Chapter 131: Killing an Empire Noble

Pride's flippant voice rang out across the hall. The moment it echoed, the crowd turned pale with fright. A few guests standing close to Murong Yun near the doors were so terrified they collapsed to the floor.

The voice had come directly from Murong Yun's own body.

Murong Yun, his eyes wide with terror, frantically patted himself down and scanned his immediate surroundings. There was no one there. At that moment, Murong Zhuo shot him a hawk-like glare.

"N-no... it wasn't me! Father, I didn't say that!"

"Naturally, it wasn't you," Pride's voice echoed again, followed by a deeply unsettling sight. Murong Yun's body blurred into a double image as Pride slowly stepped right out of him.

"You! Y-y-you..." Murong Yun nearly wet himself on the spot. He hurriedly checked his own body, terrified that the intruder had done something to him.

Pride strolled forward at a leisurely pace, the crowd parting wherever he went. The Silver Smiling Mask on his face pierced deeply into Murong Zhuo's eyes, causing the older man's pupils to contract uncontrollably. As a Silver Stage 3 Transcendent, Murong Zhuo rarely had to fight his own battles anymore, but he still possessed keen judgment. This bizarre technique didn't belong to any known Law.

Teleportation? Possession? Killing from afar? Just what kind of Law was this?

"I've grown a bit bored after playing for so long. It is time to bring this performance to a close." Pride walked toward Murong Zhuo step by step. His arrogant, disdainful demeanor caused the patriarch's expression to darken ominously.

Swish!

Murong Zhuo struck first. Several wind blades shot outward, sealing off every angle around Pride. The razor-sharp gales slashed right through Pride's body, but it was like cutting through thin air. The attack had absolutely no effect.

The strike failed, yet a cold sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. The older man's eyes flashed with the absolute certainty of someone who had seen through the trick. "Just as I thought. Your movements don't stir up the slightest breeze, and you can completely ignore my Wind-Dancing Spirit Blade. If I am not mistaken, this isn't your true body at all.

"Hmph! It's nothing but a petty Illusion Technique!"

The veteran noble had finally spotted the flaw. All his Laws were tied to the wind. By focusing his perception, he easily noticed that none of Pride's movements disturbed the air around him.

Wind was everywhere. Taking a step, the vibration of vocal cords, even the trembling of a single hair—all of it stirred the air. Such minute disturbances were impossible for ordinary people to detect, but they were glaringly obvious to Murong Zhuo.

He hadn't noticed it initially because humans inherently relied on their eyes first, and his entire mind had been thoroughly rattled by the matter of the Eye of Gold.

Pride remained just as arrogant despite having his secret laid bare. His voice grew even more mocking. "So, you people make a habit of labeling anything you don't understand an Illusion Technique?

"It seems I'll just have to get a little serious."

As he spoke, the lights in the banquet hall began to flicker wildly, as if the circuitry were suffering from some intense interference. Pride's figure wavered in and out of existence like a ghost. At that moment, the Silver Smiling Mask on his face seemed to come alive, its carved sneer deepening into something profoundly sinister.

Suddenly, low and ancient murmurs echoed through the air, sounding as though they were surging up from a dark Abyss. It was an incomprehensible babbling, saturated with chaos and madness—a severe assault on human sanity itself.

"Ah! Ah!!"

"Ahhh!"

Screams erupted across the hall. Several ordinary people in the crowd went mad, collapsing to the floor in agony and thrashing violently. The babbling voices felt like slender fingers ruthlessly scraping against their eardrums.

The shadow beneath Pride's feet bloomed and twisted like a kaleidoscope, splitting into ten distinct silhouettes that circled around him. As the shadows fanned out, they writhed, unleashing countless tiny, squirming runes that resembled swimming tadpoles to carpet the entire banquet hall.

Murong Zhuo's expression drastically changed. He suddenly began to doubt his own judgment. This terrifying babble clearly carried some palpable, evil power—it didn't feel like an Illusion Technique at all.

Naturally, this was no Illusion Technique. It was the Serpent God's Ravings, perfectly simulated by Su Mu using the Soundless Heavenly Melody. While it possessed only the outward form and lacked true essence, it was more than enough to overwhelm ordinary people.

"Murong Zhuo, I... sentence you to death."

Amid the eerie babbling, Pride's voice rang out like divine judgment, his tone dripping with supreme, detached indifference.

The next moment, Pride slowly raised his arm. He made a light, slashing motion toward Murong Zhuo, who was still standing several meters away—just as the flickering lights finally went out completely.

Instant Bloom!

Time seemed to freeze in that exact moment. Everyone stood frozen in place, utterly motionless. Even the wailing victims on the floor went completely silent.

Pride maintained his raised hand. The wariness etched onto Murong Zhuo's face had completely solidified, just like the sheer terror frozen on the faces of every other guest.

But upon closer inspection, time hadn't stopped at all. People were still moving, only their motions had become agonizingly slow. In response to Pride's strike, Murong Zhuo's aged brows were furrowing at a glacial, tortuous crawl.

Just then, Nangong Mengli moved from within the crowd. She stepped right out of her own body as though her soul had left its shell, leaving behind a perfectly identical copy of herself frozen in her original posture.

The copy left behind was an illusion Su Mu had prepared in advance.

The real Nangong Mengli had an icy gaze. Her body trembled as she pushed forward, as though she were bearing a crushing pressure. She wasn't moving particularly quickly, but relative to the infinitely slowed motions of everyone else in the room, her speed was too fast for the human eye to track.

Shrouded in darkness, she took step after step, soon arriving behind Pride. She kept walking forward until her figure gradually overlapped with his, passing straight through his body like a phantom to stand directly in front of Murong Zhuo.

Murong Zhuo finally reacted. The absolute terror and shock on his face took shape at a painfully slow pace, and his pupils began to contract. He seemed to realize what was happening, inching his right hand upward fraction by fraction.

Watching the man's agonizingly sluggish movements, a cold smile tugged at the corners of Nangong Mengli's lips. "Go to Hell, Murong Zhuo!"

Swish!

A cold glint of steel flashed. It was the Mithril Dagger in Nangong Mengli's hand. Pouring every ounce of her strength and twenty years of seething hatred into the strike, she slashed the blade seamlessly into Murong Zhuo's neck.

A slender bloody line appeared, exposing the windpipe, the cervical vertebrae, and the surging blood within...

The blood spurted outward, inching and creeping its way through the air bit by bit.

Having done all this, Nangong Mengli seemed entirely drained of strength, her complexion deathly pale. Forcing her wobbling body to stay upright, she made her way back to her original spot. Her expression, however, was incredibly relaxed, as if a crushing burden had just been lifted from her shoulders.

The exact moment she returned to her place, time resumed its normal flow.

The flickering lights snapped back on, fully illuminating the horrifying scene.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Pride slowly lowered his hand. At that exact moment, a thin line of blood materialized across Murong Zhuo's neck. The gash widened at a visible speed as blood began to hiss and spray out.

Blood frantically sprayed into the air as Murong Zhuo's head began to slide off its neck. Finally... thud!

It hit the floor!

Instant, deathly silence fell over the entire hall!

Murong Zhuo... was dead!