The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 155

Chapter 155: The Empire’s Fracture
The halls of the imperial palace, once grand and unyielding, now seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy. It began with whispers—rumors of a magical disturbance echoing through the marble corridors. But rumors quickly turned to truth. The disturbance, like a storm gathering force, spread far beyond the palace walls. The very fabric of reality began to unravel as the empire itself trembled under its weight.

Esmeralda stood at the heart of the royal court, her regal attire draped around her like a symbol of authority. But even her poised figure could not disguise the storm raging in her eyes. The air crackled with tension, as the nobles argued amongst themselves, voices raised in panic. Time itself seemed to bend in unpredictable ways, as though the universe had momentarily forgotten its own rules. A nobleman would step forward to speak, only to find that his words had already been spoken by another. A high-ranking official would turn around to face a distant friend, only to find they had aged decades in the blink of an eye.

“Calm yourselves!” Esmeralda’s voice rang out, commanding attention, but the effect was fleeting. The nobles were far too terrified, their gazes darting about the room, desperately seeking answers that none could provide.

She had been doing this for hours—trying to rally the noble families, urging them to maintain order, to trust in the empire’s strength. But the empire was beginning to crack, and she felt the weight of that fracture in every decision she made. Magic, the very source of their power, was now the force undoing them.

“Esmeralda,” a voice called from behind her. It was Faeralys, her fellow wife, her eyes heavy with uncertainty.

“What is it?” Esmeralda asked, without turning to face her.

“We need to find the source of this disturbance—now. I’m heading to the archives. I’ll search for anything that might explain this,” Faeralys said, her voice low but resolute.

Esmeralda met her gaze, her brow furrowing in frustration. “And leave the nobles in chaos? They need me here.”

“They need answers,” Faeralys countered. “Answers you cannot give. I’m going to the heart of this—before it consumes us all.”

With a sharp nod, Esmeralda turned back to the assembly, her heart heavy. She was torn. They each had their own role to play in this empire, but none of them could see how the others were struggling beneath the weight of the crisis. Tensions were rising, and not just among the nobles.

Meanwhile, Fialova, the third of the wives, was already in motion. Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallways of the palace as she organized the palace’s defenses. No longer the grand haven of politics and courtly affairs, the palace had become a fortress—its halls now filled with soldiers, mages, and wardens. The ethereal disturbances outside seemed to creep closer with every passing hour, and Fialova knew that the only way to protect the empire’s heart was to prepare for the worst.

“Fortify the gates,” she barked to a nearby soldier. “We cannot allow any breach. Not now.”

Her demeanor was cold, unshakable. She was a woman of action, and in times of crisis, she always fell back on that. But even as she issued orders, her mind wandered—each command carrying the weight of doubt. What if this was the end of the empire? What if they couldn’t stop whatever was unraveling it?

The unsettling truth clawed at her thoughts. They were fighting an enemy they could not see, let alone understand.

In the meantime, Argider stood alone in the liminal space, her mind stretching across the void of dreams and reality. The surreal landscape was a shifting, undulating horizon—one moment it was the palace, the next a vast ocean of swirling colors. Nothing was certain here, nothing felt real. But it was here that the masked figure had chosen to confront her.

“You shouldn’t have come,” the figure’s voice echoed through the chaotic void. It was distorted, as though coming from all directions at once.

Argider’s heart raced as she steadied herself. The battle of wills had already begun, and there was no turning back. Every thought she had, every ounce of willpower she could muster, pushed back against the figure, her ethereal strength crashing against the impossibility of this strange realm.

“You’ve been using me,” Argider spat, her voice steady despite the overwhelming pressure she felt. “You’ve been feeding off my existence, my power, but I will not bow to you.”

The figure chuckled, its presence growing more and more oppressive. “Bow? No. You are far too special for that.”

Argider’s eyes narrowed. She knew she wasn’t dealing with a mere opponent—this entity had knowledge, power, and an agenda far beyond her understanding. But the deeper she delved into the mindscape, the clearer it became: this was not a fight of strength—it was a battle of minds.

With every strike of will, the dreamscape warped. Walls of reality cracked and splintered as the figure attempted to force her into submission. Argider’s thoughts twisted with every clash, a kaleidoscope of images flashing—visions of a thousand different lives, countless possibilities, and most disturbingly, memories that were not hers.

“You do not belong here,” the masked figure whispered, its voice cold, almost mocking. “You were not meant to exist.”

The words struck her like a blow, a sudden, heart-stopping truth. Her breath caught in her throat, her mind struggling to process the meaning behind those words.

“What do you mean?” she demanded, trying to hold onto her resolve. But doubt flooded her thoughts, making it harder to maintain control.

The masked figure stepped closer, its presence suffocating. “You are an anomaly—an error in the fabric of this world. You were never supposed to exist.”

The weight of those words pressed down on Argider’s chest. Was she a mistake? Had everything, every choice she had made, been for nothing? She felt herself slipping, the edges of her mind beginning to fray.

But just as the despair began to take hold, Argider pushed back with everything she had. She refused to let the figure’s twisted words take root. With a final surge of will, she lashed out, breaking the connection between them, shattering the dreamscape into shards of light and shadow.

The world around her exploded, and in an instant, she was ripped from the liminal space, waking with a start. The cold, harsh reality of the imperial palace crashed back into her senses. The walls of the palace trembled as the empire itself groaned under the weight of the disturbance.

But it was not the palace that held her attention—it was the dawning realization that she was not the only one struggling against forces she couldn’t comprehend. The empire was on the brink, and so, it seemed, was she.

And somewhere, in the cracks of reality, a whisper lingered in her mind: You were not meant to exist.