Chapter 299: Nighttime Assassination

More than a year later, inside the castle of the Ruirike Family.

In the study, Lord Ruirike sat on a high‑backed chair, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the oak desk, listening as his subordinates gave a detailed report on the movements of the young man whose name now spreads through every street and alley.

"Sir, Prince Arthur cleared a nest of ogres in the northern border forest and rescued a dozen‑plus villagers who had been abducted."

"Two months ago, he exterminated a band of water bandits that had ravaged the Swamp Area in the west, and is said to have personally beheaded their leader."

"When a Werewolf was sighted in a village of Hawen County, he received the news and rode out overnight, single‑handedly dealing with the creature."

"Moreover, wherever he goes, he helps the locals repair houses, mediate disputes, and even personally works the fields to demonstrate new farming methods…"

The subordinate flipped through the records, his tone unintentionally tinged with admiration, "Now the common folk are singing his deeds."

"The peasants say that the prince who drew the Stone Sword is the one truly concerned with their lives and deaths."

The reporter paused, lowering his voice slightly, with a trace of worry:

"Now the subjects below are extremely supportive of Prince Arthur, while they harbor considerable complaints toward us nobles who have delayed his formal ascension to the throne…"

"Dissatisfied voices have already arisen in many places, claiming that the nobles are obstructing Arthur's coronation simply because they don't want the people to enjoy better lives; the public's indignation… is spreading."

Ruirike raised his hand, signaling that the report could stop.

He rose slowly and paced to the tall arched window.

Outside, it was the spring‑plowing season; the farmers of his domain were laboring diligently in the fields, sunlight spilling onto their bronze‑colored backs.

He stood there in silence for a long while, his gaze far‑reaching, as if piercing the scene before him to see the undercurrents surging through the entire kingdom.

At last, he sighed softly, his voice carrying a hint of helplessness, a hint of relief, and the clear‑sightedness of a statesman:

"It seems… the Royal Throne can only be taken by him…"

He turned, and all the hesitation and scheming on his face had faded, replaced by resolve.

Since the great tide was set and unstoppable, the wisest choice was to go with it rather than become a stubborn stone smashed by the wave.

"Release the news," Ruirike's voice regained its former steadiness and authority, "that I, Ruirike, and my family are ever ready to welcome Prince Arthur's coronation as king."

Each of his words landed with weight:

"Moreover, we have made flawless preparations and can at any moment take part in the New King's coronation Ritual."

He looked at his subordinates, his gaze clear: "Go, let everyone who should know understand our stance."

The subordinate understood instantly, bowing, "Yes, sir!"

The reporter turned and hurried away, the study door closing softly.

Ruirike once again cast his gaze outward.

It was not merely his personal decision, but a strong signal.

With this weighty lord being the first to declare publicly, the aristocratic alliance that had been hesitating and stalling was likely to crumble soon.

Arthur's Royal Throne could now be shaken by no one.

As for the dim‑witted and obstinate ones..........

Then may they at least hold out longer under the New King.

Tonight, many are destined to lose sleep.

When Lord Ruirike's statement supporting Arthur spread like wings, some felt relieved, some watched, but others kindled fierce anger and murderous intent.

For example, Duke Bosite.

He is one of the most powerful dukes in the kingdom, his lands among the most extensive, and was the key figure who previously advocated deciding the throne's succession through a Duel.

His military strength is great, his wealth abundant, and he commands unanimous support among the nobles.

Had it not been for Arthur, the Son of Destiny, bursting onto the scene, he would have had a huge chance to emerge victorious in the Duel and subsequent power struggles, and don the coveted crown!

However, with the Stone Sword drawn and Merlin confirming the bloodline, even a power broker like Ruirike now sides with Arthur… his years‑long ambitions and schemes are about to go down the drain.

How could he be content?!

Thus, he resolved to take a reckless gamble, using the most direct and thorough method to clear the final obstacle to the throne—eliminate Arthur!

The night was deep, moonlight like liquid mercury filtered through sparse foliage, spilling onto a silent clearing in the woods.

A squad of cavalry stood there like statues, about thirty strong, each clad in fine armor, waist‑sheathed long swords, bearing lances, and even their warhorses seemed specially trained, exhaling faint white breath, hooves nervously pawing the ground yet barely making a sound.

A murderous aura spread through the forest.

At the head was a man of especially towering, hulking stature; even atop his horse, his imposing presence could be felt.

He wore no helmet, revealing a weather‑worn, sharply chiseled face, his eyes flashing under the moonlight with hawk‑like sharp, icy light.

It was Duke Bosite himself! He had come in person.

Not only to ensure flawless execution, but also because he possessed the strength and confidence to act personally.

Duke Bosite himself was a formidable warrior, his fame for valor spreading across the kingdom. He once faced a Level 7 Magic in direct combat and, relying on superb martial skill, brutally shattered the opponent's magical shield to claim victory! This feat cemented his status as a top‑tier strongman.

And the thirty cavalry he brought now were far from ordinary soldiers.

They were his most elite, loyal, and strongest bodyguards, each a battle‑hardened veteran risen from seas of corpses, masters of combined formations, coordinating flawlessly.

Bosite was confident that, with their battle formation, even against a Level 8 Magic they possessed the strength for a fight, perhaps even to strangle it!

Such a powerful lineup to confront a youth not yet twenty years old?

Bosite's mouth curled a cold, confident smile.

In his view, this was no overblown effort, but a lion battling a rabbit, giving it his all.

What he wanted was absolute success, allowing no mishap!

Although Arthur's fame has skyrocketed in the past year, slaying many monsters and bandits, to a true battlefield veteran like Bosite, those deeds are mere skirmishes, the achievements of a wandering knight, incomparable to real war and clashes among top‑tier strongmen.

"Innate talent? Stone Sword endorsement?" Bosite snorted coldly in his mind:

"A dead man is nothing at all!"

"Tonight Merlin is not by your side; I wonder how you'll survive!"

Moonlight illuminated the cold metallic sheen on his armor and the unabashed murderous intent in his eyes.

He felt that tonight, Arthur Pandragong—this suddenly appearing, troublesome prince—was sure to die!