The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 533: All Sides

One week later, at dusk.

The setting sun sank in the west, like a huge ball of fire, swallowed by the surging waves of the Gulaine River.

The red clouds were mottled, dyeing half the city in a deep, blood-like hue.

"Is it about to start?"

Muen temporarily set down the letter in his hand and gazed at that transition between shadow and light, as the clamorous day drew its curtain and the silent night was about to arrive.

Everything still looked so peaceful. Cooking smoke rose over the city districts. The boatn who had worked hard all day were chatting and laughing as they left the docks for ho. Today’s wages might let them have a decent dinner, or buy their daughters that toy they had been eyeing for a month.

Yet beneath this calm, in places countless people knew nothing about, sothing that had been brewing for a long ti was gradually baring its ferocious fangs.

These days, aside from using the channel he had established with the First Prince to discuss matters, Muen had spent almost all his ti in this inconspicuous little house in the lower district, digesting the infinitely heavy thing his father had handed him with one light sentence in that letter.

The more he took hold of, the more Muen marveled at how the Duke had cultivated resources in Belrand far richer than he had imagined.

And once his lines of sight had finally cleared completely, Muen could all the more fully sense what kind of surging undercurrent lurked behind this seemingly small incident of the First Prince leaving the palace to attend a banquet.

This ti, that Andrew, the Second Prince, did not seem to be making a simple probe.

Though in other respects his actions were hardly comndable, in that one point—his resolve to kill his elder brother—he was visibly determined.

Therefore, perhaps the outco this ti might truly influence the course of the entire Empire for the next several decades.

And having reached this point, even as the Duke’s son, he no longer had any room to retreat.

Muen put away the things on the table and spoke toward the shadow behind him:

"Go. Have Sam co see ."

...

...

"The ti has co."

In another hidden location in the lower district.

Mister Gro, fat and bloated, walked in hastily. From a distance, he looked like a bouncing leather ball as he made his way into the innermost room.

There were no bright magic stones, only wavering candlelight. A man whose face was covered in hideous scars sat still, eyes closed, resting.

"Mister Old Ghost, this is what we agreed on."

Old Ghost’s eyes suddenly snapped open. In an instant, his entire aura changed. A vicious, bloody ferocity spread out from him. Mister Gro broke out in a cold sweat on the spot and instinctively bowed his head even lower.

Old Ghost took the box from Mister Gro’s hands, opened it for a glance, and said faintly:

"A new drug?"

"Yes, a new drug. As agreed, it’s also ti for you to act."

"Very good."

Old Ghost suddenly stood, looking out the window. From here, the view was strangely wide open. One could look down over the entire lower district.

The glittering lights of the lower district were reflected in his eyes. A faint nostalgia welled up there, but very quickly that nostalgia turned into iron-blooded coldness. Old Ghost stretched out his hand, as though to slowly clasp the entire district in his palm.

"This ti, I will take back everything I lost ten years ago."

...

...

"Tap tap..."

As night had only just draped itself over the sky, faint mist began to rise over the Gulaine River and drift into the streets and alleys with the breeze.

At the quiet end of a street, the guards stationed on Deeswinter Bridge, which linked the upper and lower districts, heard the urgent sound of hooves coming from within the fog.

"Who goes there!"

The guard stood before the chevaux-de-frise and shouted harshly:

"The bridge is closed at night!"

"Lower the bridge. We have urgent business!"

Sothing was suddenly thrown toward him. The guard, caught off guard, fumbled to catch it.

"This... this is..."

The anger that had just risen in him at the other party’s discourtesy was instantly scattered by the intricate pattern on the strange tal token in his hand, and his expression went pale for a mont.

"Lo... lower the bridge, quickly!"

The guard turned back and shouted in a flustered panic toward the bridge, at the sa ti pushing aside the chevaux-de-frise.

Accompanied by a shrill rumbling, the massive wheel began to turn, the thick chains slid, and the bridge deck slowly descended.

Yet before the two spans had fully shed, a mounted squad had already burst out of the fog, spurring their horses to leap across the gap between the bridge segnts.

It might have been called a gap, but there was still nearly twenty ters between them at that mont, and the slope of the bridge was extrely steep. Under normal circumstances, it would have been impossible for anyone to cross at such a ti.

But the horses under those riders seed to ignore gravity entirely, nimbly surging straight over the bridge and into the district on the opposite side, leaving behind only faint silhouettes that gradually vanished in the mist.

"The Royal Mage Corps?"

Staring at those swiftly disappearing backs, the guard murmured, still shaken:

"Why have they been dispatched... Could sothing big be happening in Belrand tonight?"

The guard lifted his head and looked toward the lower district.

The city’s outline in the darkness was grim and jagged, like a beast lying in wait.

...

...

Countryside, in the forest.

Spring was gradually thickening, and the world was bursting with vigorous life, but the night still had a bit of chill.

Fortunately, the campfire that had been lit drove off the cold.

Above the fire was a crooked, warped little iron pot so misshapen it seed pitiful. Inside, freshly picked wild greens were bubbling as they simred.

In this season, even in the outskirts beyond Belrand, there was never any shortage of such things.

But wild greens alone were rather tasteless, so ground spices had been added to the pot. After so ti stewing, even this pot of wild vegetables exuded a fragrance that stirred the appetite.

A withered hand ignored the searing heat that had reddened the iron and directly lifted the pot from the fire. The old man who was sitting cross-legged on the ground lowered his head and looked into the pot at the vegetable soup that had nearly boiled down to a porridge-like consistency.

"I’ve forgotten again..."

King Yintuo sighed. "I cooked enough for two."

Half the soup was poured into the chipped, broken bowl in King Yintuo’s hand, and half remained in the pot.

King Yintuo tilted his head back and downed the simple vegetable soup in one go, then slowly rose to his feet.

His dull eyes seed unable to see anything at all, yet within that murkiness there was still the faint reflection of the distant, towering city.

He took a step—

"Heh heh, for an ascetic, you still waste food?"

King Yintuo’s stride halted abruptly.

He lowered his head again and looked to the other side of the campfire.

Not long ago, after he had made a move and cowed the prowlers in the surrounding area, no one had dared draw near.

Yet now, soone was sitting casually in front of him, unceremoniously using a pure silver spoon to share the vegetable soup from his pot.

"Tsk tsk, even wild greens can taste this good? I didn’t expect you, honest-faced King Yintuo, to be so good {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} at cooking. I really ought to have those fellows in the cathedral who keep going on about asceticism—but actually just cook food so bad it could kill people—co and train under you."

This was an old man as well. His hair and beard were both white, and he looked even older than King Yintuo, yet his complexion was rosy and his expression kindly, giving people a sense of intimacy.

He wore a white sacred robe completely out of place with the surroundings. On the thin hand that erged from his wide sleeve glead a ring of authority symbolizing nobility and holiness.

"Archbishop Canterbury?"

King Yintuo stared at the old man, still expressionless. "What are you doing here?"

"Heh heh, don’t be so tense, don’t be so tense. I only ca to reminisce. Fighting and killing—those things I’m not good at."

Archbishop Canterbury waved his hand with a cheerful smile.

"When you look like you’re about to strike at any mont, it frightens ."

"I have no old days to reminisce with you."

"Don’t say it like that. We’re both old things of the sa generation. Between old things, there are always things to talk about."

Canterbury lifted his hand and gave a small wave. A cool, holy light suddenly enveloped the area.

"Old n chatting idly with old n, children scuffling with children—each having their own way to play. Only then will this family not fall apart, don’t you think?"