Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 214

Chapter 214: The Mors Bloodline
Fiorensia had always been a woman of patience, a predator who waited for the perfect moment to strike.

She had married Ricardo Mors not out of love, not out of any foolish romantic ideals, but for the sole purpose of unlocking a secret buried deep within the Mors bloodline.

The Mors clan was revered for its pure white werewolf bloodline, a lineage that had ruled the Northern Territory of Sirius for generations.

But within that proud ancestry lay something far more elusive, a rare recessive gene, one that produced black-furred werewolves, whispered about in myths and feared by those who sought to maintain balance.

Legends spoke of the black werewolves, creatures whose blood could grant the impossible.

It was said that if a demon were to consume the blood of a true black werewolf, they would shed their immortality, becoming mortal while still retaining their formidable powers.

Fiorensia, despite her strength, despite the dominion she held over shadows and serpents, had long grown weary of the endless cycle of existence.

She was a goddess bound by eternity, cursed to watch civilizations rise and crumble while she remained unchanged.

She had sought many answers and experimented with different powers, but no method had ever offered her what she truly desired, an end to her immortality without losing the strength she had cultivated for centuries. And then, she had found the Mors clan.

Ricardo Mors had not been the strongest of his brothers. He had not been the most intelligent, nor the most ambitious.

In fact, among the heirs of the Mors Dukedom, he had been considered the least likely to ever inherit.

But he carried the recessive gene. It had been buried deep within his bloodline, skipped over generations, and forgotten by most who believed the trait had died out.

But Fiorensia had seen it, sensed it within him, and that had been enough. She had woven her plans carefully, presenting herself as a noblewoman from an ancient bloodline, someone who could bring prestige to the Mors name.

And it had worked. The marriage was secured, and soon, Fiorensia had begun the next phase of her plan.

She had birthed twins in her first pregnancy, two boys with the pure white fur of their father’s lineage.

Strong, noble, and powerful in their own right. But not what she had been looking for.

She had watched them grow and cared for them as a mother should, yet deep down, there had been a flicker of disappointment, a sense of failure she had never admitted out loud.

She had tried again, enduring the trials of childbirth once more, and it was then that her third child had been born.

Rohzivaan.

He was different. He was unlike his brothers, unlike any of the Mors clan. Even as a child, he carried a presence that demanded attention, a power that hummed beneath his skin.

But Fiorensia had never been able to confirm if he possessed the trait she so desperately sought.

The war had started, the chaos at the borders had stolen her focus, and before she could conduct the necessary tests, everything had fallen apart.

She had lost her position, lost her husband to another woman, lost her place within the Dukedom she had built with her own hands.

And worst of all, she had lost the chance to find out if her son, the child she had loved most dearly, was the key to her long-awaited freedom.

Years had passed, and now, as she sat upon the throne of her own dominion, watching the empire she had meticulously constructed, the question still lingered in her mind.

Had her plan been in vain? Or had she, in the end, truly created the very thing she had sought all along?

Her fingers traced the armrest of her throne, sharp nails tapping against the polished surface as she considered her next move.

The Northern Dukedom had already fallen, crumbling beneath the weight of her vengeance, but there was still one thing left unresolved, Rohzivaan.

She had observed him from the shadows and felt the turmoil within him as he uncovered the truth of her identity.

He had gone into solitude, struggling to reconcile the mother he had known with the demon goddess she truly was.

And yet, despite his confusion, despite his resistance, she knew the blood within him was calling to the truth.

He had already taken the first step by venturing into her domain, learning the ways of demon cultivation, even if he did not yet understand the full implications of his actions.

She could feel the shift in his energy, the way his body responded to the arrays surrounding him. It was only a matter of time before he unlocked the dormant power within his veins.

And when that moment came, Fiorensia would be waiting. She had spent years weaving her plans, centuries preparing for the day when she could finally grasp the mortality she longed for.

But now, another possibility had begun to take root in her mind, what if she no longer needed to claim it for herself? What if her son, her greatest creation, was the one destined to decide?

Fiorensia leaned back on her throne, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light of the chamber. The shadows coiled around her, whispering their secrets, awaiting her command.

The game was not yet over. And this time, she would not leave the outcome to fate.

Rohzivaan stood in the heart of his mother’s domain, surrounded by ancient scrolls and floating arrays pulsing with dark energy.

The truth unraveled before him, piece by piece, like a cruel joke played by fate. His mother, Fiorensia, the Demon Goddess, the woman feared across empires, had once longed to be human.

He clenched his fists, staring down at the records she had left behind.

Research on bloodlines, experiments on werewolf genetics, and the obsession with the rare black werewolf trait, all led to one conclusion.

She had married his father not for love, not even for power, but because she believed his bloodline could grant her what she sought. She had wanted to shed her immortality.

He exhaled shakily, feeling his entire existence tilt on its axis. And yet, buried beneath centuries of power, she had harbored a desire so painfully human, an exhaustion of eternal life, a yearning for something she could never attain.

Rohzivaan had always seen demons as beings who reveled in their immortality, creatures who thrived in their eternal dominance.

But his mother, one of the most feared among them, had longed for something different.

Why?