Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 187

Chapter 187: Your Name
The battlefield was chaos incarnate. The sky above Planet Talven-9 burned crimson with the fires of war, the ground littered with broken weapons and the remains of fallen Zergs.

Explosions thundered in the distance, shaking the air with each detonation. Ahcehera stepped forward, her eyes scanning the combat zone.

Among the ranks of soldiers, one man caught her attention. The new recruit moved like a shadow, his every strike precise and deadly.

He wielded a long spear, but when a Zerg lunged too close, he abandoned it in an instant, snatching a fallen soldier’s sword and driving it through the creature’s skull without hesitation.

There was no wasted movement, no fear in his posture, only ruthless efficiency.

His presence carried an unshakable calm, as if he were merely indulging in an old habit rather than fighting for survival.

Ahcehera narrowed her eyes. A master of martial arts, one capable of adapting to any weapon at hand.

There was something familiar about the way he fought, something ancient, something refined. His aura was cold, detached, and unbothered by the carnage around him.

If she did not know better, she would have thought him an immortal who had descended from the heavens to experience the trivialities of mortal combat.

Her instincts screamed at her, this man was more than he appeared to be.

The battle raged for hours before the final Zerg fell. The soldiers cheered, exhaustion and relief evident in their voices, but Ahcehera did not join them.

Instead, she turned toward the mysterious recruit and called for him.

He approached without hesitation, his posture straight and disciplined. Up close, his features were sharp and well-defined, but his expression remained unreadable.

Ahcehera studied him for a moment before speaking. “You are skilled. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

The man did not blink. “Experience.”

A vague answer. A careful one.

Ahcehera smirked slightly, though her eyes remained cold. “I see.”

She raised his rank on the spot, promoting him to a position just below Joseph’s. It was a calculated move, she wanted to keep him close, observe him, test him.

“What is your name?” she asked.

The man met her gaze, his voice steady and calm. “Archinsyne.”

Ahcehera committed the name to memory. From that day forward, he was no longer just another soldier.

He became part of her inner circle, standing beside Joseph as they followed her into the heart of battle.

As the days passed, Archinsyne’s abilities continued to reveal themselves. He was not only skilled in combat but also possessed a keen strategic mind.

He rarely spoke unless necessary, but when he did, his words carried weight. Soldiers began to respect him, even fear him.

There was something unnerving about the way he remained unshaken by even the bloodiest of fights.

Ahcehera watched him closely. She tested him, placing him in situations that would force a normal man to reveal his weaknesses.

But Archinsyne never faltered. He was methodical, detached, and relentless.

One night, as the camp settled into an uneasy silence, Ahcehera sat alone in her quarters, staring at the map of enemy movements.

There was no doubt in her mind now, Archinsyne was no ordinary recruit. She traced a finger along the projected hologram, her mind working through possibilities.

Who was he? Where had he come from? And more importantly, what was his goal?

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. “Enter,” she called.

The door opened, and Joseph stepped inside. His expression was serious. “Commander, I’ve done as you asked.”

Ahcehera looked up. “And?”

Joseph hesitated for the briefest moment.

“There is no record of an Archinsyne in any military database. No birth records, no lineage, no planetary citizenship. It’s as if he never existed before now.”

Ahcehera’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Interesting.”

Joseph frowned. “Commander, this is dangerous. He…”

“I know,” she interrupted. “But I want him close.”

Joseph exhaled, clearly uneasy with the decision. “What do you intend to do?”

Ahcehera leaned back in her chair, golden eyes gleaming. “For now? We wait.”

She would let Archinsyne play whatever game he was playing. But in the end, there was only one truth in war, no one could hide forever.

The air in Ahcehera’s quarters was heavy with unspoken tension. The flickering light of the holographic map cast sharp shadows on her face as she considered Joseph’s words.

A man without a past, without a record, appearing in the middle of a battlefield as though war had been his home since birth.

Archinsyne was an anomaly. And Ahcehera did not trust anomalies. Still, she would not act hastily.

She had dealt with dangerous men before, traitors, assassins, spies. Some hid their true selves beneath layers of charm, others cloaked themselves in loyalty.

But Archinsyne was different. He did not pretend to be either. He was simply there. A presence so steady it was unsettling.

Her fingers tapped idly against the surface of the table. “Let him believe I trust him,” she said finally. “Watch him, but do not interfere.”

Joseph frowned. “Commander…”

“This is my decision,” she said, cutting him off. “And I do not make them lightly.”

Joseph exhaled, reluctantly nodding. “Understood.”

When he left, Ahcehera turned her attention back to the map, but her thoughts remained on Archinsyne.

She had known many warriors in her lifetime, men and women who had sworn oaths of loyalty, who had bled for her cause. But loyalty could be a lie, and oaths could be broken.

She wondered, when the time came, would Archinsyne’s blade be at her side? Or at her throat?

She would find out soon enough.

The next battle came swiftly.

The Zerg horde descended upon them in waves, their monstrous forms illuminated by the eerie glow of bioluminescent fungi sprouting from the desolate ground.

The soldiers held their lines, their shouts drowned by the screeches of the enemy.

Ahcehera moved through the chaos like a phantom, cutting down Zergs with brutal efficiency.

Beside her, Joseph fought with the precision of a seasoned warrior. But it was Archinsyne who caught her eye.

He was a storm incarnate, a force of nature. Every movement was precise, controlled, lethal. He fought with a detached calm, as if he had long accepted death but refused to embrace it.

Ahcehera smirked to herself.

If he was hiding something, then it was buried deep beneath the battlefield’s blood and smoke.

She would dig it out.

And when she did, she would decide whether Archinsyne was a weapon to be wielded…

Or an enemy to be destroyed.