The morning mist of the Southern Frontier was as thick as ink, yet to disperse, when a storm of upheaval erupted within the palace walls of the Capital. The Second Prince sat slumped in the imperial palanquin, drenched in blood. His dark armor was crusted with dried, deep-red scabs that shimmered with an eerie luster in the morning light, as if countless aggrieved spirits were clinging to it. In his hand, he clutched a broken command arrow; the words "Border Defense" carved into the shaft were blurred by bloodstains—the ironclad proof of the disastrous defeat at the frontier three days prior.
The sound of hooves drummed urgently. As the palanquin crossed Zhuque Avenue, the heavy thudding against the flagstones created a heartbeat-quickening rhythm. Commoners caught sight of the blood seeping from the gaps in the carriage, and whispers spread like a rising tide. Street vendors hurriedly packed up their stalls, terrified of being stained by this inauspicious omen. The elderly huddled together, their eyes filled with worry and unease; they still remembered the civil strife twenty years ago sparked by the princes’ struggle for power. The nursery rhyme "When dragons fight and tigers brawl, the common people bear the fall" was still whispered on the streets. Children were held tightly in their parents' arms, yet they still peeked out, their innocent eyes filled with a mix of fear and curiosity toward the unknown.
"Your Highness, the Censorate is now under our control," the person…
Chapter 82