第8章 新棋手登场 他的这番表现，在绝大多数旁观者的眼中，完美地印证了“父子情深，哀恸逾恒”——这 让他们不约而同地暗自松了一口气，总算为这压抑的场景找到了一个合乎情理、也相对安 全的解释． 於是，“殿下还请节哀顺变”、“陛下龙驭上宾，乃帝国之大不幸，我等亦感同身受”、 “请殿下保重身体，帝国还需要您主持大局”之类的抚慰之词，如同算准了时机的夏日骤 雨般，纷纷落下，虚伪却又显得无比“真诚”而“热烈”． 人群之中，几位身份最高、资历最老的重臣，按照礼制，被允许进入寝宫，瞻仰“先皇遗 容”，并准备後续殡葬事宜． 就在这一片或真或假的哀戚氛围之中，却有一个人格外不同． 他没有挤上前去表达廉价的哀悼，也没有急於与其他权贵交换眼神、传递资讯．他只是静 静地、近乎透明地倚靠在远离人群的墙边阴影处，那双锐利如鹰隼的眼睛，冷静地、不带 任何明显情绪地观察着眼前这出人间戏剧． 帝国六位拥有选举皇帝权力的选帝王爵之一，年仅二十六岁的渡鸦国主，孟祈渊． 他有着一头柔顺的黑褐色短发，一双深邃的黑色眼眸，中等偏瘦的身材，容貌精致得近乎 有些纤弱，似乎与充斥着铁血与权谋的帝国高层格格不入．任谁第一眼看到他，都很难将 他与“权势”、“威严”或是“野心”这类沉重的词语联系在一起． 但如果有人能剥开那层极具迷惑性的、温和无害的外衣，便会惊骇地发现，在那看似纤细 的躯壳之下，涌动着的是何等强韧、冷静的知性，以及如同深渊般难以测度的野心． 能够真正看透这一点的人，寥寥无几。 而刚刚经历了一场弑父风暴的寒煜公，恰好是这极少数人中的一个——他们不仅仅是同龄 人，更曾是皇家书院里朝夕相处、彼此竞争也彼此了解的同窗． 年轻的渡鸦国主，此刻正不动声色地，将自己与那片虚伪的悲伤洪流隔离开来．他那张总 是带着一丝若有若无笑意的、看似无害的脸上，此刻却掠过了一抹难以察觉的、如同刀锋 般的尖刻． 他的目光，看似随意地在大厅内扫视，却在不经意间，精准地落在了寝宫门内，那个被随 意丢弃在巨大寝床床脚边的、异常显眼的羽绒枕头上． 有什麽不对劲…… 孟祈渊的眉头微不可察地皱了一下． 他缓缓地、自然地踱步过去，仿佛只是想离那扇敞开的门更近一些．在经过枕头旁边时， 他装作整理衣摆的样子，极其自然地弯下了腰．就在起身的那一瞬间，他的指尖看似随意 地拂过了枕头套的表面． 他的动作快如闪电，隐蔽至极． 但他的视线，却如同最高明的猎手，捕捉到了那微乎其微的、却又致命的痕迹—— 在那昂贵的、绣着金线的丝绸枕套表面，残留着几处几乎难以辨识的、颜色略深的湿痕… …那是……唾液的痕迹？ 甚至……在枕头边缘的褶皱里，似乎还卡着……一丝……若有若无的……牙印？！ 难道说…… 孟祈渊在心中低语，呼吸骤然停顿了一瞬。一个石破天惊、却又似乎是唯一合理解释的推 论，如同闪电般划破了他冷静的思维！ 他缓缓抬起眼，视线再次掠过那些正忙於表演悲痛、或是忙於相互试探的男男女女——这 些被财富、地位和权力层层包裹的、华丽而庸俗的人们． 就在这时！ 另一道目光，如同一道实质性的利剑，撕裂空气，朝着他猛烈地射来！ 与孟祈渊那冰冷、探究的视线，在半空中轰然碰撞！ 是寒煜公！ 四目相对的刹那，空气仿佛都凝固、燃烧起来！两人的目光，如同两条无形的、淬满了剧 毒的毒蛇，瞬间凶狠地缠绕、撕咬、角力！无声的交锋，在这一刻爆发到了极致！ 然而，仅仅一刹那之後，先移开视线的，却是寒煜公—— 并非出於内心的退缩或示弱，而是因为一个外部的干扰——宫廷书记官已经躬着身子，亦 步亦趋地来到了他的身边，在他耳边用极低的声音，恭敬地请示关於如何向驻紮在首都的 各国使节，正式发布皇帝驾崩讣告的繁琐事宜． 寒煜公深吸一口气，压下心中翻腾的情绪，点了点头．他迈开了沉重的、却又带着某种被 强行注入的、不容置疑的意志力的步伐，踩着光洁如镜、映照出他苍白脸庞的大理石地板 ，走向了大厅的深处．他的背影，最终消失在那扇厚重的、仿佛能隔绝一切秘密的橡木门 之後． 孟祈渊锐利的视线，如同猎鹰锁定猎物般，一直追随着寒煜公的身影，直到那扇门彻底关 闭，隔绝了他的视线． 渡鸦国主那双漂亮的蓝灰色眼眸中，瞬间燃起了两簇明亮得近乎不驯的、跳跃着的火焰！ 但仅仅一息之後，他便迅速垂下了眼帘，脸上重新挂上了一层无悲无喜、温和无害的面具 ，将内心所有的惊涛骇浪和熊熊燃烧的火焰，都严严实实地深深隐藏了起来． 但他内心深处，已经无比确认了． 果然……寒煜公，弑父了． 虽然没有任何直接的证据，甚至连旁证都谈不上．但他相信自己的观察，相信自己的直觉 ，更相信他对寒煜公和那位老皇帝之间扭曲关系的了解． 「冰，已经碎裂了……」 他在心中无声地默念，感受着胸腔中某种压抑已久的东西正在苏醒、膨胀． 「既然碎了，就再也无法恢复原状了……」 名为＂野心＂、蛰伏在他内心最深处的巨龙，在这一刻，感受到了千载难逢的、充满了血 腥味的机会，缓缓地、兴奋地抬起了它狰狞的头颅，张开了觊觎已久的巨口． 它的目标，是整个动荡在即的神圣霜息帝国，以及那空悬出来的、象徵着无上权力的—— 皇座！ 内心潜伏着这条巨龙的年轻贵族，静静地注视着眼前这即将拉开序幕的混乱大戏，然後用 只有自己能听到的声音，低低地、带着一丝冰冷的兴奋，问自己． 「那麽，接下来……我，又该如何落子呢？」 １－８完 「上次那是一大群美女好吧，我不过是忘了带钱而已，又不是不想付帐．」 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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