Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 60

Chapter 60: A Picnic of Tyrants
We were actually going on a picnic.

I wasn’t entirely sure how to process that information.

This was a family that settled disputes with intimidation, made decisions over bloodstained thrones, and considered mass executions a reasonable morning activity. And now they wanted to have a casual picnic?

I wasn’t convinced.

Neither, it seemed, were my attendants.

Elira and Mara stood stiffly as the preparations unfolded before them, their expressions shifting between disbelief and sheer existential dread.

“They’re packing a full banquet,” Elira muttered, eyeing the golden platters being carefully arranged into an ornate picnic basket.

Mara, whose tolerance for absurdity had already been tested to its limits, exhaled through her nose. “Of course they are.”

Meanwhile, I was trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever awaited me in this so-called “relaxing outing.”

The fact that both my parents and all four of my grandparents were attending did not make it feel particularly casual.

In fact, it felt a little like a war council.

Except instead of battle plans, they were packing fruit.

It was unsettling.

It was excessive.

It was… exactly what I should have expected.

The location they had chosen was undeniably beautiful.

A lush meadow stretched toward a crystal-clear lake, framed by towering trees whose golden leaves shimmered under the midday sun.

It was so picturesque that it almost felt suspicious.

Like some kind of elaborate stage setting, except the performers were six of the most terrifying rulers in existence and their one (somewhat reluctant) heir.

A lavish blanket was spread over the grass, embroidered with the royal crest, because of course it was. No ordinary fabric could touch imperial skin, after all.

Several servants carried in a banquet’s worth of food golden platters filled with rare cheeses, perfectly ripened fruits, delicate pastries dusted with fine sugar, roasted meats glazed to perfection, and a variety of imported wines.

It was the least modest picnic in history.

I took one look at the ridiculous amount of food and sighed. “This isn’t a picnic. This is an outdoor diplomatic summit with better catering.”

Verania smirked, stretching out on the blanket like she was posing for a royal portrait. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Sylvithra, ever composed, adjusted the folds of her gown as she took her seat with effortless grace. “Moderation has never been our strong suit.”

“That’s an understatement,” Elira muttered under her breath.

Mara looked deeply concerned as she watched the servants pour wine into crystal goblets.

Because of course goblets.

I sat down cautiously, half-expecting some kind of royal formality to be forced upon me.

Instead, my grandparents immediately began fighting over who got to serve me food.

Saelira, the Grand Empress, delicately picked up a silver fork and speared a slice of perfectly roasted pheasant. “Elyzara, darling, you must try this. It’s been seasoned with rare Eastern spices.”

Eryndor, the Grand Warlord, scoffed. “If she needs protein, she should eat something with real strength.” He gestured toward a massive slab of grilled beast steak, which looked like it belonged to some unfortunate creature that had fought a losing battle against the empire.

Ilythia, the Grand Consort, ignored both of them and elegantly handed me a golden plate filled with luxurious pastries. “She deserves something sweet after everything she’s endured.”

Veylen, the Grand Strategist, sighed, rubbing his temples. “Must everything be a competition?”

Verania, watching this unfold, rested her chin on her hand, clearly amused beyond reason.

Sylvithra was no better. “Let them fight. It’s entertaining.”

I sat there, half-buried in plates of expensive delicacies, while my family casually engaged in what might as well have been a battlefield negotiation.

“Do I… get a say in this?” I asked.

Saelira smiled. “Of course, dear.”

Eryndor nodded. “But we know what’s best for you.”

Veylen took a long sip of wine. “Which means your opinion is irrelevant.”

Mara looked horrified.

Elira whispered, “Are you going to survive this?”

I stared at my absurdly overloaded plate. “Unclear.”

[ This is a hostage situation. ]

“I know.”

[ I recommend tactical surrender. Eat everything. ]

I sighed.

Despite the chaotic start, the meal itself was… enjoyable.

The food was impossibly good, which was to be expected given that my family hoarded the best chefs in the empire.

The conversation, however, was another matter entirely.

Somewhere between Verania recounting a dramatic and highly exaggerated story of her latest political assassination, and Sylvithra calmly explaining the correct way to orchestrate a coup, Mara looked ready to faint.

Elira, having long since resigned herself to fate, simply kept drinking her tea.

I poked at my pastry, wondering for the hundredth time how I had ended up in a family that thought violence was a casual mealtime topic.

The worst part?

I wasn’t even surprised anymore.

[ You are adapting to tyranny at an alarming rate. ]

“Shut up.”

[ That wasn’t an insult. Just an observation. ]

Sylvithra turned to me, her sharp gaze appraising. “You’re quiet, Elyzara.”

I shrugged. “Just enjoying the meal.”

Verania smirked. “Or planning something.”

I smiled innocently. “Why would I need to plan anything when I have six overpowered tyrants doing all the work for me?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Verania burst out laughing.

Sylvithra sighed. “She has a point.”

Saelira smiled. “A very dangerous one.”

Eryndor grinned. “I like it.”

Ilythia tilted her head. “You might be more suited to ruling than you think.”

Veylen nodded. “You’re learning how to manipulate conversations well.”

Mara put her head in her hands.

Elira whispered, “We’re all doomed.”

I took another bite of my pastry, smugly pleased with myself.

[ Approved. ]

Before I could bask in my smug victory any longer, the sky suddenly darkened.

The warm afternoon breeze shifted into something eerily unnatural, the air growing heavy as an unmistakable rumble of thunder echoed across the meadow.

I paused mid-bite.

Mara and Elira froze.

My grandparents and parents who were all in the middle of fighting over who got to pour me tea next— suddenly stopped, their instincts kicking in immediately.

A massive shadow passed over us.

A very large, very winged, and very angry-looking shadow.

“…Oh, for the love of—” Verania started, just as the creature in question let out a deafening roar.

A dragon.

A very big dragon.

And, judging by the fact that it was currently barreling toward us at full speed, it was not here for a friendly visit.

I blinked. “Is that—”

“Yes,” Sylvithra said.

“Are we—”

“No,” she replied.

I barely had time to process the situation before my entire family of overpowered tyrants collectively decided that this was an inconvenience at best.

Saelira, instead of panicking like a normal person, calmly took a sip of her tea. “Unfortunate.”

Eryndor cracked his knuckles. “Who’s taking this one?”

Verania sighed, looking genuinely bored. “I handled the last dragon.”

Sylvithra gestured lazily. “I’m wearing white.”

Ilythia hummed. “It would be a shame if blood got on your gown.”

Veylen, already flipping through a book of advanced strategy as if he were choosing a dinner menu, muttered, “It’s not worth the effort.”

Mara and Elira, meanwhile, were too busy having synchronized silent breakdowns.

I stared. “Are we seriously treating this like a minor inconvenience?!”

Verania stretched. “We have better things to do than fight a feral lizard, darling.”

The dragon roared louder.

A massive blast of fire erupted from its jaws, aimed directly at us.

For a split second, I thought, Oh gods, we’re all about to die.

Saelira flicked her wrist.

A gust of wind strong enough to flip mountains redirected the fire straight into the lake.

The dragon, clearly not expecting that, paused mid-flight, flapping awkwardly.

It looked genuinely confused.

I didn’t blame it.

If I were a fire-breathing beast expecting carnage and destruction only to be met with mild annoyance and superior tea-drinking etiquette, I, too, would be rethinking my life choices.

I exhaled. “So… are we gonna kill it, or…?”

Verania checked her nails. “Only if it insists on being a problem.”

The dragon, realizing that it had just threatened the absolute worst people possible, hesitated.