In the next mont! The entire person collapsed as if life had been drained away, silently dying.
No struggle, no last words, not even a pained expression.
Died cleanly like a shadow erased of traces.
Kaelin leaned against the tree, blood continuously dripping, his hands trembling too much to hold the sword, yet his mind was exceptionally clear.
An assassin weaker than him could actually lie in wait on a path he had to pass, could seriously wound him in one strike, could commit suicide instantly after capture.
This is no coincidence.
There’s only one explanation: soone had inford the assassin of his location beforehand.
At that mont, fear transford into suspicion for the first ti.
In the days following the assassination, the entire Imperial Capital seed normal, yet to Kaelin, every corner felt strangely cold.
It’s not that no one investigated.
On the contrary, his people, the military departnt, the Departnt of Inspection, and even spies secretly sent by several noble families, all investigated for half a month.
The woods were searched thoroughly, traces of fighting energy compared, every breath the assassin took before dying was recorded.
But nothing could be found.
No origin, no identity, no organizational mark.
It’s as if the assassin was born for that strike and died for that strike.
But to Kaelin, finding nothing was itself the biggest flaw.
Because there aren’t many people capable of manipulating assassins of this level, and even fewer who could send such an assassin to kill him.
The Departnt of Inspection sent people, yet found no effective clues.
Within the military departnt, whispers stirred, and what was said most was:
"His Highness was wounded on the fighting energy channel, afraid he won’t return to his peak."
"The Empire needs a capable successor."
"Kaelin is no longer suitable to inherit."
Each sentence was like nails, nailed to his chest.
Even more unsettling to Kaelin was the Fourth Prince Rheine’s camp’s reaction—shock, sorrow, concern, proactively avoiding suspicion—perfectly done.
Too perfect, too much like it’s covering sothing up.
Kaelin sat in the room, looking at his bandaged broken shoulder, feeling stabbing pain climbing up the nerve pathway to the nape.
All the fragnts in his mind gradually ford a line: travel itinerary precisely leaked, assassin weak yet trained to the precision of killing a High-tier Extraordinary Knight in one strike.
Such an assassin isn’t easily found, investigated for a long ti yet still no leads, and military departnt rumors targeted at him, Fourth Prince’s camp behaving too correctly.
No evidence, but he doesn’t need evidence.
Kaelin’s heart already reached a conclusion: it was the Fourth Prince Rheine.
Suspicion tightened in his chest like a hand gripping his windpipe.
Never had he been so certain, if he doesn’t control the military departnt, if he doesn’t hold power, if he doesn’t take the initiative in the Dragon Throne eting.
The Empire will surely fall into the hands of the Fourth Prince and the Civil Servant faction.
And that would be the Empire’s end.
Suspicion like a cold needle pierced in the chest, but what truly made Kaelin realize he had been pushed to the edge of the abyss wasn’t suspicion itself, but the cracks starting to appear in the military departnt.
Kaelin never imagined those legion commanders who survived nurous battles alongside him would abandon him.
In a siege battle at the Empire’s southwest border, torrential rain flooded mud into armor, he led the knights to bite down on the Federation rcenaries’ breakthrough spot.
The battle line almost broke several tis; he personally carried the injured flag bearer to the frontline, planted the flag back into the mud to stabilize the position.
When the southern alliance of small countries provoked the border, he led a cavalry unit in a rapid march through the mud for a night raid on the enemy camp, causing that supposedly impregnable legion to suffer complete defeat.
That night, the officers following him saw with their own eyes how he continued commanding with a broken sword in a puddle.
The year the Eastern border had friction with the Golden Feather Flower Religious Authority Country, the Holy Fla Army attempted to infiltrate during dostic turmoil.
He and these officers fought tirelessly for five days on the banks of the Holy River, pressing back the opponent’s vanguard to beyond the river.
These officers survived those battles. They saw him at his strongest, saw how he used himself as the final shield.
That’s why they stood behind Kaelin, nearly seventy percent of the Imperial Legion stood behind him.
But now standing behind him... less than thirty percent of legion commanders remain, and most are older legion commanders.
The rest, those new leaders and noble ard forces discussed privately, yet he understood clearly:
"The Empire cannot be dragged down by princely struggles anymore."
"His Highness’s injuries... afraid he cannot lead the army again."
Their tone was tactful, yet they were all pushing him in one direction, that is, to leave the successor’s position.
The military departnt is no longer unified.
It beca loose, fragnted, chaotic before his eyes, like a giant beast deprived of reins, with only him desperately holding it together.
He stared at his broken left shoulder, chest as if forcibly stuffed with ice.
Pain, humiliation, anger... all emotions twined into a rope, choking him to the point of breathlessness.
But none of this exceeds the fear deeply hidden within him.
If I fall, the Empire will crumble.
But long ago, Kaelin never thought like this, he wasn’t ant to reach this point.
Kaelin wasn’t initially keen on power, nor did he view succession as a mission.
He always believed the father Emperor was steady as a rock, the Empire had its own order, he only needed to be a prince who could fight, could guard, could bear a side for the Empire on the battlefield.
The only one he truly respected, even admired, who deserved to inherit the throne was one person.
And that was the Third Prince.
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