Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 184

Chapter 184: What Happened Back then
The wind howled like a beast as dark clouds churned above the war-ravaged planet of Dexa.

The acrid stench of burning flesh and rotting vegetation filled the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood that had long since seeped into the earth.

Crumbling buildings stood like broken tombstones, casting long shadows over the battlefield littered with corpses, both human and zerg alike.

Ahcehera was eleven years old.

A child by normal standards, but she had ceased being a child the moment she wielded her first blade.

Her body, small and lithe, was covered in grime and dried blood. She moved like a phantom through the ruins, her golden eyes devoid of warmth, her sword an extension of her will.

She cut down the relentless horde of zergs with ruthless precision, her every movement honed through years of battle. She was not just fighting, she was surviving.

The night before the blue moon rose over Dexa, the battle had taken a nightmarish turn.

The Asuefiren plants had begun to bloom, their roots twisting deep into the bodies of the fallen, using them as nourishment to birth their cursed spores.

The air became thick with the glowing, violet-hued mist carrying the infectious DNA of the zerg.

Those who inhaled it, soldiers, civilians, even seasoned warriors, fell within moments, writhing as the infection seeped into their veins. Screams filled the air.

Men and women clutched at their throats, their skin cracking apart like burnt parchment as their bodies twisted into grotesque forms.

Their minds were lost to the hive, and their humanity was erased in seconds. These were no longer soldiers, no longer friends. They had become the enemy.

Ahcehera fought without hesitation. Her sword cleaved through mutated flesh.

Explosions rang through the streets as the surviving combatants tried to push back the tide of monstrosities, but the zerg-infected people were more vicious than their original forms.

They were faster, stronger, and they moved with a singular purpose, to spread the infection.

The imperial soldiers stationed on Dexa, once the proud defenders of the Sirius Kingdom, were reduced to desperate survivors.

They barricaded themselves in ruined buildings, hiding from the inevitable.

The city that had once stood tall as a beacon of civilization was now nothing more than a battlefield of the damned.

Twenty-eight days.

For twenty-eight days, Ahcehera stood at the center of the storm.

She did not sleep. She barely ate. Every waking moment was spent on the battlefield, cutting down waves of enemies as her comrades fell around her.

She was relentless, a machine forged by war. Blood and pain meant nothing. The only thing that mattered was ensuring that even a single person could make it out alive.

There was no cure. No way to reverse the infection. The survivors knew this. Those who had fallen but retained a sliver of their minds begged to be killed before they fully turned.

Ahcehera granted them mercy, her sword a silent executioner. The blue moon rose above the desolate planet. The tide of battle had long since consumed all hope, but still, she fought.

The remaining civilians, those who had managed to evade the spores, looked upon her not as a savior, but as a nightmare incarnate.

A young girl who stood amidst a mountain of bodies, her blade dripping with the blood of those she had once fought beside. It was then that her power awakened fully.

A blinding light erupted from her body, its golden hue piercing through the darkness like a beacon.

The corrupted spores, the mutated zerg, the monster plants, they all recoiled as if burned.

The air crackled with divine energy as she raised her hands, the power surging through her veins, reshaping reality itself. And then, for the first time in weeks, there was silence.

When the light faded, those who remained stood trembling. Some fell to their knees, clutching their heads as the last remnants of the infection were purged from their bodies.

They had survived, but not by their own strength. They had survived because of her.

And in that moment, as they looked upon the girl who had fought for them even as death loomed over her, they made their decision.

They swore their lives to her. Not as soldiers of the Sirius Kingdom. Not as remnants of Dexa’s fallen planet.

But as knights of the Zxuriz, an order that would exist in the shadows, bound not by laws, but by the will of the one who had saved them.

Ahcehera did not ask for their loyalty. She did not demand their service. But they gave it freely. And thus, the Knights of Zxuriz were born.

In the aftermath of the battle, Dexa was left in ruins. The once-thriving planet had become a graveyard, its skies thick with smoke, its land scarred by fire and destruction.

Ahcehera stood at the highest point of the broken city, looking down at the survivors who had pledged their loyalty to her.

Their eyes held a mixture of awe and fear, but most of all, they held determination.

These were warriors, soldiers, and civilians who had been pushed to the very edge of death, only to be pulled back by her power.

They were no longer the people they had been before the battle. They had seen the worst of war, and they had endured.

Ahcehera looked at them, her golden eyes unreadable. “The war isn’t over,” she said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing her down.

“This was only a battle. The real war is still ahead of us.” The survivors did not falter. Instead, they stepped forward, kneeling one by one.

“Then let us fight with you, Supreme Commander,” one of them said, his voice unwavering. “We owe you our lives. Let us use them to serve your cause.”

Ahcehera did not respond immediately. She glanced at the bloodstained ground beneath her feet, at the remnants of the fallen, at the ruins of what had once been a home to many.

Finally, she nodded.

“Then rise,” she said. And thus, the first warriors of the Knights of Zxuriz were born.