Chapter 807: Humiliation Is Eternal

The muffled chaos outside the throne hall was growing louder—angry shouts, muffled cries, and the thud of fists meeting flesh. Mireya’s gaze turned to ice.

The guards from the Dragon Blood Tribe were blocking the palace doors, treating the sacred hall as if it were their own den. Elves who approached were shoved back, beaten without mercy, their groans echoing in the corridors.

Mireya’s lips curled into something dangerous. "Those arrogant bastards... I’ll butcher them for daring to treat my home like this. They’ll get no mercy from me."

Elaris stiffened. "Um... Big Sister... what are you planning to do?" she asked, her voice cautious, her eyes searching Mireya’s face.

Mireya was silent for a moment, then smiled—not kindly, but with the slow, widening grin of a predator. "What else? I’m going to break them—and their pride—beyond repair."

Elaris paled. "B-But... won’t that bring trouble later? If we anger the Dragon Blood Tribe, they might launch an all-out war! Their ancestor is still alive—the strongest being on the Beast Continent. Even the oldest!"

"They could send their entire tribe here," Mireya said coldly, "and it wouldn’t change their fate. The moment they dared bring chaos to my people, they wrote their own death sentence."

With a flick of her fingers, her Qi flared. Kaelrath’s limp, unconscious body rose from the ground, dragged effortlessly behind her like a trophy. She stopped before the grand double doors and glanced back at Elaris. "Watch closely. Never pity your enemies. Not for a moment."

"I... I’ll remember that," Elaris replied, her voice tight. Inwardly, she shivered. ’When did Big Sister become so cold? She’s... different. Harder.’

Mireya didn’t answer. She pushed the throne hall doors open with a sharp bang.

The guards outside turned their heads, grinning—expecting to see their lord. "Lord, you’re—" The words died in their throats.

Instead of Kaelrath, they saw her. Mireya. Standing framed in the doorway, one hand gripping her sword, the other holding their leader’s broken body aloft like refuse.

"Y-You! Where is our lord?!" one shouted, face twisting with rage.

She didn’t bother to reply. Her eyes swept over them with pure disdain.

The next moment, steel sang.

Her sword flashed once—twice—and the first two guards dropped where they stood, their throats cut clean before they even understood she had moved. Blood splattered across the marble.

"Kill her!" another managed to shout.

Too late.

Mireya’s blade became a silver blur, carving through them with inhuman speed. They barely raised their weapons before they were cut down—torsos split, limbs severed, heads rolling. The air filled with the copper stench of blood and the sound of bodies hitting the ground.

In less than a heartbeat, the entrance was littered with corpses.

Mireya stood among them, her sword dripping red, her gaze cold as ever.

And with the same deadly precision, Mireya cut down the rest of the guards. Her sword moved at a terrifying speed, slicing through flesh and bone as if they were nothing more than wet paper. Blood sprayed in arcs, spattering the white marble beneath her feet.

Elaris stood frozen, her wide eyes locked on the carnage. This wasn’t the sister she knew. Her mouth fell open, breath catching in her throat as the coppery stench of blood rolled over her. Her stomach churned violently, and she clamped a trembling hand over her mouth.

She couldn’t watch—but she couldn’t look away either.

With a final blur of motion, the last guard fell lifeless to the ground, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him. Mireya halted, her expression as cold and unreadable as stone. In one swift, practiced motion, she wiped the blood from her blade, slid it back into her spatial ring, and didn’t spare a glance for the bodies.

’She’s changed... completely...’ Elaris swallowed hard, her eyes darting over the carnage—the sprawled, broken forms of the Dragon Blood Tribe guards now littering the palace entrance.

Mireya said nothing. Her Qi flared, lifting Kaelrath’s limp body into the air like a rag doll. Without hesitation, she turned and strode out of the palace.

—

Outside, elves had gathered around Yuan and the others, their eyes fixed on Zerath with open hatred. Whispered curses turned into loud mutters. The man had set fires that consumed their homes, their trees—pieces of their lives. The air was thick with rage.

Yuan studied the crowd for a moment, then looked at Sylvia. "Sylvia, you should handle this. We can’t let him die yet. He still has much more to see..."

A faint grin touched his lips. "Mireya’s on her way. The trash has already been dealt with. I think Zerath will... appreciate the state his leader is in. It might even kill him—out of happiness."

Sylvia’s smile spread into something sharp and cruel. "In that case, I can’t let the people tear him apart just yet. Watching him break will be worth it."

She stepped forward, raising her voice over the angry crowd. "Everyone, calm down! The Queen is on her way—bringing a surprise you’ll want to see. Stand back and wait."

The words, and the weight behind them, worked. The elves grudgingly stepped away from Zerath, though their eyes still burned with hate.

Moments later, a shadow passed overhead. Mireya descended from the sky, Kaelrath’s unconscious body dangling from her Qi grip. Blood still dripped steadily from his crotch, spattering the dirt below.

Without a hint of remorse, she released her hold and let him crash to the ground with a sickening thud. Her eyes swept over the scene—the burned trees, the charred ruins of homes—and her expression grew even colder.

A shadow of sorrow crossed Mireya’s face as her gaze swept over the charred trees, the collapsed homes, and the grief etched into the faces of her people. All this—because of a handful of arrogant invaders.

Zerath’s eyes were locked on the broken figure she’d dropped at his feet. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing. Kaelrath—his lord, his leader, the pride of the Dragon Blood Tribe—now lay unconscious, limbless, his body drenched in blood.

"M-My Lord! W-What happened to you?! How—how could she do this to you?!" Zerath’s voice cracked, shaking with disbelief.

’Impossible... His thoughts spiraled in panic. What trick did this woman use?! She’s vicious enough to destroy even his future...’ His jaw tightened, rage simmering beneath his shock. He glared at Mireya, his fury barely contained.

Mireya’s gaze, once fixed on the destruction, shifted to Zerath. She stepped forward slowly, her eyes narrowing, her expression carved from ice.

"Was it worth it?" Her voice cut through the tense air like a blade. "Was it worth coming here... to bring chaos to my kingdom?"

She paused, drawing in a steady breath. "We are a peace-loving race. We cherish quiet lives, without war, without conquest. Yes—we have our disputes, but they’re ours to settle. And yet... you arrogant fools came here to claim us. To enslave our people. To make us fight your battles."

Her lips curled into a razor-sharp smile. "And now... look at you. Look at your leader. The man once feared across the continent—unconscious, his pride shattered, his manhood gone. No longer the legend you worshipped. No longer even a man."

Mireya’s laugh rang out—cold, unrestrained, echoing down the street. The elves froze for a heartbeat... and then the sound of her laughter spread. One by one, voices joined in, until the air was thick with mocking jeers. Grief turned to vindication. Their smiles were sharp, their eyes alight with cruel satisfaction. The proud Dragon Blood Tribe—reduced to nothing.

Sylvia stepped forward through the crowd, her expression one of pure contempt. Without hesitation, she drove her boot into Zerath’s face, knocking his head back into the dirt.

"You thought we’d be easy prey?" Her voice was a low snarl. "You’ve awakened a sleeping predator. And now... you choke on the consequences of your foolish pride."

"Agh! You bitch! Kill me already if you dare! I’d rather die than be humiliated like this!" Zerath’s voice cracked, spitting blood as his swollen face throbbed from Sylvia’s last kick.

"Heh? Kill you?" Sylvia’s tone dripped venom. "You think you can give me orders?"

Her boot crashed into his ribs, rolling him across the dirt. She followed without hurry, delivering another kick to his jaw that sent him sprawling like a rag doll. His groans were swallowed by the gasps of the onlookers.

The crowd stood frozen, horror etched into their faces. We must never get on Lady Sylvia’s bad side... The thought echoed silently among them as they watched Zerath’s body jerk under her relentless blows.

"Enough." Yuan’s voice cut through the scene, calm but cold. He stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with calculated malice. "Send him—and that fool of a leader—back to their territory. Alive."

Zerath spat out a tooth, staring up in disbelief.

"Killing them," Yuan continued, "would be a kindness. It would spark their tribe’s anger... but not their shame. No. Let them live. Let the whole continent see what’s become of them. A scar deeper than death. One that can never be erased."

His grin was sharp enough to cut flesh, and to the watching elves, it was the smile of a devil.

And they agreed. Death was too merciful. Humiliation was eternal.

Mireya’s eyes lit with approval.

"Very well." She ordered the guards to bind Kaelrath’s limp, broken body to one Wyvern, and Zerath’s battered form to another.

Xi Meili stepped forward, her voice a whip-crack command to the trembling Wyverns. "Take them back to Crimsonfang Peak. Let their tribe see the fate of the so-called proud Dragon Blood."

With a thunder of wings, the Wyverns took flight, carrying their disgraced masters into the distance.

Mireya watched them vanish, then turned to her soldiers. "Spread the word across the continent. Every flyer, every city, every tribe. Let no one forget what happened here today."