Time and the air itself seemed to freeze within Franklin Hall. The nobles gripped their armrests tightly, their knuckles turning white with tension, their expressions entirely dominated by fear.
The light reflected in the distant floor-to-ceiling windows dimmed to a dull haze, isolating everything within from the outside world.
Timid dignitaries kept their heads bowed low, avoiding looking directly at Morotian lest they become his first target.
Though fellow imperial nobles, they knew full well that in terms of living beings, Morotian was fundamentally different from them—a terrifying power far closer to a god.
"I truly didn't expect things would have to go this far today."
Morotian was still smiling as before, but his aura had transformed completely.
In this most sacred and supreme venue of the Protos Empire, the ancient roof of immortal crystal rafters, the expansive hexagonal interior, and the magnificent mosaic floor all lost their luster, falling into what felt like an alien space under the duke's onslaught.
Corpse miasma rolled across the floor as if ready to bridge spatial rifts into the abyssal depths of hell at any second, devouring everything around them so utterly that not even light could escape, like a black hole.
For anyone below Tier 7, being swallowed by it meant leaving behind nothing but bleached bones the very next second.
Within this suffocating, dim barrier, sizzling sounds of corrosion flared from time to time. Everyone could feel the immense, irresistible primordial aura of Morotian's necromancy.
In the past, Duke Morotian Bernhardt might have been slightly inferior to a Cardinal of the Resurrection Church.
Yet in such a short span of time, his true power had experienced an abnormal, astonishing leap for reasons unknown—now even capable of corroding Great Sage Isis's barrier!
"Bishop Yamiles, do you intend to intervene on behalf of the Resurrection Church or the Mourning branch?" Morotian asked, casting a glance toward Bishop of Mourning Yamiles.
"The Resurrection Church does not interfere in your empire's internal affairs. Sigrid represents herself, while I represent His Holiness the Pope," Yamiles answered coldly with a shake of her head.
She believed she had made herself abundantly clear. The imperial citizens could also see that regardless of today's outcome, no responsibility would fall upon the Resurrection Church as a whole.
In the mess the Protos Empire currently found itself in, whether she acted or not, and whomever she helped, offered her no benefit whatsoever.
If Duke Morotian won, there would be no reason left for the church to cooperate with this country; she was not a madman like Askesan who enjoyed making deals with devils.
If Duke Morotian lost, the winner of today's bishop election would still be Sigrid, and there was no reason to risk helping a Cardinal who clearly harbored rebellious ambitions against the Pope.
"Very well."
Morotian nodded, signaling that he would not trouble the Bishop of Mourning.
Without a word, the Bishop of Mourning dissolved like flowing water and vanished from the parliamentary floor of Franklin Hall.
A long silence followed as the powerful figures stared at Duke Morotian, locked in a stalemate, confident that the volatile variable of the Bishop of Mourning was now far away.
Veins bulged on Sigrid's fists, and though her teeth were clenched tight, she could not make a move.
Meanwhile, Great Sage Isis remained in a combat stance, her expression grave as she continuously reinforced the barrier to protect every imperial citizen in the seats.
Defending was always harder than attacking, let alone protecting so many people.
Right now, the only ones with any leeway to fight Morotian were Sigrid and her three demon summons.
Yet the problem lay precisely there: once battle commenced, even if Isis did everything in her power, the barrier likely could not hold.
Among the three demon summons, only one specialized in defense, and she was utterly incapable of stopping Duke Morotian's assault.
If they clashed, even if Sigrid and the other two summons managed to defeat Duke Morotian together, the resulting casualties would extend far beyond the Parliament Building—there was no telling how many would perish across all of Herrom!
At this moment, all the dignitaries at the highest tier of the imperial capital, along with the surrounding residents, had become Morotian's hostages!
"Isis, swear to me by your elven contract that you will let me leave today and stop anyone who tries to bar my way. Furthermore, you must swear that so long as I spare the people in this hall today, you will never attack me again in the future," Morotian said with a cruel smile, fixing his gaze upon Isis.
"..."
Isis's expression was calm, but the mana fluctuating around her had begun to lose its stability, allowing everyone to clearly sense her fury.
Morotian's terms were blatantly unfair.
The second condition in particular meant that if she ever crossed paths with him again, she would be completely at his mercy.
Yet if she refused, Morotian would slaughter everyone present today!
And she, Isis, would break her pact with Emperor Franklin, failing to protect the empire's descendants on this land.
"Do not agree to it, Lady Isis!" shouted an imperial noble brimming with mettle.
Looking at the bigger picture, they could never accept Duke Morotian's terms.
The very next second, his neck was seized from afar by Morotian's invisible grip, poised to snap at any moment.
"Lady Isis, I have no desire to go this far either, but my patience is limited. I will give you ten seconds to consider."
Morotian watched Isis.
He understood the personality of the Protos Empire's guardian, Isis, all too well.
Though this elf appeared aloof and callous on the surface, in truth she cared more about the fleeting lives of mortals than anyone else, and was an old-fashioned traditionalist who prized a promise above her own life.
He was certain Isis would yield.
Down below the Parliament Building, seeing the top floor engulfed in deep purple and witnessing the cataclysmic shift unfolding, the surrounding police officers urgently began evacuating citizens and journalists.
"Nine—"
"Please don't do something foolish, Great Sage!"
"Morotian, you scum of Protos!"
"Can someone save us..."
Around the giant screens scattered between the buildings, amid the chaotic surging crowds, people beneath the displays were shouting in anguish, roaring in rage, or clasping their hands in desperate prayer.
If only another power of the Cardinal rank could be present at this moment...
The balance would tip instantly, cutting off Duke Morotian's schemes and momentum!
Yet none of them could imagine who might come to their aid.
On the top floor of the Parliament Building, seconds slipped by in a flash.
"Three—"
Morotian lowered his voice, standing at the center of the hall like a sovereign of darkness ruling over a realm shrouded in terror.
His countdown tolled like a funeral knell, beating heavily against every heart.
Everyone present had become a captive beneath his hand, unable to flee, left only to feel the encroaching premonition of death in the depths of their souls.
"Two—"
Morotian's countdown finally caused Isis, who had been trapped in excruciating hesitation with her fingernails biting deep into her palms, to lift her head.
Her eyes held a helpless apology.
Yet it was not directed at the imperial hostages, but toward Sigrid—an apology that said: *I'm sorry, I cannot fight alongside you to bring Duke Morotian down today.*
Though Sigrid's heart roared with fury, when faced with Isis's choice and the sorrowful gentleness in the elven sage's eyes, Sigrid could only respond with respect. She honored the Great Sage's decision.
At this critical juncture, Duke Morotian's eyes brimmed with the confidence of escape, glittering with immaculate calculation. Every single move had been meticulously thought through.
Coming here today, defeat was never a possibility, for his identity, status, and power had already laid the foundation for everything.
At the same time, the terror gripping the others in the hall was increasingly supplanted by fury.
They burned with outrage over Duke Morotian's treachery, yet felt powerless before his overwhelming might, tortured by remorse and guilt for dragging down the Great Sage.
Today, they could only watch helplessly as he prepared to flee, unable to lift a finger to stop him.
"I..."
Just as the Great Sage gritted her teeth to speak, and just as a triumphant smile broke across Morotian's face—
For reasons unknown, a gentle breeze began to stir within the sealed parliamentary hall.
Chapter 481