Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 120

Chapter 120: Madness
Richmond lay motionless in the mud, his body broken, his breaths shallow.

The cold earth beneath him sapped what little warmth remained in his limbs, and the rain fell relentlessly, mingling with the blood that seeped from his wounds.

His vision blurred, reduced to indistinct shapes and shadows. The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue, and every attempt to move sent agony coursing through his body.

Zephyrion’s words still echoed in his mind. “You were never supposed to exist.”

The dark figure had stood over him, voice heavy with bitterness, as if Richmond’s mere presence had disrupted some ancient plan.

Zephyrion had ranted about lifetimes lost, worlds destroyed, and a woman whose soul he’d chased through the galaxy.

Richmond hadn’t understood half of it, but one thing was clear, Zephyrion had taken Khaterine.

And now Richmond was left to die.

The rain intensified, each droplet a sharp sting against his skin. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt warmth.

The world around him was devoid of life, he lay at the edge of a mass graveyard, surrounded by the remains of those who had been less fortunate in past battles.

Broken weapons, shattered bones, and remnants of old uniforms littered the ground. The stench of decay clung to the air, thick and suffocating.

His mind drifted, consciousness slipping through his grasp. Memories surfaced unbidden, his father’s stern lectures, his mother’s gentle smile, and the first time he’d piloted a mecha.

And then came her face, Khaterine’s tear-streaked expression beneath the crimson moon.

“I need you.”

The words haunted him. She had spoken them with conviction, yet there had been fear in her eyes.

Not fear of him, but of something greater. Richmond had dismissed it then, attributing it to her obsession.

But now, lying there with death creeping closer, he wondered if she had been right all along.

Pain surged through his chest as he tried to move. His ribs were likely shattered, and his right arm refused to respond.

The shadows Zephyrion had used to bind him had left deep burns along his skin.

His eyelids grew heavier.

Is this how it ends? he wondered.

His mind rebelled against the thought. He hadn’t fought through countless battles to die here in the mud.

He hadn’t survived the wars on Sirius, the skirmishes on Andromeda’s moons, only to be discarded like a broken doll.

And he hadn’t spent nights awake, questioning the strange pull he felt toward Khaterine, only to leave her to the mercy of a madman.

Somewhere in the depths of his soul, a spark ignited.

The halo.

He had almost forgotten about it. It wasn’t something visible or tangible, but a gift bestowed upon him long ago, an ancient blessing passed down through his bloodline.

It was dormant most of the time, waiting for moments of absolute despair to reveal itself.

Richmond focused what little energy he had left, summoning the fragment of divine power hidden within him.

It felt like grasping smoke, elusive and fleeting. But the more he concentrated, the stronger it became.

A faint warmth blossomed in his chest.

The rain seemed to slow. The cold receded, replaced by a gentle heat that spread through his veins.

Richmond’s breaths deepened, though each inhale still came with a price of pain.

The halo awakened, and with it came memories that were not his own, ancient wars, celestial beings locked in eternal struggle, and the visage of a woman who looked like Khaterine but radiated with unearthly light.

The warmth intensified until Richmond’s entire body pulsed with it. His wounds stitched themselves together, and the burns faded, leaving pale, scarred skin.

The broken ribs realigned, the fractures sealing with a sharp crack that made him grit his teeth. His strength returned in waves, painful but invigorating.

The halo manifested above his head, a faint, golden circle that shimmered like the rising sun. It cast a gentle glow across the desolate graveyard.

The rain hissed against its light, evaporating before it touched him.

Richmond pushed himself up, muscles trembling from the effort. His clothes were soaked and torn, and his boots were caked in mud, but he was alive.

The warmth of the halo sustained him, feeding his will to fight.

He looked around, searching for any sign of Khaterine or Zephyrion. The sky remained cloaked in crimson clouds, but the air felt different now, charged with a strange energy.

The ground beneath him shifted.

Richmond stepped back as skeletal hands burst from the soil. The mass grave stirred to life, shadows coalescing around the corpses.

Empty eye sockets glowed faintly with crimson light.

Necromancy.

He clenched his fists, drawing on the halo’s power. Zephyrion had not only left him to die but ensured he wouldn’t leave the graveyard alive.

The first corpse lunged at him, a soldier clad in a rusted breastplate, mouth stretched into a silent scream.

Richmond sidestepped, delivering a swift punch that shattered the skeleton’s ribcage. The halo’s energy made his strikes far more potent than usual.

Another came from behind, swinging a jagged sword. Richmond ducked, grabbed the attacker by the skull, and slammed it into the ground. Bones cracked beneath his palm.

More rose from the earth, their numbers increasing with each passing second.

I don’t have time for this.

He needed to find Khaterine. He couldn’t leave her in Zephyrion’s grasp. Whatever past she remembered, whatever connection she claimed they shared, it didn’t matter.

She was his responsibility now.

The halo’s glow intensified as Richmond raised his hand. The skeletal army hesitated, sensing the shift in power.

“Burn,” he commanded.

A column of golden fire erupted from the ground, engulfing the undead horde. The flames roared with righteous fury, consuming bone and shadow alike.

The creatures didn’t scream, they simply crumbled into ash and disappeared into the wind.

The fire dissipated, leaving only scorched earth behind. Richmond fell to one knee, breathing heavily.

The halo’s power was vast, but it demanded much from its wielder. He couldn’t sustain it for long.

The ground remained still, but the air was different now. The stench of decay was gone, replaced by the faint scent of jasmine. Richmond’s heart quickened.

Khaterine.

He rose to his feet and followed the scent, instincts guiding him toward a narrow path that led to a crumbling stone archway.

On the other side, the landscape shifted. The desolation gave way to a twisted garden of black roses beneath the crimson moon.

And at the garden’s center stood a tower of onyx stone, its windows glowing faintly with silver light.

He recognized it. The tower from Khaterine’s vision.

Richmond’s fists tightened.

“I’m coming,” he whispered, and with the halo blazing above his head, he strode into the shadows.