Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 236

Chapter 236: Consumed by Darkness (8)

The stars moved slowly above him as he descended from his spacecraft, each constellation unchanged by time, yet he, Riezekiel Mors, had returned completely transformed. Once a forgotten heir, a shattered soul devoured by pain and shadow, he now stood at the threshold of a reborn destiny.

The planetary winds of Sirius swept across his armor like whispers of the past, but he paid them no heed. His steps were silent as he crossed the barren lands surrounding the ruined Mors Dukedom, the place that once held the weight of his title, his family, and his curse.

Riezekiel felt a strange stillness inside him. He expected rage, longing, sorrow, anything but this profound sense of focus. The duchy had long fallen into decay. Its towers crumbled, and its flag torn by storms and neglect. But none of it moved him to tears.

There was no time for sentiment. There was only the mission, the purpose he had carved for himself in fire and blood. The people did not expect him. How could they? He was a ghost to them, a memory buried by the official declaration of his death, mourned by few, forgotten by many.

Yet when he walked into the Sirius Council chamber, heads turned as if gravity itself had shifted. The energy in the room changed, thick with disbelief, as the armored man stepped forward and removed his helm, revealing the face of the heir once thought lost. Gasps broke through the silence like shattered glass.

“Riezekiel Mors?” one of the elders whispered. “It can’t be…”

Councilors stood, their voices overlapping with accusations and confusion.

“You were reported dead…”

“This must be a trick!”

“How dare you impersonate a Mors!”

But Riezekiel merely raised his hand, and the room quieted. He presented his identification, his genetic verification, and even ancestral markings, only those of the Mors bloodline possessed. A formal scan confirmed it.

He was Riezekiel, son of the former Duke of Mors. No arguments remained. What silenced them more than the facts was the aura he exuded, power both dark and controlled, more regal than before, yet darker than any noble light. They knew then that this was no imposter.

Riezekiel had returned not as an heir but as a force reborn from ruin. “I’ve come to reclaim my seat as the rightful heir of the Mors Dukedom,” he said. “And to rebuild what was taken from my family.”

Silence followed his declaration, and not a single councilor dared challenge him further. Some feared him. Others revered him. Most simply did not know how to process the ghost of a once-lost son standing before them in full dominion. Still, he was granted his title, and the Mors Dukedom was his to restore.

In the days that followed, he wandered the remains of the estate. Where once stood marbled halls and shining towers now existed only broken stones and overgrown vines. He touched the cold bricks with his gloved hand, tracing cracks as if they were lines of memory.

This place had witnessed bloodshed, betrayal, and abandonment, but also the flicker of who he once was. He felt neither nostalgia nor bitterness. There was only one lingering emotion. The ache of a name he hadn’t spoken in months.

Ahcehera.

Her name resonated in the quiet of his thoughts like a melody unfinished. He did not search for her. Not yet. The council informed him that she was not on Sirius, and though his chest clenched at the news, he buried that pain deep where it could not interfere with his purpose.

He had made the choice to sever the bond. He had made the choice to become someone else. There could be no room for indulgent longing. Still, when he looked to the western skies, toward the stars she now fought under, his heart gave a silent lurch.

The people of the dukedom began to return. With news of his reappearance, many loyal retainers came to kneel, some weeping, others unsure. Riezekiel did not offer false comfort. He did not smile. He merely instructed. Rebuilding began under his command.

He personally oversaw the construction of a new military academy on the duchy’s edge and used his demonic knowledge to install defense wards far stronger than anything used before. The Duke’s seat was no longer just a political station, it was a shield, a weapon, a declaration.

Riezekiel trained new soldiers, handpicked a council of war veterans, and enlisted minds across the galaxy to modernize the Mors technologies. At night, he stood atop the tower where his father’s flag once flew, his cloak billowing in the wind, eyes distant and hollow. He did not mourn his past.

But something inside him quietly hoped she would see all this. Not for praise, not for forgiveness, but simply to know that he still lived, not as the man she once loved, but as the guardian he vowed to become. As the days turned to weeks, Riezekiel rarely rested.

He read ancient tomes by night, studied new tech by day, and whenever he had a moment to breathe, he remembered the battles that had shaped him, the zerg swarms, the demon awakenings, the way her body collapsed that day, blood on her lips. He had watched it all from afar, unable to come, unable to help.

That powerlessness haunted him, a reminder of why he could never stop. His transformation was irreversible now. The line between Rohzivaan and Riezekiel had blurred into one unrelenting existence, and the world would have to accept that.

Richmond visited once, quietly observing from the shadows of the courtyard, but said nothing. He could not pretend to know who stood before him now.

Whether it was Rohzivaan’s body housing Riezekiel’s soul or some monstrous fusion of both, Richmond had long given up trying to make sense of it. What mattered was that his brother, whoever he truly was, had chosen to fight back. And that was something even Richmond could not argue with.

Riezekiel received reports daily. The demon gods stirred again, one faction growing stronger in the north. He knew his return to Sirius was only the beginning. The real war was yet to come. And when it did, he would not be caught unprepared. Not again.

He stood in front of the massive war mecha he built himself, Oblivion’s Spine, a marvel of dark design and unbreakable code, a machine fed by both steel and soul. This time, the war would not claim what he held dear. This time, he would not let fate decide.

He still hadn’t contacted Ahcehera. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew he couldn’t offer her anything. Not closure, not comfort. She deserved peace, and he had only fire and vengeance to give.

So he watched her through scattered surveillance and war updates, listening to the whispers of her valor, her strength, and the strange stillness in her eyes that echoed his own. One day, perhaps, their paths would cross again. And if they did, Riezekiel promised himself one thing.

He would not run. He would not hide behind the name Rohzivaan or the past that tore them apart. He would face her as he truly was. Whether that meant redemption or annihilation, he didn’t care. He was ready.