace walls, and silently vanished into the heavy winds of the night.
The young guard gazed at the distant point of the flying shadow, easing half the tension in his chest.
......
On the other side of the Imperial Capital, night winds swept across the high walls of the Fifth Prince Lampard’s residence, the lights glimred with faint golden glows behind thick windows.
The gray-feathered pigeon landed on a wooden post in the dark alley, the signal box lightly collided, emitting a gentle sound.
The gatekeeper recognized it as a secret pigeon, his face shifted slightly, quickly taking down the signal box and delivering it to the inner courtyard.
Before long, the secret ssage was presented before Lampard.
He was sitting on the long chair behind the desk, upon hearing it was a secret pigeon from the palace, he lifted his eyelids slightly: "Place it here."
The attendant handed over the tal plate.
Lampard was originally indifferent, but as he read the content, his brows gradually furrowed.
Regent Prince’s recovery of spirit? No poison or illness? Awakening from fruit?
Lampard’s fingers paused at the edge of the signal plate, his tone cold like it had been subrged in well water: "Prepare the horses."
The attendant was taken aback: "Your Highness, now?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers