Chapter 723

Ivan also hurried out from the inner chamber upon hearing the news, his face clearly marked with concern: “Ancestor, that Witch Ancestor is cunning and deceitful—why would he suddenly invite you to the palace? Could it be a trap?”

Romanov furrowed his brows; he had certainly considered this possibility.

But his long-standing dominance in power and status had bred in him a near-blind confidence.

He snorted coldly, stroking his beard, his tone laced with disdain: “A trap? Before absolute power, what mischief can mere schemes possibly stir?”

If he truly dares to harm me, he seals his own doom before the Great Luo. Moreover, though he now enjoys some reputation, to truly spread his Witch Cult to every corner of the Empire—

Especially into the core territories long held by our imperial family and the ancient nobles for centuries—without our approval and aid, it’s pure fantasy! This invitation of his, in my view, is likely born of a bottleneck, seeking breakthroughs in some area, or simply coming to demand favors.”

Ivan remained uneasy, pressing urgently: “Ancestor, do not lightly agree to him! If he extends his reach into our foundational domains, given time, the people’s hearts and faith will turn to him—this realm may truly change its surname!”

“Hmph, do you think I don’t know?” Romanov’s eyes flashed with sharp menace. “My going there is precisely to make him face reality—to warn him, to make him understand that in the Great Luo, who is the true master! Some boundaries are not his to cross.”

He was arrogant in his boundless cultivation, convinced that even if the palace were a den of dragons and tigers, he could enter and leave at will.

With that, Romanov straightened his robes and, without a single attendant, transformed into a faint, elusive shadow that merged into the night, speeding toward the imperial palace he had once known so well.

Inside the palace, a grand feast had already been prepared, lanterns blazing bright, music sweet and melodic.

Yet as Romanov stepped into the familiar hall, a wave of indescribable humiliation and rage surged within him.

He, once the supreme master of this place, now came as a mere “guest.”

And that unknown Witch Ancestor sat arrogantly beside the main seat, behind a curtain, acting as if he were the true host! This stoked simmering murderous intent within him.

The banquet was still held within that special, isolated space.

Heavy curtains hung down, blocking the view, revealing only a blurred silhouette behind them.

This posture of “precaution” only confirmed Romanov’s judgment that the Witch Ancestor was “strong on the outside, weak within,” and “afraid of him”—a sly smirk curled his lips.

Beautiful palace maidens danced gracefully, their elegant movements captivating all eyes; fine wine filled jade cups with rich fragrance.

Yet neither Romanov nor Li Chen behind the curtain had any real interest in the spectacle.

Beneath the surface of music and dance, currents churned unseen.

When the song ended and the dancers bowed and withdrew, Romanov finally set down his cup with impatience, his sharp gaze piercing the curtain, his voice carrying unchallengeable authority: “Witch Ancestor, you summoned me here for no mere dull banquet—what is your true purpose? Speak plainly.”

Behind the curtain, Li Chen, playing the role of the Witch Ancestor, spoke as always—ethereal and calm, yet carrying a faint, barely perceptible probe:

“Since the Imperial Council and the royal house have acknowledged my legitimate status and granted me fiefdoms, should we not now set a schedule for spreading teachings and establishing shrines within the direct territories of the imperial family and the great clans? Unified faith unites national strength to jointly repel external enemies.”

Of course! Romanov sneered inwardly, feeling a sense of “I knew it,” “I predicted this.”