Chapter 1142

Inside the ancestral hall, the scene was nothing short of surreal. The once solemn chamber, lined with rows of ancestral tablets and bathed in the gentle flicker of eternal lamps, now blazed with a brilliance so intense it banished every shadow, turning night into glaring daylight. In the center of it all stood Frederick—tall, poised, and coldly resplendent. The air around him seemed to chill with his presence. His appearance was as refined as jade, but the frost in his eyes sent a ripple of unease through everyone watching. Across from him, Augustine—the current patriarch—clenched his hands in frustration, face taut with contained fury. "Frederick, what are you trying to pull?" His voice was carefully controlled, but the underlying panic betrayed him. "This is sacred ground, not a stage for your theatrics." But Frederick’s voice cut through the tension like a blade of ice. Calm, soft-spoken, yet sharp enough to draw blood. "Uncle," he said, gaze fixed unflinchingly on Augustine, "will