Chapter 517 Change of Royal Power
Just then, a steady sound of footsteps approached from afar.
The footsteps, unhurried yet carrying a weight that seemed to transcend time, each step like an ancient bronze coin striking a blue brick, producing a dull yet clear "thud, thud."
With the sound of footsteps, Count Cassio appeared at the end of the corridor. He had not come for the letter. He had come because of the black horse that had crashed through the gate.
He stood in the shadows of the corridor, not approaching, but simply watching quietly.
Watching Hua Tianyou kneel down on one knee, supporting the dying messenger's wrist; watching the dark red seeping from under the bandage of his shoulder wound as his fingertips touched the sheepskin scroll; watching the silent thunder and storm in the depths of his pupils as he unfolded the letter.
Count Cassio then slowly stepped forward.
He wasn't wearing a count's formal attire, but only a faded linen robe, the corners of which were still covered in dust from the underground wine cellar, like a piece of earthy remnant peeled off an ancient mural.
The old man's gaze did not fall on the letter, but on Hua Tianyou's face.
Those eyes, which had seen the vicissitudes of life, seemed to be able to penetrate the skin and reach the depths of the soul, to discern whether the raging storm that had just subsided had truly settled into the bedrock that supported the mountains.
"God bless you," Count Casio's voice was deep, like two millstones slowly grinding together, "What...what does the letter say?"
Hua Tianyou did not answer immediately. He gently turned the letter over so that the sharp, incisive handwriting faced his grandfather.
Count Casio's gaze lingered there for a long time.
Time stretched out endlessly at that moment.
Outside the corridor, the wind swept past the copper bells on the tower, producing a long and clear tremor, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation.
Finally, Count Cassio let out a long, silent sigh.
That aura seemed to have lifted the immense burden that had weighed on his shoulders for thirty years.
He raised his head, his gaze passing over Hua Tianyou's shoulder and landing on the knights who had rushed to the courtyard because of the black horse's charge—their young faces showed confusion, awe, and lingering fear from the battle.
Casio's gaze swept across the young faces like a torch, his voice suddenly rising, no longer aged, no longer hesitant, but like a resounding bell, like thunder rolling across the sky above Marseille, making the wind chimes on the eaves of the towers tinkle and ring for a long time:
"Order—from this moment forward, the name 'Inglelie Territory' is abolished in Marseille! All knights, remove your Inglelie coat of arms!"
"Yes, sir!"
The shouts of the knights present were not uniform military commands, but roars of various tones, accents, and backgrounds, which merged into a devastating torrent that surged into the sky!
......
The scene shifts to the capital of the Tsarist Empire.
Before the bells rang, the air already seemed to freeze.
On the white jade steps, the Third Prince knelt, not in the kneeling of a defeated man, but in the collapse of a marionette whose strings have been suddenly cut.
His metallic royal robe trailed on the cold floor tiles, like a pool of ink cooling down.
The crown on his head, a symbol of royal power, was now tilted half an inch, its pearl tassels drooping and brushing against his trembling hand—this crown was placed on his head by the Duke himself when he was twelve years old, after he inherited the throne with the support of the Duke.
Now, the hand that once held the crown hangs three inches above his head.
There was no wind, yet the third prince's bangs stood on end—as if they had been sliced by an invisible blade.
Twelve chimes rang out from the distant bell tower. As the first chime fell, the Invincible Duke stepped forward; as the second chime fell, his fingertips lightly touched the Third Prince's temple; by the eleventh chime, he had already stood at the highest point of the white jade steps, unfurling a yellowed scroll in his hand—a handwritten copy of the "Tsar's Charter," the ink still fresh, stamped with the Third Prince's personal seal.
The twelfth chime shattered the long night.
The knights of the Northern Palace presented the newly cast crown: a base of pure gold, with a double-headed eagle holding an olive branch and a sword, its eyes inlaid with obsidian, cold and hard as stars.
The Invincible Duke did not accept the crown holder, but let the knight slowly push the edge of the crown to his forehead.
When the crown was fully in place, he finally lowered his eyes and looked down at the puppet king below, who was still trembling and had been stripped of his title of "Tsar".
The voice wasn't loud, but it resonated throughout the entire glazed dome of the Golden Palace: "With the change of power, I will not kill you. I can guarantee you wealth and honor for the rest of your life, and you will have no worries about food and clothing."
The third prince's Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to say something, but the knights who stepped forward carried him away from the palace.
From then on, the Tsarist Empire was free of any behind-the-scenes manipulators.
Only the one on the stage, with his crown as the dividing line, is no longer the invincible duke of the Tsarist Empire; he is the new king of the Tsarist Empire.
......
The Holy Kingdom of the Vatican, Mount Vatican.
The blue bricks are imbued with a century of cold air, and five silver-white armored figures stand silently like monuments.
Beneath their feet lay half a charred Tsarist flag—the flagpole was broken and jagged, with dark red scabs still clinging to the charred parts, like an old wound that had not yet healed.
The Pope did not speak, but simply threw the tattered flag to the ground. Half of the double-headed eagle emblem on the flag had been licked away by flames, leaving only one eagle eye staring blankly at the angels painted on the dome.
The Pope finally spoke, his voice thin as a knife: "You have received the covenant of the Seven Stars and accepted the summons. Gathered here, you shall go to the battlefield and adjudicate on behalf of the six nations—not for the Papacy, but for the covenant."
There was no "defeat" or "slaughter," only "judgment."
The moment the word "contract" was uttered, the five masked figures and their breaths simultaneously faltered.
They knew all too well that the name of the Seven Stars was not divinely bestowed, but rather a covenant of shared rule signed by the rulers of the six kingdoms with their own royal power as collateral. To break it today would not merely destroy a flag, but the balance of power that the six kingdoms had dared not easily sever for centuries.
......
On the battlefield between the Holy See and the Tsarist Empire, the two armies faced each other, their armor gleaming and their banners fluttering like a forest.
The Papacy's allied forces stood in formation as if cast in iron, their spear tips reflecting the leaden light of the sky.
Five Seven Stars stood before the formation—not in the posture of charging, but as five bowstrings stretched to their limit, the bow arms curved like full moons, yet no arrows were on the strings. They stood silently, their silver-white armor reflecting the sunlight, as cold and hard as blades covered in fresh snow.
suddenly--
The central army of the Tsarist Empire split open silently.
There were no horns, no drumbeats, not even the vibration of horses' hooves hitting the ground.
Only a figure in a blue robe slowly emerged from the depths of a vast army.
His clothes were made of a light blue dyed by the spring waters of Jiangnan, with wide sleeves that billowed slightly with each step, revealing a section of his well-defined wrist. He wore no sword, carried no shield, and even his belt was loosely tied, as if he were simply strolling through the marketplace.
The five stars of the Seven Stars raised their heads simultaneously.
The pupil beneath the visor suddenly contracted—
It wasn't because that person approached, but because the internal energy within my body suddenly surged backward!
It felt as if ice spikes were piercing their spines, their dantian was churning like boiling water, and the blood in their limbs was rushing back to their hearts... In that instant, they vaguely heard the roar of the ancient wilderness—not a sound, but the awakening of fear etched into their blood!
At that moment, the five men's Adam's apples bobbed as they tasted the rust on their tongues.
Shen Mo stopped. He was only a hundred paces away from the five people.
He didn't draw his sword, nor did he even raise his eyes.
He simply raised his left hand slowly, palm facing forward, three inches to the left—
The person on the far right suddenly jumped up and down!
With a "crack," the mask split open, and fine cracks spread like a spider web. A line of blood meandered down from the temple, as red as cinnabar.
Four inches to the right—
The second person's kneecap shattered with a thud! His knee slammed into the frozen ground, cracks spreading like a spiderweb across his entire leg armor, and a second line of blood ran diagonally across his brow bone.
The third person... the fourth person... the fifth person...
There is no third option.
Shen Mo's palm hovered in mid-air, the five silver-white faceplates were all shattered, and five lines of blood snaked down from his forehead.
The entire room fell silent.
Until one day, a general in the Tsarist army suddenly roared, his voice like tearing silk:
"The Heavenly Demon God has defeated five Seven Stars! Warriors, follow me and charge!!!"
At that moment, a thunderous roar exploded from the throats of thousands of soldiers: "Kill—!!!"
The roar overturned the low-hanging leaden clouds, shaking the Papacy's allied forces.
Shen Mo simply lowered his eyes, looking at his outstretched left palm—there, a wisp of demonic energy containing the might of the Demon-Refining Beast King swirled like a living thing before suddenly dissipating.
It was as if what had just crushed the five Seven Stars was not human power, but rather an unintentional breath of heaven and earth itself.