Andre immediately stood up, his face regaining that calm and composed expression.
Despite their grandfather-grandson relationship, in matters concerning power, there always remained a subtle distance and alertness between them.
"Grandfather, aren’t you supposed to be resting?"
He asked, his voice carrying both concern and a hint of vigilance.
August waved his hand and slowly sat down in the chair opposite Andre.
"At a time like this, who has time for rest?"
The old man’s voice was deep and hoarse, carrying an unhideable worry:
"I just received news that there has been a breach of Abyssal aura at the Black Mist School, and now the school has begun evacuating, probably unable to protect itself."
Andre’s expression immediately turned serious: "What? Is the news accurate?"
He had been busy with the throne struggle recently, reducing his contact with the Black Mist School.
But this news was significant, if the school was indeed in crisis, then his connection with Ron might also be affected.
Moreover, such a level of crisis could spread to surrounding areas, even affecting the stability of the Faruk Kingdom.
August nodded, worry appearing on his face.
His aged fingers unconsciously rubbed an ancient badge on his robe, a symbol of his identity while practicing at the Black Mist School:
"Very accurate. This news was brought to me by my old friend Hom, who fortunately left the school before the evacuation.
According to his description, there are already apparent signs of contamination within the school, especially in areas near the Abyss passage, where traces of aberrant creatures have started to appear."
The old man paused, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes:
"Speaking of which, your so-called proud Ron is probably also trapped in crisis and unable to extricate himself now.
Just an undeveloped apprentice, facing such a crisis, the chance of coming out unscathed is nearly impossible."
Andre frowned but did not refute. He understood that his grandfather always held a skeptical attitude towards Ron.
This attitude was not uncommon among those old and rigid in thinking, who struggled to acknowledge the value of newcomers unless they personally witnessed their power.
"Furthermore." August’s voice lowered, a tone of reproach:
"Your recent actions have been too aggressive. Large-scale hunts for your siblings, pushing them to a dead end, have led some to even choose the path of perversion, shaming the royal family."
As he spoke, the old man’s gaze became stern, revealing a blade-like sharpness beneath his amiable exterior:
"A throne struggle is understandable, but completely severing family ties, a bloodbath in the royal family, this approach is really excessive.
Your brothers are certainly no saints, but at least they understood restraint, playing power games without harming the royal family’s overall interest. They merely wanted to expel you, not annihilate you completely."
Andre’s eyes showed coldness, the muscles on his face involuntarily tensed.
He felt a familiar rage coursing through his veins, the instinctual reaction of the Red Blood Flying Dragon Bloodline.
But he quickly regained his composure, taking deep breaths to suppress the impulse.
The specially trained expression management skills proved especially useful in such situations.
Emotions are the most unreliable advisor, especially in power struggles, where a moment of impulsiveness could lead to irreparable consequences.
"Grandfather, I know you’re concerned about the family’s unity, but the current situation allows no room for hesitation."
He explained seriously, his voice carrying undeniable firmness:
"Eldest brother and second brother started scheming long ago, attempting to seize power when Father passes away.
They secretly bribed the captain of the royal guard and even prepared a forged royal decree.
If I didn’t strike first, I’m afraid the one standing here now would be one of them, while I might have been secretly executed."
Andre’s memory returned to those days just after he returned to the Royal Capital, the warm welcome from his eldest brother hiding a carefully laid trap, the cordial concern from his second brother masking deadly poison.
If not for Ron’s gift and warning, he might have already met his demise.
August sighed deeply, a glimpse of helplessness in his eyes.
His fingers unconsciously traced over the robe:
"You’re too impatient, Andre. To inherit the throne requires not only courage and decisiveness, but also wisdom and patience.
If all your siblings become enemies, you will live in fear and suspicion forever, even if you sit on the throne, it will be hard to have peace of mind."
The old man’s gaze grew sharp, staring directly into Andre’s eyes, as if penetrating all disguises, reaching straight into the depths of his soul:
"Every step of your actions must lay the foundation for future governance.
If you continue such a massacre, on the day you truly ascend the throne, there might be hardly any nobles who dare to express their true thoughts to you.
A king needs loyalty, but also needs genuine voices, otherwise, it’s easy to be blinded by flattery and lies."
Andre was about to answer when a sharp cry suddenly came from outside the window, interrupting their conversation.
August was startled by the sudden sound, reflexively raising his hand to cast a spell.
A black bird, twice the size of a normal parrot, appeared on the windowsill, its red eyes flickering with an unnatural glow, its beak slightly open, revealing a rolled-up note inside.
Its feathers gleamed with a metallic sheen under the sunlight, the entire body exuding a sense of non-natural creature.