CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 656: Artefact

Not only the common folk, wealthy merchants, and those of elevated status who weren't full nobles in the Capital City faced their own struggles, for the burden of recent happenings bore down relentlessly on every stratum of society, sparing not a single person from the fallout.

The nobility found themselves utterly dumbfounded—no, dumbfounded was too mild a word; they plunged into raw shock that cut far deeper than plain astonishment or skepticism. The three Dukes in particular—Duchess Syvrein Stormveil, Duke Mauvrek Ravencroft, and Duke Rhydion Silvershade—had watched the brutal clash between the Wargrave Ducal family and the Imperial family erupt right before them, a spectacle burned into their minds for years ahead.

Indeed, while the three Dukes opted against meddling, they lingered to see the chaos play out fully. They remained to behold the true monstrosity of Azaron; they stayed to gauge the famed might of the Emperor himself, that force long synonymous with imperial dominance.

Though aware of Azaron's terrifying power, their intel stemmed from battles decades old. Fresh details were essential, updated views of his present might; reaching the Radiant Crownstar Life Rank didn't halt further gains in strength, after all.

True, advancing Life Rank itself was impossible now, but raw combat ability told a different story entirely—one every Crownstar Life Ranker knew well... except perhaps the fresh ascendants still learning its depths.

What they saw shook them to the core, an abiding dread that wouldn't fade. Azaron's effortless domination over the Emperor, barely tapping his nebula affinity for offense and mostly using it defensively, left them speechless. They even saw him tank blows head-on with chilling nonchalance.

In awe, reverence, and subdued terror they gazed, reminded sharply that Duke Azaron Wargrave hadn't quit honing his edge upon taking the title. He didn't hole up in some office, buried in paperwork, ignoring his own progress.

That fight—or utter thrashing—slapped them with reality: even at Crownstar Life Rank's pinnacle, personal power had no ceiling. The duel hammered home that true rule hinged on rawest strength, not loftiest titles in the noble order.

Having seen such a show, the trio—no, nearly every noble—would soon enter closed-door training to sharpen their edges further.

As nobles, they tapped swifter, surer info streams than Capital commoners. Intelligence got confirmed in minutes, full dossiers in under thirty. Right now, every Baron or Viscount knew the Capital's drama inside out.

They felt the battle's fury ripple out; they sensed the insanity as it raged. But unlike Dukes charging to the Emperor and Palace, lesser nobles—from Marquis down—mirrored Yveric: mustering troops, firing up defenses, arrays, and wards, bracing for spillover.

With no summons from the Emperor, they had no cause to charge in. An Imperial edict would spur instant action, but without it, standing back was their prerogative.

Yet that wasn't the heart of it. Nobles pulled Empire-wide facts in under an hour, based on coin spent and haste needed. The news hitting them now silenced and rattled them profoundly.

The Emperor's Mind Manipulation power bombshell stunned them utterly. Such gifts weren't unknown, but dreaded everywhere, their wielders shunned for the dire perils they wrought.

That wasn't the end of it. The shocking revelation that the Emperor tried to control the Tenth Sun after his clash with Ryan Silvershade sent the entire noble hierarchy hurtling toward utter chaos.

Indeed, the Emperor never openly confessed to it, not even under pressure from the Duke of the Wargrave family, yet the truth lingered...

This evidence, this revelation—regardless of the Emperor's denial—ignited a ruthless purge.

No noble house wasted a moment. They all flung open their treasuries, seizing every artifact that could fend off Mind Manipulation in any shape. Nobles probed the thoughts and pasts of maids, butlers, Knights—any human faced the scan. Sons and daughters of nobles, even the nobles themselves, came under intense examination; the threat was grave beyond measure.

Without surprise, victims of mental tampering surfaced in almost every noble family, locking in the damning proof of the Emperor’s Mind Manipulation.

Panic seized the nobles, propelling them to slay the manipulated right then and there, no second thoughts. Who dared intervene? Who'd slap them with murder charges? Simple: nobody. No overarching power or guard force existed to bring them to justice.

Yet, following those first brutal killings, a tempered strategy slowly took shape. Efforts turned to purging the mental hold from afflicted minds, for nobles struggled to execute their own offspring ensnared by such control.

Merchants scarcely grasped the crisis before demand for mind artifacts exploded skyward. Feeble or trivial effects didn't matter; nobles and top-tier elites with sprawling intel webs poured out thousands of Platinum coins to claim them. True to form, surging demand against thin supply hurled prices into the stratosphere, fueled by raw economic laws.

Did complaints arise? Not a whisper. Hoarding gold now? Hardly—this demanded lavish spending. Riches were stockpiled precisely for disasters like these, so why hold back? Moreover, no matter how merchants bloated their tags, these titans of wealth stayed unshaken; one artifact's outrageous cost couldn't topple their empires.