Chapter 895: Chapter 522: Title Unification, Advancement to Tier 5 (7000)!_2

"Also, the reason your father-in-law, Old Woodville, ended up dead was that he sent out the Cult’s other Devil collaborator to eliminate his own rival in the game of power."

"Letting his enemies die painlessly on a personally designed execution platform like King Louis did has never fit his aesthetic."

"Killing people has to crush their hearts too!"

Edward IV looked like he was about to eat someone alive.

Richard’s face, on the other hand, grew even paler. So this "traitor" who’d always been lurking in the dark had been staring at him all along, just like he’d kept his eyes fixed on Warwick.

Every single move he made had been seen through completely; when one side plans and the other doesn’t, there’s simply no way to guard against it.

At this moment a flash of Divine Light suddenly shot through his mind, and he cried out:

"I remember now.

That was the York Family collaborator Bloodthirsty Cult’s [Crimson Spirit Light] just now. You’ve already gathered the [Crimson Holy Grail] that can grant Humans eternal life?"

Edward IV, who’d been on the verge of only breathing out but not in, heard the keyword he’d obsessed over for so many years. The light in his eyes flared back up; he forced himself to raise his head and asked:

"Crimson Holy Grail? Panacea?

You’ve already drunk the Panacea and become a truly immortal Fourth Order [Night Demon]?"

Crimson Spirit Light once again bloomed at Byron’s fingertips, giving the York Brothers a definite answer. But then he turned to Edward IV and added coldly:

"The advancement rite of the [Crimson Holy Grail], and the [Panacea], I did indeed obtain long ago.

After all, I, this experimental subject who was framed by the Bloodthirsty Cult’s upper echelons, afflicted with Old Gods pollution, constantly listening to the ravings of Mother of Creation Lilith, was... personally chosen by you.

How could I possibly let down your kind intentions?"

This time it was Edward IV’s turn to be stunned.

"You even know about that?"

Seeing that the battle on the field was already wrapping up, Byron wasn’t in any hurry. He spoke unhurriedly:

"That’s not all I know.

Hasn’t your Queen and your Father-in-law always wanted to swallow up my lands and industries through marriage after my death?

I rendered countless military merits for the Kingdom, yet I wasn’t granted even an inch of actual fief, and on top of that I had to feed your kin?

York earns it, York spends it; don’t even think about bringing a penny back home.

Edward, you really are good at your sums!"

Richard also turned his head to give his brother a sidelong glance, his meaning perfectly clear.

"And you still have the nerve to talk about me?

I only forced the Neutral Faction to defect. Look at the crap you pulled—you went and forced the Great Loyalist of the Royalist Party himself into rebellion.

Put this on anyone and they’d have to revolt!"

"Buzzzz..."

The mid- and low-ranking Nobility of the Royalist Party and Neutral Party, who had originally clustered around Edward IV, all burst into an uproar.

They’d never expected that during the Throne War, so many unknown events had been unfolding in the shadows, that there had been such a deadly, vicious struggle behind the scenes.

As vassals, they naturally substituted themselves into Byron’s perspective, and realized that if their positions were reversed, they wouldn’t even have lived long enough to counterkill; they’d have been played by the York Brothers until not even a scrap of bone remained.

This Bone-crushing and marrow-sucking way of devouring a Loyalist was so ugly it made one’s teeth ache! Bah!

And neither of the brothers was any better; they were both like this.

Being the enemy of the York Family was dangerous, but being the York Family’s ally and vassal was downright fatal!

Under the popular "limited Royal Iron" climate of the Old Continent, the Nobility in general had no particularly strong sense of loyalty to the King or patriotism; every principle they held started from利益.

No one felt there was anything wrong with a "Great Loyalist of York" backstabbing; on the contrary, that one backstab felt especially satisfying.

Even the gloomy oppression they’d accumulated under Edward IV’s reign of terror over this period was released along with it.

Byron looked at the York Brothers, the corners of his mouth curling into a somewhat playful smile. In a voice only the two of them could hear, he said:

"But then, I’m soft-hearted.

I’ll go ahead and tell you the complete ritual for the [Crimson Holy Grail].

The hands of loyal servants (thirteen of them); the bones of blood relatives (six of them); drain the blood of the one you truly love (unrequited love doesn’t count) and replace two-thirds of your own blood with it.

Complete your ascension amid a palace coup where blood flows like a river..."

Edward IV silently mouthed it over and over, his eyes gradually brightening and then dimming rapidly again. In the end he swept a glance over his younger brother and muttered:

"You should have told me earlier, you should have told me earlier.

If I’d known the complete ritual, the ending would never have been like this..."

Richard shuddered instinctively; the chill in his elder brother’s eyes even made his heart palpitate.

He had no doubt that if Edward had been the first to grasp this terrifying forbidden knowledge, the one to strike first at his brother would definitely not have been himself.

In essence, they were the same Species.

Whether kin or beloved, none were as important as themselves; they loved no one, they only loved themselves!

So long as it could grant immortality, he’d absolutely have no qualms about turning a beloved Queen, two brothers who together completed the "Tri-Phantom Sun," and eight blood-related children into ritual components.

But as terrifying as his brother was, the one even more terrifying was the man before him, this "Saint Byron" who seemed shrouded in a halo of a Saint.

In every incident he was the good guy and the victim, yet he was the one who laughed last. Strip off that layer of skin, and underneath was he really some harmless little white rabbit?

Only an idiot would believe that!

If he hadn’t watched the man grow up with his own eyes, he’d suspect Byron was truly the omniscient "Holy Spirit."

At this moment, something flashed through Richard’s mind; his expression shifted again, and the body pressed against the deck tensed slightly: