Late that night, a burst of laughter echoed from the grand palace within Deity Grypherburg. The sound left the surrounding palace guards utterly bewildered.
It was common knowledge that although the Emperor had been in a relatively pleasant mood lately, a display where he actually laughed out loud was something that had never occurred before.
After all, the Emperor was a deeply austere ruler who disliked allowing others to discern his inner emotions. The guards couldn't even recall how many winters had passed since they last heard him laugh like this.
Within the private quarters, the Tsar had indeed found the desperate antics of the nobility rather amusing when he received the report brought back by Kashchey, prompting him to laugh out loud right in front of the old duke.
Yet upon reflection, a lingering sense of dread remained. These nobles had managed to orchestrate such a massive conspiracy entirely behind his back. Had the matter been handled poorly, the empire might truly have plunged into an all-out war with Yan before long.
Those individuals were far too dangerous. Such warmongers who sought nothing but bloodshed had to be thoroughly suppressed, especially now when the nation desperately needed to recuperate and pivot toward a new path of growth.
Thinking of this, the Emperor couldn't help but marvel at his own good fortune. If he hadn't crossed paths with Jeanne, this turning point might never have arrived, and the advantage would certainly not be leaning so heavily in his favor today.
The Emperor silently resolved that the industrial zones he had promised to grant Reunion could be expanded slightly, serving as a clearer demonstration of goodwill from the throne.
Even if he couldn't bring Jeanne entirely onto his side, Chernobog would still be operating within the empire's borders. So long as they maintained a strong relationship, if Ursus ever faced a true crisis, Jeanne would surely not stand idly by—if only for the sake of Chernobog itself, wouldn't she?
Though a monarch expressing such explicit goodwill to an infected collective—and a nineteen-year-old maiden at that—might seem entirely unfathomable to the public, she was a person backed by a higher power.
Furthermore, the presence shielding her was likely far more terrifying than all the ancient entities he had ever encountered combined. When dealing with someone backed by such a fearsome existence, securing her friendship was already an immense victory.
"Still, they were incredibly bold to think they could destroy the evidence and silence him mid-transit," the Emperor remarked, feeling a touch of awe at Kashchey's words.
If he hadn't taken the precaution of deploying his personal vanguard to shadow the escort party, his royal dignity would have been thoroughly humiliated by those desperate nobles.
"It was their only option. In their eyes, that city was already destined for ruin. Why would they ever leave such valuable wealth inside when they could easily repurpose it for their own factions?"
Kashchey sat to one side as he spoke, appearing thoroughly entertained by the unfolding drama. Although this wasn't the original outcome he had envisioned, one couldn't deny its brilliance.
"True enough. But since they have already made their move, we must begin our own. That Duke will be brought here tonight; let us hope his tongue loosens easily."
The Emperor looked out the window, as though he could already see the escort party bringing the captive to the capital. In truth, the vanguard was indeed nearing Deity Grypherburg, the silhouette of the massive city finally rising in the far distance.
"Let us proceed, Lord Boris. Deity Grypherburg is just ahead," an official within the ranks called out, looking at the utterly defeated Boris with a trace of mockery in his voice.
The fallen noble offered no reaction to the blatant disrespect. He moved forward like a hollow wooden doll, his entire being steeped in total despair.
It wasn't that he had never envisioned his own death, but he had never expected his co-conspirators to abandon all pretense, sending assassins to silence him directly without making the slightest effort to rescue him.
But realistically speaking, aristocratic alliances were driven purely by profit. Having lost his seat as the Duke of Chernobog, he no longer possessed any value. Anyone with a shred of sense would realize his peers would never risk their own necks to salvage a worthless asset.
What he certainly hadn't anticipated, however, was that the Emperor would deploy his ultimate trump cards—the Emperor's Blades, the deadly talons of the empire—to oversee his arrest and ensure his safe return for trial.
To have the legendary Emperor's Blades escorting a disgraced criminal back to the capital was an honor that would surely grant him a permanent page in the history books of Ursus. Thinking of it that way, it wasn't an entirely terrible end.
"Lord Boris need not despair so deeply. His Majesty is not an unfeeling ruler. So long as you cooperate fully, while you may not retain your title, surviving this ordeal is still within the realm of possibility. You might even live to see the day your former peers are hung from the streetlamps of the capital."
Noticing that Boris had entirely lost the will to live, a sharp-eyed, exceptionally shrewd Liberi official used his smooth eloquence to strike up a conversation with the prisoner.
The noble's psychological defenses were already on the verge of total collapse. It would only take a few clever phrases, a small glimmer of hope, and the promise of a gruesome fate for the men who had tried to kill him to turn him into a perfect tool.
A familiar weapon that knew his enemies inside out, ready to plunge into their backs.
Even if this blade wasn't exceptionally sharp, the lethality of a weapon always depended on the hand wielding it. If enough tools like Boris were gathered, they could inflict permanent, devastating damage upon the opposing factions.
"You are trying to recruit me. But you should know that those men hold every piece of leverage against me. Your efforts are entirely meaningless," Boris muttered, his mind fractured but his logic still functioning as he tried to end the discussion.
"Do you truly believe that after the Emperor's Blades intervened, those men would still leave your vulnerabilities intact? What do you think the chances are that they have already turned their fury upon the people you care about, venting their wrath until nothing remains?"
The Liberi's words pierced through him like the freezing winds of the Ursus tundra, turning his inner organs into solid, unmelting ice. The noble stared wide-eyed at the ground.
Indeed, how could any leverage survive under these conditions? His own death and his confession were merely a matter of time; those nobles would never believe he could hold out under the interrogation of the Emperor's Blades.
He knew all too well how filthy the methods of the nobility could be. The scandals the Emperor had exposed a year ago were merely the tip of the iceberg—crimes that still fell within the boundaries of human comprehension. The far more twisted atrocities would leave a man unable to stomach food for days.
"We truly cannot offer any salvation for them; those individuals are almost certainly deceased by now. However, if you cooperate, we can ensure the factions responsible for their demise suffer the ultimate penalty, can we not?"
The dark-haired Liberi's words chipped away at Boris's stone-faced exterior like a burrowing beast, uncovering the buried hatred within the noble's heart until the dormant fury began to burn wildly.
Boris felt as though a sinister inner voice was whispering to him, echoing his deepest desires. Even if he was bound for execution, he would drag a whole crowd down to the grave alongside him!
The mere thought of making those snobbish elites who had always looked down on him accompany him to hell made his mind tremble, his blood boiling with manic intensity.
"What do you need me to do? I will cooperate completely! But I have only one condition: even if I must die, I demand to watch those hypocrites hang before I draw my final breath!"
Boris's eyes turned bloodshot, staring with absolute fanaticism at the dark Liberi before him—a man who resembled an ominous crow perched beside the grim reaper.
"Welcome to the fold, Boris. Your wish will have its chance to be fulfilled. I offer my own name, Kashchey, as the pledge for our alliance!"
The dark Liberi known as Kashchey smiled at the broken man, knowing his objective had been achieved. He would soon witness the spectacular drama he so thoroughly enjoyed, making the effort of using this proxy body entirely worthwhile.
Yes, the leader of the vanguard sent to secure the Duke was none other than Kashchey, who had once again assumed a fresh vessel.
In the year 1089 of the Terran calendar, the Emperor of Ursus formally announced that Boris, the Duke of Chernobog, was charged with seventy-eight severe offenses, including the illicit sale of state provisions, the murder of invaluable scholars, human trafficking, and violence against citizens. He was stripped of his governorship and his noble title, and a specialized commission was established to oversee the investigation.
On the very same day, the Emperor publicly acknowledged the monumental contributions made by the infected organization known as Reunion in uncovering these aristocratic crimes and securing the Duke's arrest. Expressing his gratitude for the sacrifices their organization had endured, the Emperor announced that the administrative authority of Chernobog would be granted entirely to Reunion, embarking on an experimental endeavor to establish a city where the infected and the uninfected could coexist in harmony.
The announcement sent shockwaves through the empire, as if a thunderous storm had swept across the land. Citizens everywhere rushed to voice their opinions on the unprecedented declaration and the concept of an infected-governed city.
Upon receiving the official decree, Talulah raised her hand high, gathering her forces as they prepared to march toward their new home.
"Let us move, my comrades! We take office, Chernobog!"