Massed Troops, Southlyn Sends No Envoy

Not seeing Ninth Royal Uncle, Prince Damien of Southlyn wasn't surprised—nor did he care. As the victor, Ninth Royal Uncle had no reason to waste time on someone fated never to rise again.

Likewise, for Prince Damien, meeting Ninth Royal Uncle was irrelevant; either way, everything he wanted to say, Ninth Royal Uncle had already heard. He trusted that Nolan would arrange his future for him.

Although he would lose his freedom because of it, what did that matter? At least he was still alive—and as long as he lived, there was always a chance to make a comeback.

Of course, if he could make Ninth Royal Uncle lose two trusted subordinates in the process, that would be even more perfect.

With this in mind, even locked up by Ninth Royal Uncle, Damien's mood was excellent. He no longer self-harmed as before, but took care of his health, staying cheerful every day—showing none of the gloom or agitation of a prisoner. Even his once-dark eyes had become strikingly calm.

Damien behaved nothing like a typical prisoner—his eerie calm unsettled everyone.

Damien's abnormal tranquility caught the attention of both Ninth Royal Uncle and Serena. The two couldn't figure out what he was up to.

Had he accepted his fate?

Impossible. If Damien had truly accepted his fate, he wouldn’t have played his final trump card. So if it’s not resignation—then what is it?

"The world of madmen can't be understood by normal people." After thinking for ages, Serena still couldn’t make sense of it and gave up. Anyway, as long as Damien was tightly watched, no matter what tricks he had, he couldn’t use them.

Compared to Damien’s situation, Serena and Ninth Royal Uncle were far more concerned about Tyre City’s movements.

Eastlyn’s main army had already withdrawn from the Night City vortex, and after two months’ rest, was fully restored to fighting strength. Yet Tyre City still hadn’t stopped reinforcing troops at the border.

"Could Tyre City be planning to break through Shandong?" Others might not know, but Tyre City, bordering Shandong, had definitely noticed something unusual there.

Was this a probe, or provocation—and who was pulling the strings behind the scenes?

After the last battle, Tyre City was left devastated. Having paid huge war reparations to Ninth Royal Uncle and Prince Nathan of Southlyn, Tyre City had survived on loans ever since. Without secret support, it couldn’t possibly mobilize troops.

"Northlyn, Liancastle, and the Cui Clan." Ninth Royal Uncle named the three most likely backers.

"Northlyn knows about the Phoenixfield Clan, but they lack the means to support Tyre City—they can’t even feed themselves. Liancastle and the Cui Clan, though, are real possibilities." The list of powers who both knew her identity and had the resources to help was short.

"Leave it to me." Ninth Royal Uncle agreed to investigate, but also told Serena that Eastlyn would not reinforce Shandong.

If they sent more troops, they’d only alert the enemy. Tyre City would never make a move then.

If Tyre City didn’t attack, Eastlyn would have no excuse to strike back.

Serena understood this well. She trusted her clan—Phoenixfield could defend Shandong even without Eastlyn reinforcements. But...

Serena had no intention of letting Phoenixfield troops just guard Shandong. Her plan was to wait until Tyre City attacked Shandong—then, with Tyre’s defenses thin at home, she’d lead her forces in, storm Tyre City, and seize it outright.

"Just imagine—when Lord Tyre finds out that while he was fighting Eastlyn at the front, his old lair got snatched from behind, what kind of face will he make?" Serena’s lips curled, her eyes flashing with sly, confident delight.

If Tyre City was courting disaster, she wouldn’t hold back. She’d been worrying about where to find new territory for her clan—Tyre City was the perfect choice.

"Borrow the road?" To flank Tyre City from behind, she’d have to pass through Southlyn. No one else could pull that off—but Serena could.

"Nathan may be under pressure in Southlyn, but he can handle a small favor like this." The Southlyn–Tyre border lay in a remote, desolate northern town—Southlyn barely paid it any attention, apart from stationing a few troops there.

Back when Nathan led troops against Tyre City, he brought this area under his control too. Most of the border was held by his men, so arranging passage wouldn’t be hard.

"Write to him quickly—otherwise, it’ll be too late." Ninth Royal Uncle advised. Serena asked why, but he only shook his head, telling her not to worry; Nathan wouldn’t come to harm.

He only gave half an answer, leaving Serena anxious. No matter how she pressed, Ninth Royal Uncle wouldn’t explain; when she demanded, he simply said, "The situation isn’t clear yet—not even I know for sure."

Well, there was no point asking further now.

Of course, Serena did consider asking William Wang Jinling, but... One look at the man beside her, and she quietly dismissed the idea.

Because of Feng Jin, William had to stand guard in the palace for an hour every day. She’d better not make things more complicated for him.

Time slipped by quietly. There were only three days left until Damien’s public execution. Envoys from every kingdom and city had arrived in Eastlyn and settled into their respective inns.

Westlyn and Northlyn sent envoys who were actual royal family members with real authority. The city envoys were all local heavyweights, people who could speak for their cities and make decisions.

Clearly, Eastlyn still commanded respect and caution—and this visit was taken very seriously.

Yet, as the execution day drew closer, the Southlyn envoy still hadn’t appeared. Everyone found it inexplicable.

After all, Damien was still Southlyn royalty—even if his name was struck from the register, that fact remained. When Ninth Royal Uncle proposed a public execution, Southlyn had objected. Now, with the execution imminent, why hadn’t Southlyn sent anyone?

"Is Southlyn afraid?" Some recalled the recent turmoil there and wondered if something had happened.

"If Damien is executed just like this, what face will the Southlyn royal house have left?" Letting Ninth Royal Uncle execute Damien would drag Southlyn’s prestige to rock bottom—after this, anyone could look down on Southlyn.

At first, speculation about Southlyn only circulated among the envoys; outsiders knew nothing. But when the day of Damien’s execution arrived and still no Southlyn envoy had appeared, even the onlookers realized what was happening.

“What is Southlyn playing at—just letting themselves be humiliated?” William Wang Jinling, for once, frowned deeply, his dissatisfaction with the Southlyn King growing stronger.

Everyone knew Southlyn’s royal house carried Wang blood. Whatever Damien had done, Wang blood still ran in his veins. No matter his crimes, it should be Southlyn’s royal house that judged him.

Earlier, Southlyn hadn’t stopped Ninth Royal Uncle’s decision—William didn’t blame them for that; he’d seen how forceful Ninth Royal Uncle could be. But now, with the execution imminent, Southlyn hadn’t acted or even sent anyone. Would they really let Ninth Royal Uncle execute Damien in public, trampling Southlyn and the Wang family’s dignity?

If Damien really died in Eastlyn, what dignity would Southlyn’s royal house have left? What dignity would the Wang family have left?