Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 37

Chapter 37: The Tyrants Go Hunting

The sun hung high and unforgiving in the afternoon sky as Verania and Sylvithra stepped into the shadowed halls of the Imperial Treasury Department.

Their presence was felt long before it was seen.

Guards, clerks, and officials stiffened at the distant sound of sharp heels clicking against marble, their conversations dying mid-sentence. The temperature in the hallways seemed to drop several degrees, as if the very walls recognized the danger approaching.

The Empresses were in a mood.

The kind of mood that usually ended in blood.

Verania walked ahead, her stride loose and predatory, golden eyes glinting with barely restrained amusement. She was dressed in black combat trousers and a fitted crimson tunic, a short sword strapped casually to her side a clear, silent warning to anyone with half a brain.

Sylvithra followed, her elegance as sharp and lethal as a polished dagger. Her dark hair was pinned in place with onyx combs, and her midnight-blue coat trailed behind her like a falling shadow. Her eyes—**cold, calculating, and unforgiving—**scanned the walls with the detached curiosity of a predator studying prey.

A senior official spotted them and immediately turned pale.

“Y-Your Majesties!” he gasped, bowing so deeply his glasses slipped down his nose. “We… we weren’t expecting you—”

“Clearly,” Verania drawled, stopping directly in front of him. “Who’s in charge here?”

The man swallowed hard. “Ah… Director Malric, Your Majesty.”

“Fetch him.”

The man hesitated for half a second too long.

Verania’s eyes narrowed. “Unless you’d prefer we start with you?”

The official fled so quickly his shoes squeaked against the polished marble.

Sylvithra tilted her head toward her wife. “Was that necessary?”

Verania’s smile sharpened. “No. But it was fun.”

Sylvithra exhaled through her nose, but the corner of her mouth twitched in faint amusement.

Moments later, Director Malric appeared sweating profusely, his face pale. He was a thin man with a receding hairline, ink-stained fingers, and the nervous energy of a rabbit cornered by wolves.

He bowed. “Y-Your Majesties, it is an… an unexpected honor—”

Verania leaned against his desk, arms crossed. “Cut the flattery, Malric. We’re here about the orphanage funds.”

Malric froze. His throat bobbed. “Orphanage… funds?”

“Yes,” Sylvithra said, voice soft and glacial. “The ones that were supposed to support the orphanage in the capital.”

“The ones that somehow disappeared,” Verania added.

Malric’s eyes darted toward the thick ledgers stacked on his desk. “Ah, well… you see… there must be some mistake—”

Verania slammed her palm down on the desk.

The wood splintered beneath her hand.

Malric jumped.

“Mistakes,” she said, voice suddenly low and deadly, “do not survive in our empire. Someone stole from our people. From children.”

Sylvithra stepped forward, resting her gloved hands on the back of a chair. “The ledgers, Malric. Now.”

The man scrambled to pass her the nearest ledger.

Sylvithra opened it with chilling calm, eyes flicking across the neatly inked rows. Verania, meanwhile, stalked toward the glass display case on the far wall and casually unsheathed her dagger.

Malric’s breath hitched as she ran the blade along the glass surface, leaving a hairline crack.

“You’re nervous,” Verania said without turning. “That’s not guilt, though. That’s fear.”

Sylvithra hummed softly. “He’s afraid of someone else.”

Malric went rigid.

Verania’s head tilted. “Ah. So that’s it.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“You’ve been diverting the orphanage funds,” Sylvithra said, snapping the ledger shut. “Not for yourself. For someone else.”

“Who?” Verania asked.

Malric’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes flicked toward the window.

Verania sighed. “Really?”

The man bolted.

Verania was faster.

She whirled and threw her dagger in one fluid motion.

It struck Malric’s sleeve as he reached the window, pinning him to the wooden frame. He yelped, collapsing onto the floor, clutching his arm.

Sylvithra approached slowly, crouching beside him. “That was foolish.”

“Please,” he gasped. “They’ll kill me if I talk.”

Verania loomed over him. “And what do you think we’ll do if you don’t?”

Malric’s breath shuddered. “It’s the Council of Shadows,” he whispered.

Sylvithra’s eyes narrowed. “They’re supposed to be dead.”

“Apparently not,” Verania said grimly.

Malric sagged in relief. “I told you. I helped. Please… don’t hurt me—”

Sylvithra’s smile was glacial. “Oh, Malric. We never said we’d spare you.”

His eyes widened. “No—please!”

Verania leaned closer, her smile turning cold. “Did you hesitate when you stole from those kids?”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t wait for an answer.

The blade flashed.

Blood splattered across the marble floor.

Malric slumped, eyes glassy.

Verania wiped the dagger on his coat and stood. “Well. That was productive.”

Sylvithra straightened, her mouth tight. “The Council of Shadows. If they’re involved, this won’t be easy.”

“Oh, I hope it’s not,” Verania said, eyes glittering. “It’s been far too long since we had a proper war.”

They left the office together, stepping over the body without a second glance.

The guards outside immediately straightened at their approach.

“Clean that up,” Sylvithra ordered.

“And inform the treasury department that Malric has been… relieved of duty,” Verania added.

The guards bowed low and rushed inside.

As they walked through the palace corridors, Verania’s lips curved into a sharp grin.

“This will get messy,” she said.

“Good,” Sylvithra replied softly.

They both knew one thing for certain:

The Council of Shadows had made a grave mistake.

And when tyrants are provoked…

empires burn.

Verania stepped out of the treasury office and into the marble corridor, the crimson stain of Malric’s blood still splattered across the front of her tunic.

The scent of iron lingered in the air.

The palace officials who had been milling about the hallway froze the moment they saw her.

Gasps echoed along the walls. A clerk dropped his stack of papers, the sheets scattering like fallen snow across the polished floor.

A junior accountant backed away too quickly, slipping on the marble and landing with a thud, eyes wide with horror.

No one spoke.

No one dared to.

The only sound was the click of her heels as she strode past them, leaving faint crimson footprints in her wake.

Sylvithra walked beside her, the hem of her coat trailing through the blood, her expression unreadable.

“Did you see the way they looked at you?” she murmured, voice soft and amused.

Verania ran a gloved hand through her hair, smearing a streak of red across her cheek. “Of course they did.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Verania smiled faintly. “Is that a question you really need to ask?”

Sylvithra’s lips curved slightly. “No.”

They reached the grand staircase, where a pair of guard captains were stationed.

Both men stiffened at the sight of the bloodstains. One of them tried to mask his fear, standing a little taller, jaw tightening.

The other captain a younger recruit visibly paled. His eyes darted to the crimson streaks, then to the gleaming dagger still clutched in Verania’s hand.

Verania stopped.

The young captain immediately bowed. “Y-Your Majesty!”

She tilted her head. “Something wrong?”

“N-No, of course not, Your Majesty. I—uh—just… noticed…” His voice faltered as she slowly stepped closer.

“That I’m covered in blood?” she asked pleasantly.

He swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Verania twirled the dagger between her fingers with practiced ease. “This is what happens when people steal from us.” She smiled, all teeth. “Consider it a… visual reminder.”

The captain nodded, visibly shaking.

She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Disappoint us, and I’ll make sure you understand it firsthand.”

The man’s breath caught in his throat.

She stepped back and resumed walking without waiting for a reply.

Sylvithra exhaled softly. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Am I supposed to feel guilty?”

“No. But you might scare the child too much when we tell her later.”

“She’s ours.” Verania wiped the blade against her trousers. “She’ll understand.”

Sylvithra didn’t argue.

They passed through the archway leading into the west corridor, the hall growing darker as the daylight faded. The scent of blood still clung to them, mingling with the cool stone air.

And as they walked, Verania’s mind drifted back to Malric’s final words.

The Council of Shadows.

She hadn’t heard that name in over a decade.

The last time they’d surfaced, it had taken an entire division of royal mages to suppress their influence.

But this… this was different.

She could feel it.

There was something off about the timing.

Her thoughts shifted to the monster that had broken free of its ancient seal just days prior. The beast that had left chaos in its wake, its very presence warping the air with primal, dark energy.

She and Sylvithra had slain it, of course.

But that had felt like the opening move of a much larger game.

Sylvithra must have been thinking the same thing. “The beast,” she said suddenly, voice quiet. “You think it’s connected?”

Verania’s hand tightened around the dagger. “The Council never did anything without a reason. If they’re back, and if they had a hand in releasing that creature—”

“They might be after more than just gold,” Sylvithra finished.

Verania’s eyes narrowed. “We need answers.”