Chapter 166

Chapter 166

Before the first rays of dawn had pierced the clouds, a deep, lingering bell suddenly tolled over the imperial capital—"Boom—"

This bell was different from the usual morning chimes of the churches. It was low, heavy, carrying a soul-piercing sorrow, spreading from the imperial bell tower at the heart of the capital through every street, every manor, every house. Then came the second, third... The bells echoed incessantly, like thunderclaps exploding over the capital, jolting the sleeping populace awake.

"It's the death knell!"

Someone cried out in alarm, and chaos erupted across the capital. Residents in their nightclothes rushed into the streets, looking up toward the imperial bell tower, their faces filled with terror and confusion. The gates of noble estates swung open wide, stewards rushing out in a panic to gather news. At the Imperial Knight Academy, students halted their morning exercises, murmuring among themselves, their eyes filled with unease—in the Sala Empire, this bronze death knell, symbolizing imperial dignity, was only struck when a direct member of the royal family passed away. The number of tolls corresponded to the deceased's status, and with nine already sounded, it meant the deceased was no ordinary royal.

Evan had just stepped out of his dormitory when the sudden death knell caught him off guard. He looked up at the sky; the bells still echoed, carrying a suffocating weight.

"Why would the death knell suddenly ring? Could it be...?" Louis, beside him, also turned pale. Born into a noble family, he understood the meaning of the death knell better than most. "Nine tolls... that's the treatment for a prince or a grand prince. Has something happened to one of the highnesses?"

Ista furrowed her brow tightly, gripping her longsword as she scanned their surroundings warily. "Whoever died, the capital is bound to become unstable. We need to be careful, especially..."

He didn't finish, but Evan and Louis understood what he meant. The troubles of the royal family were the greatest troubles in this world. For small figures like them, staying far away was the best choice.

On the third floor of the library, the flower wall still glowed in the morning light, but the atmosphere around Sara was as heavy as lead. He stood by the stone table, his gaze fixed beyond the glass window toward the towering imperial bell tower at the capital's center. The lingering echoes of the death knell still seemed to reverberate in his ears, each toll jarring his nerves.

"The Second Prince was stationed in the colonies; he couldn't return to the capital anytime soon..." Sara muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the stone table as his mind quickly sorted through the movements of the royal family members. "Among the direct royal members, besides Carlos, there's only the little princess Elizabeth left."

Sure enough, not long after, the royal announcement spread across the capital via the imperial broadcast. The wording was as euphemistic as it could be, stating only that Princess Elizabeth had suddenly fallen ill the previous night, and despite the best efforts of the imperial physicians, she had passed away in the early hours of the morning. A three-day national mourning was decreed.

The cold, official words from the broadcast shattered the last shreds of hope among the capital's populace. The previously noisy chatter on the streets vanished instantly, replaced by a stifling silence, occasionally broken by quiet sobs—Princess Elizabeth was deeply loved by the people, and her sudden death was hard for everyone to accept.

Half a month passed in the blink of an eye. Before the capital's mourning had fully faded, the death knell from the imperial bell tower rang again without warning—"Boom—boom—boom—"

This time, again, nine tolls.

Soon, news from the colonies plunged the entire capital into greater turmoil: the Second Prince, Serion Wellington, serving as governor in the Serion region, was attacked by colonial rebel assassins while inspecting a plantation. Though his escort fought desperately, they failed to protect him. His Highness Serion was killed on the spot, and the assassins were cut down, leaving no one to question.

When the news arrived, the atmosphere in the capital grew extremely tense.

Everyone understood that this was no simple "rebel assassination" but a continuation of the power struggle within the royal family.

The Second Prince had operated in the colonies for years, with a solid power base. Though he had little influence in the homeland, he was still Carlos's strongest rival on the path to the throne. His sudden death left Carlos as the only adult prince in the royal family, just one step away from the position of crown prince.

Evan found Sara by the flower wall in the library. Sara stood by the window, gazing at the distant sky, his expression impossible to read.

"It was Carlos," Sara said, his voice low and certain. "The rebels don't have the ability to infiltrate the Second Prince's security detail. He must have planned this 'accident.'"

Evan nodded silently. Though he had never truly met the First Prince, he was well aware of his ruthlessness. Moreover, from reading history in his past life, he knew that struggles for the throne were always soaked in blood.

But the matter wasn't over yet.

Just as everyone thought Carlos had eliminated the Second Prince and the little princess, clearing his path to the throne without obstacles, and that the storm was about to subside, the royal death knell tolled for the third time over the capital.

This time, it tolled only six times, but it brought even more shocking news: the First Prince Carlos's only son, the sole male heir of the Wellington family's third generation, the five-year-old royal grandson Chris Wellington, had suddenly fallen ill and, despite the imperial physicians' efforts, had tragically died.

This news struck like a thunderbolt, stunning everyone.

When the news of Chris Wellington's death arrived, Sara was standing by the flower wall, pinching a withered rose petal between his fingers. At the moment he heard the news, unlike others who fell into shock and chaos, he immediately calmed down, his mind rapidly sifting through possible masterminds behind the scenes.

There were many within the royal family who coveted power, but few dared to strike at Carlos's only son and had the ability to bypass the First Prince's heavy security. The Second Prince was already dead, his remaining forces leaderless and incapable of such precise revenge. Other collateral nobles, though dissatisfied with Carlos's ruthlessness, dared not touch his sore spot, especially since Carlos was now the closest to the crown prince.

"Not an external force, nor collateral nobles..." Sara muttered to himself, his gaze falling on the gloomy sky outside the window. "The only one with motive and hidden power is her."

A name clearly surfaced in his mind—Queen Anne, the third queen of the Sala Empire's emperor and the biological mother of the late Princess Elizabeth.

"Carlos killed her daughter; how could she let it go?" Sara's eyes grew deep. Elizabeth was Queen Anne's only attachment in this cold royal family, her entire spiritual pillar. For power, Carlos had cruelly taken her daughter away. This blood feud was enough to drive any mother to unleash astonishing strength.

Though Queen Anne had no significant power in the empire, she had quietly cultivated her own secret lines over years of low-key living—perhaps loyal old servants in the palace, or hidden guards she brought from her homeland. These forces, seemingly insignificant in peacetime, could deliver a fatal blow at a critical moment.

And Carlos had precisely overlooked this threat from a woman. In his deeply ingrained view, women were always accessories in power struggles. Whether it was a powerless queen like Anne or other noblewomen, none deserved his attention. He thought that by eliminating the Second Prince and the little princess, he could rest easy, forgetting the fire a mother could unleash after losing her daughter.

"He underestimated Queen Anne too much." Sara shook his head slightly, feeling a trace of mockery at Carlos's arrogance. Carlos always prided himself on being a rational political creature, but his contempt for women had led him to make such a fatal mistake.

Queen Anne indeed lacked the ability to strike directly at Carlos himself—the First Prince was heavily guarded and not weak in personal strength; assassinating him was nearly impossible. But dealing with a five-year-old royal grandson was much easier.

The wind outside grew stronger, blowing rose petals from the flower wall to fall one after another, as if mourning this cruel game of power.