Chapter 250: The Gap

"I imagine someone who makes a living by compiling family genealogies would know this well." Greene pulled out a chair for the monk and brought over an empty wooden crate, turning it upside down to sit beside the table.

"Tell me in detail."

"If you'd like to hear it, of course there's no problem—but please wait a moment." Monk Ma Erke carefully lowered his buttocks onto the chair seat, as if iron spikes had suddenly sprouted from the backrest of the Inquisition's chair.

He rummaged through the piles of books on the table, selecting two large, old-fashioned volumes with less dust, coughed a few times, then covered his mouth and nose as he picked out several seemingly worthless private collections, stacking them together.

After inspecting his preparations, he steadied his breathing and opened the topmost book.

Dazzling patterns flashed before his eyes, arranged and layered in ways difficult for laymen to distinguish, dividing the space within the shield-shaped borders.

"You know, a family that has endured long enough may have more members than leaves on a tree—and many leaves, from growth to withering, never learn where they truly came from."

"But to those who understand how to read them and are willing to spend the time, every leaf can be traced back to a clear trunk—and the further back you go, the easier it becomes."

Greene nodded repeatedly, recalling the feeling of sitting in a classroom, the drowsiness brought by the afternoon sun feeling just as familiar, "That's precisely why I came here."

"My job, roughly speaking, is to gather fallen leaves and reassemble them where they belong. And within this, crests serve as guiding markers—and the best evidence."

"Theoretically, every valid crest can be used to locate a branch's position within the entire genealogy, reflecting the owner's bloodline, legal authority, and territory, and thus allowing us to infer events that occurred in the past."

"One could even say that crests are history itself." With a smooth opening, the monk regained his rhythm and confidence, "For instance, this four-part shield: the upper-left and lower-right quarters are blue with four-pointed stars; the upper-right and lower-left are sword-fish."

"This indicates the crest's owner came from the union of two families of equal status. The paternal family's emblem is the four-pointed star; the maternal family's crest is the sword-fish. The horizontal serrated bar above was added because he was not the heir, and needed to distinguish himself from the family's legitimate line."

"This is merely one of the simpler rules among the basics—not all crests follow this pattern, nor can everyone afford to hire professional heralds for advice—but overall, determining the order of several generations is still possible."

"So if you're given a crest's details, you can identify its owner?" Greene recalled the pattern he'd discerned from the armor—perhaps its usefulness would be greater than he'd imagined.

"As I said earlier, theoretically yes." In other words, practical difficulties existed.

"In families that generally follow the rules, verification is never difficult—but the family you're asking about isn't an ordinary one. The royal family has always occupied an awkward position in heraldry."

"The kingdom's rulers ought to adhere most strictly to inheritance rules—that's the legal foundation of their rule." For the largest noble house to have such a flaw in its genealogy was profoundly implausible.

"The problem lies in the royal family's own origins—they are not a simple, historically documented noble lineage." The monk picked up the holy scripture resting on the table's edge and placed it in the center, "The first King Nos was still a legendary figure."

"As a legendary figure ranked alongside the Saints, who spread the Light of the Heavenly Father throughout the kingdom, accounts of his deeds are plentiful—from being chosen by the sword to unifying the kingdom. I assume you're already familiar with them."

"But as a family member—father's son, child's father, husband to a wife—that part is… far less specific." Observing the Inquisition priest's reaction, Monk Ma Erke was pleased to see no clear disapproval—on the contrary, the man listened intently, encouraging him further.

Discussing content barely brushing against heresy with an Inquisition official was not an experience anyone could claim.

And for someone deeply immersed in a specialized field with little social interaction, few people would listen so attentively to such ancient, dry, and tedious facts compared to legendary tales.

"So what's the reality?"

"In reality, the royal genealogy is far from clear. Our first king, Arthur Pendragon, was the youngest child in his family. Saint Yeger had already seen his seven older brothers before choosing him under the Lord's guidance."

"Suppose—I say suppose—a noble family raised at least eight children. Wouldn't someone almost certainly inherit?"

"Correct," Greene nodded.

"Excluding that one exception, we might now have at most seven individuals to carry forward the crest patterns, preserving them."

"Then what was that crest?"

"Exactly—what was that crest? No one knows, because the holy scripture does not record the names or deeds of the chosen one's relatives unless they're directly tied to the story."

This holy scripture bore a strong personal style, with special annotations for characters—even those who were merely background figures.

Additionally, certain passages concerning environment and upbringing had been marked, confirming this was a family of modest standing, yet still possessing a lineage.

He closed the now-valueless scripture and opened the first few pages of another large volume. Unlike other books with tree-like genealogical structures, the simplest, purest Sword-in-the-Stone emblem was listed separately alongside several modified variants.

"Moreover, after King Arthur Pendragon, the royal succession remained unclear. We can find multiple Sword-in-the-Stone crests with two or more modifications, yet no corresponding ancestral crests upstream."

"The sun's light obscures the stars and moon; the authority of the holy scripture's narrative seems to have entirely eclipsed all records of the royal family's divisions, alliances, and marriages during that period."

"Every scholar attempting to trace the royal lineage hits a glaring gap here—like one step still within the realm of heraldic historiography, and the next step treading into the realm of revealed legend."

"We can't even verify the meaning of the added symbols—whether from branch divisions, marital alliances, or inherited elements from the original crest. And some of these were never passed down, lost entirely."

He turned more pages; the crests below gradually began to connect with tree-like lines, linking individuals together—but none of these belonged to the time period Greene sought.

"Is there absolutely no clue?"

"Perhaps we simply lack the wisdom to decipher the revelations the scripture has offered." Ma Erke replied with the classic all-purpose explanation.

To Greene, this well-worn evasion carried another layer of meaning.

No trace was itself the greatest trace—some force had deliberately erased a section that should never have been missing.

Yet it hadn't vanished completely; instead, it had survived in a distorted form, guarded openly before all eyes.