CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 643: The Dukes’ Stance

Every gaze stayed locked on the heavens, with no one bold enough to avert their eyes from the entity that had just entered the fray, overwhelmed by the colossal aura twisting the sky above. A few gulped nervously, while others' frames quivered momentarily before they steadied; in truth, across their hundreds of years of life, none had ever endured such crushing dominance.

Not a single person dared even to exhale, now that a figure capable of swaying the Empire's destiny—and potentially the whole realm of Crymora—had made his appearance.

Azaron Wargrave hovered amid the skies as the nebula dominating the firmament swirled overhead, his golden eyes sweeping down to survey the chaos erupting below. No summons had drawn him here; he had simply detected the catastrophe raging in the capital and descended upon it.

His cloak billowed in the wind as those golden eyes first fixed on his eldest son, Malrik; then shifted to the Emperor, next to the three Dukes shielding him, and finally rested on the Great Elders and Elders of the Wargrave family. Though unaware of the full details, he instantly deduced that Malrik, true to form, lay at the heart of this uproar.

Yet... Malrik, for all his penchant for mischief, would never spark turmoil of this magnitude, one severe enough to rally even the reclusive Elders from the Estate to join the fray.

At that, he advanced a step; instantly, the nebula's ethereal vapors plunged like a raging vortex, crafting a cascade of steps down to the earth, upon which Azaron descended with a serene visage. No fury burned in him, no trace of annoyance; he embodied pure tranquility, as if the mayhem had never transpired.

The instant his boots met the soil, those vapor-formed stairs dissolved without a trace, like illusions never conjured.

In the blink that followed, the Great Elders and Elders shook free from their reverie; they forsook their foes without a second thought and knelt before Azaron Wargrave at once, offering a synchronized salute.

"We greet the Primarch," eight voices rang out together in flawless unison.

Though the Great Elders were Azaron’s uncles and senior in years, and the Elders his own kin, such hierarchies held no weight in the Wargrave Ducal Family's code; the Primarch embodied unchallenged dominion and command, rendering age a meaningless figure.

Azaron held his silence at first; his gaze lingered on the prostrated Elders briefly before he uttered a word.

"Explain what is happening," he commanded evenly, his tone leisurely and detached, even as his kin appeared poised against the Royal family.

Great Elder Morthen advanced calmly, his features composed as he declared, "According to the information we received, the Emperor, Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor, attempted to mentally manipulate the Tenth Sun, Asher Wargrave," his delivery steady, a subtle smirk curling at his mouth's corner.

No sooner had Morthen spoken than shock erupted over the visages of Duke Mauvrek Ravencroft, Duke Rhydion Silvershade, and Duchess Syvrein Stormveil. Disbelief gripped them; they had hastened here to defend the Emperor and Empire against the Wargrave clan, yet now... it appeared they had chosen the losing allegiance.

Their stares whipped toward the Emperor lingering in their rear, thoughts whirling with frantic assessments. No explanation was needed to grasp that the Emperor wielded a new power beyond his bloodline gift, leaving them to ponder how many souls he might already command.

In their eyes, if he had targeted Asher for mental sway, then doubtless he had assayed the same on heirs of noble lineages, perhaps their own offspring, spouses, Knights, loyal retainers... what if the Emperor manipulated them even now, safeguarding himself?

Even absent current control, he might have planted insidious mental hooks in their psyches, needing only a whim to trigger them should calamity strike.

Their thoughts spiraled wildly, dissecting the crisis with mounting fervor.

Though unverified as yet, every noble house knew one irrefutable truth: Malrik would not unleash such bedlam with Wargrave Elders at his back if these claims rang false.

Instantly, the three Dukes disappeared from their positions, their forms blurring as they created distance from the Emperor. Even without confirmation, this suggested the Emperor hadn't seized control over them yet... and staying close could give him that chance. Ignorant of the activation conditions or underlying mechanisms, they chose the safer path of caution.

They rematerialized high in the sky, hovering effortlessly despite the heavy frowns creasing their faces and the mounting tension in their stances. After all, even their most closely guarded secrets—known solely to them as Dukes concerning their own households—could already lie exposed in the Emperor’s possession right now.

How could they possibly stand by the Emperor and shield him under such circumstances?

Yet... this development didn't compel them to side with the Wargraves in any actions they might take. Should the Wargraves move against the Imperial family, the Dukes would stay neutral, watching from afar without meddling.

Monstrous as the Wargraves were in every way imaginable, the full scope of the Emperor’s mental domination remained unknown. What if he had already ensnared all nobles below Duke rank?

Moreover, that was just the least of their worries; as Emperor, Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor had surely engaged in summits and diplomacy across various Empires and with their leaders. What if Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor also commanded puppets within foreign realms?

All scenarios demanded careful thought.

Armed with this insight, the Dukes resolved to stay out of it entirely. Victory for the Wargraves? They'd adjust to the shifted hierarchy. Inevitably, the Wargraves would suffer wounds in triumph; the three Dukes could then swoop in post-battle, wiping out both the savage Wargraves and the manipulative Emperor in a single stroke.

Should the Emperor prevail instead, no stain of treason would taint them since they abstained from the fight. From then on, however, they'd vigilantly distrust every person, every soul who had brushed against the Emperor, no matter how brief the encounter.