Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 157

Chapter 157: Doppelganger
The moment the shadows lunged, the temperature dropped to an unbearable degree. Ice crystals formed midair, the very moisture in their breath freezing before it could dissipate.

Then, the darkness coalesced, twisting into the monstrous form of a being long lost to time, a guardian of the frozen ruins, an abomination that had awoken to reclaim what had been taken.

It was massive, its body formed of jagged ice and the remnants of shattered stone. Its eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, cold fire burning from within the hollow recesses of its skull.

A crown of frozen spikes jutted out from its head, and its claws, long, serrated, and wickedly sharp, clinked together as it moved.

With an ear-splitting screech, the Ice Warden charged.

Azedreo barely had time to leap aside, holding the unconscious woman tightly as Aryndale met the monster head-on.

His sword struck against the beast’s crystalline form, sparks of magic igniting along the blade.

The impact sent a shockwave through the ruins, shattering nearby ice structures. But the creature did not falter.

It absorbed the force of the strike, the frost spreading up Aryndale’s weapon like a living parasite, trying to freeze it in his grip.

“Move!” Azedreo shouted, thrusting his free hand forward. Fire erupted from his palm, slamming into the Ice Warden’s side.

The beast recoiled, shrieking in agony as molten heat met its frozen flesh.

Aryndale didn’t hesitate. He wrenched his sword free and leaped back, shaking the frost from his blade before it could take hold.

“We can’t fight it like this,” Aryndale growled. “It’s absorbing our attacks.”

Azedreo’s golden eyes flickered, scanning the battlefield. “Then we need to break its core.”

The creature roared, its chest splitting open to reveal a pulsing core of frozen energy, a heart of pure ice.

Its arms extended, razor-sharp icicles forming in an instant before being hurled toward them like deadly projectiles.

Aryndale barely managed to deflect them, the impact forcing him back several steps.

Azedreo conjured a barrier of flame, the heat causing some of the shards to melt midair, but others still made it through.

One grazed his shoulder, slicing through his armor with unnatural sharpness. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

“We take turns,” Aryndale said, eyes locked onto the beast. “You protect her, I strike. Then we switch.”

Azedreo nodded, adjusting his grip on the unconscious woman. He turned away, shielding her as Aryndale rushed forward.

He ducked beneath a sweeping claw, his blade slicing along the creature’s leg in an attempt to destabilize it.

Ice cracked but did not break. The monster countered, its massive arm swinging down like a hammer.

Aryndale barely managed to roll away, the impact sending shards of ice in every direction.

Then, Azedreo struck.

He raised his free hand, summoning a controlled explosion of fire and lightning, aiming for the exposed core.

The flames struck true, the ice heart trembled, cracks forming along its surface.

The beast let out a sound that was neither rage nor pain but something far more ancient, a sound of recognition.

It had fought this battle before. And it had won.

With terrifying speed, the monster twisted its form, shifting the ice around its body to seal the cracks before they could spread.

Its regeneration was swift, faster than they had anticipated.

“That’s not good,” Aryndale muttered, gripping his sword tightly.

Azedreo swore under his breath. “Then we hit harder.”

The two of them moved in perfect coordination, a deadly rhythm forged from years of training.

Aryndale was relentless in his attacks, keeping the beast focused on him while Azedreo unleashed waves of destruction. Flame met frost, steel met ice, power met power.

And still, the monster endured. The frozen ruins trembled, ancient pillars crumbling under the force of their battle.

The temperature fluctuated wildly, heat clashing with bitter cold, reality itself beginning to strain under the chaos.

And all the while, the woman in Azedreo’s arms remained unconscious.

Aryndale’s blade flashed in the dim light, carving a deep wound along the creature’s arm. The Ice Warden howled, staggering for the first time. It was weakening.

Azedreo saw his chance. He shifted his hold on the woman, pressing her closer against his chest as he poured every ounce of power into his next strike.

Fire and lightning collided, twisting into a spear of pure destruction.

“Aryndale, move!” he shouted.

Aryndale leapt back just as Azedreo threw the spear.

The world ignited.

The impact was deafening, an explosion of heat and raw energy that shook the foundations of the academy itself.

The force sent Aryndale skidding backward, ice and debris flying in every direction.

The Ice Warden screamed, its form splitting apart as the cracks spread faster than it could repair them.

For the first time, it shattered.

Frozen shards rained down, glittering like dying stars before disintegrating into nothing. The remnants of the creature faded into mist, leaving only silence in its wake.

Aryndale exhaled sharply, his breath heavy. He turned toward his brother, nodding in victory. “That was close.”

Azedreo adjusted his grip on the woman, his expression unreadable. “Too close.”

Then, something changed. The air shifted. Not with magic, not with another attack, but with something far worse, a realization.

Aryndale’s eyes locked onto the unconscious woman in Azedreo’s arms. The battle had been chaotic, but now, in the silence that followed, he could see it clearly.

Her face.

It was almost Ahcehera’s. Almost.

The shape of her jawline, the curve of her cheekbones, the softness of her features, they were all nearly identical to their sister’s. But not quite.

Azedreo felt it too. His grip on her tightened slightly, his breath unsteady. “No,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, it’s…”

But the truth was undeniable. This woman…

She was not Ahcehera. She had never been. A terrible silence fell between them, the weight of their mistake crushing down on them like an unseen force.

If this wasn’t their sister…

Then where was the real Ahcehera?

And who, or what, had they just saved?

Azedreo’s hands trembled as he stared at the woman, his pulse pounding in his ears. If this wasn’t Ahcehera, then who had they fought so hard to protect?

Aryndale clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on his sword. “We’ve been deceived.” His voice was sharp, laced with fury and something colder, fear.

The woman stirred, her eyelashes fluttering. A slow, eerie smile curled on her lips.

“Ah,” she murmured, voice like frost on steel. “So you’ve finally noticed.”

A chilling realization settled over them. They had fought to save someone. But had they saved their sister? Or had they set something else free?