Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 93

Chapter 93: Against All Odds

The wind howled across the frozen plains of the Northern Border of Planet Sirius, carrying the weight of a silent war between the past and the present.

Richard stepped past the towering iron gates of the Mors Estate, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground.

The ancestral home of the Mors bloodline loomed before him, an unyielding fortress carved from obsidian stone, its dark spires piercing the sky like silent sentinels.

He had been away for too long, yet the cold atmosphere remained the same. As he entered, the grand hall was eerily quiet, but Richard knew better. They were waiting for him.

At the far end of the room stood his mother, Lady Lotisia Mors, her silver eyes brimming with an emotion he had long since learned to ignore, pleading.

She rushed forward, her silver-white robes flowing behind her as she grasped his hands with trembling fingers.

“Richard,” she whispered, her voice barely holding back desperation. “Please… don’t do this.”

He had expected this reaction. He had anticipated the worry in her gaze, the way her hands tightened as if she could physically hold him back. But it changed nothing.

“I have to,” he said simply.

“No, you don’t.” Her grip tightened. “You don’t have to throw yourself into danger for someone who…”

She paused, exhaling shakily. “For a mission that none of us could understand.”

He pulled his hands away, his expression unreadable. “That’s exactly why I have to go.”

A sharp scoff echoed through the hall. Duke Ricardo Mors, his father, stood by the grand staircase, his arms crossed over his armored chest.

The years had not softened him, his presence was as imposing as ever, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had commanded men in the battlefield.

“You believe yourself invincible just because you’ve inherited something?” His eyes bore into Richard, filled with the same disapproval he had carried since Richard was a child.

“Or is this just your way of proving yourself worthy of the name Mors?”

Richard did not flinch. He met his father’s gaze head-on. “Neither.”

Ricardo narrowed his eyes. “Then tell me, what do you hope to find in The Forgotten Ravine? Ghosts? Closure?”

Richard’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. “I hope to find the truth.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. His father’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. His mother’s breath hitched, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her unspoken fears.

It was his younger siblings who finally spoke.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Brother.” Renmary Mors, the fourth-born, stepped forward, her long black hair cascading down her back.

Unlike their mother, her voice was steady, but her amethyst eyes betrayed her concern. “At least take someone with you.”

Richard shook his head. “No.”

“You’re being reckless,” Richmartina Mors, the youngest, muttered, her fists clenched. “Even Eldest Brother…” She stopped short, biting her tongue.

Richard’s expression darkened. “Even what?”

Richmartina swallowed hard. “Even he… wasn’t invincible.”

Richard inhaled deeply. He already knew that. He had known it from the moment his brother never returned home. And yet, that was the very reason he had to go.

No more words were exchanged. His family knew him well enough to understand that once Richard made up his mind, nothing could stop him. Not even them.

So, without another word, he turned his back on their pleas and locked himself away in the closed-door training grounds.

For one month, Richard disappeared from the world.

Deep within the sacred training halls of the Mors bloodline, surrounded by ancient relics and silent whispers of ancestors long gone, he pushed himself beyond his limits.

He had always been strong, but strength alone would not be enough. Not this time. He wielded Eliath, the sword he had claimed within Cresencia, Ahcehera’s space.

The weapon was unlike anything he had ever held before, its blade was not made of ordinary metal but of crystallized energy, pulsating with an ancient power that resonated with his very soul.

It was a weapon that chose him, binding itself to his existence, demanding more than mere skill. He had to prove himself worthy of it.

The first few days were excruciating. The moment he attempted to synchronize with Eliath’s inheritance, his body rebelled.

Pain seared through his veins like molten fire, burning away his old limits and forcing his soul to expand, and adapt. But he did not stop. He refused to stop.

Day after day, he pushed forward. His strikes grew faster. His movements became sharper. His energy control became precise, almost flawless.

By the third week, the sword no longer resisted him. Instead, it became an extension of himself, its blade humming with the same pulse as his heartbeat.

By the fourth week, he had ascended beyond what he once was.

The moment he stepped out of the training grounds, the estate’s guards recoiled at the sheer presence that radiated from him.

His once violet eyes now glowed faintly, a testament to the power that had awakened within him. But Richard did not speak. He did not stop to explain.

He simply departed. He left behind his home, his family, and the lingering echoes of a past that had tried to hold him down.

His destination was The Forgotten Ravine on Planet Quintreinxy, a planet classified as A-rank, known for its unpredictable landscapes and deadly anomalies.

A place that swallowed those who dared to tread too far. The journey was treacherous.

From Sirius, he traveled through the imperial star routes, cutting across restricted sectors and bypassing planetary checkpoints.

The closer he got to Quintreinxy, the thinner the presence of civilization became, until he was left alone in the vastness of space, with nothing but the cold silence of the stars.

When his ship finally breached the atmosphere of Quintreinxy, turbulence rocked the vessel, sending violent shudders through the frame.

Warning lights flickered, indicating the distortion fields scattered across the planet’s surface.

The gravitational shifts were unpredictable, and many travelers who entered never found their way back. But Richard did not hesitate.

With a steady grip on the controls, he maneuvered through the storm, weaving past collapsing air pockets and erratic bursts of energy.

His focus never wavered, his mind already fixed on his destination. And then, through the chaos of the atmosphere, he saw it.

The Forgotten Ravine.

A massive chasm that stretched endlessly across the land, its depths shrouded in a mist that seemed to breathe, shift, and whisper secrets that had been buried for centuries.

The very air surrounding it was thick with an unnatural force, as if time itself had fractured within its depths. Richard’s grip tightened around Eliath’s hilt.

I am back…