[FGO]: 136

Inside the resplendent Kremlin Palace.

The well-dressed Russian nobles either sipped their drinks while chatting with one another or danced gracefully with beautiful and voluptuous noblewomen.

Ever since that group of peasants had driven them out of the Kremlin, out of Moscow, and exiled them to remote lands, they had all but lost hope, thinking they would spend the rest of their lives dealing with nothing but snow and coal mines.

Thank God!

They never expected that the brilliant and capable first Tsar would return to power and even seize divine authority.

As for those peasants, the leaders among them were executed by the Tsar, while the rest were captured and hung on the city walls—just as they had done to the noble families of pure blood.

As for the Tsar's desire to marry the last descendant of the royal bloodline...

What did it matter?

Not to mention this descendant was from a distant generation—if Tsar Ivan wanted to marry his daughter or even his mother, the nobles, having been terrified by the peasants, would raise both hands in approval.

Only with the Tsar on the throne could they ensure their status as the old aristocracy.

Having learned their lesson once, the nobles now clung tightly to Ivan's power.

Inside the palace's inner court.

Though the wind outside was bone-chilling, the palace was as warm as spring inside.

The room, uniquely decorated in an immaculate white theme, was filled with girlish decorations, and plush dolls were scattered everywhere. All of this spoke of the innocence of its owner—a young girl, or rather, a princess.

However, the atmosphere in the room was stifling.

The subject of much discussion among the nobles in the banquet hall, Ivan the Terrible, stood by the massive princess bed.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored Tsarist uniform, Ivan sported a beard. From his face alone, he seemed like an ordinary middle-aged man. But when you met his eyes, it was as if you could see lightning faintly flickering within them.

His majesty was as awe-inspiring as a deity!

This was the shared sentiment of all the nobles who had met Ivan the Terrible.

Yet, the most fearsome ruler in Russian history was frowning slightly, his eyes tinged with impatience as he gazed at the luxurious bed before him.

On the large princess bed, big enough for five or six people to play on, a figure was huddled tightly under a velvet blanket.

Ivan cast a glance at the untouched food on the bedside table.

With a commanding tone, he spoke to the figure under the blanket.

"It appears the new maid has failed in her duties. My beloved hounds happen to be short on food—perhaps I shall have her chopped up to feed them."

Such cruel words escaped Ivan's lips without a trace of emotion on his face.

"No!"

Upon hearing such harsh words, the kind-hearted princess could no longer bear it and threw off the blanket.

She was a girl as delicate as a snow elf. Her snow-white hair cascaded down to her waist, and her long bangs obscured her right eye, while her exposed left eye glittered like the purest green gemstone.

She wore a heavy gown resembling a blooming lily, with golden stars and strings of pearls adorning the hem.

Frightened by Ivan's coldness, she clutched a strange, faceless black doll tightly to her chest.

Though her clothing was intact, it was clear she had purposely hidden under the blanket when she heard Ivan enter the room.

This young princess appeared no more than 17 or 18 years old, yet she acted so childishly.

Seeing the plea in the girl's eyes, Ivan let out a cruel smile.

"I am the supreme ruler of Russia. The lives of every single person in this land belong to me. I may dispose of anyone as I please, and no one can stop me."

The girl bit her lip tightly, then rose from the bed, knelt on one knee before Ivan, and lowered her noble head in a plea.

"I beg you, merciful Tsar, please don't do this."

Seeing the girl's submission, Ivan smiled with satisfaction.

"Very good, Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova. You finally understand your position. In this land of Russia, no one can defy my orders."

Looking at the kneeling Anastasia, Ivan's expression softened slightly.

"Anastasia, you are now the only one in all of Russia who bears the pure and noble bloodline. Our union is the will of God. You shall become my bride, share in my power, and become the most powerful woman on this earth."

Ivan spoke as if it were a foregone conclusion, while Anastasia, kneeling before him, grew paler, her fragile body trembling.

She bit her lip hard, saying nothing.

"The wedding will take place tomorrow," Ivan declared, not giving her a chance to refuse, his tone brooking no opposition.

With that, the overconfident Tsar, his scarlet cloak flowing behind him, strode out of the princess's chamber.

Only after Ivan's figure had completely disappeared did Anastasia collapse onto the soft carpet, unable to hold herself up any longer.

Like pearls, silent tears slid down her pale, porcelain-like cheeks.

Merciful and great Heavenly Father, if you are truly watching from above, then please, save me.

Anastasia clasped her hands to her chest as she prayed.

For the first sixteen years of her life, she had lived carefree. She had a father who cherished her, a mother who loved her, and siblings who doted on her.

But it seemed as though she had used up all of God's grace in those sixteen years.

A so-called revolution had destroyed everything she held dear.

Her life of luxury had turned into captivity, where her survival was uncertain.

Enduring had only led to the merciless executioner's blade of the usurper.

When the machine guns fired, her mother had shielded her with her own body.

When she crawled out from the pile of unclaimed corpses, all that greeted her were the unrecognizable remains of her family.

After a period of hiding, Anastasia had thought she had finally found a savior.

But little did she expect that the man, old enough to be her grandfather, would claim that to preserve the purity of the Tsarist bloodline, he must marry her.

If it had only been a political marriage, Anastasia, having been raised in the royal court, might have been able to accept it.

But this man saw his wife as no more than a tool for breeding. No, not even a tool—merely an object for him to vent his desires.

Could he not see the vengeful spirits of his seven wives and sons standing behind him?

Anyone—please, save me! I'd even be willing to become the most humble maid!

When Anastasia made this vow to God in her heart, it seemed her wish was about to be fulfilled.

Boom!

Suddenly, a series of earth-shattering explosions erupted from outside.

Immediately, the entire Kremlin Palace began to shake, with large amounts of dust falling like rain from the ceiling. Cracks appeared everywhere on the walls, and the expensive stained glass shattered into pieces, crashing to the ground.

Inside the ballroom, the once-elegant gentlemen and dignified noblewomen now resembled frightened quails. Some rushed in panic toward the exits, others hid under the tables, and a few screamed at the top of their lungs.

Thus, a ridiculous scene unfolded, where the screams of some gentlemen drowned out the cries of the noblewomen.

One middle-aged nobleman with a large beer belly—who looked like an oversized ball from afar—ran faster than anyone else. Rolling and crawling, he was the first to reach the doors of the banquet hall.

However, just as he reached out to open the doors, they swung open on their own.

Ivan the Terrible stood at the entrance. Without a word, he grabbed the middle-aged nobleman by the neck and lifted him with one hand.

Crack!

A sharp snap echoed, and the noble's head slumped to the side, lifeless.

Ivan the Terrible scanned the ballroom with his hawk-like eyes. The once-noisy banquet hall fell into immediate silence. Many of the nobles instinctively glanced at the corpse lying at Ivan's feet and swallowed hard. Only now did they remember the fear they had felt under the rule of this most ruthless tyrant in history.

After the peasants had been driven out, some nobles had conspired to sideline Ivan, only for him to wield his blade and decapitate the male members of those families, while the female members were thrown into the military camps as comfort women.

Ivan the Terrible—undoubtedly the most brutal Tsar in Russian history—was infamous for once killing his son with his bare hands.

"If I see anyone else behaving improperly, I will gladly send them to meet God."

Ivan's voice was cold and emotionless.

For a moment, the grand ballroom was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

Seeing the once-proud nobles bow their heads in submission, Ivan's face lit up with satisfaction.

"Very good..."

But before he could finish, another explosion rang out, this one much closer to the ballroom. The violent tremors seemed as though they might tear the ceiling right off.

The words stuck in Ivan's throat.

Bulging veins appeared on his forehead, and it was clear that the notoriously short-tempered Tsar was now on the verge of exploding in rage.

He cast a warning glance at the nobles in the hall, then, with a sharp flick of his crimson cloak, strode out of the ballroom, radiating an intense aura of authority.

As soon as he disappeared from view, many of the nobles breathed sighs of relief.

The pressure this tyrant exerted on them was overwhelming.

...

Meanwhile, Ryou had already forced his way into the Kremlin.

Several guards tried to stop him, but he easily cut them down, leaving blood and severed limbs scattered across the palace floors.

These guards were accomplices and deserved no sympathy.

With his right hand gripping a blade, he effortlessly dispatched the guards rushing toward him. In his left hand, he occasionally conjured glass bottles filled with an orange, oily liquid and hurled them at the palace buildings.

As soon as the bottles shattered, the liquid would ignite upon contact with air, triggering deafening explosions that sent massive flames shooting into the sky.

These were explosive potions he had exchanged from the system shop.

As the name implied, they functioned like C4 explosives, though not powerful enough to pose a serious threat to his enemies. However, they were perfect for creating chaos and disorder.

Indeed, under the onslaught of these potions, the Kremlin resembled an anthill that had just been doused with boiling water. Guards and maids scurried about like headless chickens.

Just as Ryou raised another explosive potion, ready to throw it again—

"Insolence!"

A thunderous voice boomed from the distance, quickly closing in.

Ryou smirked and, without hesitation, threw the explosive potion directly at the approaching figure.

As the bottle flew through the air, a blinding bolt of lightning struck it, shattering the glass and causing the potion to explode midair.

Through the wall of fire, a majestic figure slowly emerged.

Standing two meters tall, clad in a military-style imperial uniform, Ivan the Terrible with an imposing figure, his presence commanding respect.

Ivan's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the figure standing before him—Nguyen Ryou.

When he noticed his distinctly foreign features, Ivan's face twisted with disdain.

"You outsider, you cause chaos in my palace? Kneel and pray now, and perhaps I'll grant you the mercy of a whole corpse."

Ryou remained unfazed by Ivan's blatant threat. With his arms crossed, he replied nonchalantly.

"Do you think you can make me kneel? Did a bee sting your brain and make you stupid?"

"You!"

"Sorry, calling you a bear is an insult to bears. At least they fend for themselves. But you…"

Ryou gave Ivan a once-over, his expression filled with contempt.

"You're nothing but a pathetic creature that feeds on the blood of your people."

Ivan the Terrible, infamous for his short fuse, was livid. His face contorted with rage as his taunts struck a nerve.

"Good! Very good! Let's see if your sharp tongue can save you in a moment!"

Ivan grinned wickedly as bolts of lightning materialized around him, gathering into a storm that enveloped his body.

He looked like a god descending to earth, clad in an armor of thunder.

Ryou's expression grew serious. Regardless of Ivan's personality, anyone who could wield lightning was a formidable opponent.

The last time he faced Wu Zetian, he had almost been defeated due to carelessness. This time, he swore he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"Die, outsider!"

With a roar, Ivan raised his right hand and hurled a bolt of lightning like a javelin toward Ryou.

His movements were filled with an overwhelming sense of power and majesty, reminiscent of Zeus, the king of the gods in Greek mythology.

Ryou didn't try to be careless. Almost as soon as the lightning was thrown, he countered with a shot of his own—the skill, Brahmastra, aimed directly at Ivan.

The scorching beam of sunlight collided with the blue lightning bolt in midair.

Sparks and electricity intertwined, and then, with a loud bang, both attacks were obliterated.

Ryou exhaled slightly. Ivan's strength hadn't exceeded his expectations.

Combat requires both caution and boldness.

Following Scathach's teachings, Ryou responded with another solar beam while advancing toward Ivan with swift, zigzagging movements, closing the distance quickly.