Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 235

Chapter 235: Consumed by Darkness (7)

The air was dense with magic that day, thick with the weight of sweat and soot, the sky above them dim with the lingering haze of battle practice.

Fiorensia stood tall at the edge of the cliff, her arms crossed, her dark robes fluttering lightly in the breeze as she watched her son, no longer Rohzivaan but Riezekiel, slice through a formation of summoned demon creatures with ease.

His movements were fluid, terrifyingly precise, and every strike was laced with power that bent the air and scorched the ground beneath his feet. He had finally reached the point where Fiorensia herself had to be cautious when training him, not out of fear but out of acknowledgment.

Her son, her reincarnated heir, was now strong enough to kill enemies from the other demon factions without needing her to step in. That alone was proof. He had reached half her strength, which in the world of demons was enough to reign as a god in his own right.

The soldiers who once laughed behind their backs, who sneered at his fumbling beginnings and questioned her decision to train him, now lowered their gazes when he passed. They saluted, not out of duty, but out of reverence and dread.

Riezekiel Mors had become a name they feared to whisper and a force they dared not challenge. It was during one of these brutally efficient training sessions that Riezekiel suddenly stopped. The wind seemed to halt with him, as though the land itself anticipated something.

He turned to Fiorensia, eyes smoldering with certainty, and spoke words that shattered the silent valley. “I’m ready to return to Sirius.”

Fiorensia blinked once, then slowly raised a brow, but said nothing. She had sensed it for weeks now, the restlessness in his energy, the way he lingered at the edge of the fortress walls at night, gazing out into the distance with a longing that wasn’t borne of curiosity but memory.

Richmond, who had been leaning against the old stone archway that framed their training field, stood upright with a sharp intake of breath. “Return?” he echoed, stepping closer. “You want to go back?”

Riezekiel turned to him, his expression unreadable. “Yes. It’s time.”

“But why?” Richmond’s voice was low, urgent. “What’s in Sirius for you now? We’ve already carved a life here. You’re powerful. Respected. Feared. What could possibly drive you back there?”

Riezekiel’s jaw tightened, but his answer was calm, unwavering. “The Mors Dukedom. Its ashes are still mine. I intend to claim what’s left of it and rebuild it with my own hands.”

Richmond stared at him, his throat dry. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly.”

“But why?” he repeated, voice rising. “Why go back to a kingdom that abandoned us? That let our name be dragged through the mud, that cast you out as nothing? We have no allegiance there. No family left.”

“Then I will become my own family,” Riezekiel said, eyes narrowing. “I will take back the land that bore our blood. I will resurrect the name they buried. Mors is not dead. I am Mors.”

Richmond was speechless. He could feel the weight of his brother’s resolve, but he couldn’t understand it. Not truly. They had suffered so much to escape that past. Why walk back into it? Why claw at ruins when they had already built something stronger here?

But then again, Riezekiel was not him. He had never been him. And now, that truth was clearer than ever.

Fiorensia stepped forward, her long coat catching the breeze. “And what if the Sirius royalty doesn’t accept your return? What if they see you as a threat?”

Riezekiel turned to his mother slowly. “Then they will remember why our blood once ruled the night.”

A tense silence followed, broken only by the gentle crackle of distant torches. Fiorensia studied him for a moment longer, then gave a slow, proud nod. “Then go. But do not forget what you are.”

“I won’t,” Riezekiel said. “I never have.”

That night, the fortress was quiet.

Richmond sat alone at the edge of the old war tower, staring at the flickering lights in the distant horizon. He had always believed he was the more stable one, the more grounded. But now, he felt like the one left behind. His brother, no, his twin, was once the timid, uncertain child who couldn’t sleep without him nearby.

Now, he wielded darkness like a weapon, ambition coiled tightly around his soul. Richmond wondered if Rohzivaan even existed anymore or if that part had been completely swallowed.

The next morning, Riezekiel prepared for departure. He wore dark armor forged from the very demons he had slain, and on his back, his blade rested, a combination of Mors steel and Fiorensia’s cursed alloy, gleaming with runes that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He said nothing as he mounted his mecha, a towering obsidian machine that moved like it had a soul of its own.

Fiorensia placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do not underestimate your enemies. The Sirius court plays politics like war.”

“And I play war like survival,” Riezekiel replied.

Richmond watched from the steps, arms crossed, a maelstrom of questions and warnings buried in his silence.

Riezekiel met his eyes. “This is not goodbye. It’s the beginning.”

“Just don’t lose yourself in the process,” Richmond said, softer than he intended.

“I already did,” Riezekiel whispered. “But I found something better in the void.” With that, he took off, the engines of the war mecha roaring to life, tearing across the sky like a falling star defying gravity.

Richmond remained long after the dust had settled, staring into the empty horizon, feeling the hollowness gnaw at him. His brother had made his choice. The Sirius Kingdom would soon learn that a ghost had returned, not to haunt, but to reclaim. And this time, nothing would stop him.

Richmond turned away, descending the stone steps slowly, each one echoing louder than the last. The silence left in Riezekiel’s wake felt heavy, like the final breath before a storm. He wasn’t sure what would come next, whether his brother would be hailed as a savior or hunted like a tyrant.

But one thing was certain. The Sirius Kingdom would never be the same. Riezekiel was no longer chasing purpose. He was purpose, molded by fire, blood, and betrayal. And Richmond, left behind in the shadows of their past, could only pray that the future wouldn’t burn everything they had left.