Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 67

Chapter 67: A Meal, a Monster, and a Slightly More Dangerous Future
By the time I stumbled back into my chambers, drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, my body felt like it had been through a war. Which, given my family’s definition of “training,” wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

I needed a bath. Immediately.

Stripping off my sweat-soaked training gear, I all but collapsed into the massive bathing pool carved into the black marble of my private bath. The water was warm, infused with expensive herbs meant to ease muscle tension, but honestly, I didn’t care. I just needed to stop feeling like I’d been thrown off a cliff.

Just as I closed my eyes, the system decided it was time to bother me.

[ Status Updated! ]

Name: Elyzara Thorne

Race: Highborn Tyrant (?)

Title: Imperial Heir of Velmoria

Level: 15 (Leveled up from 14!)

HP: 2200/2200

MP: ??? (Still a mystery.)

Strength: 75 (Increased from 60)

Agility: 70 (Increased from 55)

Intelligence: 90 (Somehow even worse.)

Charisma: 110 (Still absurdly high.)

Luck: 0 (…Still tragic.)

⸻

[ New Passive Skills Acquired! ]

• Pain Tolerance (Beginner): Congratulations! You now flinch slightly less when getting punched in the face.

• Battle Instincts: Your body reacts to danger before your brain does. Try not to think too hard about it.

⸻

[ Skills List ]

Passive Skills:

• Natural Leader: People are drawn to you, even against their will.

• Endurance Training (Intermediate): You now suffer slightly less during training.

• Combat Reflexes: Your ability to dodge angry mothers has improved.

• Pain Tolerance (Beginner): Your suffering is slightly less miserable.

• Battle Instincts: Your body is smarter than you are.

Active Skills:

• Phantom Strike: A precise, instantaneous attack that allows you to hit multiple points in rapid succession.

• Swordplay (Beginner): Your sword skills are no longer embarrassing.

⸻

[ Abyssal Requiem Mastery: 15% (Increased from 10%) ]

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Tell me something useful. Like why I still don’t have a magic stat.”

[ No idea. But if you suddenly explode into cosmic particles, I will be taking credit. ]

I dunked my head underwater.

A few minutes later, dressed in fresh clothes and feeling significantly less like roadkill, I made my way to the dining hall.

Predictably, my entire family was already seated, radiating power, elegance, and questionable morality. My dragon, who had become increasingly comfortable with his new role as a freeloading menace, was curled up beside my seat, his golden eyes flicking between the various dishes on the table with greedy anticipation.

As I slid into my chair, he let out an expectant huff.

“Yes, yes,” I sighed, gesturing for one of the servants to bring a plate of roasted meat. “Your Majesty shall feast.”

Smaug made a pleased rumbling noise before tearing into his meal with all the grace of a starving war beast.

Meanwhile, my parents and grandparents regarded me with their usual intensity.

“You’ve improved,” Grand Warlord Eryndor noted, sipping his wine. “But it is time for a real test.”

I paused mid-bite. “…What kind of test?”

Verania grinned. “It’s time for you to fight a monster.”

I stared at her.

“Excuse me?”

Grand Empress Saelira elegantly dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “It’s necessary, my dear. You have trained well, but true battle requires experience.”

Grand Strategist Veylen nodded. “A carefully selected opponent. Nothing too extreme.”

Sylvithra smirked. “Yet something that will make you struggle.”

I set my fork down, considering my options. “And what, exactly, do you have in mind?”

A brief silence followed as my entire family exchanged looks.

Then the debate began.

“A Shadowfang Beast would be a fitting challenge,” Veylen suggested. “Fast, intelligent, and deadly.”

“Too fragile,” Eryndor dismissed. “She needs something with more durability.”

“A Wraith Serpent,” Ilythia offered. “It will test her ability to handle incorporeal enemies.”

Saelira hummed in thought. “A Direwolf Lord could be an interesting opponent.”

My mother leaned forward. “A Blightfiend would be entertaining.”

I stared at them, horrified.

“Do any of you hear yourselves?!” I gestured wildly. “Every single one of those could kill me!”

Verania patted my hand reassuringly. “That’s the point, darling.”

Smaug, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke. “You should fight a dragon.”

I shot him a betrayed look. “I already have a dragon!”

“Exactly.” He flicked his tail lazily. “Think of it as sibling bonding.”

I turned back to my family, hoping for mercy. I found none.

“You need this experience,” Saelira said firmly. “And we will ensure it is properly supervised.”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Fine. But at least pick something that won’t turn me into paste in three seconds.”

After more (horrifying) deliberation, the decision was made.

I was going to fight an Ironclad Basilisk.

Great.

Because nothing said “gentle training” like battling a giant, armored serpent with petrifying venom.

[ Oh, this is going to be fun. ]

I had a terrible feeling my suffering had only just begun.

Still seated at the dining table, I stared at my family in mounting horror. They were still discussing logistics, as if they hadn’t just sentenced me to what was essentially a glorified death match.

“Ironclad Basilisk,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “Of course. Why not? Let’s just throw a giant, armored snake with venomous fangs at the five-year-old.”

Verania looked pleased. “It’s good that you understand, darling.”

I gave her a long, deadpan stare.

“Shouldn’t we I don’t know start smaller? Maybe a feral boar? A particularly aggressive goose?”

Sylvithra sighed, as if my hesitation was deeply disappointing. “Elyzara, you’ve trained enough to handle something more substantial.”

Grand Empress Saelira nodded. “A proper challenge will allow us to gauge your instincts. A simple beast wouldn’t be enough.”

Ilythia smiled. “Besides, an Ironclad Basilisk is fascinating. Their scales are nearly impenetrable, their venom corrosive enough to melt stone.”

“How reassuring,” I muttered.

[ Oh, I like them. They truly understand what it means to raise a proper monster. ]

I resisted the urge to groan.

Meanwhile, Smaug had finished his meal and was now observing me with clear amusement. “If you don’t want to fight it, I’ll eat it instead.”

I glared. “Not helpful.”

The worst part? My family was actually considering it.

Veylen stroked his chin. “A roasted basilisk does sound intriguing.”

Eryndor nodded. “Perhaps as a banquet dish.”

Saelira tapped a finger against the table, thoughtful. “We could use a variant of the fire-searing method to preserve the tenderness of the meat—”

“Oh my gods,” I groaned, dropping my face into my hands.

Was this my life now? Debating combat encounters and meal preparations at the same time?

[ You’re royalty, remember? You must learn to multitask. ]

I lifted my head and shot a glare at absolutely nothing. “I will throw you into the abyss.”

[ You’d only be sending me home. ]

A servant approached hesitantly, clearly uncertain whether now was a safe time to interrupt. Given that my family was casually planning my near-death experience, I couldn’t blame them.

“Your Highness,” they murmured, bowing deeply. “Shall I prepare a strategy chamber for further discussion?”

“No need,” Verania replied smoothly. “We’ll conduct our planning after lunch.”

I almost choked. “There’s more planning?”

Saelira arched a brow. “Naturally. We must prepare properly.”

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “So let me get this straight. You’re going to throw me into a fight against an Ironclad Basilisk. A venomous, armor-plated serpent. And I don’t even get the luxury of blind panic I have to strategize first?”

Grand Warlord Eryndor tilted his head. “Would you prefer to be unprepared?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “No! I don’t know! Maybe?!”

Sylvithra smiled fondly. “Your terror is adorable.”

I groaned.

[ To be fair, you do have a 50% chance of survival. ]

I tensed. “Wait. What was my survival rate before?”

[ …Higher. ]

I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “I hate you.”

[ No, you don’t. ]

I turned back to my family, who were still calmly deciding what level of danger I was expected to endure. “And when, exactly, am I expected to fight this thing?”

Verania leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine. “Tomorrow morning.”

I froze.

Tomorrow.

As in… less than a day away.

My hands clenched around my fork. “Excuse me, what?”

Grand Strategist Veylen gave me a patient look. “It’s best to approach challenges with immediacy. Otherwise, doubt and hesitation take root.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, voice cracking slightly. “Let’s not give me any time to mentally prepare. That would be terrible.”

Smaug made a pleased rumble. “I’ll be watching.”

I shot him a glare. “Fantastic. Just what I needed. An audience.”

Sylvithra rested her chin in her palm, smiling. “You’ll do well, Elyzara.”

I swallowed hard, eyeing my plate as if it could somehow offer salvation.