“That bastard of an Emperor has broken his promise,” Kael muttered through clenched teeth, his blood raging hot as his breath came in ragged, furious gasps. Kael could not fathom where that cowardly old tyrant had found such sudden audacity. Only one terrifying possibility sent an icy chill down his spine: the Emperor had successfully launched a covert strike and turned the tides! “That old mongrel has always relied on underhanded schemes to ensnare the Young Master; he’s doing it again!” Kael hissed venomously. The more he dwelled on the Emperor's insidious nature, the wilder his suspicions spiraled. “Did that old dog infiltrate shadow assassins into the camp? Has a fatal catastrophe befallen Young Master Theodore and Miss Serena? What in the hell is happening out there?!” Kael paced the courtyard, his anxiety boiling over. Given how venomous and petty the Emperor was, an ambush on the Northern encampment was well within his playbook. If Theodore and Serena were genuinely in

“First they send rat assassins under the cover of night, and now they dare wave this trash before our gates?!” The collective rage of thirty thousand seasoned killers coalesced into a subterranean rumble that vibrated through the earth. A forest of black-steel spears tilted forward, marching toward the barricades in suffocating unison. The dawn mist instantly boiled with raw, suffocating bloodlust. “You wish to drag our young lord to an execution tribunal?!” a cavalry commander barked, spurring his warhorse directly against the iron barricade. “Then step over the thirty thousand corpses of the Cordova Legion first—if your imperial hide can stomach it!” “Slaughter them all!” tens of thousands of voices thundered together like crashing surf. “Impale this messenger's head on our pikes and send it to the palace gates as the Cordova clan’s answer!” “Y-you savage rebels!” Adam shrieked, his voice cracking as cold terror seized his knees. “This is an imperial mandate from His Imperia

Beside him sat Gerald Ford in an ivory-inlaid wheelchair. Both legs were missing, and his lower body was swathed in thick silk wraps, yet his bloodshot eyes burned toward the grand entrance with an infernal, maddened hatred. Not far away, former Prime Minister Ford stood with his spine rigid once more, accompanied by Lily Spencer in an opulent silk gown layered with diamond necklaces. Lily thrust out her chest, holding her chin high with a veneer of smug self-righteousness, desperate to bury the revulsion and cold terror that had gnawed at her soul the previous night. Flanking the scarlet carpet, dozens of senior ministers and high nobles stood shoulder-to-shoulder, wearing sneers of vicious superiority, primed to witness the public dismemberment of their greatest nightmare. CREEEAAAK—BANG! The towering double gates of the imperial hall were thrown open. Pale dawn sunlight flooded the chamber, silhouetting a lone figure crossing the threshold. Theodore Cordova walked alo

The imperial court erupted into a roaring tempest of venomous mockery and bloodthirsty condemnation, spat from the mouths of the gathered nobility. Arrogance oozed from their lips as they crowded Theodore like a ravenous pack of wolves closing in on a mortally wounded bull. “Insolent whelp! How dare you commit such atrocities beneath the very gaze of His Imperial Majesty!” an Interior Minister bellowed, spitting vilely upon the pristine marble tiles. “Tear out his tongue!” a senior patrician from the Ford faction screeched, his eyes bulging red with hatred. “He laid hands upon Consort Elena and brutally mutilated Young Lord Gerald without a shred of mercy!” “Do you think your Northern rabble stands above imperial law, boy?!” the barrel-chested garrison general roared, shaking an armored fist at the rafters. “Forfeit your head this very hour to atone for the sacred knights you butchered outside the palace ramparts!” To their eyes, the young heir before them was nothing more

Theodore paid absolutely no heed to the former prime minister’s threats. That indifferent attitude only served to make Ford lose his grip on his sanity even further. The old man’s wrinkled face turned crimson, the veins in his neck bulging tautly like rotten roots. “Are you deaf, you border scum?!” howled Ford, brandishing his eagle-headed staff in the air, staggering forward with his eyes bulging wildly. “You stand here like the god of death, yet the poison in your body is merely biding its time to tear your dantian to shreds! How dare you look down on the Imperial Grand Council!” From his ivory wheelchair, Gerald Ford joined in with a shrill laugh, thick with venom and burning vengeance. “Hahaha! Look at that smug, self-important face of his, Father!” Gerald screamed hysterically, his spittle spraying onto the marble floor of the hall. “You’re nothing but a stray dog that’s lost its master, Theodore! Don’t pretend to be deaf in front of us! Once your body has rotted away in this