Chương 122: CHAPTER 120: THE TERMINAL DECREE

The heavy click of the third iron deadbolt settled into the deep, breathless silence of the subterranean research hall. Director Vivienne stood with her back pressed flat against the reinforced oak door, her chest still rising and falling in sharp, strained rhythms beneath her dark travel mantle. She did not remove her dust-caked cloak, nor did she collapse onto one of the wooden stools lining the perimeter workbenches.

She took three slow, deliberate steps forward across the dusty flagstones, stopping directly before the primary obsidian examination slab. THUD. With a dull, heavy impact that echoed off the vaulted ceiling, Vivienne dropped the thick obsidian leather dossier onto the polished black stone, kicking up a fine spray of white plaster dust. The dark crimson wax seal stamped onto the front of the file was still warm to the touch, glowing with a faint, dying ember of concentrated imperial mana.

The forbidden crest of the Royal Bloodline—the crowned dragon tangled in thorns—seemed to seep into the dark leather cover like fresh blood. Shin did not reach for the folder immediately. He remained standing calmly on the opposite side of the table, his hands resting deep inside the pockets of his dark coat, his steady gaze fixed on the Academy Director.

"Read it," Vivienne said, her voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper that cut through the sterile underground air.

"Every high holy caster in the sanctum has collapsed from severe soul-exhaustion shock. The Queen has entered the terminal comatose phase of necrotic collapse. Her internal mana pathways are disintegrating by the minute." Shin reached out with his left hand, his fingers effortlessly breaking the crimson wax seal without the slightest tremor. SNAP. He flipped the heavy vellum folios open. Inside, detailed diagnostic schematics mapped the Queen's rapid anatomical collapse in jagged strokes of purple and black ink.

The necrotic corruption, initially misdiagnosed as a standard toxic infection, was an ancient, flesh-eating cellular rot that had completely taken root within the Queen's central chest cavity. When the twelve high holy mages flooded her failing body with raw radiant light at dawn, the pure energy did not incinerate the dark venom. Instead, it agitated the dormant corruption, causing the necrosis to mutate violently and detonate the primary mana lifelines wrapping around her heart.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. The final page of the dossier held a single, terrifying document. It was not a standard imperial consultation request, nor was it a formal diplomatic medical petition. It was an Emergency Sovereign Mandate, personally endorsed with the deep crimson signet of the King himself. Driven completely mad by grief, terror, and the impending death of his wife, the King had cast aside centuries of constitutional law with a single stroke of his pen.

The mandate authorized the complete suspension of the Academy's ancient founding charter, granting the imperial army supreme authority to bypass sovereign academic grounds with heavy siege weapons. Their explicit mission was not to negotiate with Chancellor Thorne or engage in legal debates on the grand courtyard steps.

The royal mandate ordered the imperial guard to smash through the academy gates using brute military force, tear through every underground research vault, and drag the mysterious Outcast Surgeon directly to the royal bedchamber in iron chains.

"The King has lost his mind," Vivienne whispered, her violet eyes dark with raw anxiety as she stared at the open document.

"He no longer cares about an aristocratic revolt. He does not care about a civil war with the noble houses. He only knows that his wife will stop breathing before sundown, and he will burn this entire capital to the ground if it buys her a single extra hour of life." Inside his mind, Rudra observed the chaotic lines of the mandate with a cold, detached smirk. Jab dar aur dukh hadd se zyada badh jaye, to raja bhi gulam ban jata hai. (When fear and grief exceed all limits, even a king becomes a slave.) RUMBLE.

A deep, violent vibration rippled through the subterranean foundations of the research hall. It was not the sharp shockwave of a defensive barrier shattering, nor was it the distant tolling of cathedral bells. It was the low, grinding roar of heavy iron wheels and mechanized siege-breakers rolling across the cobblestones of the capital's grand avenue. Hundreds of heavy steel-plated boots marched in synchronized, thunderous cadence outside the academy perimeter walls.

The royal siege units had arrived at the front gates, their massive battering rams and mana-cannons locking directly onto the sovereign sanctuary. Fine white ceiling dust sifted down once more, sprinkling lightly across the obsidian table and the open dossier. Director Vivienne's breath caught in her throat. Her fingers dropped instinctively to the hilt of the concealed rapier beneath her cloak as the subterranean masonry groaned under the crushing weight of the encroaching army above.

"They are already at the outer gate," Vivienne said, her voice shaking slightly against the subterranean chill.

"Shin, if you step out there without protection, they will slap suppressor shackles onto your wrists before you can speak a single word." Shin did not answer. His expression remained completely relaxed, his breathing slow, steady, and undisturbed. He showed no fear, no panic, and no hesitation. Moving behind the main observation bench, Shin reached down toward the locked lower drawer of the central supply cabinet. With the soft, metallic click of a hidden spring latch, the drawer slid smoothly open.

Inside the dark velvet compartment lay a single, pristine object. Shin reached inside, his long fingers wrapping around the smooth, cold edges of the flawless porcelain mask. He lifted it slowly into the pale light of the crystalline lamps, its expressionless white surface casting a sharp, enigmatic shadow across the dark stone floor.