The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 167

"We have no proof they’re doing anything illegal," Iris replied.

Kael snorted. "Of course. No proof. Just a field full of weapons, masked men, smoke that kills birds mid-air, and a broken sea that burns your lungs."

His voice was calm. Too calm.

He tapped his temple with one finger. "So what now? You want me to blow it up? Sneak in and look pretty?"

Iris stared at the dock. Her face didn’t change.

"Observe. Learn. Report. If you find proof, do what you must."

Kael’s eyes twitched with amusement. "So if I burn them to the ground, I get extra points?"

"If you burn them, can you handle the recursion cause we won’t be saving you if they comes after you."

He laughed. A dry, crackling sound. "Fair deal."

He stood up, brushing snow from his coat. His boots sank slightly in the melting frost.

Behind them, the ashes kept falling.

Ahead of them, the dock kept loading.

The frozen sea groaned with the weight of machines that had no business being here.

Kael looked over his shoulder at Iris one last time. Her hair was still, her eyes locked on the ships. Not a shred of fear.

"You know," he said quietly, "you really are something else. Cold as this cursed place."

Without waiting for a reply, Kael turned and began walking down the trench.

His shadow disappeared into the smoke.

Kael pulled his cloak tighter as the wind picked up. Ash and smoke danced in the air like dying fireflies. The glow of the ships below flickered through the fog, casting long, ghostly shadows across the icy land.

He stepped down from the ridge slowly, boots crunching over frozen rock and snow. Iris followed behind, silent as a shadow.

Kael didn’t look back. He kept walking down toward a small frozen trench that curved toward the dock.

A narrow path perfect for him to take. freeweɓnøvel.com

He grinned to himself"Perfect."

They crouched behind a snow-covered boulder. From here, they could see the full scope of the operation.

Kael waited, still as a corpse, behind a rusted storage unit.

Footsteps. Heavy. Rhythmic.

A lone guard walked by—slow, careless. Masked. Rifle strapped across his back. Eyes half-lidded. Bored.

Kael moved like a shadow.

He slipped behind the guard, wrapped an arm around his neck, and clamped a hand over the mask’s filter. One sharp twist and a muffled gasp later, the body went limp.

Kael dragged the man into a narrow space between two containers, metal walls cold and slick with frost. The dim light above buzzed faintly, blinking like a dying star.

He pulled the uniform off the guard and slipped it on, adjusting the straps, checking the belts. It smelled of oil and smoke.

Then he took the gas mask the man wore , fixed it to his face, and inhaled.

He blinked.

"...Huh. Not bad," he muttered. "The suffocation gone."

He flexed his fingers, adjusted the gloves, and grabbed the miscellaneous things

Kael stepped out and joined the patrol route. His boots fell in sync with the others. No one noticed.

He passed a pair of masked guards talking softly in a strange dialect which he didn’t understand at first but slowly he got a hang of it.

’It’s similar to the Zoron Kingdom of my time.’

One of them laughed, voice muffled through the mask.

The air was thick here—pungent, heavy. A mix of fuel, metal, and something rotting.

Kael turned a corner and entered a narrow alley between two containers. Pipes hissed steam into the air. Valves clicked and turned automatically. Wires ran along the walls, glowing faintly.

He saw workers—also masked—loading crates into a cargo lift. The crates had the same markings. Some dripped dark fluid. No one asked what was inside.

Kael trailed behind a group heading into the main control station. Through the tinted visor of his mask, he watched everything. Memorized paths. Counted guards. Watched people rotations.

A voice crackled over the loudspeakers.

"Dock 3, shipment complete. Dock 4, begin loading."

Kael passed a window and peeked inside. Rows of large black cylinders stood neatly arranged. Some hummed faintly.

Coolant mist leaked from their seams.

His breath stayed steady. Heartbeat slow. Eyes sharp.

He kept moving, hands ready. Mind clear.

Kael moved deeper into the facility, his steps light, silent. His eyes scanned every corner, every movement.

He noticed a side area—half-covered in canvas, hidden beside a stack of crates. A small craft was docked there, open from the side like a carriage. Curiosity bit at him. He slipped away from the patrol route and moved toward it.

Since no one was around, he could finally satisfy his curiosity.With a quiet creak, Kael lifted the hatch.

Inside, rows of long-barreled rifles were stacked neatly, secured in racks lined with leather straps.

Kael narrowed his eyes.

The rifles looked old, almost medieval in build. Their frames were made from dark, polished wood, with metal inlays carved in jagged, ancient runes. The barrel was long and heavy, reinforced with dull iron rings. The trigger had a strange curve to it—delicate, like a bowstring hook.

This was the first time he saw a rifle up close.

He picked one up carefully, weighing it in his hands.

"...So this is what they use," Kael muttered, eyes scanning the body. "Tch. Heavy... but balanced."

His gaze shifted beyond the craft. He saw masked men moving in formation. Every one of them had a sword on their waist and a rifle slung on their back.

Kael’s face twitched.

No one in his Duchy carried these. They didn’t even exist in the armories he’d ransacked. Not a single one. But he had read about them—in documents about these modern shooting machines.

They said even an unawakened man could kill a strong warrior—if he aimed right and struck fast.

A commoner’s tool to kill the mighty.

Kael’s lips curled.

"Efficient death... I like that," he whispered while curbing his curiosity to try it.

He quickly began stacking two more rifles into his dimensional ring, careful not to make a sound. He glanced around, ensuring no one noticed. His fingers itched. His breath stayed low.

"Uh... I remember these needed bullets..." Kael paused, looking through the craft. "But I didn’t see any."

He checked drawers, crates near the seats—nothing. No cartridges. No ammo boxes. Just empty holders and racks.

"...Tch. What use is a weapon without its teeth?" he muttered, annoyed.

Still, he held onto the rifles. If nothing else, they were valuable. He could figure out the rest later.

Kael just slipped things when a loud noise gave a shrink.

"What are you doing?"