CHAPTER 432: TWO PEOPLE SEARCHING FOR DUKE CHARLES

In Alistair’s eyes, without royal blood, someone with Lucas’s simple mind would at best become a second-rate noble, barely capable of maintaining his family’s wealth and status, let alone advance further.

Hesitant when great matters arise, reckless for minor gains; outwardly strong but inwardly weak, timid and indecisive, he was utterly unfit to be an heir.

It was solely the prestigious title of Crown Prince that had accumulated immense political resources for Lucas, giving him an advantage throughout the entire royal conflict and squeezing Alistair into such a dire position.

Alistair held nothing but contempt for this fool of a prince, who, merely minutes older than him, dared to claim the position of elder brother.

"That unit of imperial guards is located northeast of the imperial capital, west of Rian Town, near the vital transportation route used for shipping ale, pearls, and vast quantities of seafood."

As he spoke, Vorelter laid out a flat map on the wooden tea table before Alistair, his finger pointing at a brown-gray town outlined in ink.

"Roughly estimated, this imperial guard unit stationed west of Rian Town would require about forty minutes at full march to reach the eastern gate of the imperial capital."

"The Emperor’s purpose in dispatching them here is clearly not to defend the palace, but to control the transportation route."

Alistair’s face flickered with coldness as he listened, his voice low and deep.

"In other words, they aren’t part of the military closest to the center of power."

Controlling the transportation route, preventing rebel forces from cutting off critical supply lines while ensuring messages from the capital could flow outward, this army stationed at Rian Town was undeniably crucial.

Yet compared to the imperial guards directly stationed within the capital, their overall strategic importance was still a notch lower.

"It seems Father doesn’t fully trust Lucas, or perhaps he believes this fool isn’t ready."

Two black leather shoes stepped onto the carpet, tight trousers pressing against the sofa. Alistair, who had been lying sideways, finally sat upright, his voice hoarse.

"This arrangement essentially eliminates any possibility of a coup. The only chance left for us is to kill Lucas Valeria."

"As long as we succeed, I won’t even need a perfect excuse to clear myself."

With the Crown Prince dead, the greatest beneficiary would naturally be the secondary heir, Alistair. The only one with both motive and capability to commit the act would be him.

Even if Hibbort and the other nobles knew the truth, what could they do? The only direct royal bloodline with succession rights was Alistair. Once the Crown Prince’s faction lost its leader, they’d have no candidate to elevate, forced to swallow their pride and turn to the Second Prince they’d once scorned and obstructed.

"Thud..."

A heavy sound strikes the table. A jade-green dagger landed exactly over the icon marking Rian Town.

"Vorelter, we need to accelerate," Alistair said.

The more power Hibbort granted Lucas, the closer the day of succession drew. He was already clearing obstacles from the Crown Prince’s path. Alistair’s time was running short.

Vorelter fell into brief silence, then picked up the beast-hide sheathed dagger from the parchment.

The dagger felt slightly heavy in hand, its chilling touch seems to seep through the skin into the heart. Removing the outer beast-hide scabbard, a blade gleaming with cold light reflected in Vorelter’s pupils.

"There aren’t many things that can make Lucas temporarily dismiss his guards and create private space," Alistair said, his pale blue eyes flashing with malice, nearly matching the hue of the wind-element crystal embedded in the dagger.

"If you can guarantee Helen’s loyalty, deliver the dagger to her one day in advance."

For the lust-driven Crown Prince, the moment of utmost relaxation would undoubtedly be the peak of physical ecstasy.

After all, who could anticipate that the passionate lover who moments ago burned with desire on the bed would suddenly draw a dagger, plunging its sharp edge into the flesh and releasing a heat flow already accelerated to its maximum?

"Even Lucas wouldn’t react in time," Vorelter murmured, staring at the dagger. "I doubt even I could."

This tactic was indeed difficult to guard against.

"Of course. But if it were you, you wouldn’t sleep with a woman whose background you couldn’t verify."

Alistair snorted coldly, a sneer on his face.

"Only my dear elder brother welcomes every beauty thrown his way without question."

This was Lucas’s greatest weakness, and his inevitable downfall.

"The dagger is inscribed with a wind-element magic capable of piercing knightly defenses: [Gale Thrust]. Even if Lucas reacted quickly and activated his mental defense, it’ll be too late."

"As long as it hits a vital point, no one can save him."

"This fool probably never imagined that the magical device heavily promoted by the very imperial sister he lusted after would be the instrument of his death at this moment."

It sounded utterly ironic.

Vorelter ran his fingertip over the dagger’s smooth surface, feeling the sharpness of the tip so keenly that he dared not press even slightly.

"But Helen is merely an ordinary noble lady. Without a knight-enhanced physique, her speed and strength are inferior to Lucas’s."

"What if the attempt fails?"

If Lucas survived, Hibbort could latch onto the assassination attempt and trace it back through Helen. Finding Alistair will only be a matter of time.

Alistair’s eyes grew even colder: "If it fails, I will personally handle the aftermath."

"But you must ensure Helen chooses the meeting location in the southwest of the imperial capital, far from the imperial guards. Fortunately, this season is perfect for flower viewing. An invitation based on such a pretext wouldn’t seem unusual."

"Lord Roast has a manor there. They can naturally stay there."

It was far from the city and the Emperor, the ideal place to strike. He would set an inescapable net there. Once the fish took the bait, the outcome was already decided.

"Years of endurance culminate in this single move. No matter what, I will ensure he dies on that day."

Thick black mist formed a hand, snatching the dagger from Vorelter’s grasp. Alistair casually tossed it; the tip plunged deep into the wooden table.

"The only remaining variable is Duke Charles, who hasn’t appeared yet."

"If we locate his approximate position, it’ll be time to close the net."

In truth, Duke Charles wasn’t only on the minds of nobles in the capital who’d received news. On the border, Duke Grant, who had been besieging Liya Tower Fortress for weeks, was equally curious about the whereabouts of his long-standing rival.

"Your Highness Grant, the king’s promised refined equipment has arrived at the square and can be distributed immediately."

"Proceed according to military merits and formation hierarchy."

"At once, Your Highness Grant."

Watching the servant exit the warm room and vanish into the snowstorm, Grant turned his gaze toward the temporary outpost hundreds of meters across from his position on the border, letting out a slow sigh.

Liya Tower Fortress remains unbreached, army casualties severe. His boast of capturing the stronghold in three days had long become a joke.

The magical devices mounted at top of the high walls caused immense trouble for their assaults. Although the Valeria Empire’s army is controlled by far more knights than mages, their long-range magical suppression was no weaker.

This battle was fundamentally different from past conflicts. The addition of magical devices compensated for the Valeria Empire’s troops’ vulnerability in individual combat strength, becoming the most troublesome obstacle in taking the fortress.

Their inability to break through the Valeria Empire’s bridgehead meant no opportunity for land or wealth plunder. Watching comrades get wounded, crippled, or die piece by piece, fearing the same fate might one day befall themselves, Grant didn’t need to investigate specifically to deduce that morale was steadily declining.

They desperately needed a major victory to salvage their crumbling army spirit.

Thankfully, King Velys understood their predicament, continuously supplying frontline logistics, ensuring every soldier received abundant meals, the best medical care, and indestructible weaponry. Otherwise, those men would have collapsed long ago.

Doctrine and faith were one aspect; tangible benefits were another. Only combining both could guarantee sufficient combat strength.

"Bring me the magical weapon we captured earlier."

The deep male voice echoed in the room. The servant at the door nodded and responded immediately.

"Yes, Your Highness Grant."

In moments, a wooden crate was delivered to Grant’s room, containing a shattered, long-barreled magical weapon.

Grant picked up the weapon, recalling the battlefield’s fire-spitting magic rifles. His mental energy penetrated the engraved patterns inside the metal tube, tracing the scorched paths to locate the internal fire-element crystal.

Replicating the related magic patterns wasn’t difficult. Find skilled artisans with basic magical understanding, and copy them to scale.

The challenge lay in deciphering the fire-element magic crystal serving as the energy output source; the core component ensured the crystal’s internal energy connected with the magic patterns to release flames outward. This was the most essential part of the entire magical weapon.

The designer clearly anticipated the weapon potentially falling into enemy hands, inscribing a sealing barrier within the magic crystal. mental energy couldn’t penetrate it, only circling uselessly around the external energy output zone.

"No wonder it’s Charlotte Ash’s work..."

Feeling the barrier’s resilience, Grant frowned, his hand gripping the metal tube tightly.

"I didn’t expect she’d become a mid-tier Arcanist mage."

As an early tier Arcanist mage, Grant couldn’t break through the other’s mental barrier. Undoubtedly, the opponent’s mental strength and magical expertise far surpass his own.

"Your Highness Grant, according to intelligence from the rear, the other magical weapon sent to the capital has been destroyed."

"It was the Holy Pope himself leading the magic pattern deciphering effort. The moment mental energy broke through the restraint, the magic crystal exploded, completely destroying the previously intact weapon."

The Holy Pope possessed peak-tier Arcanist mage strength, the strongest in the kingdom. If even he couldn’t directly breach the magic crystal’s mental limitation to obtain manufacturing details, no one else could.

They needed more samples, more manufacturing details about magical weapons, preferably blueprints.

Continuing to examine the magical weapon in his hand, a complex emotion welled in Grant’s heart, both dread and relief.

Dread stemmed from concern over the weapon’s demonstrated war potential. Unlike previous civilian magic devices that improved daily life, this allowed an ordinary knight to remotely counter mages to some extent. Applied in combat, this characteristic was overwhelmingly advantageous.

Relief came because the Kingdom of Velys had initiated the war at this precise moment. Although the Valeria Empire had magical weapon support, their overall strength was still controlled, with limited quantities, far from overwhelming the kingdom.

If they’d be delayed by another decade or so, a Valeria Empire fully armed with magical weapons might even have the capability to counter-invade the kingdom.

Their timing of declaration was perfect, struck during the Valeria Empire’s weakest years.

They must quickly cripple the empire, seize manufacturing knowledge related to magical weapons, and ensure the kingdom’s military edge remains sharp.

"There’s another piece of intelligence, Your Highness Grant." The servant saw Grant put down the rifle and continued.

"Although the King rejected the proposal to involve Arcanist mages in the battlefield and directly eliminate Liya Tower Fortress..."

This had been Grant’s idea. He wanted to use the destructive assault of Arcanist mages during the likely absence of Charles from the frontlines to destroy this impregnable wartime fortress.

However, doing so would escalate the battle uncontrollably, endangering high-ranking nobles’ lives. Furthermore, Arcanist mage Charlotte’s whereabouts were unknown. If she were also at Liya Tower Fortress and delivered a fatal strike during the spell’s preparation phase, the resulting unstable magical tide might cost the kingdom its frontline ace, making the rejection expected.

"...However, the Temple Knight Order has already withdrawn from their garrison. Knights and priests march together, straight heading for the secondary fortress at Liya Tower’s left wing."

At the mention of the Temple Knight Order, Grant’s eyelids twitched, a flicker of surprise in his mind.

The secular monarchy was already deeply entangled in the war vortex. Now, the Holy Light Church, raising the banner of faith and symbolizing ecclesiastical power, had finally entered the fray.

Previously, he’d never willingly allowed the Holy Light Church to intervene and share the spoils, stealing what rightfully belonged to him.

But now, facing such a tough opponent and knowing how difficult magical devices were to handle, Duke Grant truly believed that allowing these Temple Knights to join the battle and deplete the enemy’s forces was a decent choice.

Unlike his own troops, Temple Knights were elite among elites. Not a single one ranked below Great Knight, most proficient in light-element magic. Fighting in coordinated knight formations, their combat power far exceeds ordinary soldiers.

With their involvement, the Valeria Empire would likely lose this position.

And once the flanking defenses, serving as a pincer, were lost, Liya Tower Fortress would no longer be unassailable.

Thinking of the terrifying magic-energy cannon inside Liya Tower Fortress, Grant lightly tapped his chair, his gaze drifting as he stared at the snowflakes scattering outside the window.

It hadn’t fired even once until now. With such a grand setup, could it possibly be just for intimidation?