Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 72

Chapter 72: The Villain’s Lament
Somewhere, hidden in the shadows, an unfortunate villain was experiencing a full-body existential crisis.

They had been watching. Observing. Planning, even. Their hatred for the tyrannical Thorne family burned as brightly as ever, and they had long since vowed to see them fall.

They had waited patiently for the perfect moment gathering information, building connections, sharpening their strategy.

And yet, as they stood there, watching the aftermath of what had just unfolded in the ruined training grounds, they could only think one thing:

“What. The actual. Hell.”

A five-year-old.

Had just casually obliterated a basilisk.

Not merely defeated no, no. That would have been survivable. Expected, even.

But obliterated an entire combat arena destroyed beyond recognition.

The massive, armored serpent reduced to a pile of vaguely regretful scales.

And the worst part? No one seemed surprised.

The villain clenched their fists. They should have been surprised. No normal child—not even a monstrously strong one should be capable of something like that.

But instead of horror or confusion, what had been the reaction of the infamous Thorne family?

Pride and unholy levels of smugness.

“Did you see that?”

“Exceptional.”

“Amazing.”

“We should do this more often.”

More often?

The villain’s eye twitched. More often?

How? How did these people function? Did they not fear for their lives? Did they not see the absolute catastrophe that child would become?

Oh, wait.

Of course, they did.

They were the ones encouraging it.

The villain inhaled sharply, seething.

They had spent years cultivating their hatred. Years envisioning the perfect revenge. Years preparing for the inevitable day when they would bring the mighty Thorne family to their knees.

And now, they were forced to acknowledge a terrifying new reality.

The heir of Velmoria… was something far, far worse than anticipated.

The villain’s hands trembled. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

They turned away, trying to collect themselves. It was fine. They could adjust. There was always another angle.

But even as they forced themselves to breathe, their mind replayed the scene.

The monstrous child grinning, barely even breaking a sweat as she stood amid the wreckage.

The basilisk, a creature of terror and legend, reduced to a mere inconvenience.

The way her parents beamed at her destruction, while her grandparents offered gentle critiques on how she could do even better next time.

And worst of all the guards.

The poor, unfortunate guards, arriving to see the absolute carnage—only for their rulers to proudly announce, “Yes, our daughter did this. Isn’t she wonderful?”

The villain shuddered. How. How was this their life now.

A headache pounded at their temples.

They needed a new plan. Immediately.

They needed to recalculate everything.

Because the unstoppable force they had planned to destroy?

Had somehow birthed an even worse, smaller, more dangerous force.

And it was only five years old.

The villain took a step back, then another. They needed to leave. Now. They needed distance, time, and perhaps some divine intervention.

But just as they turned to go a voice rang out from the courtyard.

“Mara! Elira! Let’s go get snacks! I deserve snacks after that!”

Oh, gods.

The villain’s stomach twisted.

Because if there was one thing they knew about tyrants, it was this they always, always got worse.

And Elyzara Thorne?

She was only just beginning.

***********

I was already halfway to the castle kitchens, Mara and Elira trailing at my sides, when I felt it.

That odd, tingling sensation at the back of my neck.

The feeling of being watched.

Now, being stared at wasn’t exactly uncommon for me. I had long since accepted that people whether noble or commoner would gawk, either out of fear, admiration, or sheer confusion at my existence. At this point, I was practically an exhibit.

But this? This was different.

Subtle. Careful. The kind of watching that suggested whoever was doing it didn’t want to be caught.

Which, frankly, was an insult.

Because if you’re going to stare, at least have the decency to do it properly.

I slowed my steps, subtly shifting my gaze toward the edges of the training grounds.

That’s when I saw them.

A cluster of figures, cloaked and hooded, gathered near one of the stone archways leading toward the gardens.

Suspiciously hunched , very poorly concealed.

Absolutely terrible at blending in.

I frowned. Who in the world were these idiots?

They were standing half behind a column, heads poking out one by one, like they were characters in some kind of low-budget stage play.

Mara noticed almost immediately. “Uh… My Lady? Are you seeing this?”

Elira let out a tired sigh. “Of course she is. They’re about as subtle as a drunken noble at a ball.”

I crossed my arms, watching as the cloaked figures whispered among themselves, occasionally stealing glances in my direction before ducking back into their not-at-all-suspicious huddle.

“Do you think they’re spies?” Mara asked, eyes narrowing.

“Spies?” I snorted. “If they are, they’re the worst spies in history.”

I studied them a little longer. Their movements were awkward, hesitant—like they weren’t entirely sure if they should approach or flee.

Which made this even weirder.

If they weren’t spies, then… who were they?

Elira exhaled. “I could just walk over and ask.”

“Too easy,” I muttered.

A few more seconds passed as I watched them shuffle, mumble, and whisper dramatically behind their column.

And then, suddenly, it hit me.

I gasped, stepping back in horrified realization.

“Oh, gods.”

Mara and Elira immediately tensed. “What? What is it?”

I turned to them, eyes wide with dread.

“…They’re perverts.”

There was silence.

Elira blinked. “…What.”

Mara gagged. “WHAT?”

“It makes sense!” I said, pointing dramatically toward the group. “Why else would they be watching me like that? Whispering, lurking in the shadows? The nervous energy? The constant glancing? They’re creepy. They have pervert energy.”

Mara looked physically ill. “No. No way. Absolutely not. If they’re perverts, I’m setting them on fire.”

“I’ll help,” Elira added, deadpan.

Meanwhile, the cloaked figures had finally realized that I was fully aware of them.

They immediately stiffened.

One of them started panicking and aggressively smacked another on the shoulder.

A different one made a choking noise before awkwardly spinning on his heel and nearly walking straight into a tree.

Suspicious. Very. Suspicious.

“I swear,” Mara muttered, rolling up her sleeves. “I’m going over there.”

I held up a hand, stopping her. “No need.”

I smirked, cracking my knuckles.

“There’s a much better way to handle this.”

Mara and Elira exchanged wary glances.

“…Oh no,” Elira groaned. “She has a plan.”

Mara winced. “We should run.”

But it was too late because I was already marching toward them.