Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 185

Chapter 185: Soaked in Blood
Ahcehera’s small, battered body stood in the middle of the battlefield, her eleven-year-old frame drenched in blood, some of it hers, most of it not.

The stench of decay filled the air, the corpses of fallen warriors and civilians alike rotting under the relentless sun.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt metal, broken mechas reduced to useless husks, their pilots either dead or long since turned into mindless husks infected by the Zerg spores.

The buzzing of mutant insects echoed from the distance, feasting on the remains of those who hadn’t made it. But she was still standing.

Her hands, trembling from exhaustion, tightened around the energy blade she wielded, its once-lustrous glow flickering from overuse.

Her body screamed at her to stop, to collapse, to give in to the inevitable fate of death. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Her optical brain had lost signal after the first few days. The strategic satellites had been destroyed.

The planet Dexa had been cut off from the rest of the galaxy, left to fend for itself against an unrelenting tide of Zergs and pirate forces that sought nothing but destruction.

The hope of rescue had dwindled to nothing. The first week, she had waited, believing in the Bloodstone Clan, believing that her father, her mother, her seven brothers would come.

But they never did.

“Where is my father?” She had whispered to herself, staring at the night sky.

“Where is my mother?”

“Where are my seven brothers?”

Each day that passed without rescue chipped away at something inside her.

Each new sunrise brought another fight for survival, another wound to add to the countless ones that already marred her small body.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could hear the cries of the wounded, the dying, the desperate.

She had been promised protection, love, safety. Yet all of it had disappeared, crumbled like dust in her hands.

The second week, she stopped waiting. If no one would come, then she would fight alone. Her power had been dormant before, restrained, locked away within her very being.

But amidst the endless slaughter, amidst the hopelessness and the despair, something inside her finally broke.

The moment she unleashed her true strength, the battlefield turned into an inferno. A blast of celestial flames erupted from her body, searing through Zerg and pirate alike.

Her enemies burned, their monstrous screams filling the sky as her flames devoured everything in its wake.

It was the first time she had ever felt something close to true power, the first time she understood that she did not need anyone to protect her. She could carve her own survival.

By the third week, she no longer flinched at the sight of death.

The screams became background noise, the sight of charred bodies and torn flesh no longer made her stomach churn.

By the fourth week, her mind was blank. Empty. She had lost count of the days, of the number of enemies she had slain.

Her hands moved automatically, her energy blade cutting through anything in her way. She did not hesitate, did not think, did not feel. She had become a machine built only for survival.

Yet, amidst the carnage, there were those who still clung to her as their only beacon of hope.

The warriors, soldiers, and abandoned civilians who had not succumbed to despair looked at her with reverence, as if she were the very embodiment of salvation.

“You are our supreme commander,” they said.

“We will follow you to the end,” they swore.

She did not respond. She did not need to. They followed her anyway.

She led them through battle after battle, through burning cities and desolate wastelands. She taught them how to kill, how to survive, how to endure.

She fought in the front lines, never hiding, never showing weakness. She did not let herself break. She refused to be weak.

A year passed before the outside world finally remembered that Dexa existed. When the Bloodstone forces finally arrived, they expected to find a dead planet, overrun by Zergs.

Instead, they found a city of survivors, led by a girl with golden eyes that no longer held warmth, only an abyss of cold calculation.

She did not cry when she saw her father again. She did not run into her mother’s arms. She did not greet her brothers with joy.

Instead, she stood before them, covered in the blood of a thousand enemies, her body worn down by exhaustion, and simply asked, “What took you so long?”

She did not wait for an answer.

Her two closest childhood friends, Richmond and Riezekiel, had not even tried to reach her.

The two people she had trusted the most, the ones who had promised to always stand by her side, had not come.

Not even a message, not even a whisper of concern. It was as if they had forgotten she existed.

Something inside her had died that year, replaced by a heart that no longer felt. But she did not stop. She still had people who relied on her.

The Knights of Zxuriz had been born from the ashes of Dexa, forged through blood and pain. They had chosen to follow her, to serve her, to fight for her.

Even if she could no longer feel the warmth of attachment, she knew one thing, she would never let them be abandoned the way she had been.

She stood among her warriors, clad in the armor of a commander, her gaze colder than the void of space.

For them, she would fight. For them, she would never falter. She did not need love. She did not need warmth.

All she needed was strength. And strength was something she would never lack again.

Ahcehera stood at the highest point of the ruined city, her golden eyes scanning the distant horizon where the last remnants of the battle smoldered.

The wind carried the scent of blood and fire, but she remained unmoved. The ones who had survived followed her, their gazes filled with unwavering loyalty.

She did not wait for her father’s embrace, nor her mother’s comforting words. Instead, she turned to her knights, the only ones who had never abandoned her.

“Prepare yourselves,” she commanded. “This is only the beginning.”

Her voice was steady, devoid of hesitation. She would never be weak again.