Chapter 473 - 99: The Three Corpses
Murphy walked out onto the spacious balcony.
The morning breeze, carrying a slight chill from the mountain peaks, stirred his silk nightrobe.
Below were overlapping white roofs and stone corridors. Farther out, the crisscrossing streets of the Holy City Basin were visible, along with faint plumes of smoke rising from the distant factory district.
He didn’t hesitate, nor did he alert anyone.
With a mere thought, a faint Dark Gold glimmer enveloped him. His form then transformed into a streak of Dark Gold light, like a sword’s rainbow, and shot from the balcony. It tore through the sky, speeding toward the northeast.
This was the art of Sword Flight.
With the formation of his Dao Body, Murphy had become much like a Flying Sword. He produced no sonic booms or shockwaves unless he manifested an attack to interact with the material world.
Even now, flying at ten times the speed of sound, he was nothing more than a fleeting trace of Dark Gold light in the sky.
The only thing that could affect his current flight speed was the strength of his Mana.
This strength referred to two things: the quality of the Mana, and its maximum instantaneous output.
Furthermore, the two factors had different weights on flight speed depending on the mass of the object being carried.
Simply put, when the mass was small, the quality of the Mana was the dominant factor for speed. When the mass was large, maximum output was dominant.
To put it even more simply,
The speed of Sword Flight is vastly different from what would be expected based on the classical physics principles of kinetic energy and momentum for observable matter.
Or to put it in the simplest terms:
A one-hundred-kilogram Flying Sword travels at ten times the speed of sound.
Add an eighty-kilogram Murphy, and the speed is still ten times the speed of sound.
Even carrying an object with a mass of one ton, the speed remains ten times the speed of sound.
However, if the carried mass reaches ten tons, or a hundred tons, then the maximum instantaneous Mana output becomes a factor, and the speed will plummet.
I won’t list the specific formulas here. A text file can’t handle the formatting, and besides, it’s too complex, with all sorts of parameters that would take forever to explain.
Just remember that the current Murphy can fly at ten times the speed of sound.
The streak of sword light shot through the sky like a meteor. After flying continuously for about 450 seconds and crossing nearly 1,500 kilometers, a lush plain appeared below.
A magnificent complex of white palaces, nestled against a mountain and beside the water, came into view.
He had arrived at Taymer Palace.
The sword light retracted, and Murphy’s figure landed silently on a balcony in front of the palace’s main building. Almost at the exact moment he touched down, a figure in black hurried out from the room to greet him.
It was Eleanor.
Ten years had not left a single trace on her. She still looked like a girl of fifteen or sixteen, with a cascade of black hair and eyes as deep as the night.
Today, she wore an exquisitely designed black dress. Its layered skirt was voluminous yet elegant, and black stockings outlined the slender, straight lines of her calves. Her matching leather shoes made soft clacking sounds on the polished stone floor.
"Father." Eleanor stopped in front of Murphy, her voice clear as she looked up at him.
Murphy looked at her, his gaze softening slightly. "Eleanor, has your work here been going well recently?"
"Very well." Eleanor nodded, her tone calm. "Thanks to you intimidating those who would cause trouble, Cousin Elizabeth’s new policies are being implemented smoothly throughout the Vilt Kingdom. Industrial upgrades and infrastructure projects are all proceeding according to plan."
Hearing the words "Cousin Elizabeth," a flicker of almost imperceptible awkwardness crossed Murphy’s face.
He really wanted to point out that while Elizabeth was from the Vilt Royal Family, Margaret wasn’t necessarily, which meant Elizabeth wasn’t actually Eleanor’s cousin.
But Murphy also knew Eleanor understood this perfectly well; she was most likely calling her that on purpose.
In the end, Murphy said nothing, just giving his daughter a helpless look.
"I came this time because I have something to discuss with your mother," Murphy said, changing the subject.
At his words, Eleanor’s calm, dark eyes narrowed, revealing a clear hint of displeasure. "So you didn’t come to see me, Father?"
Murphy immediately caught the subtle emotion in his daughter’s tone and quickly added, "Of course I came to see you. It’s just that this matter is a bit urgent, so I need to speak with your mother first."
He could more or less guess what Eleanor was thinking.
Once, she had been the only daughter in the family.
Now, the arrival of Mo Ling and Mo Weiwei was bound to make his sensitive daughter feel unhappy about her father’s attention being divided.
Of course, in Murphy’s eyes, it was perfectly normal for Eleanor to show her dissatisfaction toward him.
Family should be able to get angry with each other one moment and make up the next.
Having to wear a mask at all times, even in front of your closest kin, was how things shouldn’t be.
After hearing Murphy’s explanation, Eleanor’s expression softened. She didn’t press the issue, simply turning to the side to lead the way. "Mother is waiting for you in the Duke’s office. I’ll take you there."
The two of them walked through a long corridor decorated with family crests and portraits of their ancestors, arriving before a heavy oak door.
Eleanor pushed the door open and gestured for Murphy to enter, but she remained at the doorway. "I’m going to take care of some documents for the domain," she said softly.
With that, she turned and left, showing her father her slightly stubborn-looking back.
Murphy shook his head and stepped into the office.
The room was spacious and bright. Outside the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows were a neatly manicured courtyard and, farther beyond, a lake as smooth as a mirror.
Behind the desk, a young woman with black hair and black eyes was rising to her feet, a bright smile on her face as she looked over.
It was Margaret.
Her features were seventy to eighty percent similar to Eleanor’s, and she also looked to be fifteen or sixteen years old.
She was wearing a vintage-style, ink-green long dress embroidered with silver trim. The style was ornate yet elegant, making her skin appear even fairer, as if she were a noble lady who had stepped out of a classical oil painting.