Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 164

Chapter 164: Failure (Special Chapter)
The Dreadbeast charged. Its massive form blurred like a shadow against the cold moonlight, claws gleaming like obsidian blades.

Alexander barely had time to react. He threw himself to the side, rolling over the damp earth, just as the beast’s claws carved deep trenches into the ground where he had stood.

The soldiers behind him were frozen in fear, their exhaustion muting their ability to fight back.

But one man, Captain Eryon, loyal beyond reason, let out a battle cry and leaped forward, his enchanted spear bursting with a pale blue light. He aimed for the beast’s throat.

The Dreadbeast moved faster than thought. With a flick of its tail, Eryon was thrown through the air like a broken doll, crashing against a tree with a sickening crack.

Blood splattered across the bark, and he did not rise. The others finally broke from their stupor.

Swords, arrows, and spells ignited the battlefield. Light flared, steel sang, the very air trembled with the clash of magic against a force beyond comprehension.

Alexander forced himself back into the fray. He lunged forward, his blade cutting through the dark mist that surrounded the Dreadbeast, but it barely grazed the creature’s hide.

The beast twisted, knocking him back with a mere swipe of its claw.

He hit the ground hard, vision swimming. A shadow loomed over him, and for a moment, he thought this was it, death.

Then, his men surged forward. They encircled the beast, fighting with every ounce of strength they had left. One by one, they fell.

Fangs tore through flesh. Claws ripped through armor. Their screams faded into the howling wind as the Dreadbeast slaughtered them effortlessly.

Alexander struggled to rise, but his legs trembled, his ribs cracked, his magic nearly depleted. The battle had barely begun, and already, it was a massacre.

The last of his men, just three warriors, stood before him, forming a desperate shield. Their bodies bled, their breaths ragged. But they did not run.

Alexander forced himself to his feet, staggering. “Enough,” he rasped. He raised his sword, channeling the last embers of his magic into its blade.

It burned blue, pulsing like a dying star. He would not let them die for nothing.

The three warriors attacked in unison. One struck high, the other low, the third sending a searing bolt of fire into the beast’s flank.

For the first time, the Dreadbeast flinched. Alexander seized his chance. He lunged, driving his sword toward its heart. Too slow.

The Dreadbeast twisted at the last moment. Its fangs clamped down on one soldier’s throat, shaking him like a ragdoll before tossing him aside.

The second warrior struck with everything he had left, but the beast caught his sword between its claws, then drove a spike of shadow through his chest.

The last soldier, with no hesitation, threw himself at the beast’s head, jamming his dagger into its eye.

The Dreadbeast howled in pain. It reared back, slamming its body against the trees, crushing the last warrior beneath its weight.

Silence fell.

The bodies of his men lay strewn across the battlefield, their blood mixing with the darkened earth. Alexander was the only one left. And still, the Dreadbeast stood.

It turned to him, its wounded eye still glowing with untamed fury. The forest trembled at its rage.

Alexander’s vision blurred. His body screamed for rest, for surrender. But he clenched his jaw and raised his sword once more.

“One last strike.”

Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, he ran forward, his blade trailing light. The Dreadbeast snarled, lunging to meet him.

A deafening crash shook the forest as steel met claw, as light met shadow. Then… agony.

The impact sent Alexander flying. Pain tore through his chest, his armor splitting open as he crashed onto the cold ground. His sword slipped from his grasp, skidding far beyond reach.

His body refused to move. Blood pooled beneath him, his breath shallow. The world tilted. Darkness threatened to take him. And still, the Dreadbeast stood.

It did not kill him. It loomed over him for what felt like an eternity, its golden eyes filled not with malice, but judgment. Then, it let out a final snarl and turned away.

Alexander could not stop it. He had lost. As he lay there, helpless, a force unlike anything he had ever felt surged around him. The forest itself rejected him.

The ground trembled, the air thickened, and suddenly, a great force yanked him backward, flinging him through space and time. He had no control. No strength left to resist.

The world blurred into a storm of colors and shadows, and then, blackness. When he awoke, he was outside the forest. The air was still. The stars above were unfamiliar.

His men were gone. Only their bloodied weapons remained, scattered across the grass like forgotten relics.

Alexander tried to move, but his body refused. Pain locked him in place, a reminder of his failure.

The Dreadbeast had not killed him. It had deemed him unworthy. He was no conqueror. No hero. Just another fool who thought he could claim power beyond his reach.

Alexander lay there, his breath shallow, his body barely responding to his will.

His vision swam as he stared up at the sky, where the unfamiliar constellations mocked him in their silent brilliance.

The weight of failure pressed down on him like an iron shroud. He had ventured into Bianzion with an army, full of confidence, believing himself capable of subduing a legendary beast.

Now, his men were gone, nothing but scattered weapons and the echoes of their last cries.

The pain in his chest sharpened, not just from his injuries but from the crushing realization that he had led them all to their deaths for nothing.

The Dreadbeast still roamed free. He had been cast out, unworthy even of death at its claws.

His fingers twitched, grasping weakly at the damp earth beneath him. He needed to move. He needed to stand. But his limbs felt heavier than stone, his body refusing to obey.

As the cold wind swept over him, carrying the distant howls of unseen creatures, one thought haunted him.

“What do I tell the kingdom?”

Or worse… would he even make it back at all?