CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 642: The Dukes

Malrik advanced with steady strides, feeling no urgency or haste. The instant he entered the Imperial Palace, evading the dome, countless Knights charged at him, ready to perish in fulfillment of their knightly vows. They recognized Malrik and his fearsome reputation, yet they rushed forward without pause to safeguard the Emperor.

Malrik ignored them entirely. With a mere thought, he twisted the air's light photons into an illusion, compelling each Knight to slaughter one another unto death. This illusion technique was one he'd never devised before this moment; after seeing Asher wield it once, he flawlessly mimicked his younger brother's application, mastering it instantly without the slightest effort.

Malrik had never bothered developing an illusion skill, as he wasn't the sort to skulk in shadows—that's why it never crossed his mind, since raw overwhelming power had always sufficed for his needs.

Malrik entered the structure, trapping every person he encountered in an illusion before departing silently, advancing like an irresistible torrent that nothing could block. In short order, he reached the Throne Room again, where the door he'd previously demolished had been miraculously restored to flawless condition.

"You’ve come again, Malrik Wargrave. I never thought you could cross the dome, but it seems I’ve underestimated you once again," Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor said in a serene voice, appearing utterly detached from the chaos. With that, he snapped his fingers, dissolving the dome completely as if it had never been there.

"Well, the Imperial Palace has been old for quite some time. I guess it will be time to remodel it after our battle," the Emperor declared while rising smoothly, his poise remaining utterly steady.

Unlike the others, Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor wore no armor or similar gear; instead, he donned a clothing artifact that provided superior defense, all while permitting effortless and comfortable movement, which he always kept on, since battles could ignite without warning.

"It’s funny, everyone knows I don’t joke with my siblings, yet they keep targeting them, and I can’t always help but wonder why," Malrik remarked in a monotone voice. His statement wasn't a query—he merely voiced his thoughts, his apathy concealing a far more perilous resolve.

A sharp hissing filled the Throne Room as he drew his katana with effortless grace. He slipped into flawless readiness, his senses expanding outward while he channeled every ounce of focus onto the Emperor, refining his perception to its utmost limit.

The Emperor grinned slyly, and in the next instant, a scythe materialized in his grip. The two had long been rivals, clashing covertly in the past; now, they would finally collide in the open, holding nothing back.

Malrik recognized that this duel would surpass any fight he'd known since birth—no Emperor could be feeble. His father Azaron had once named the Emperor as his only potential true foe, and given Azaron's immense strength, even that casual acknowledgment revealed the ruler's staggering might.

"Let’s finally have the clash of our lives, Malrik Wargrave," the Emperor proclaimed, his aura beginning to rumble gradually, swelling into something profoundly horrifying. Both lunged low, muscles tensing like taut bowstrings as they summoned their full physical might. Just as they prepared to rip into one another, three overwhelming presences crashed down from above, halting the world in its tracks.

Malrik and the Emperor whipped their heads upward, eyes snapping toward the arrivals that had interrupted their bout. There stood the three Dukes of the Zarethorn Empire. In a flash, they positioned themselves before the Emperor, glaring at Malrik with searing ferocity.

"Has the Wargrave Ducal family launched a coup against the Zarethorn Empire?" Duchess Syvrein Stormveil demanded icily, her words edged with venom.

"Where is Azaron Wargrave?" Duke Mauvrek Ravencroft inquired calmly, his aura already warping the nearby space.

Duke Rhydion Silvershade said nothing, merely holding his stare on Malrik with enigmatic purpose.

Malrik clicked his tongue in frustration, having overlooked these three entirely. A conflict of this magnitude in the Capital was impossible for them to miss, their perception reaching far beyond ordinary bounds.

The trio guarding the Emperor weren't acting out of loyalty or affection; they were simply unaware of the full situation, making allegiance to him the prudent choice. Had the Wargrave family intended to launch a coup, they ought to have looped them in beforehand, potentially forging an alliance since power frequently gravitates toward promising chances.

They perceived the clash unfolding beyond the palace walls too, yet what concern were lowly Cabinet Members to them? Their demise held no relevance, as those petty squabbles lay far beneath their dignity.

Malrik offered no words in response, merely allowing his Solar Energy to pulse outward, signaling his firm readiness; he stood prepared to battle both Dukes and the Emperor simultaneously if necessary, his determination rock-solid.

"It seems I will finally get to see the power you possess," Duke Mauvrek Ravencroft remarked in a steady voice, while fissures started spiderwebbing through the space encircling him, a clear sign of his imminent monster summoning without delay.

Yet right then, an overwhelmingly colossal aura that overshadowed every other combined crashed down across the entire Capital city. The heavens contorted, space shuddered, brilliant lights in countless hues and tones surged through the sky as strange mists coalesced, the firmament itself buckling under the crushing weight.

Purple, red, white, blue, and black hues swirled across the sky, until a resounding snap tore the void asunder, catapulting that tremendous presence to inconceivable extremes, as if the celestial dome was on the verge of shattering irreparably.

All action ground to a halt, every skirmish ended abruptly, gazes snapping upward to the firmament where a voracious nebula had engulfed the entire expanse. No speculation was needed, no pondering required; instinctively, in their very cores, thoughts, and essences, they recognized the advent of the Zarethorn Empire's supreme powerhouse, the Primarch, the Duke of the Wargraves—Azaron Wargrave, an entity whose presence alone reshaped the essence of might.

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