The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1805: Lady Justice (1)

Althea emerged from the carriage. She grasped the hand that a servant extended to her.

By her side walked the relatives she hardly acknowledged as family.

The House of Seawyn appeared in splendid unity, dressed in opulent attire of soft blue. The ladies donned light blue dresses featuring plunging necklines that exposed their shoulders and collarbones with subtle poise. Silver edges outlined the bodice and waist, as light, billowing sleeves cascaded from the arms resembling drifting ocean fog.

The gentlemen sported pristine uneven jackets that highlighted their builds. Chains and metallic details lay across the chest, intentional instead of ornamental. A lengthy blue cape draped from one shoulder, flowing behind like a vibrant emblem of the gentle sea.

This day brought celebration to the empire.

It marked the execution of the usurper.

Althea had no desire to be present, yet duty compelled her attendance. It involved displaying a solid front.

At that moment, she circulated among her unappreciative kin.

The composed haughtiness of Marquess Darius—as he boasted of his role in supporting the empress—grated on her nerves like flames. The smirk of her husband, catching the unease on her expression, worsened her temper. She rejected his attempt to link arms.

Rather, she linked her arm with that of a servant, dragging the unfortunate fellow alongside the House of Seawyn.

"I suppose Althea deserves some consolation," Lanna, the eldest sister, remarked with a charming laugh. "Lighten up, dear sister. You’re going to sour the gala with your face."

"How about I console you with my blade?" Althea replied with feigned innocence. "Your face has lost its femininity with that new... trend of yours," She drew her index finger over her lips, imitating the ugly scar twisting Lanna’s mouth. "You should quit acting cute and aim for manly instead. It fits you more."

"Be respectful, sister," Borque, the eldest son and heir, commanded firmly. "We’re in public."

Althea smirked, ignoring Lanna’s furious stare.

Marquess Darius fixed them with a quiet, cautionary look. His eyes shimmered blue with authority.

"Let’s cool our tongues," Her husband intervened, resting a hand on Althea’s shoulder. He shot a warning glance at the servant, who promptly departed. "We’re in a formal occasion. Let’s not embarrass Father."

"Ah, darling, your tongue is as always the sweetest," Althea laughed bitterly. It mocked his endless flattery, a fact everyone recognized. "I apologize for my behavior. Perhaps now that I’ve tasted a real man, I suppose my tongue learned a thing or two. It’s only natural it burns a bit hotter now."

Her husband’s expression turned stormy in an instant.

He balled his fists tightly, struggling to contain the rage that Althea dismissed with laughter as if it were trivial.

"Come on, darling," She threaded her hand through his. "The royal family is in need of something sweet."

Althea composed herself afterward and trailed Marquess Darius along a lengthy corridor lined with knights in regal, ritualistic armor, winding through the labyrinthine marble corridors from the entryway to the second level.

Nobles assembled there for gatherings while awaiting summons to the Milky Garden.

The emperor occupied the rooftop at present.

Marquess Darius’s arrival drew salutes from knights and blasts from trumpets.

The grand glass doors swung open, allowing the House of Seawyn to enter the vast brightness. Crystal walls restrained the heavens, flooding the room with a soft, luminous light. Extended tables covered in silver cloth lined the edges, bearing fine confections and light wine.

In the center of the chamber, a modest band played a gentle tune.

To its beat, a group of Demon Spirits bearing cat-like traits swirled in dance.

Servants glided among the assembly like quiet streams, presenting crystal glasses that sparkled in the light.

The atmosphere buzzed with noble chatter. A whisper woven with schemes of rank and alliances.

Against the distant wall, next to the archway to the rooftop gardens, a huge artwork commanded attention. It showed a woman with enormous, glowing Angel wings in desperate escape, chased across infinite shadows by a monstrous form.

This celebrated Empress Morgana’s triumph in drawing out the White Mask.

Ethereal hands grazed her back, wings carrying the empire’s every hope.

Althea longed to hawk a loogie at it.

She had witnessed the events, knowing success hinged on the very person facing execution today.

Empress Morgana’s acclaim derived from that individual, yet the credit landed squarely on her.

Yet the real revulsion came from the ingratitude.

A truly mighty and skilled leader would credit those deserving.

And a worthy ruler wouldn’t condemn their greatest allies.

Althea surveyed the throng, tuning out her husband’s lectures on propriety and limits. She hunted for a particular sight or figure. Close to the rooftop access, she noticed a striking cluster of matching emeralds that drew more notice than others.

House of Castillon.

She sought Princess Davina, only to feel disappointment upon not locating her.

A firm tug pulled her aside. It came from her mother, Drola.

Her hold clamped Althea’s arm like a blend of smooth fabric and iron. "Once we are up there, you will follow my lead. You’ll praise the empress’s great feat, and offer condolences for the usurper’s deceit." Her tone was a hushed, severe murmur for Althea’s ears only. "Do not deviate. This is your chance to mend your... regrettable mistake."

"Regrettable mistake?" Althea scoffed in disbelief. "What mistake?"

Drola yanked her closer, eyes flashing with fury. "Your mistake was blocking your husband’s army from aiding the royal family. That can be considered treason as long as the empress willed it, do you understand, daughter?"

"Oh, now I’m suddenly your daughter?" Althea wrenched her arm free. "Empress Morgana is a fraud. Whatever she said to convince the emperor was a lie. You’re not there, mother. He saved Father and me. And now you want me to praise the snake that bit our savior?"

She didn’t pause for her mother’s reply.

Instead, she spun away from the clamor.

No point debating Drola, as she never conceded her errors.

Heck, Althea had never caught even a hint of warmth from her.

Even during the forced marriage, Drola extended no maternal or womanly sympathy.

"You know, when you were one, you picked a rotten apple." Drola’s words halted Althea mid-step. She refused to turn, but strained to hear her mother. "Out of your siblings, you are the only one who picked a rotten apple. That’s bad luck.

"Sadly, you looked like me the most, so I pardoned it. But I was wrong. I should’ve discarded you had I known you’d be this ungrateful."

Althea balled her fists and strode off.

She wished to believe Drola merely aimed to wound her, but deep down, she recognized the honesty.

It rang entirely true.

Upon the rooftop, the empire’s elite and Spirits anticipated their arrival.

All nobles entered the sunlit expanse of eternal greenery after donning bracelets that restrained their abilities. A volatile sea of overly responsive individuals ready to display awe and reverence for the emperor’s endeavors. Creamy white channels wound through the garden along the borders.

Althea shielded her eyes from the sun.

Within this royal sanctuary, the heavens appeared utterly ordinary, as though the Black Rift had vanished.

It stemmed from the mighty shield of the Citadel-class Obelisk of Life.

The Black Rift itself got displaced, unveiling the true firmament free of abyssal gloom.

One could even glimpse the far-off temple of the Sky People blending with the clouds.

The marble walkways twisted gracefully. Statues observed quietly from manicured niches, their detailed shapes worn smooth by ages, as gentle basins reflected pillars and heavens equally. Every element gleamed white—from pavements, to arches, to railings—yet the garden radiated no chill.

Sunlight warmed the foliage and blooms, while crisp breezes carried the serenity of water and rock.

Ahead on the distant end, a small tower ascended roughly twenty meters.

It rose slim, light-hued, with a level summit.

Flanking it were two enormous blooming crabapple trees, their tops brushing the tower’s height. Their pinkish-red blossoms provided vivid contrast against the muted setting. The emperor, in all his splendor, positioned himself at the tower’s peak.

He stood motionless like an ageless guardian, hands clasped behind.

His flowing locks danced and shone beneath the open sky, his gaze beaming with majestic might.

For one who had endured millennia, he appeared youthful. Even pure. His features lacked any marks or harsh creases. In truth, his beauty outshone mere handsomeness. The realm preserved his vigor, and it was evident.

Royal knights formed flawless rows on either side of the tower.

Their captains lingered a short distance behind the emperor, eyeing the entering nobles with keen scrutiny.

Althea noticed a petite marble dome at the tower’s right flank. Two royal knights guarded the entrance. Their strategic placement suggested the captives waited inside for their fatal moment.

On the opposite flank lay a device, shrouded beneath silken fabric.

Though concealed, every noble recognized its purpose.

Soul Crusher. An apparatus designed expressly to dispatch offenders in the utmost agony.

This public beheading masqueraded as a festive affair.

The nobles claimed their designated positions, each holding a wine goblet, signaling the ceremony’s true commencement. The House of Seawyn formed a cluster of nearly thirty near the middle, steps away from the two Duke Houses.

Althea positioned herself at the outermost point. Her family’s backs turned toward her.

All attended to the emperor’s address. He extolled the brave courage of those present. Legacy and structure demanded safeguarding and scrutiny. Then he smoothly turned attention to the empress’s mighty accomplishment.

It amounted to nonsense cloaked in grand, inflated language.

She examined the expressions among the assembly.

No trace of the empress, despite her starring role in the discourse.

Nobles lifted their glasses in toasts, applauding and cheering, but Althea stood unmoving in place.

Being surrounded by such folk felt stifling. Those who chased power’s current alone. She claimed as much, yet she mirrored them. She too sought power’s flow. But she sensed the current veering away from the crowd’s path.

She took pride in avoiding a complete facade.

Althea never donned a mask in view of others. Joy, fury, or sorrow showed plainly on her visage. That might explain the sidelong looks. They detected her revulsion, which she welcomed.

She lifted her eyes to the emperor.

Usually, sighting him stirred devotion within her.

Something in his depths ignited her aristocratic craving for dominance and glory.

But now, that devotion had faded.

’It’s gone...’ She mused inwardly, eyes sharpening. She then raked her view over the nobles. Her kin, her opposing house, the successors, and the heiresses. ’His power is gone—but none of these fools can see it. Blind. For once, I pity them.

’They had never seen a real, powerful person. Never seen Rex. His gift is that he attracts power. Attracts the stepping stones to reach a higher power. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. Even Davina, my rival, could see it. These people are standing on the wrong side.’

Althea’s lips twisted into a scornful grin.

Realizing these idiots backed the losing side eased the oppression.

It brought relief.

She raised her sight once more, and that’s when she noticed the emperor gazing her way.