When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 860 - 811: This Is a Trap

The night was deep, and the noisy calls and clamor gradually spread in the darkness.

More and more households lit their candles, and heads peeked out from windows to check.

Even though it was already past two in the morning, their burning eyes couldn't be stopped.

Many even violated the curfew, sneaking out to watch the commotion or support the parade.

At this time, Xibing Mansion, located about a hundred meters from Uffizi Palace, was quite silent.

The empty corridors echoed with chaotic footsteps.

With both hands tied by two Cheka, Clovin's feet dragged across the ground.

The iron shackles dug into his flesh, and he struggled angrily, trying to break free from the guards escorting him, but the potion forcefully administered to him made it difficult.

Even at this moment, he was still cursing Patrick as a traitor.

Failing to inform Moliat, Clovin didn't understand what had happened, so he found Patrick for help in conveying the message.

Although Patrick had always mixed within the Saint's Grandson's camp, he was, after all, initially part of Moliat's group.

Unexpectedly, Patrick not only refused him, but as soon as he stepped out, he was captured by the Cheka, hooded, and brought here.

After passing through this corridor, Clovin was escorted to the final destination, a simple bedroom.

The candlelight reflected on the faces of those in the room; it was Horn and the core members of the Saint's Grandson faction who had long been waiting there.

The heavy wooden door closed behind him, and as the lock clicked into place, Clovin raised his head.

Horn sat solemnly behind the desk, his expression calm as water.

Beside him stood Patrick like a statue, though his expression was rather complicated.

Clovin glared at Horn, his eyes filled with rage and resentment, gritting his teeth as he cursed, "Horn, you dung-scooping liar! Do you know what you're doing?

You once swore to maintain the unity and perpetuity of the Thousand River Valley, and now you're calculating against your own allies!"

Horn slowly stood up, his figure elongated in the candlelight like an unshakeable mountain.

His voice was measured and seemingly unyielding: "If the Thousand River Valley is to continue, the nobility cannot exist."

"Nonsense! If it weren't for you, none of this would be happening tonight, now I see clearly!" Clovin lunged forward but was pulled back by the Cheka beside him, who struck him in the mouth with a baton.

He spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm on the ground: "With such despicable means, aren't you afraid of how future generations will judge you? Do you deserve the title of Saint's Grandson?"

"If someone must bear the infamy, so be it. The country's disgrace, I am willing to endure," Horn calmly faced Clovin, "Besides, if the commoners had no grievances against the Duke, I couldn't incite them even if I wanted to."

"Ridiculous, unbearably foul! You're just a schemer..."

Seeing Clovin still unyieldingly cursing loudly, Horn waved his hand, signaling the guards to take him away.

With eyes wide, Clovin struggled and shouted angrily, "You will regret this! Do you think this will save the Thousand River Valley? You will only push the nobility towards the Leia people!"

Horn's expression did not change, as though these words could not touch his heart.

The guards dragged Clovin away, leaving silence in the room.

Patrick looked at Horn, this usually steadfast and wise elder, finally showing a rare hint of probing and hesitation.

"You once swore never to let Jia Li be heartbroken."

Horn's expression finally showed a slight change, and after a moment's silence, he sighed lightly: "This is exactly what I least want to do, perhaps it's my soft heart that's dragged the situation to this point."

"At least, don't imprison her. If someone else imprisons her, she would admit defeat, but if it's you... she will go mad."

"She must face it in the end." Horn's words even carried some coldness and sharpness, "Do you want her to remain ensnared in false power, or truly wake up?"

Patrick remained silent, bowing his head in deep thought for a long time, but ultimately said nothing more.

After pacing by the door for a while, he walked to the desk and gently placed a leather-covered journal.

"This is Moliat's father's diary."

Horn was startled, looking up at Patrick's face, trying to discern something.

But Patrick just shook his head and turned to leave.

Picking up the diary, Horn casually flipped through a few pages, his pupils suddenly constricted.

His fingertips slowly slid over the yellowed pages, the flickering candlelight illuminating the densely written words.

He flipped through the pages faster and faster.

[Frost Month, my wife gave birth to a stillborn child...]

[...If the Angel is true, then what the Ruo'an Faction says might be true?]

[...Inheriting the blood of the Witch and the Saint, how absurd?]

[May the gods forgive our sins...]

After an unknown period of time, the candle had burned a large segment before Horn finally closed his notebook, unable to suppress a quiet murmur:

"No wonder… no wonder Louise, as a Witch, could give birth to a Witch…"

Staring at the notebook, Horn didn't really know what to say or think for a moment, just staring blankly in a daze.

He hadn't been absent-minded for long before he was awakened by a knock on the door.

"Your Majesty." René poked half his head through the door, "The time is ripe, aren't we going to take action?"

Coming back to his senses, Horn slowly raised his head, his gaze crossing the nighttime scene outside the window, falling in the direction of Moliat's room.

He pondered for a moment and finally ordered, "Let's do it."

......

"Tap tap tap tap—"

Military boots stomped on the stone pavement, producing a neat sound.

From four directions outside the city and the canal, groups of Imperial Guards rushed into the city holding torches and lanterns.

A large number of Cheka and Military Police poured out from the alleys: "Curfew! Curfew!"

"Cheka conducting affairs, avoid!"

Imperial Guards quickly sealed off all the main streets of Rapids City, surrounding the private soldiers of the nobles, trouble-making hooligans, and representatives of various factions.

The chaos in the streets and alleys was quickly suppressed with high efficiency.

The troop advanced along the main roads and canals, with each advancement causing both parties on the streets to be constantly cut apart or dispersed.

A noble's private soldier waved his Longsword, attempting to break through the blockade to escape, but was pierced in the shoulder by an Imperial Guard's lance, screaming as he fell to the ground.

Two Imperial Guard Monks stepped forward in succession, pressing his spine hard with a knee.

"Suppress the riot! No one is to resist!" The officer, riding on a warhorse and waving a Military Saber, spoke in a thunderous voice.

At the center of the chaos, Nathaniel was pinned to the ground by two soldiers, his wrists quickly handcuffed.

Facedown, he was forced to grit his teeth, but the terror and anger in his eyes were still unwavering: "What are you doing, they are the ones rebelling!"

But the only response he got was the cold clash of armor.

Lying on the snow pile, the hot blood from before gradually cooled, watching the Imperial Guards, Cheka, and Military Police focusing on capturing the nobles.

Nathaniel's heart suddenly turned cold, and his body began to tremble.

He finally realized.

"It's a trap!" The nobles not far away shouted, "It's a trap!"

......

Outside Uffizi Palace, the captured representatives stood behind Horn, looking dejected.

Their faces were smeared with mud and handprints, their hair resembled a nest, and even had feathers or twigs stuck in it.

But without exception, their expressions were of anger, fear, and terror.

Horn stood at the entrance of the palace, overlooking the square full of over a thousand citizens who had not dispersed.

The torches gathered together like a giant bonfire; they were angry, confused, uneasy, yet looked at Horn with anticipation.

Horn slowly raised his hand, signaling the crowd to be quiet.

The commotion gradually subsided, and all eyes were focused on him.

Horn surveyed everyone, his gaze steady: "I already know the course of events and have heard your voices."

In the crowd, someone wanted to shout, but was forcibly restrained by Horn's presence.

"Constitutional safeguarding is not for the selfish desires of one person or faction but for everyone." His voice was resolute, clearly reaching the ears of everyone present, "The constitutional safeguarding movement protects the constitution, not vandalism."

The crowd began to stir, many displayed bewildered expressions.

Isn't this an action in support of His Majesty Horn? Did they misunderstand His Majesty's intentions?

"I've heard your voice, but regardless, we must still elect in accordance with the basic law because the will of the Holy Father is manifested by this, understand?" Horn stated clearly, "Alright, weren't you going to present a plea? Where is the plea?"

The citizens looked at each other, but pushed a representative forward.

The cooper's representative stepped forward tremblingly, holding a petition in his hands.

"Your Majesty…" He raised the petition above his head, his voice hoarse, "This is our plea, please take a look."

Descending from the steps, amidst the expectant gazes of everyone, Horn had no hesitation, solemnly received it with both hands: "We will discuss it at tomorrow's meeting…"

Before Horn finished speaking, the crowd erupted in deafening cheers as if a switch had been flipped.