2026-09-24 22:02:46
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107.
A violent fit of coughing wracked his frame, making his condition appear all the more wretched. He pressed a trembling, gloved hand tightly against his bloodless lips. Bent double, he shuddered like a brittle branch caught in a borderland blizzard. His raspy wheezes sounded hollow, congested, and agonizingly strained—unmistakable signs of shattered meridians and a bloodstream choked with deadly venom. At that pitiful sight, collective sighs of relief and mocking titters instantly rippled through the ranks of the nobility. “Look at his trembling gait!” an imperial bureaucrat whispered, his lips curling into a smug, greasy smirk. “That terrifying killing intent from yesterday afternoon has vanished without a trace!” a young patrician in the front row sneered, his eyes gleaming with bloated arrogance. “The heavens themselves have broken his meridians! He has truly been reduced to a dying invalid!” another nobleman scoffed, baring his teeth in cruel derision as though gazing dow
106.
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
105.
“Young Master Theodore, no! Do not heed this summons!” A high-ranking cavalry officer lunged forward, staring at Theodore with bloodshot eyes brimming with raw panic and fury. His desperation was so visceral, so utterly convincing, that the royal envoy watching from his saddle never suspected it was part of a masterfully orchestrated stage play. “You cannot step foot into that palace! That senile tyrant has torn up his word and sprung a lethal trap! If you enter those walls alone, those treacherous dogs will execute you on the spot! Give us the command—let us breach the capital gates this very moment!” Behind him, ranks of armored veterans chimed in, their desperate pleas shaking the frosty dawn air, their faces carved with torment over their commander’s seemingly ruined state. “Enough,” Theodore cut in. Though barely louder than a rasp, the quiet weight behind that single word brooked zero defiance. He raised his right hand, encased in a black leather gauntlet, holding
104.
“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
103.
Kael thrashed with monstrous ferocity, like a trapped beast snapping its chains. The veins along his forearms bulged as he strained against the razor-wire net, but a heavy blow from an iron spear-shaft cracked violently across the base of his skull, shattering his vision into blinding sparks. “GRAAAH!” The ambush was too overwhelming, their coordination ruthlessly tight, leaving him zero ground to maneuver. CRACK! Both of his arms were wrenched ruthlessly behind his back. The burly captain was slammed face-first against the frigid stone pavers of the courtyard, a muffled roar of agony ripped from his lungs. His heavy blade was kicked aside, clattering uselessly across the stone. “Drag this mutt away!” Gerald roared from his litter, his eyes blazing with twisted satisfaction as he savored Kael’s battered, immobilized form. “Flog him, but keep him breathing! When the time comes, I will sever his head with my own hands to settle the score for my blood!” Deprived of even a s
102.
“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
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