“The imperial concubine’s younger sister took Your Highness and fled, and since then there’s been no news. Over the years, His Majesty has secretly sent countless people to search, always believing Your Highness had perished—until three years ago, when there was finally a clue, and we were sent to fetch you.” James Sullivan explained briefly, “We have never been able to reveal our identities. Please forgive us, Your Highness…”

Charles was both amused and exasperated, feeling that Mr. Sullivan’s brain might be filled with engine oil, since even the story he made up didn’t add up—according to him, Xiuniang was the imperial concubine’s sister? Could it be that the imperial concubine was also a barbarian?

And besides, if the emperor sent people to look for his son, would he only send two? Even if the emperor was so poor that he could barely scrape together a living, and could only spare two people from all the officials and generals in the court, why have these two not revealed their identities after being here for over two years?

The legendary Xuan Iron Battalion general lived next door—didn’t he know that Xiuniang had been secretly colluding with the barbarians all along? Why didn’t he stop her?

Charles abruptly interrupted him: “You’ve got the wrong person.”

James Sullivan: “Your Highness…”

“You’ve got the wrong person!” Charles was utterly exhausted, suddenly no longer wanting to entangle himself with these people full of lies. “Put me down. I’m just the bastard child that barbarian woman had with some mountain bandit. How could I possibly be worthy of the Xuan Iron Battalion’s general risking his life to save me? How could I possibly be worthy of you great figures taking me as your godson?”

Hearing the last sentence, James Sullivan couldn’t help but sigh, feeling that most of Charles’s anger was actually directed at William Sullivan, and he himself had just been caught in the crossfire.

He gently gripped Charles’s flailing foot. “Forgive my rudeness—Your Highness’s right little toe is slightly bent, exactly the same as His Majesty’s. It is the mark of a dragon’s son—there can be no mistake.”

Charles jerked his foot back, feeling even colder inside.

He remembered this very clearly—this foot was not born this way. When he was a child, Xiuniang had smashed it herself, ignoring his cries and screams, breaking one of his toes, then binding it in the way women’s feet were bound, forcing it into a deformity.

Dragon’s son, my ass—how could they make up something like this?

☆ Chapter 9: Killing Intent

At that moment, a familiar wailing reached Charles’s ears. He turned his head and saw the butcher Ge’s head and a pig’s head hanging from the railing. The butcher’s plump wife’s face was ashen, crushed beneath a collapsed wall, already lifeless. The crying of their chubby child came intermittently from not far away. Charles was startled, forgetting everything else, and blurted out, “That sounds like the butcher’s chubby Ge…”

James Sullivan didn’t stop, flying past.

Charles thought he hadn’t heard: “Wait!”

James Sullivan said, “I am under orders to escort Your Highness out of the city. I cannot be delayed.”

His voice came from behind the iron mask, sounding just like cold iron covered in frost in the depths of winter.

Charles was stunned.

The howling wind brushed past his ears, clammy cold sweat belatedly trickling down his spine, and everywhere he touched was the cold armor of Xuan Iron—so cold, just like the iron wrist cuff on his arm that never warmed up.

Chubby Ge was the best at acting cute; when he smiled, his eyes disappeared, mischievous and clever—no one disliked him.

Charles suddenly asked in a low voice, “Isn’t he your student too?”

In James Sullivan’s eyes, were these students he spent every day with just part of his two-year imperial mission?

Well, for the big shots of the Xuan Iron Battalion, what did a little Yan Hui City matter?

What did the butcher’s child matter?

In this world, perhaps some people’s lives are just worth more than others. Being likable doesn’t make you precious.

Of course, James Sullivan wasn’t as cold-blooded as his armor, but right now he was alone, and the mission had to come first—there could be no mistakes.

The Western Regions had just submitted, and all the elite of the Xuan Iron Battalion were stationed there. They had only brought a small contingent, and after two years of laying the net, they had to strike in one blow and catch the big fish.

If they succeeded, they could buy three to five years of peace for the northern frontier. If not, all would be lost.

The reasons behind this were too complicated to explain in a few words to a half-grown child.

James Sullivan said hoarsely, “Forgive me, Your Highness… Your Highness!”

It turned out that Charles had taken advantage of his distraction, bending down to reach the lock on the elbow of James Sullivan’s Xuan Iron armor.

Naturally, the heavy armor of the Xuan Iron Battalion wouldn’t open with just a tug, but he did manage to push James Sullivan’s steel arm aside by an inch—James Sullivan had to retreat. It was the first time Charles had seen Xuan Iron armor, and he had no idea how different it was from the shoddy armor of Yan Hui City’s guards—if the Xuan Iron armor was forcibly damaged like this, the spring-loaded lock could snap a tree as thick as a man’s arms.

With that inch, Charles nimbly pulled out his own foot and somersaulted off James Sullivan’s shoulder.

“I am not Your Highness,” Charles stood two steps away, looking at him, his face even darker than the Xuan Iron armor. “My foot is no dragon’s claw—it’s a cripple made by my mother with broken porcelain shards. If she really had any connection to the royal family as you say, maybe she just wanted to create a fake to confuse the royal bloodline. I see you’re in a hurry, General, so you must have more important things to do. I’m not afraid of death, nor do I intend to steal any golden identity. Now that I’ve made things clear, I won’t delay you any longer.”