The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1976: The Right Time

Rex smiled meaningfully at Diamantona and descended the staircase.

His enemies flashed inside his mind as he made his way down.

Kaiser, Ignatius, Void, and the Fourthborn took their turns to occupy his mind—as if to remind him that they were still out there and still finding ways to kill him and decimate everyone around him. Each one was eager to take a piece of him.

Right now, he was focusing on Kaiser.

Someone he really needed to kill in order to free up his attention to focus on the others.

In fact, Kaiser was the sole reason why he’s in the God Realm right now.

As anyone would, Rex decided to tackle his enemies one by one.

Despite possessing many enemies, there was one good thing that his enemies shared in common, which was that none of them worked together or even knew each other. Rex could make use of that to deal with them one by one, picking and choosing his battles.

Due to that specific reason, he hadn’t made any move to Void, the Fourthborn, or Ignatius.

Not that he didn’t want to, but it’s better to focus on one before fretting about another one.

But there’s an opportunity that fell into his lap.

Rex, without planning it, encountered another Scion of the Vertex.

Someone who was at the one-hundred-and-fifty-one position.

He still remembered that Ignatius was at one-hundred and one—so Rex could see how close his strength was to Ignatius by fighting Diamantona. Compared to Kei Xun, Diamantona was probably still weaker than her, so this is the perfect chance for him to attempt to fight another Scion.

It was going to be his very first battle against someone with the same potential as him.

His own kind.

Not only was this the perfect chance to test his strength, but he also got a proposition from another Scion.

One that would help him in the future.

Rex wasn’t planning to make any moves against Ignatius—but since the situation had come to this, it’d be a waste not to seize it.

In the ballroom, Davina’s eyes flickered when Rex arrived with a small smile on his lips.

She didn’t know what had happened to him, and frankly, she was worried as he didn’t look good earlier.

But now, it seemed whatever he went through was done, and he came back with good news.

"What happened?" Davina asked as Rex joined High Lord Ursa’s table, sitting between her and Lilliana.

"Nothing much." Rex exhaled lightly and reclined in his chair.

"You’re hiding things from me?"

"It’s not another woman, don’t worry. You were jealous of Vadyn, and now this?"

"Don’t change the subject."

"Relax... You’ll find out soon enough."

Spirit and longevity of cooperation; that’s the reason why High Lord Ursa held this small banquet.

No, that was a blatant lie.

It was nothing but a theatre of humiliation, and High Lord Rashal was its quiet centerpiece. The other High Lords kept their distance as if an invisible cordon had been drawn around his table, a cordon that only they could see.

Some glanced his way with an unreadable expression.

A few even shifted their seats as if to rise and approach, only to reconsider at the last moment.

Each attempt died against an unseen wall.

No one comes. No one spoke.

High Lord Rashal had done nothing to them. Nothing but exist. He had clawed his way up from nothing, pursued every advantage a new High Lord could seize fairly, gone so far as to risk his own life in order to achieve military merit, knowing that momentum was everything in a political stage like this.

Every step he made was built with sweat, blood, and precision.

It was tempting to cheat his way.

Frankly, he knew the bad things that the other High Lords had done to gain power, and he could also do the same thing, but he chose not to. High Lord Rashal’s ego made him believe that he was strong and also talented enough to climb the ladder of power with his own strength.

And he proved it to be true when he became the newest High Lord.

But his origins clung to him like a stain.

A humble background with no high-class lineage. No ancient name and history to drop into conversation like a key that unlocked every closed door. Classism. It was simply classism, and it made his presence a nuisance that the other High Lords could not abide.

Damn those who remained neutral.

Had it been other High Lords with lineage who were wronged, they would most certainly speak up.

Not for High Lord Rashal, it seemed.

Even then, the man who was pressured from all sides remained silent. His back straight, and his hands rested motionless on the table before him. At the head of the ballroom, High Lord Ursa stood on a small platform made of sparkling clear water.

He tapped a spoon over his wine glass, and then delivered a speech when all eyes were on him.

Every word that rolled out of his tongue came out with practiced ease.

Each sentence hit its unexpected beat.

He speaks of how far the High Lords had come in their support of the Overseer of Realms—which was the fruit of their likeness. Spoke of the current stability that was unmatched in all of history. Spoke of a brighter future if only they continued to work hard, work together—and maintain the purity of likeness within the parliament.

It was a beaming speech of valor.

A ritual recitation that was filled with conviction.

High Lord Ursa hit every mark on the script, and the other High Lords played their parts.

But not all High Lords seemed to be eager for the banquet.

Even though High Lord Ursa seemed to be the strongest, he was not. He was the most influential.

And those who are stronger than he find his petty tricks to be detestable, but none spoke up—as being on the receiving end is not a fun experience. All of them knew that he was making this banquet in order to seal High Lord Rashal’s fate, and they let him.

"A toast." High Lord Ursa raised his glass. "To the Overseer’s eternal reign and our prosperity!"

"Cheers!"

Following the lead, the room drank, and then the socializing began—the real purpose of any banquet.

The High Lords rose and mingled, making deals and trading promises. Their tables grow crowded with supplicants and allies. All of them brought their finest business people—and important people, making this banquet one of the most influential social gatherings in years.

All except one, of course.

High Lord Rasha’s table remained silent. Empty.

The businessmen and women he had brought attempted to strike up conversation of their own, trying to approach other clusters with polished smiles and extended hands. And for a second—the others also returned their polite smiles.

But those smiles faded when the others learned that they were from Larta City.

Nobody dared to strike a deal with those associated with High Lord Rashal.

It was humiliating not because they were dismissed, but because they suddenly became invisible.

Left to stand in the currents of conversation like stones too heavy to carry.

From the table near the entrance, High Lord Rashal looked utterly defeated. His gaze was distant, fixed on nothing, and his body was still. His vision blurred—the humiliations he had endured throughout this whole ordeal dissolved into a meaningless smear of color and noise.

Humiliation, pride, and standing. All of it is an illusion.

It would only be a problem if he made it a problem.

And it’s hard to see otherwise, as the pride in him that believed he could do more was screaming.

Angry that someone like him could be reduced to this state.

But other than that, inside, something else was happening.

His senses sharpened and folded inward.

He could hear his own heartbeat thudding slow and steady in his chest, the rhythmic draw of his lungs, and the blood moving through his veins—like a river in the dark. High Lord Rashal was unnaturally in complete tune with his body in this moment.

A blade being tempered in the cold water of disgrace.

To anyone watching, he was finished.

This night would be the night he solidified his doom.

A High Lord in name only, waiting out the hours until the voting came to bury him.

But High Lord Rashal was not defeated. He was memorizing. Branding every detail of this icy isolation into the fabric of his mind—the cold glances, the turned backs, and the silence that surrounded his table like a shroud.

So that in the future, he would remember this.

Remember what would happen to him if he didn’t become greater than he already was.

He stared into the void, and the void stared back, and he made it a promise. Never again.

Just then, High Lord Rashal spotted his advance from the far side of the ballroom hall.

It was like the slow approach of a shark in deep water. First, the slow-shadow swim from the distance that seemed like a current. Then, the darkened spot, a dangerous swim of a creature, the revelation of a massive size, and the parting of other High Lords as if instinctively knowing not to be on its way.

And then, like the shark’s razor-sharp teeth, the devious smile rose onto his face.

Followed by the cane thudding against the floor as he eagerly made his way to High Lord Rashal.

People seated around High Lord Rasha’s table noticed it first—the sharp was approaching. High Lord Usa made his way toward the table with unhurried confidence of a man who owned the water he swam in.

A friendly host paying a visit to his least favoured guest.

But this approach had no friendly intentions.

High Lord Rashal glanced at Rex. A silent question passed between them. Rex shook his head. Not yet. The timing wasn’t right. High Lord Rashal absorbed this with a fractional nod, and then he rose—from his seat, stepping away from the table to meet High Lord Ursa on the open floor.

The distance between them was a stage, and every eye in the ballroom had become an audience.

Surprisingly, High Lord Ursa reached his hand first.

A gesture of magnanimity.

High Lord Rashal accepted it with a firm grip and with a face that betrayed nothing.

But the moment their palms met, something flickered in High Lord Ursa’s eyes. A glint of cruel delight. He felt it—the clear, unmistakable tremor in High Lord Rashal’s hand. A shaking he couldn’t suppress fully.

High Lord Ursa’s smirk widened as he brought his other hand up and placed it over their clasped grip.

A mockery of warmth. A predator patting its prey.

"It’s okay to lose to me," High Lord Ursa said. His voice was low, meant only for High Lord Rashal—and those closest enough to overhear. The words dripped with false sympathy. "I’m sure the evaluation that you went through yesterday went badly, but it’s fine. Nobody expected you to win against me."

He gestured with his eyes, a lazy sweep left and right that encompassed the entire ballroom.

Many people witnessed High Lord Rashal’s slow unravelling.

Then, his gaze returned with the smug satisfaction of a man who had already written the ending.

"You’re alone here," He continued. "But you don’t need to be scared. Think of it as peace of mind. Soon enough, you won’t be a High Lord anymore. And there’s a certain comfort in knowing how this will end, isn’t there?"

High Lord Rashal glanced at Rex again, and High Lord Ursa noticed it.

He saw Rex give a nod, and then his brows furrowed, not knowing what it meant.

"Throughout the years I have known you, Ursa..." High Lord Rashal turned to face forward again, and then grinned with something close to delight. "For all the years I endured your snake tongue, I’ve been wanting to do this."

"And what is that?"

"This."

Bam—!

High Lord Rashal seized the back of Ursa’s neck and drove his forehead into his face savagely.

He landed the headbutt with such force that it broke High Lord Ursa’s nose.

And almost on cue, the onlookers gasped in shock.