Chapter 142: Chapter-142

Elara cut in before he could build up more steam. “Oh, were you about to use magic?” Her tone was flat, dismissive.

“Forget it. This circle was made by my mother. The whole Duke estate is trapped inside it right now. Your magic power?” She paused, letting it sink in.

“It’s already gone.”

His hand shot up, black ice forming—but it sputtered, flickering weak before dying completely. He stared at his palm like it had betrayed him.

Elara watched without emotion. “Welcome to Mother’s trap. Fifteen years in the making.”

Suddenly, the emperor shouted, “Come!”

As the word left his lips, the wall behind the door slid open seamlessly, revealing a hidden compartment like a secret gate. From within emerged at least fifty knights, their armor gleaming under the torchlight—Elara couldn’t help but marvel silently at the ingenuity; even modern tech paled against this ancient engineering that concealed an entire force within stone. Half were human knights in polished plate, the other half beast knights with twitching ears and swishing tails, their collars humming faintly.

The beast knights surged forward but halted at Elara and Ileana, bound by ancient wards that prevented them from harming royal blood; they could fell demoted guards, rival beastmen, administrators, or any lesser foes without hesitation. Elara observed the chaos unfolding, sighed in quiet assessment, then turned to her administrator.

“Administrator,” she commanded coolly, “back out—now.”

Elara watched calmly as the administrators heard her order and took three quick steps back. It wasn’t that they couldn’t fight—they were sharp magicians, after all, specialists in new spells. Three of them handled rare poisons; even Dimtri could suck in toxins and heal through the pain, surviving what would kill others outright.

After all that was the main reason Elara let him.easily taste that river water without stopping.

They weren’t frontline brawlers, but they were no pushovers.

Dimtri and the others ducked behind Elara’s beast knights, staying low and ready. Elara glanced at her knights and waved a hand at the enemy’s beasts. “You guys can’t attack them—royal blood rule.”

The reason was simple: beast knights couldn’t harm Blackwood royals. But nothing stopped a royal from killing another royal. And against the three of them? Her knights could handle it. The Duke and his goons weren’t royal anyway—just servants. Fair game.

The fight kicked off instantly, no pause. Elara didn’t rush the Emperor—no way she’d play idiot and die early, even weakened. Eleana took him instead, sword flashing. As for the rest…

Elara locked eyes on Rony next. Not out of hate or anything deep—just pure logic. No one keeps a traitor leeching off them. This guy had been eating her food, living on her dime, taking salaries she’d even started paying her beast knights (yeah, crazy idea back then, but loyalty meant fairness—no punishing the good for one bad apple). Rony had it easy while plotting.

No way she’d let that slide. Sword out, Elara charged straight at him, moves sharp and fast. Sera? Parmilda—the First Consort—could handle that witch easy.

Elara had always found it ridiculous how people in movies, novels, and manga fought with swords—just clashing blades like idiots when they had perfectly good legs sitting idle. She knew she wouldn’t beat Rony in a straight sword fight, but who said she had to?

He’d forgotten one thing: she was a kickboxer. Oh wait—she’d never told him. His mistake for not researching his “master” better.

Beating Rony wasn’t even difficult. Thanks to original Elara’s mother’s spell circle, everyone’s magic was drained—including hers. Not that it mattered; she couldn’t use it properly anyway.

So she fought the old-fashioned way.

Rony lunged with his blade. Elara sidestepped, feinted with her sword to draw his guard high, then drove her knee straight into his ribs. Hard. The crack echoed.

He gasped, stumbling. She didn’t give him space. Spinning low, she swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground—she was already on him, boot to his throat, sword tip at his eye.

“You ate my food for six months,” she said flatly. “Took my money. Pretended to be loyal.”

He wheezed, trying to speak.

“Inefficient,” she finished. Then drove the pommel of her sword into his temple.

He went limp.

Elara stood, barely breathing hard, and turned to assess the rest of the fight.

.

.

Across the room, Sera—the woman who’d been masquerading as “Sera”—faced First Consort Parmilda with her blade raised.

But there was a problem.

Sera had spent years operating from the shadows. Manipulating. Scheming. Using poison and politics as her weapons. She’d relied on hired assassins and magical enhancements to handle direct combat.

Now, with her magic drained by the Deadly Seed spell, she was just a woman with basic sword training facing one of the most experienced fighters in the palace.

Parmilda didn’t even look concerned.

“You’ve been hiding behind your father’s power for too long,” the First Consort said calmly, her stance perfect, blade steady. “Let’s see what you’re actually capable of.”

Sera lunged forward with a clumsy overhead strike—too much commitment, too little control.

Parmilda sidestepped effortlessly. Her blade flicked out, catching Sera’s wrist. Not cutting, just striking hard enough to send painful shock up her arm.

Sera’s sword wavered. She recovered, tried a horizontal slash—

Parmilda ducked under it, stepped inside Sera’s guard, and drove her elbow into the younger woman’s solar plexus.

The air exploded from Sera’s lungs. She staggered backward, gasping.

“Is that all?” Parmilda’s voice was cold. “The Emperor’s favorite weapon can’t even hold a proper stance?”

Sera tried to attack again—desperate now, technique completely abandoned. Just wild swings fueled by panic.

Parmilda deflected the first strike. Redirected the second. Caught the third blade-to-blade and twisted hard, wrenching the sword from Sera’s weakened grip.

The weapon clattered across the floor.

Sera dove for it—

Parmilda’s boot came down on her hand. Hard. Bones crunched.

Sera screamed.

“You murdered Sera,” Parmilda said quietly, pressing down harder. “Poisoned your own sister because the Emperor ordered it. Then helped frame my daughter for the crime.”

“I was following orders—” Sera gasped through the pain.

“You were being a coward.” Parmilda removed her boot, then kicked Sera hard in the ribs. The younger woman rolled away, curling into a protective ball.

“Thirty years I’ve watched the Emperor destroy people. Murder consorts. Drain his own children’s magic. And you?” Parmilda walked closer, standing over Sera’s crumpled form. “You helped him. Enabled him. Became exactly the kind of monster he wanted.”

She placed the tip of her sword against Sera’s throat.

“You’re pathetic. Can’t fight. Can’t strategize without him. Can’t even beg properly.” Parmilda’s voice was filled with contempt. “You’re not worth killing. You’re just… disappointing.”

She removed the blade and turned away, leaving Sera sobbing on the floor, defeated in less than two minutes.

“Stay down,” Parmilda said without looking back. “Or I’ll break more than just your hand.”

Sera didn’t get up.

On other side.

Eleana fought like a woman possessed.

Her blade moved with precision that shocked everyone watching—techniques honed since childhood, every strike perfectly balanced, footwork flawless. This wasn’t the political princess they all knew. This was a knight.

A secret her mother had kept for twenty years. While other noble daughters learned embroidery and court etiquette, Parmilda had trained Eleana in swordplay, hand-to-hand combat, tactical thinking. Because she’d known—known that in this palace, magic could be stolen, titles could be stripped, but skill? Skill stayed with you.

Eleana’s fighting ability surpassed Elara’s, Rony’s, and Lira’s combined.

But there was one massive problem.

The Emperor refused to fight her face-to-face.

Every time Eleana closed the distance, got within striking range, the bastard would dart backward and his beast knight guards would form a wall between them.

They couldn’t touch her—royal blood protection prevented that—but they could block. Shield. Delay.

And the Emperor was using that perfectly.

“Stand still and face me, coward!” Eleana screamed, her blade cutting through the air where his head had been a second before.

Two beast knights immediately moved into the gap, swords crossed defensively. Not attacking. Just blocking.

Eleana slammed her shoulder into them, trying to force through—they held firm, boots planted, using their weight to prevent her advance.

“You murdered my sister!” She kicked one guard in the knee—he grunted but didn’t fall.

The Emperor was already ten paces back, moving toward the hallway door.

“You’re wasting your energy, daughter,” he said calmly, as if this were nothing more than a lesson long overdue. “I don’t need to defeat you. I only need to survive—long enough to escape this cursed building. Once I step beyond the spell’s reach, my magic will return.” His lips curved into a cold, deliberate smile. “And then? Then I will kill all of you. Easily.”

Eleana lifted her head and met his gaze without flinching. A sharp sneer crossed her face, not born of fear but defiance. The air between them felt heavy, trembling with unspoken tension.

“Time,” she said slowly, her voice steady despite the chaos around them, “will decide who wins—and who loses.”

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