Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 153: A Turnaround in Desperation!

Under the watchful and silent eyes of the crowd, Lynn placed his palm firmly on the surface of the Sealed Artifact without hesitation.

As if a misty aura, colorful energy slowly wafted out of the orb, with countless ethereal particles floating in the air. These particles sometimes gathered and sometimes dispersed, dancing gracefully like a docile swarm of bees.

Lynn closed his eyes slowly, allowing the power to invade his mind.

With the system safeguarding his memories from his previous life, there was no need for concern. What those people coveted were his memories from after his transmigration. Although the system couldn't affect those, Lynn had another more game-breaking ally to rely on.

The moment the power of the Sealed Artifact breached his mental space, a faint tremor rippled through the anchor sigil of the Chosen of the End, which had been silently floating in his consciousness.

In the next instant, the floating particles in the air seemed to find a target. They converged rapidly, condensing into a cohesive mass.

The spectators then watched as the colorful mist in the clearing formed into vague humanoid shapes composed of different particles. While slightly blurry, it was clear enough to discern the identities of these figures.

A cursory glance revealed what seemed to be a banquet hall. Most figures in the crowd were merely rough outlines, with their faces obscured. Only two youths at the center of the scene stood out with distinct clarity.

The sight of Dallion once more made Marquis Mosgra's heart tighten involuntarily.

Don’t worry, Grandpa will avenge you, he thought coldly, casting a quick glance at Lynn.

The colorful mist continued to animate the scene. Suddenly, a voice echoed through the council hall—it was Dallion speaking.

“Your Excellency, this is the sincerity of the Mosgra family,” he said slowly. “We hope you will join our alliance, lead us, and guide us forward.”

Although the statement seemed ambiguous, most in attendance quickly understood its deeper implications. Even Second Prince Felit raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

Clearly, everyone recognized this as an attempt by the Mosgra family to secure the support of an Elector Count for the Second Prince. However, for reasons unknown, Felit had gradually distanced himself from the Mosgra family after returning from the frontier. Left with no choice, they turned to the Fourth Prince instead.

Yet now, their earlier efforts to aid Felit were laid bare for all to see—a dangerous topic, given the succession contest was well underway. Discussing it openly bordered on meddling with the future of the Saint Roland throne.

However, Saint Roland VI showed no sign of pursuing the matter. His solemn and dignified demeanor betrayed no thoughts.

The conversation in the scene continued. A burly middle-aged man with a soldierly bearing appeared within the mist, instantly recognizable as Duke Tyrius.

The Duke seemed uninterested in Dallion’s proposal. Taking a sip of wine, he remarked indifferently, “My focus is entirely on the frontier battlefield right now. I have no interest in the succession. Don’t bring up such topics before me again.”

His haughty demeanor was unsurprising—none found it inappropriate. However, for Marquis Mosgra, whose obsession with power and status bordered on twisted, it was a blow to his pride. He stared coldly at the Duke in the mist without uttering a word.

For now, Dallion’s approach appeared impeccable, leaving no room for doubt.

Marquis Mosgra had initially worried that Dallion’s arrogance might have offended Duke Tyrius, giving the Duke an excuse to kill him. But this scene alleviated his concerns.

Just as Mosgra began to relax, what happened next sent a chill through his heart.

In the scene, Dallion didn’t heed the Duke’s words but instead stepped forward. Though his posture remained respectful, his words carried an unmistakable undertone.

“Your Grace, addressing you as an Elector Count does not mean you truly hold supreme power.”

“The future of this country ultimately rests with His Majesty the Emperor.”

“At present, the imperial administration is cumbersome and bloated. The nobility’s power has been steadily eroded, seized in large swaths by the church. Your trip to collect taxes has left you in a difficult position—surely you must feel the same.”

Duke Tyrius furrowed his brow. “So what?”

“So…” Dallion lowered his voice. “I believe this empire needs a complete reformation.”

“Reformation?”

“Yes, a reformation.”

“The past has been too corrupt and feeble, including even… ahem… our ‘great’ Saint Roland VI, His Majesty Emperor Calderon.”

“In short, the old order must be overthrown. Once the dust settles, we will be the greatest contributors to the new regime.”

“Only a throne candidate with immense ambition and boldness can lead us out of our predicament and into a new era.”

“To control the succession is to seize the new era. Your Grace, doesn’t this stir your heart even a little?”

Dallion’s gaze was piercing as he looked at the Duke, whose frown deepened as he prepared to respond.

Before he could speak, an indignant voice rang out.

It came from a black-haired, blue-eyed youth, his face flushed with anger and his hand trembling slightly as if struggling to contain his fury.

“You…!” the young man bit out each word. “You blasphemous traitor! How dare you insult the great and wise Emperor Calderon!”

“As a noble bestowed by His Majesty, upholding the empire’s honor and iron will, I order you to retract your words immediately! Otherwise, I shall arrest you for treason!”

The youth’s hand moved to his sidearm, his resolve evident.

But Dallion, upon seeing his challenger, didn’t show a trace of remorse. Instead, a faint, mocking smile curled on his lips.

"I was wondering who it was. Turns out it’s the so-called ‘Disgrace of Nobility’ expelled from the Imperial Capital," Dallion sneered. "Judging by the energy you’re showing, it seems losing the Divine Factor hasn’t dampened your spirit."

"In that case, I can rest easy. It’s not as if the Mosgra family’s efforts to deal with your kind were wasted."

"What... what did you do?"

"What did we do? You really seem clueless, don’t you?" Dallion stepped closer, lowering his voice as he spoke to Lynn. "Why, of course, we framed you for reckless ambition, cursed Marquis Bartleon to keep him in a coma, and, oh yes... murdered your elder brother on the battlefield."

"Sometimes, people can only live blissfully ignorant lives like livestock. Because once they face reality, the pain becomes unbearable."

"Why can’t you grasp such a simple truth?" Dallion’s smile widened as he watched the furious and anguished young man before him.

Lynn’s expression twisted with rage, and his hand trembled as it rested on his firearm. But even as Lynn aimed the gun at him, Dallion remained utterly composed, tauntingly calm. "Don’t forget, your sister is still under our control. She’s barely surviving, forced to serve as a blood donor for research commissioned by that Fourth Prince."

"And speaking of the throne, those royals truly are the coldest of the cold, aren’t they? Your Bartleon family has shed so much blood for the empire, yet here you are, left to shed tears instead."

"But knowing all this, what can you really do? Do you dare to—"

Bang!

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the tension, and the vision abruptly cut to black.

Silence engulfed the council hall, so profound that the faintest sound of a pin drop would have echoed like thunder.

Marquis Mosgra, pale as a sheet and drenched in sweat, swayed unsteadily on his feet. He looked as though he might collapse at any moment, saved only by Eunice’s support keeping him upright.

But right now, even the details of his frail state were trivial. His entire focus was locked on the Sealed Artifact before him.

From start to finish, the artifact had revealed no signs of tampering with Lynn’s memories. That meant the events it displayed had truly occurred as they had on that fateful day.

But... how was this possible?!

His instinctive reaction was to look up, only to find Saint Roland VI gazing at him from the high dais, his deep, inscrutable eyes fixed upon him.

The weight of the emperor’s stare hit Marquis Mosgra like a thunderclap, his mind suddenly overwhelmed with a singular, deafening thought:

Someone is plotting against me!