Chapter 328

Chapter 328. Private Doctor

The ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍entire telegraph was expansive and forceful, without a single wasted sentence. Between the lines, it was filled with the cold glint of blades and swords.

But ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍within that seemingly righteous and incomparably serious political characterization, the drafter had been extremely “wicked” and slipped in a large amount of shocking private material.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍telegraph opened with a heavy blow, sternly denouncing Moran for secretly colluding with evil forces in his early years in order to steal control of the state, and for secretly planting the extremely vicious “Blood Withering” curse in First Prince Dorg.

It ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍also accused him of single-handedly orchestrating that utterly inhumane “Redleaf Manor Massacre.”

And ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍Sylvia, who was well versed in the art of manipulating public opinion, had also assisted Logaris with some appropriate “polishing” while he wrote it.

This ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍telegraph did not go on at length explaining how Moran had poisoned hundreds of nobles under the protection of layers upon layers of guards.

It also deliberately blurred the supposedly rigorous logical chain between the “curse” and the “poisoning.”

It only threw two certain, highly visual labels at the public: the vicious curse cast by Moran, and the bloody massacre orchestrated by Moran.

Immediately afterward came a great pile of absurd scandals so vivid that they were enough to instantly ignite discussions in the streets and alleys.

As for the remaining logical gaps? Those were all left for the people to imagine on their own.

After all, people were always more willing to wholeheartedly believe a truth they had “reasoned out” themselves.

However, when the telegraph reached its end, its originally murderous tone began to charge wildly in a completely outrageous direction.

The text first used a string of parallel accusations, angrily denouncing Moran as an out-and-out traitor, spy, anti-royalist, conspirator, cult leader, and tyrannical bully who preyed upon the common people.

In order to thoroughly strip Moran of his last shred of political dignity in spirit and completely alienate him into a monster hated by both men and gods, the telegraph even solemnly listed a series of “specific crimes” that were both outrageous and absurd to the extreme.

For example, it accused Moran of being extremely bloodthirsty and brutal, claiming that on scorching summer days, every time he ate a piece of iced watermelon, he had his Corruption cultists sacrifice an innocent civilian alive, euphemistically calling it “seeing red to whet the appetite and heighten the mood while cooling off.”

For example, it exposed Moran’s private life as utterly debauched, claiming that he carried on illicit affairs and indulged in lust without any bottom line. If all the mistresses he secretly kept were gathered together by headcount, they would even be enough to form a fully staffed Northern Territory heavy infantry battalion.

For another example, it accused Moran of having an extremely perverted mind. In order to satisfy the civil official clique’s twisted desire to absolutely suppress military officers, he had once, in a gloomy secret chamber, forced a burly general who had just returned in triumph from bloody battles at the border, covered in scars, to change into an extremely revealing and seductive translucent gauze dress and twist his waist in a belly dance to lewd music.

This was simply rubbing Moran’s face against the ground, then conveniently stepping on it twice afterward.

The moment the telegraph was issued, the streets and alleys of the Royal Capital instantly boiled over.

In a shabby tavern in the Lower District, the proprietress held a newspaper in her hand and slapped her thigh, laughing so hard she bent forward and backward, tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes.

“My heavens, that old thief actually had this kind of fetish? No wonder my husband said in the barracks that the general was always gloomy after he came back. So he was forced to dance that kind of dance!”

The men in the tavern were even more filled with righteous indignation, slamming the tables and rising one after another.

A burly man with a face full of stubble suddenly slapped the table, making the wine cups clatter. He stepped onto a long bench and shouted with a mysterious yet certain expression:

“I can testify! I was Moran’s private doctor! That old thief indulged in feasting and pleasure every night. He kept an entire battalion of mistresses, and he had long since become useless in that regard. He relied entirely on drinking mutated alchemical potions from the cult to keep himself going! This is true!”

“The reason he killed people when eating watermelon was also to sacrifice them for better stamina, right? After all, with that many mistresses, he had to replenish himself somehow, did he not?”

The surrounding drinkers cried out in surprise one after another, their eyes revealing a frenzy of “the truth has finally come to light.”

This round of public-opinion warfare from Logaris not only shifted the blame for Redleaf Manor completely cleanly.

It also conveniently nailed Moran onto the most ridiculous and most perverted pillar of shame in the history of the Astrelia Kingdom.

The people’s anger and souls of gossip were perfectly ignited. Their original panic over the deaths of the First Prince and the old nobles was instantly replaced by this absurd fury.

Even if Moran jumped out later to clarify things, the people would probably only care about how many watermelons he could actually eat.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, in the capital of the Demi-Human Empire, inside a hidden hall deep within the imperial palace...

Beneath the resplendent dome, the light was dim. Moran’s massive half-human, half-dragon body coiled upon an enormous stone seat. His nails, which had been modified by dragon blood, dug deep into the armrests, making an ear-piercing scraping sound.

In his hand, he held a copy of Astrelia Daily that had just been received through magical fax.

As his gaze swept over the front-page headline, Moran’s breathing gradually grew heavy. The scales on his chest stood on end from extreme fury, and his dark-red vertical pupils spat out tangible flames of rage.

“Logaris! Sylvia!”

Moran gnashed his teeth. His voice had become hoarse and hissing due to his dragonification, echoing through the empty great hall.

He suddenly clenched his fist. With a crisp crack, the finely carved bone goblet was instantly crushed into powder in his hand. Bone dust fell with a rustle, sliding down through the gaps between his fingers.

He had schemed for his entire life, advancing step by step with meticulous calculation. Yet in the end, not only had he been forced by Logaris to sacrifice half his soul and flee in panic, even such a rotten matter as poisoning the nobles had now been pinned on his head.

Regicide, treason, colluding with demons, and slaughtering court ministers. All the infamy in Astrelia’s history had been bundled up by Logaris and stuffed into his arms.

He was now the largest cesspit in Astrelia, and even the entire human world. Any dirty water could be poured onto him.

“AAAAAAH!”

Rage attacked Moran’s heart, and the mana inside his body began to spiral out of control.

Around his half-dragonized body, space began to distort. Fine cracks appeared on the surface of the stone pillars inside the hall, and the air filled with a dense sulfurous smell and scorching mana fluctuations.

He felt as though his dignity had been completely trampled. The frustration of being toyed with in the palm of a younger junior’s hand nearly drove him mad.

Just as he was about to completely lose control and release that destructive Dragon Breath, a vast, ancient voice filled with endless mockery exploded directly in the depths of his mind.

“You cannot endure even this? You pathetic half-finished product.”

That voice seemed to come from the deepest abyss, carrying a coldness that made the soul tremble.

Moran’s entire body stiffened. The mana that had been rampaging out of control instantly went out, as though a basin of ice water had been poured over his head.

His deformed body trembled violently, as though it had been seized tightly by an invisible giant hand. Even breathing became difficult, and the air in his lungs was drawn out little by little.

An unprecedented fear appeared in his dark-red vertical pupils.

“Remember your identity, Moran.” That voice was cold and ruthless, without the slightest warmth.

“Half of your current body belongs to me. Put away those laughable mortal emotions of yours. Anger is the fig leaf of the weak and incompetent.”