CHAPTER 442: SCRIPT THAT HIBBORT DESIRED

The news from Liya Tower Fortress will take over half a month to reach the imperial capital, inevitably causing a lag in intelligence exchange between the two locations. The emperor stationed in the capital couldn’t effectively analyze the overall battlefield situation, and concrete command could only rely on the numerous military aristocrats within the duchy territories.

Once Duke Charles, the core commander, left his domain, it will be tantamount to fully expose the border defenses to the Kingdom of Velys. Knowing this, the Church knights would certainly intensify their attacks, striving to seize key strategic locations before Charles’ return and establish the army’s offensive direction.

If Hibbort truly had complete knowledge of Lucas and Alistair’s movements, clearly foreseeing when and where they were most likely to collide and attack each other, making strategic arrangements accordingly wouldn’t be strange, Charles’ presence wouldn’t even be necessary.

The duke could continue guarding the northern frontier, serving as a deep-water bomb planted among the Kingdom of Velys’s main forces, detonating at the moment they let their guard down.

This was exactly what Astrid had previously considered, Hibbort’s feigned illness wasn’t just false information meant for the two princes, but also a smoke screen cast toward the Kingdom of Velys, causing them to misjudge the Empire’s internal political situation and thereby making serious strategic errors.

Their failure to launch war at the critical moment of imperial succession was proof of their mistake; by prematurely clarifying the Empire’s external conflicts, they had unintentionally accelerated the upcoming power transition.

Still, even from the Kingdom of Velys’s perspective, facing such acute internal problems and with information from the imperial capital remaining opaque, they couldn’t afford to delay any longer. They had no choice but to "be forced into war" at this neither-ideal-nor-terrible juncture.

Unconsciously, Astrid’s thoughts drifted slightly. She heard the fork clink against the silver plate, her hand holding the wine glass pausing momentarily.

"Is that so..."

The doubt in her heart remains unspoken. Astrid gently crossed her legs, the faint rustle of silk blending into the warm lighting, becoming nearly inaudible.

"Until Mr. Trin returns, please pay extra attention to the palace security, Father, and try to have trusted people attend you personally."

With one early-tier Arcanist Mage no longer by his side, Hibbort’s personal safety indeed required greater vigilance.

After all, even if the life-threatening illness was a lie fabricated by Hibbort, judged by the timeline, the current Emperor of the Valeria Empire should already be feeling his physical functions deteriorating significantly.

Hearing Astrid’s words, Hibbort gave a slight nod, his eyes slowly sweeping across the dining table, blue pupils reflecting the bright candlelight.

"I will."

Having spoken, the man turned his head towards the other side, where a white-dressed little girl sat obediently. His fingers slightly tapped the table surface.

"Speaking of which, Astrid..."

"Do you plan to hold an adulthood ceremony for Livia?"

Suddenly hearing Hibbort mention Amalia, Astrid’s expression remained unchanged. Following the man’s gaze, she looked toward the dark-haired girl on the opposite side of the table, wearing a pure white lace hairband.

Under that fabricated identity, the background information Astrid had provided was "Livia Calliste is a twelve-year-old naive girl who lost her family early." Even after so long, there were still two years before her actual coming of age.

But if it were Amalia Valeria, she truly was at the age for an adulthood ceremony, though the original text never mentioned Amalia’s birthday, and the white-haired girl she openly admitted she didn’t remember. She only regarded the day she met her elder sister as her new beginning, her so-called rebirth day.

Yet Hibbort couldn’t possibly not know, when he was embroiled in the scandal of his illegitimate daughter, the dancer who tried to climb into the royal family certainly provided Amalia’s exact birth date as secondary evidence, aside from the golden hair and blue eyes typical of royalty.

"I’ve had similar thoughts, but it really depends on whether Livia wants it..."

Gazing into those equally vivid red eyes, Astrid fluttered her eyelashes, her voice soft.

"...And whether the circumstances at that time are appropriate."

With war now raging between the two nations, the frontier in crisis, and the capital’s atmosphere especially tense, many nobles had already reduced social activities, retreating into seclusion.

Before the entire war concluded, it wasn’t suitable to grandly host an adulthood ceremony for a sister they’d picked up off the streets, even if she were the Empire’s most favored princess.

Despite that, the person wasn’t just Astrid’s adopted sister, but the last princess of the royal bloodline.

Hibbort bringing this up now makes it hard for Astrid not to speculate. After all, ordinary nobles planned such ceremonies just half a year in advance, how many would usually start considering it at age sixteen?

The man, having listened, kept his gaze fixed on Amalia. Seeing that she wasn’t looking at him, merely lowering her head to her plate, he spoke quietly observing after a moment.

"The situation changes too quickly. It really is worth thinking about."

Feeling Hibbort’s words carried deeper meaning, Astrid was about to respond when she saw the man before she suddenly sniffed, his tone low.

"Dinner is almost done."

"After such a long time apart, could you accompany this old man to the study for a chat?"

There’s a second half?

Astrid fell silent for several seconds before replying.

"Of course, Father."

Whether as a daughter or as a princess, she had no reason to refuse.

But... Amalia...

Watching Hibbort rise and push his chair forward, Astrid understood his meaning. She gave Amalia a meaningful glance and straightened her legs.

"Let’s go, Livia."

It seemed that tonight, not only Lucas and Alistair would decide life and death, so too would they, who had been acting right under Hibbort’s watchful eyes.

............

At the same time, at the Count Roast’s estate, pre-engraved magical circles revived across the ground, forming an impenetrable dark mist barrier through which even moonlight could not penetrate.

From the outside, this barrier bore some resemblance to the death barrier that once separated space at the farm, but in both effect and scale it was far inferior, merely a degraded replica.

The instant the magical fluctuation was detected, all guards immediately sprang into action. Yet in the few short seconds they took rushing toward the mansion, the sky had already darkened.

External elemental particles were instantly isolated. Whether it was highly mobile wind or light, which was difficult to block, all were directly severed by the dark mist. The range detectable by mental senses also shrank to just this moderately-sized private estate.

The next second, an illumination spell pierced the sky, artificial light briefly replacing moonlight. Inside Helen’s room, the bed had already been shattered by fierce wind. Lucas, stripped of his clothes, had only managed to throw on a woolen robe. A steady stream of blood flowed down his arm, staining large areas of skin.

"The isolation magic circle is operating as scheduled. In this long yet fleeting time ahead, sound won’t transmit, mental energy cannot be sent outward. No one will hear your cries for help, and no reinforcements will come."

Seeing that Lucas had used some special object to block the previous dark spear attack, Alistair did not grow angry. He simply hovered in midair, looking down at Lucas.

"These dark mists will seamlessly shield this area. The Imperial Guards stationed over half an hour’s journey from the estate won’t be able to detect any abnormalities."

"You’re isolated, with no help and no escape."

His personal guards did have some strength, but the assassins he’d planted were sufficient to hold them back. Once Lucas died, as the victor, he could naturally deal with them one by one.

Hearing Alistair’s words, Lucas wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his blue eyes glaring angrily at the other.

"This is your brilliant plan to turn the tide?"

"Assassinating a prince, do you know the consequences of such an act?"

Alistair, hearing this, did not grow angry but instead laughed, his dark wings blocking the brief light from the illumination spell.

"Of course I know."

"This act will make me the ultimate victor, the next emperor of the Valeria Empire."

"And you, my elder brother, Lucas Valeria, will merely become nutrients for the soil beneath our feet, another unfortunate name in the history books."

Thick darkness gathered beneath his wings, even his royal family’s blue eyes stained with mottled ink. Alistair had a grim smile as he flapped his wings, corrosive ink-like raining down.

His gathered mental energy detecting so many incoming attacks, Lucas’s facial muscles involuntarily twitched. His numb legs scraped against the floor as he withdrew backward.

This scale of offense couldn’t possibly come from a mere Magnus-level mage.

Alistair... when did he ascend to Arcanist Mage...

With his arrogant personality, if he had truly ascended, how could he keep it secret from the other nobles? Unless he’d been holding back solely to kill him.

Everything that had happened tonight far exceeded Lucas’s expectations, Helen’s betrayal, Alistair’s sudden appearance, and especially the other’s greatly superior strength.

The burning pain from the dagger-pierced arm continued, causing his heartbeat to accelerate. Knowing that his mental strength couldn’t block this attack, Lucas once again summoned defensive crystals from his spatial ring, releasing them all at once with a thought.

Layer upon layer of arcane defensive nets appear before Lucas, overlapping like petals.

The moment the ink rain touched the barrier, arcane particles rapidly dissolved. The dense darkness seeped into the barrier like soil, visibly devouring the transparent shield.

Solid ice armor, net-like lightning, thick earth barriers, not only the arcane particles, but even the fixed magical sequence-arranged elemental particles began scattering, as if encountering their natural nemesis.

Fortunately, Lucas had used a sufficient number of crystals at once. Although their overall was lacking, they managed to gradually absorb and neutralize this onslaught through energy dissipation.

A few slipped through the petal-like defenses, landing on Lucas’s bare thighs. The icy sensation instantly turned into scorching heat, melting his skin, blood vessels, and muscles.

"Kehhh..."

A low, guttural growl escaped his throat, Lucas curling his body like a fish just dragging ashore, muscles spasming continuously from intense pain.

Seeing his own blood brother display such agony, Alistair, who believed victory was already his, didn’t deliver the killing blow at this moment. Instead, he gazed at the other with an expression of pity.

"Killing you seems even easier than I imagined."

"After all the preparations I made, all the contingencies I considered, in the end it’s just like crushing an ordinary ant you’d find anywhere."

This power’s strength far exceeds Alistair’s expectations. Even this opponent, who he once found immensely troublesome, could only bow before its might.

Watching Lucas lying on the ground, unable even to chant a wind attribute spell to fly, Alistair’s desire to torment grew.

"Strange, isn’t it? How I, who was merely a peak tier Magnus before, suddenly left you far behind and became a powerful Arcanist Mage?"

The man’s tone was flippant, as if drawing extraordinary pleasure from Lucas’s suffering.

To see this arrogant prince crawling on the ground like a dog, gasping and struggling, just like the male concubines he’d once locked in dark rooms and stripped of dignity piece by piece, the stark contrast between past and present brought Alistair an extraordinary thrill. At this moment, he almost didn’t want to kill the other too quickly, not wanting this pleasure to fade prematurely.

"I owe my current power to you, brother, and that wretched woman who repeatedly ruined my plans, Third Princess Astrid."

"On that dead land, I obtained a special power even Arcanist Mage Charlotte and Academy Head Anthony couldn’t perceive."

Alistair lightly slid his fingers, and thick death energy condensed in the air.

"My personal attendant was the first to touch it, yet in the end, I was the one who gained the power."

"It’s clear Heaven’s choice. When I’m at a disadvantage, it bestows grace, letting all the nobles understand who the true leader of the Empire is."

Seeing this, Lucas silently chanted a spell within his mind. Transparent wind wings began forming along his back ribs. But how could this escape Alistair’s eyes? With a flick of his fingers, two more dark mist projectiles shot through the air.

First piercing his thighs, then shattering the nascent wind wings. Hearing Lucas’s involuntary cry of agony, Alistair’s lips curled upward.

"What’s wrong? Can’t hear me?"

Alistair glanced sideways at his subordinates fighting with the guards on the empty ground. One peak tier Magnus had broken free and was already approaching their small mansion.

With a casual dark-element magic blast, the peak tier Magnus’ body flew backward like a broken kite, instantly thrown several meters away.

The gap between Magnus and Arcanist Mage was like a chasm. This was why the former could still be considered conventional weapons on the battlefield, while the latter became nuclear-level weapons no one dared to deploy first.

In terms of both mental energy quality and spellcasting power, they were the most destructive human weapons, taking lives was effortless.

"Madman..."

Lucas cursed under his breath, a thread of mental energy seeping into his ring, trying to locate his final trump card that could turn the tide.

As Alistair said, this barrier cut off all possibilities of calling for help. If he wanted to live, he had to defeat the second prince floating before him.

But how...

Despair spread thickly through Lucas’s heart, accompanied by intense regret.

If he were in the capital now, such commotion would have long been detected by the Imperial Guards.

Feeling Lucas’s agitation, a hint of cat-toying-with-mouse mockery surfaced in Alistair’s eyes.

"I’ll give you a chance. Beg me now, and maybe I’ll let you live a few more days."

"Aren’t you the self-proclaimed charming prince? Dying beneath flowers isn’t a bad ending either."

Even someone as foolish as Lucas could realize that Alistair had decided long ago to end his life here, at this estate, at this very moment.

"You can dream on."

The next second, Lucas materialized his staff from the ring, and several explosive fires erupted.

"Still not giving up?"

Tracking the arc of each attack, Alistair used streams of dark elemental particles to intercept them one by one.

But behind the fire explosive came Lucas’s ultimate offensive magic crystals, and a small, exquisite metal ring.

Wait... a ring?

The instant his mental energy scanned the object, Alistair didn’t determine its magic through spell circles but recognized with his naked eye, it was the same ring that had been on Lucas’s index finger just now.

A spatial storage device?

Before Alistair could think further, everything in his vision turned into slow motion. A powerful magical stirring shook the mental senses of everyone present.

In an instant, a beam of white light split the air, cutting through the fog-like darkness. Even Astrid in the distant capital couldn’t help but glance out the window, as if, for that one second, a bolt of thunder had descended from the sky.

Within the Count Roast’s estate, rippling spatial waves shattered Helen and her bed, pierced through the dark mist canopy above, and fragmented space shards scattered like glass, briefly yet accompanied by ringing ears, stimulating everyone through two different sensory levels.

Spatial-related magical concepts were something only peak tier Arcanist Mages had a chance to study. Even if Alistair had ascended to early tier Arcanist Mage, he couldn’t resist spatial-level attacks. Although he rapidly deployed his dark mist defense, the power from the exploding spatial ring still directly erased one of his arms.

The explosive energy released extremely fast, disappearing within a breath. The sensation of spatial fragmentation lasted less than half a second. The ring completely disappeared, and all fell silent.

The elegantly decorated small mansion had half of it erased by this single blow. Despite deliberately controlling the blast radius, Lucas was still caught in the shockwave, half his body buried beneath collapsed walls, his lower limbs seemed numb.

Liquid rained down from the air, but this time it wasn’t corrosive acid rain, it was blood gushing from Alistair’s shoulder.

"How dare you..."

The man stared blankly at his empty left shoulder, not even a shred of fabric remaining, as if cleanly cut by a sharp pair of scissors.

The ocean of thick ink gathered again. Feeling the cold air drifting around him, Alistair knew the dark mist barrier had been broken, and other powerful figures might arrive at any moment.

There was no need to continue playing. He will kill the Imperial Prince before him right now.

With his mental energy intensely gathered, dark waves surging like a great tide. But just before Alistair launched his attack, a transparent air wave sliced off his other half of dark wings.

This level of mental energy... another Arcanist Mage...

But how was that possible?

Alistair plummeted downward, using his remaining hand to grasp the air, silently chanting a spell, using wind to cushion his fall.

From the moment the dark mist dissipated until Alistair decided to kill Lucas, less than half a minute had passed. Even Academy Head Anthony, who had reached the peak tier Arcanist Mage tier, couldn’t have arrived this quickly.

From among the buildings, the audience who had watched the entire invasion stepped out of the shadows. Lucas and Alistair simultaneously expanded their eyes.

Trin, draped in an ancient robe, calmly swept his gaze over the ruined Count Roast’s estate.

The farce should end here.

According to the script, Lucas, due to excessive arrogance and misplaced trust, would die in the second prince’s assassination. Alistair, in a lion-taking-a-rabbit approach, would grow careless and win at the cost of losing an arm.

But neither outcome matched what Hibbort desired.

"Your Highnesses."

"Please set aside your weapons for now."

Trin spoke softly, his Arcanist Mage-level mental energy rapidly circulating, forming arcane magic restraints that firmly bound both their hands.

"Everything that happened here has been recorded."

.............

"What’s wrong?"

"..."

"Nothing, Father."

Astrid turned her gaze from the flash of light that had passed by the window, meeting the emperor’s eyes. She tightened her grip on Amalia’s hand and, with long legs stepping forward, followed Hibbort into the study.

The man sat at his desk, glancing at the heavy night outside, then signaled the servant to place down the hot tea and leave the room.

"Sit down, my daughter."

Under normal circumstances, Astrid naturally understood this was a direct address to her. But at this moment, the title applied to more than just her.

After a brief silence, Astrid released Amalia’s hand, whispering gently.

"Sit down, Livia."

Don’t be nervous. Just act as you usually do.

Amalia blinked slightly, gave a slight nod, and politely sat aside Astrid, her wine-red eyes fixed on the man across the table.

Now she could fully master her emotions. No matter how close they were, or how ambiguous the way they addressed each other, nothing felt the least bit unnatural to her anymore.

"After spending so much time with you, the once-shy girl has truly changed," Hibbort remarked, leaning back in his chair with his hand resting on the imperial scepter. Despite his frail health, his presence still carried the majesty of a lion.

It had only been a few short years.

"People must grow; they can’t stay the same forever," Astrid replied evenly.

"She’s learned much from attending noble gatherings."

Of course, such social skills were just the most basic part of the emperor’s tutelage.

"Social interaction is, after all, the quickest way to understand human connections."

"And now, even when facing me, she remains composed."

"Her growth is truly remarkable."