175 The Cursed Blood

The evening bells came from the direction of the Westminster Palace. The glow of the sunset fell from the sky and cascaded over the white city, making the royal palace shine majestically. Light passed through the narrow, colorful window and dimmed.

The dim light fell on Hermes's face. Sitting on the chair, he looked at the intricate patterns on the stained glass in boredom. Behind him was a heavy curtain.

Compared to the splendor of the royal palace, this room was too simple and too clean. There was not even the slightest bit of décor. The smell of medicine hung heavily in the air. A woman’s hoarse cough sounded faintly behind the curtain, making the room seem like a hospital; however, this was not a hospital room, but the bedchamber of the Queen.

-

Through the curtain, one could vaguely see a black iron coffin shaking crazily. The iron coffin was shaped like a gigantic infant. It had complete facial features and limbs. It seemed that something strange was sealed inside of it, and it emitted a strong smell of blood.

Some monks with gloomy expressions stood around the coffin. They were dressed in white, and were bald and barefoot, standing in a pool of blood. They took sharp iron thorns from their assistants and nailed them into the prepared holes on the coffin with expertise and cruelty. The thorns pierced into the living creature inside, digging into the bone.

The coffin trembled wildly as each nail was put in. The woman imprisoned inside screamed painfully with a hoarse voice. Blood spilled out from the holes endlessly, and dyed the monks’ white robes and hands black.

Yes, it was black. The sticky black blood gathered beneath the iron coffin and meandered along the reserved grooves before finally dropping into a silver urn.

"Enough." During the long ordeal, Hermes suddenly spoke up, making the monks pause.

Someone carefully lifted the copper kettle from the stove. Some sort of light golden liquid boiled inside quietly. It flashed with red light as if it was melted iron. The burning ‘melted iron’ spilled out as the copper kettle was poured. It flowed through the coffin into the mouth of the woman. Gulping sounds could be heard from the coffin. They were full of greed.

The long nails stabbed into the coffin shook as they were forced out by the power brewing inside. The nails fell on the ground one by one, making crisp and heart-stopping sounds. Finally, the ‘melted iron’ had all been drained into that mouth. Not a drop remained.

The monks collected the long nails and tools, then silently retreated and disappeared into the darkness. The only sound in the stillness was the heavy pants from inside the iron coffin.

"More." In the iron coffin, the woman’s hoarse voice came again, "I need more…"

"It is beyond the limit, Your Majesty." Hermes shook his head. "If we add more, even the Red Dragon’s blood vessels would break down. The effect of the potion is getting worse, and if the guys at the Research Institute still can’t find a new way, it’ll be hard to maintain this situation, let alone find a cure."

"...It is because the curse is getting stronger," the hoarse voice said. "It’s getting stronger and stronger. I won’t be able to suppress it soon."

"Yes, Avalon’s Shadow is calling. It’ll wake soon. That’s why the perception of the curse is intensifying," Hermes said. "Your Majesty, you should’ve known long ago that there is no cure. Unless the curse is eradicated, it’ll always haunt the descendants of the royal family. You have to pay for what you’ve done."

The woman in the coffin was silent for a long time. Then the hoarse voice asked softly, "How much longer do I have?"

"Five years is the maximum. Then, you will die in pain and madness as Arthur did. Or in one year, you will die in your sleep as the Prince of the Thames did..." Grimly and bluntly, Hermes continued, "If I may say, the most important thing for you now is to choose an heir since the crown prince is a retard...True, he didn’t inherit the curse, but if he inherits the throne, the entire country will be cursed, rather than the royal family."

Faced with such blasphemy, the Queen was not angry. Instead, she pondered and asked, "How about the crown princess?"

"Her Highness Mary?" Hermes thought for a while and nodded. "She could be considered, but her cursed blood is no less than yours. You’re the one on the throne, but I’m afraid that she’s been affected too. I’ve heard stories about her since five years ago."

"…" The Queen was silent and sighed softly after a long time. "When will the humiliation of the past generations be cleared? I've given so much. Isn't it enough? "

"Because everything you’ve done has been useless." Hermes’s voice became cruel. "Whether it’s the secret research that the Royal Research Institute is doing, or the purification technology for the Eastern Dragon Bloodlines, they are all in vain. These things can’t solve the core of the problem at all.

"That’s why you let the parliament study taboo technology freely, and let them explore the ‘Blood Path,’ right? Unfortunately, it’s impossible to reverse the situation with these things. Even if they succeed, they’ll only worsen the outcome."

After a long silence, the Queen in the iron coffin sighed. "Is Anglo doomed?"

"Perhaps. But, Your Majesty, you have another choice." Hermes raised his eyes and smiled meaningfully. "Why don't you try to trust me? I am the greatest artist, alchemist, composer, and musician in the world. This curse is a desperate situation, but if the royal family is willing to let me study it, there might be a way."

These words seemed like a frivolous joke, but everyone knew that the trader would never lie. If he said he could solve it, then he was certainly able to solve it. If he said there was a way, then there must be a way. He seemed to be able to do everything in the world, as long as one paid the price...

If these words were heard by other people in desperate situations, they would have definitely been ecstatic and see it as a glimmer of light in the darkness, as their last lifeline. But the Queen did not refuse or agree. She did not have even the smallest bit of joy in her expression. Instead, she fell silent. Fury exuded from the silence. It was murderous!

"Hermes, have I not tolerated you enough?" she asked in a cold voice. "Do not provoke the limits of the royal family, and do not do unnecessary things! Letting you live in this country is already the limit. It’s been so many years. Don’t you understand? No matter what you do, no matter where you are, all you make is chaos and destruction."

"Oh, that really hurts me." Hermes sighed. "Have I gone from your good friend to a prop? Passion is so fragile. Arthur deserved to..."

The one behind the curtain was silent, but the smell of blood was full of murderous wrath.

Hermes, feeling the sting of the murderous intent, revealed a respectful expression. "Rest assured, Your Majesty, I’ll keep my promise. All these years, I’ve never done anything, right?"

"Good, because you don't have to do anything, Hermes. There’s no need for you to be here either," the Queen said coldly. "Don't you like watching? Sit there and be quiet. That’s all you need to do."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Hermes bowed, and the corners of his lips curled into a wistful smile. "As I witnessed the beginning from Arthur, I will witness the end from you."

-

In the long corridor, the door to the bedchamber opened silently, and Hermes exited. He seemed to be in a good mood, but he was always like this—a frivolous expression, cheerful gait, and a strange, elusive smile.

Just behind the door, an old man stood near the wall, as if waiting for the Queen's summon. When Hermes saw the old man, he stopped and smiled more warmly.

"Ah, I didn’t expect you, old guy. Long time no see." Hermes studied at the old man before him. "You haven’t died yet?"

"I’m old but vigorous." The man known as the Shaman glanced at him. "Also, I’m not the one Ye Lanzhou referred to as ‘old guy,’ Hermes."

"Oh, that’s why I wish you would die soon. Two of men sharing a nickname is as shameful as wearing the same pair of trousers." Hermes looked expectantly at the Shaman. "Please, hurry up and die. Deal?"

The Shaman just shook his head. "Sorry, I’ve recently learned from someone that life is precious, so I refuse."

"That’s okay. You don’t have much longer to live anyway." Hermes stretched out his hand and carefully fixed the Shaman’s collar for him. Finally, Hermes patted him on the shoulder and gently comforted him, "The life of trash is hard. Enjoy the rest of your life, for, after death, there is no more joy to speak of."

The Shaman was silent but Hermes chuckled. Humming, he turned away, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

-

After a long while, the door opened again. The Shaman entered in silence, lifted the curtain, tread over the dried blood on the ground and approached, kneeling one knee. Facing the iron coffin, he lowered his head.

"Long time no see. I thought you had really gone." A hoarse sigh came from the coffin.

The Shaman shook his head. "Avalon is here. How can I leave? I will never leave you, Your Majesty."

And so, the hoarse voice in the iron coffin laughed in pleasure. "Hearing such heartfelt words of love as an old woman feels really good. It’s as if I’ve returned to my younger days."

"You are beautiful as ever." The Shaman stared at the iron coffin as if his vision had penetrated the hideous ridges and fell upon that gloomy face.

"Don't say such sad words." The Queen's voice had an undertone of fatigue. "’You’ve appeared with this look again. Do you have good news for me?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." The Shaman whispered, "From now on, all of Avalon is in your hands!"