In the Name of Empress-Chapter 404 - 285: Joy Turns to Sorrow

Judgment requires evidence, but leveling only needs a list.

Everyone understands the logic, but people tend to relax their vigilance, especially when they see light from darkness, thinking the threat is lifted or there’s hope for a comeback.

Late night at Duke Ricken’s manor, it was bustling with guests, all attendees of tonight’s banquet belonged to the Iron Overthrowing Emperor Sect, commonly known as rebels.

Among them were members of the discontented Prince Faction, Cabinet Ministers worried about their future, and big businessmen fearing loss of monopoly position.

Besides them, there’s a "deceased" figure of great prominence.

Old Macbeth.

This former literary titan of the Empire has been dead for many years, and people almost forgot his existence.

But he returned.

He claimed to have crossed the Nether River, survived the Netherworld’s dangers, finally received salvation, and returned to the human world.

Yet all the big figures present were shrewd, not fools, and of course knew this was a lie.

Resurrection isn’t impossible, but it’s extremely difficult.

The dividing line between the Magic Era New Calendar and the Old Calendar signifies both the fall of the Magic Empire and the Holy Son of Light’s resurrection from the Nether River.

Resurrection is a grace that can only be bestowed when the eye of God is cast upon the human world to see the Holy Son suffer.

Resurrection isn’t that simple, at least it requires True God Level capabilities.

Macbeth’s return was awakening from pretending to be dead, but ordinary people don’t understand; they’ll think Macbeth is shrouded in divine glory.

The fact that he is favored by the gods is respected, yet he cannot change the political arena; joining the Divine Court of Light as a High Tier Divine Scoundrel has more potential.

However, his return invigorated the rebels, nearly raising a toast in advance.

Not only did he return himself, but he also brought back wandering Prince Feino, who couldn’t cross the Nether River’s banks.

One must admit, top Literary Scholar’s storytelling ability is indeed strong.

If the guests present didn’t know the truth, they’d definitely lose judgment amid this tear-jerking story.

He told a story.

"Prince Feino fell into the sea to protect the old Emperor."

"According to worldly views, Prince Feino indeed died."

"But his virtue couldn’t move the Netherworld Ferryman, and he lacked extra gold coins, so he could only wander on the other side of the Nether River."

"Yet, the great Prince Feino’s kindness earned the gods’ favor..."

In short, Feino saved the old Emperor, which was laudable; Sif forced the old Emperor to abdicate, which was odious.

Feino’s bad luck finally turned around after two years.

Macbeth appeared on the banks of the Nether River, saved Prince Feino, and returned with him to the human world.

This story was indeed wonderful, and it’s easy to touch people’s heartstrings.

After all, most people build families, they also have children, and naturally hope their children are as filial as Prince Feino.

Feino’s filial piety would also push the Sif who forced his father to abdicate into the spotlight.

It was indeed a fascinating story, though sadly containing little truth.

"But so what, people never need the truth, only the version they desire."

Macbeth looked at the others’ skeptical expressions and snorted disdainfully.

"Independent thinking and judgment are rare skills; most people don’t possess them. We just need massive publicity to blur right and wrong."

After a brief pause, Macbeth said with a smile: "Let’s start by saying Prince Feino is proficient in politics."

"Would the nation be better if Prince Feino, instead of Sif, who never received any political education, were on the throne?"

"This question is an unsolvable deadly kill, let the Imperial Faction shiver!"

Everyone knows, the never chosen one is always the strongest.

Even if Sif had three heads and six arms, she couldn’t make everyone happy.

At such times, news of Prince Feino’s survival spreads, and the despondent surely won’t miss the chance, while the opportunists also stand to gain significantly.

"Do you think so, Your Majesty Feino?"

Macbeth turned to the timid and fearful Fake Feino sitting at the main seat and asked with a smile.

"I, I don’t..."

"No need to worry, Your Majesty, you’ve stayed in the Netherworld too long, you should adapt slowly, luckily we have plenty of time."

The puppet Feino wisely shut his mouth, but a trace of anger flashed in his eyes as he lowered them.

He was indeed a puppet, and the risk of falsely impersonating the deceased prince was high; once something went wrong, he’d definitely pay a heavy price.

Fortunately, he had few family members and didn’t need to worry about implicating them.

The rebel core members were clinking glasses and drinking heartily. They finally saw the dawn of a comeback and needed to relax properly.

Not only must they discuss how to deal with Sif, but also how to share power after the battle.

Sitting silently beside the main seat, Duke Ricken watched this scene.

He even attentively poured wine for Prince Feino.

Looking at these radiant fellows, Duke Ricken felt a bit like laughing.

They had absolutely no idea what was waiting for them.

Besides Ricken, Alben silently observed the near revelry gathering.

These poor souls were all seeking a way ashore, unlike me, who saw from the start that Empress was worth investing in, now it’s finally harvest time.

Just as everyone was slightly drunk, a waiter came to Duke Ricken’s side and whispered in his ear.

Duke Ricken’s lips curved into a smile, the team led by Roland had entered the manor.

Everyone present were lambs waiting to be slaughtered.

Ricken didn’t speak, just anticipated with some expectation.

Footsteps sounded outside the corridor, soft but dense.

Sim looked discontentedly at the hall’s entrance, coldly rebuking:

"If there’s nothing urgent, don’t disturb us, leave quickly!"

"That won’t do, this is the suppression of a rebellion!" came an assertive voice from outside the door.

Suppression of rebellion?!

Everyone present was dumbfounded, they stood up wanting to resist, but found their arm strength couldn’t even reach a tenth of its peak.

Holding a wine cup when drinking earlier felt fine, but now wanting to resist was impossible.

"Someone poisoned us!" an astonished voice sounded.

The hall doors were opened, and the entire building shook.

Roland watched these fellows with a half-smile, gesturing, dozens of wolf-like soldiers had already charged forth.

"Proceed according to the plan I’ve set!"

As the soldiers charged in, the radiant old fellows seated immediately sensed something amiss.

He used his life to set the trap, aiming to lure Tier Seven individuals here to die.

The opponents came, not just one, but two, three.

The White Rose Knight and Flame Witch were both beside Roland, with combat prowess considered top-tier in Tier Seven, even facing one of them alone wasn’t guaranteed a win, yet three had come simultaneously.

Moreover, someone was despicable enough to poison the coffee, using the coffee’s bitterness to suppress the hidden poison beneath.

Macbeth immediately raised his hands, starting to plead.

"Mr. Roland, this matter has nothing to do with me, I can report and expose others."

"Want to earn a reduced sentence through merit? Alright, provide valuable intelligence."

Macbeth breathed a sigh of relief and started recounting anecdotes from the Empire’s literary circles.

Just as he gathered strength intending to act, Roland suddenly pulled out a scepter from somewhere and smashed it toward his head.

Macbeth wasn’t a novice, he had rich combat experience, first dodging, then was about to question and counterattack when the gleaming sharp gun tip pierced through his back.

Just as Sif ended the fight with a swift strike, resolving the traitors the fastest, Roland also acted, raising the scepter again and smashing Macbeth’s head.

Red met white.

Macbeth looked reluctantly at the female knight who delivered the fatal blow, recalling someone who shouldn’t have come, his vision darkened.

"You, you..."

He collapsed heavily, ultimately unable to finish the sentence.

No one knew what he wanted to say, nor did anyone care.

After all, nobody cares about a corpse’s thoughts.