第8章 新棋手登場 他的這番表現，在絕大多數旁觀者的眼中，完美地印證了“父子情深，哀慟逾恒”——這 讓他們不約而同地暗自松了一口氣，總算為這壓抑的場景找到了一個合乎情理、也相對安 全的解釋． 於是，“殿下還請節哀順變”、“陛下龍馭上賓，乃帝國之大不幸，我等亦感同身受”、 “請殿下保重身體，帝國還需要您主持大局”之類的撫慰之詞，如同算准了時機的夏日驟 雨般，紛紛落下，虛偽卻又顯得無比“真誠”而“熱烈”． 人群之中，幾位身份最高、資歷最老的重臣，按照禮制，被允許進入寢宮，瞻仰“先皇遺 容”，並準備後續殯葬事宜． 就在這一片或真或假的哀戚氛圍之中，卻有一個人格外不同． 他沒有擠上前去表達廉價的哀悼，也沒有急於與其他權貴交換眼神、傳遞資訊．他只是靜 靜地、近乎透明地倚靠在遠離人群的牆邊陰影處，那雙銳利如鷹隼的眼睛，冷靜地、不帶 任何明顯情緒地觀察著眼前這出人間戲劇． 帝國六位擁有選舉皇帝權力的選帝王爵之一，年僅二十六歲的渡鴉國主，孟祈淵． 他有著一頭柔順的黑褐色短髮，一雙深邃的黑色眼眸，中等偏瘦的身材，容貌精緻得近乎 有些纖弱，似乎與充斥著鐵血與權謀的帝國高層格格不入．任誰第一眼看到他，都很難將 他與“權勢”、“威嚴”或是“野心”這類沉重的詞語聯繫在一起． 但如果有人能剝開那層極具迷惑性的、溫和無害的外衣，便會驚駭地發現，在那看似纖細 的軀殼之下，湧動著的是何等強韌、冷靜的知性，以及如同深淵般難以測度的野心． 能夠真正看透這一點的人，寥寥無幾。 而剛剛經歷了一場弑父風暴的寒煜公，恰好是這極少數人中的一個——他們不僅僅是同齡 人，更曾是皇家書院裡朝夕相處、彼此競爭也彼此瞭解的同窗． 年輕的渡鴉國主，此刻正不動聲色地，將自己與那片虛偽的悲傷洪流隔離開來．他那張總 是帶著一絲若有若無笑意的、看似無害的臉上，此刻卻掠過了一抹難以察覺的、如同刀鋒 般的尖刻． 他的目光，看似隨意地在大廳內掃視，卻在不經意間，精准地落在了寢宮門內，那個被隨 意丟棄在巨大寢床床腳邊的、異常顯眼的羽絨枕頭上． 有什麼不對勁…… 孟祈淵的眉頭微不可察地皺了一下． 他緩緩地、自然地踱步過去，仿佛只是想離那扇敞開的門更近一些．在經過枕頭旁邊時， 他裝作整理衣擺的樣子，極其自然地彎下了腰．就在起身的那一瞬間，他的指尖看似隨意 地拂過了枕頭套的表面． 他的動作快如閃電，隱蔽至極． 但他的視線，卻如同最高明的獵手，捕捉到了那微乎其微的、卻又致命的痕跡—— 在那昂貴的、繡著金線的絲綢枕套表面，殘留著幾處幾乎難以辨識的、顏色略深的濕痕… …那是……唾液的痕跡？ 甚至……在枕頭邊緣的褶皺裡，似乎還卡著……一絲……若有若無的……牙印？！ 難道說…… 孟祈淵在心中低語，呼吸驟然停頓了一瞬。一個石破天驚、卻又似乎是唯一合理解釋的推 論，如同閃電般劃破了他冷靜的思維！ 他緩緩抬起眼，視線再次掠過那些正忙於表演悲痛、或是忙於相互試探的男男女女——這 些被財富、地位和權力層層包裹的、華麗而庸俗的人們． 就在這時！ 另一道目光，如同一道實質性的利劍，撕裂空氣，朝著他猛烈地射來！ 與孟祈淵那冰冷、探究的視線，在半空中轟然碰撞！ 是寒煜公！ 四目相對的刹那，空氣仿佛都凝固、燃燒起來！兩人的目光，如同兩條無形的、淬滿了劇 毒的毒蛇，瞬間兇狠地纏繞、撕咬、角力！無聲的交鋒，在這一刻爆發到了極致！ 然而，僅僅一刹那之後，先移開視線的，卻是寒煜公—— 並非出於內心的退縮或示弱，而是因為一個外部的干擾——宮廷書記官已經躬著身子，亦 步亦趨地來到了他的身邊，在他耳邊用極低的聲音，恭敬地請示關於如何向駐紮在首都的 各國使節，正式發佈皇帝駕崩訃告的繁瑣事宜． 寒煜公深吸一口氣，壓下心中翻騰的情緒，點了點頭．他邁開了沉重的、卻又帶著某種被 強行注入的、不容置疑的意志力的步伐，踩著光潔如鏡、映照出他蒼白臉龐的大理石地板 ，走向了大廳的深處．他的背影，最終消失在那扇厚重的、仿佛能隔絕一切秘密的橡木門 之後． 孟祈淵銳利的視線，如同獵鷹鎖定獵物般，一直追隨著寒煜公的身影，直到那扇門徹底關 閉，隔絕了他的視線． 渡鴉國主那雙漂亮的藍灰色眼眸中，瞬間燃起了兩簇明亮得近乎不馴的、跳躍著的火焰！ 但僅僅一息之後，他便迅速垂下了眼簾，臉上重新掛上了一層無悲無喜、溫和無害的面具 ，將內心所有的驚濤駭浪和熊熊燃燒的火焰，都嚴嚴實實地深深隱藏了起來． 但他內心深處，已經無比確認了． 果然……寒煜公，弑父了． 雖然沒有任何直接的證據，甚至連旁證都談不上．但他相信自己的觀察，相信自己的直覺 ，更相信他對寒煜公和那位老皇帝之間扭曲關係的瞭解． 「冰，已經碎裂了……」 他在心中無聲地默念，感受著胸腔中某種壓抑已久的東西正在蘇醒、膨脹． 「既然碎了，就再也無法恢復原狀了……」 名為＂野心＂、蟄伏在他內心最深處的巨龍，在這一刻，感受到了千載難逢的、充滿了血 腥味的機會，緩緩地、興奮地抬起了它猙獰的頭顱，張開了覬覦已久的巨口． 它的目標，是整個動盪在即的神聖霜息帝國，以及那空懸出來的、象徵著無上權力的—— 皇座！ 內心潛伏著這條巨龍的年輕貴族，靜靜地注視著眼前這即將拉開序幕的混亂大戲，然後用 只有自己能聽到的聲音，低低地、帶著一絲冰冷的興奮，問自己． 「那麼，接下來……我，又該如何落子呢？」 １－８完 「上次那是一大群美女好吧，我不過是忘了帶錢而已，又不是不想付帳．」 Chapter 8: A New Player Enters the Board To the vast majority of onlookers， the Third Prince’s behavior could only mean one thing: a son overwhelmed by grief， bound to his father by deep affection， crushed by loss. That interpretation was comforting. It let everyone in the hall quietly exhale， finally finding a reasonable—and， more importantly， safe—way to explain the stifling atmosphere. And so the condolences began to fall， like a summer downpour that had been waiting just beyond the clouds: “Your Highness， please restrain your sorrow…” “His Majesty’s ascent to the heavens is the Empire’s great misfortune…” “Your body is the pillar of the realm—pray take care…” All of it false. All of it enthusiastic. All of it necessary. Amid this choir of crafted mourning， one man alone did not join. He did not step forward to offer hollow sympathy. He did not trade glances with other nobles. He did not pretend to share in the palace’s grief. He simply stood in the shadows near the wall— quiet， almost weightless— his hawk-sharp eyes observing every detail without giving a single one away. Mont Mentiel， Lord of the Raven Kingdom. One of the six Elector-Kings of the Empire. Twenty-six years old. He wore short， soft dark-brown hair. Eyes so deep and black they seemed carved from obsidian. A slender frame， almost delicate. Refined features that looked too gentle， too harmless， for the iron-blooded world of Imperial politics. At first glance， no one would ever connect him with power， ambition， or the throne. But under that deceptive softness lay a mind of tensile steel— cold， incisive intelligence and an ambition as bottomless as a chasm. Very few could perceive the truth beneath his façade. And Duke Aureus—who had just killed his father—was one of those few. They were the same age. They had studied together at the Royal Academy， competing， observing， understanding. Now， the young Raven Lord quietly isolated himself from the river of false sorrow. A faint， razor-thin sharpness flickered across his usually mild face. His gaze swept the hall— and stopped. Inside the Emperor’s chamber， at the foot of the massive bed， lay a single object: a down pillow， discarded carelessly… far too carelessly. Something was wrong. Mont Mentiel’s brow twitched—almost imperceptibly. He strolled nearer， as though simply seeking a better angle to view the doorway. As he passed the pillow， he bent naturally— adjusting the folds of his robe. In that tiny， fluid instant， his fingertip brushed the silk cover. A movement as fast as lightning. Invisible to all. His eyes caught it immediately— the faint， darker patches of moisture on the gold-threaded surface. Traces of saliva. And there—caught in a crease— a ghostly imprint of teeth. A breath caught in his chest. A single， explosive deduction cut through his mind like a blade. He raised his head— and his gaze swept the crowd of nobles， courtiers， simpering sycophants busily performing grief or probing each other’s reactions. And at that moment— another gaze struck him like an arrow. Aureus. Their eyes collided mid-air— silent， violent， electric. Two predators recognizing the other. It was a clash without words， a silent duel of venom and steel. Only a heartbeat later， Aureus was forced to look away— not from weakness， but because a court scribe had approached him， whispering urgently about the formal diplomatic steps for announcing the Emperor’s death to the foreign envoys. Aureus inhaled， suppressing every storm within him， and walked deeper into the palace， his steps heavy but filled with a cold， irresistible will. The oak door closed behind him， swallowing his retreating figure. Mont Mentiel watched him until the last sliver of that door shut. Then— silently— fire flared in the depths of his blue-gray eyes. Wild， hungry， brilliant. But only for a breath. He lowered his gaze. His face softened again into that gentle， harmless mask— the polite， unthreatening Elector-King everyone believed him to be. Yet within him， certainty crystallized: Aureus had killed the Emperor. No proof. Not even circumstantial evidence. But the pillow told the truth. The timing told the truth. The relationship between father and son told the truth. Mont Mentiel murmured inwardly: “The ice… has cracked.” And once cracked— it would never be whole again. In the depths of his chest， something long-dormant stirred. A dragon— made of pure ambition— raised its monstrous head. Tasting the scent of blood， chaos， and opportunity. Its target: the Holy Frost Empire， and the now-vacant throne. The young lord with a dragon curled in his heart continued to watch the unfolding drama— and whispered to himself， alone， unheard: “The board shifts. Now… what shall my next move be?” 1–8 End “Last time it was a whole group of beautiful girls， all right? I just forgot to bring money. It’s not like I didn’t want to pay.” --

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