Chapter 144: Chapter-144

Eleana’s sword sliced through the air, aiming for the Emperor’s shoulder—a disabling strike, not fatal. Her mother had taught her better than to kill in rage.

But the Emperor twisted away, impossibly fast for a man his age, even without magic enhancement.

“You think I’d be unprepared?” he snarled, backing toward the corner where he’d been herded. “Forty years ruling this empire, and you think I wouldn’t have contingencies?”

Parmilda moved to flank him from the left, her blade steady. “You’re cornered. No magic. No guards willing to die for you anymore. Surrender.”

“Surrender?” The Emperor’s laugh was bitter, broken. “To you? To the daughter I should have killed at birth? Never.”

His hand shot to his finger—a ring Elara had noticed earlier but dismissed as decorative. Plain silver band, nothing remarkable.

Until it started glowing.

“Get back!” Elara shouted from the doorway.

Too late.

The ring erupted with stored magical energy—not the Emperor’s own power, but pre-loaded spells. Emergency reserves. Exactly the kind of artifact a paranoid ruler would keep hidden for decades.

A shockwave of pure force exploded outward.

Parmilda was thrown backward, her body slamming into the wall with a sickening crack. She crumpled to the floor, sword clattering from her hand.

Eleana managed to get her blade up in time, channeling the blast along the edge, but the force still sent her skidding across the floor, boots leaving scorch marks on the stone.

The Emperor straightened, the ring pulsing with golden light. “Did you really think I’d stake everything on magic alone? I’ve survived assassination attempts, coups, rebellions—all because I plan for every contingency!”

He thrust his hand forward. Another blast of energy shot toward Eleana.

She rolled aside, barely avoiding it. The spell hit the wall behind her, exploding stone into fragments.

“Mother!” Eleana scrambled to her feet, eyes darting to where Parmilda lay motionless.

“She’s alive,” the Emperor said dismissively. “For now. But that can change very quickly if you don’t—”

A chair flew through the air and smashed into his face.

The Emperor staggered, blood streaming from his nose. He spun to see who’d thrown it—

Elara stood in the doorway, already reaching for another piece of furniture. Her expression hadn’t changed. Still calm. Still analytical. But her eyes were cold as winter ice.

“You attacked non-combatants during negotiation,” she said flatly. “That violates acceptable rules of engagement. Escalation is now justified.”

She hurled a small table at him.

The Emperor blasted it mid-flight, wood exploding into splinters. “You’re not even my daughter! You’re a magical abomination that—”

Elara threw three chairs in rapid succession, forcing him to waste stored magic destroying each one.

Eleana saw the strategy immediately. The ring had limited charges. Make him burn through them on debris instead of direct attacks.

She grabbed a heavy candelabra and threw it.

The Emperor destroyed it with another blast, but the spell was noticeably weaker now. The ring’s glow was dimming.

“Clever,” he admitted. “But not clever enough.”

He thrust his ring hand toward Elara—not a blast, but a binding spell. Golden chains of light shot forward, wrapping around her wrists and ankles, yanking her off balance.

She hit the ground hard, the chains searing into her skin where they touched.

“Elara!” Eleana charged forward, sword raised.

The Emperor spun, his free hand grabbing a fallen dagger from the floor. He met her attack with surprising skill—no magic, just pure technique honed over decades of combat training.

Their blades locked. He was stronger than he looked, muscles corded with wiry strength.

“You were always my most disappointing child,” he said, face inches from hers. “So much potential. Wasted on sentiment and weakness.”

“I’m not weak,” Eleana growled.

She broke the lock, spun low, and slashed at his legs. He jumped back, barely avoiding the cut.

“Prove it then!” He lunged forward, dagger aimed at her throat.

She parried, riposted, forced him back step by step. Their weapons clashed in a deadly rhythm—his technique was better, sharper, but she was younger, faster, and fueled by three years of misdirected guilt now transformed into righteous fury.

Meanwhile, Elara struggled against the magical chains. They were designed to tighten when pulled against, cutting deeper with resistance.

So she stopped resisting.

Went completely limp.

The chains, programmed to respond to struggle, loosened fractionally.

That was all she needed.

Elara’s flexibility—from years of taekwondo and kickboxing training—allowed her to contort her wrist at an angle that should have been impossible. The chain slipped over her thumb. One hand free.

She reached for her boot where a small knife was hidden—standard precaution, she carried weapons everywhere—and cut through the ankle chains.

The Emperor was too focused on Eleana to notice.

Elara stood silently, knife in hand, and assessed the situation.

Eleana was holding her own, but barely. The Emperor’s experience was showing—he was conserving energy, letting her tire herself out with aggressive attacks while he defended efficiently.

Parmilda was stirring now, groaning, but not combat-capable yet.

The ring still had maybe two or three charges left. Dangerous but limited.

Optimal strategy: coordinated attack. Eleana as primary aggressor, Elara as support striker.

She caught Eleana’s eye. Made a quick hand signal—two fingers down, then a fist.

Eleana’s eyes widened fractionally. Understanding.

She attacked the Emperor with renewed intensity, forcing him to focus entirely on her blade.

Elara moved.

Not toward the Emperor—toward his blind spot. Circling wide, using overturned furniture as cover, boots silent on the stone floor.

The Emperor parried Eleana’s overhead strike, twisted his dagger to bind her blade—

Elara’s knife slashed across the back of his ring hand.

He screamed, jerking away. The ring tumbled from his bleeding fingers, hitting the floor and rolling away.

“No!” He dove for it desperately.

Eleana’s boot came down on his wrist. Hard. Bones crunched.

The Emperor howled.

“That’s for Lera,” Eleana said coldly.

She raised her sword, point down, aimed at his back—

“Wait,” Elara said.

Eleana paused, breathing hard. “What?”

“Killing him is inefficient. He has information we need. Names of co-conspirators. Locations of hidden assets. Details of blood ritual procedures that might need to be reversed.” Elara’s voice was clinical. “A corpse can’t provide testimony.”

“He murdered—”

“Yes. I’m aware. Multiple murders over forty years. Execution is justified.” Elara knelt beside the Emperor, who was cradling his broken wrist and bleeding hand. “But strategically suboptimal. Better to extract all useful information first, then determine appropriate permanent solution.”

The Emperor glared up at her with pure hatred. “I should have killed you the moment you were born. Should have recognized the danger—”

Elara’s fist connected with his jaw. Hard. Precise. Exactly the right angle to cause maximum stunning effect without permanent damage.

His head snapped back. Eyes rolled. He slumped unconscious.

“Talking was inefficient,” Elara said simply. She looked at Eleana. “We need to induce controlled coma. Keep him alive but unable to cause further problems while we extract information and stabilize governance.”

Eleana stared at her. “You just… you casually knocked out the Emperor.”

“He was being unnecessarily verbose. It was irritating.” Elara stood, examining her bloodied knuckles with mild interest. “Also, his breathing pattern suggested he was preparing to activate a secondary artifact. Preventive action was logical.”

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