Raising the Princess to Overcome Death

Chapter 380

Lena - Bloodline

‘Why am I doing this again?’

Rera didn’t know why she had acted as she did. She tried to get up hastily, but her knees seemed glued to the ground, refusing to move.

Alarmed, she glanced around. Her bowed torso remained stiff, allowing her to see only her sides, behind her, and a small portion of what lay ahead.

Shifting her gaze, she noticed everyone around her was also kneeling.

However, her view to the immediate right was obstructed—blocked by someone’s legs.

“Rera, don’t panic. Take it slow, and you’ll be able to stand,” said a familiar voice.

The legs belonged to Ray, who stood unaffected, his posture firm.

Anger bubbled up within Rera. Gritting her teeth, she willed herself to move.

[ The true name of your betrothed Lena is known. She is granted {Mana Flesh}. ]Gradually, her body began to respond.

‘If Ray is standing, then so will I!’

Fueled by sheer stubbornness and pride, she forced her knees off the ground. As she struggled upright, someone patted her head—likely Ray. His rallying cry followed, ringing across the scene.

“Wakha-ha!!”

“Woooo!! Ha!!”

Courage surged from deep within her chest. I can do this. Finally straightening her back, she felt an exhilarating sense of accomplishment.

“Well done.”

“Well done, my foot! What’s happening here?”

Now fully upright, Rera took a proper look around. Priests, nobles, knights, guards, palace staff, and even royalty—all were struggling to stand. Ray replied calmly.

“No idea. But it feels like magic to me. Look at the knights—they’re managing better than most.”

He was right.

Most people, including the priests, flailed helplessly, their torsos writhing as they tried to rise. But the knights, though still struggling, were faring slightly better.

This meant their enemy possessed not only physical strength but magical prowess.

Scoffing, Rera clicked her tongue.

“Magic too? Isn’t that overkill?”

She gestured forward. Ahead, two figures clashed fiercely.

One was the boy who had appeared out of nowhere earlier, and the other—presumably the Evil God—was King Karoman de Tatalia.

Not only did the king wield magic, but he was also a master of martial arts.

The spear in his hands carved elegant arcs, its blade heavy and precise. He used an ancient spear technique, avoiding unnecessary movements and relying solely on his arms, waist, and legs. His efficient strikes kept the boy’s aura-blade at bay.

However, the boy was no pushover.

At intervals, he would whistle, summoning a massive black steed from the void. The beast charged at the king, attempting to trample him.

Each time, the king countered by summoning one of the floating lances overhead. A single spear darted forward, piercing the horse, which disappeared with a mournful cry—only to reappear moments later at the boy’s whistle, as if unscathed.

The battle wore on, and it was clear the boy was reaching his limit. The king, as if concluding his analysis, roared with disdain.

“You are no Leonel! You don’t even belong to this world!”

Whether the boy responded was unclear. His words, if any, were drowned out by the king’s booming voice.

“Why are you here? No, it was you, wasn’t it? You summoned those filthy avatars of the Lord God! Begone and stop interfering! Leave Reisia to me!”

“Th-that won’t happen!!”

The boy’s youthful, trembling voice reached Rera’s ears. Something about it felt familiar.

‘Where have I heard that voice before?’

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she yelled, “Who cares who he is? He’s on our side! Let’s help him!”

Many knights seemed to share her sentiment. Struggling to their feet, they raised their voices and charged forward.

The king’s eyes glinted at that precise moment.

“Pledge of Loyalty! Punishment of Betrayal!”

Splurt! Blood erupted from every direction.

Knights screamed in confusion as their comrades turned on them.

The royal guards who had been charging alongside them suddenly wheeled around, cutting down their supposed allies. Their eyes, now empty and white, betrayed no emotion as they moved with unsettling precision.

“You traitors…! Aargh!”

“Behind you! Watch out!”

The chaos spread further. Even the guards who had been kneeling and immobilized moments earlier joined the fray.

Amid the carnage, the king unleashed a rapid series of incantations:

“Imperial Law! Orville Oath! Royal Summons! Assembly Convoke! Hahahahaha!”

Golden light descended upon the royal guards and knights.

Later, they would learn that one in ten citizens of Orville had been conscripted into the military. Among them were nobles and royals who now rose to their feet, bolstered by the same ominous golden glow.

The imperial army began to form, an awe-inspiring force supported by royalty, nobles, and their loyal knights.

Rera saw the king’s triumphant smile—

Right until someone raised a staff.

***

“Th-that damned replica brat!”

Astroth’s enraged shout echoed across the battlefield, but Lena paid him no mind. Following the staff’s guidance, she spread mana across the field.

The air froze with magical pressure, sealing off all spells.

Astroth, furious, pounded the ground with his spear.

His anger was justified. With magic disrupted, the royal guards and knights regained their senses, shaking off the golden influence. The luminous imperial army crumbled as quickly as it had formed.

Hundreds of floating spears lost their magic and crashed to the ground.

Everything the king had built was now powerless.

Lena seized the moment to shout, “Now’s your chance! Run!”

The boy—Minseo, was it?—scooped up Princess Lerialia and staggered backward.

Though he had shown remarkable courage, it was clear that he was shaking.

“Lerialia! Are you okay? Lena, please bless my sister!”

“Don’t fuss, Prince. The princess just fainted from shock.”

“Still, just in case…”

Fine. If it’ll shut you up. Lena muttered inwardly, lazily casting a blessing on the princess.

Her focus shifted back to the meeting between Rev and Minseo. Having heard they were companions from past lives, she expected an emotional reunion.

Yet, to her surprise, they simply stared at each other.

Uh… guys? Hello?

Lea watched in silence as the tension between the two slowly unfolded.

They seemed awkward—no, remorseful toward each other. It felt like the moment old friends who had parted on bad terms reunited after decades of estrangement.

Eventually, Rev moved first. He extended his hand for a handshake, which Minseo grasped with both of his.

Their actions escalated quickly as they embraced, pounding each other’s backs with their fists.

Lena noticed tears glistening in their eyes but pretended not to see. Whatever pain and sorrow they shared, she couldn’t begin to understand.

And then, something happened.

Astroth’s booming voice echoed across the battlefield.

Turning her head, Rera saw the Grand Duke gesturing furiously with his spear pointed skyward, seemingly cursing the four avatars of the Lord God.

“Ha! You expect me to fight with no rooks, no bishops, no knights? Dirty tactics, then and now... Fine! Have it your way!”

The king placed his spear in the air.

It hung suspended, as if mounted on an invisible display. With a sweeping motion of his arm, he gestured grandly toward the gathered crowd. Many flinched instinctively.

Yet, no harm befell them. Instead, the hundreds of spears scattered across the ground began to rise in unison, quietly arraying themselves in the air like soldiers standing at attention.

Lena waved her staff again, trying to disrupt the magic—but to no avail. This time, it wasn’t magic at work.

Astroth had begun to expand his own divine power.

The Grand Duke placed the spears in the air like ornaments, then vanished into smoke.

“Huh?”

“Wh-what? He’s gone!”

The king’s form disintegrated like ash blown in the wind, leaving the grand hall of the royal palace exposed beneath its shattered ceiling. The air buzzed with uneasy murmurs.

Was it over?

Could it truly end this abruptly?

Regardless of their questions, people began to move. Priests carried the wounded to safety, officers reorganized the scattered soldiers, and whispers of discontent started to spread among the nobility.

“The king has gone mad! Explain yourself, Prince Lean de Yeriel! What in the world is going on here?”

Unity, born of a shared enemy, was dissolving rapidly.

The knights distanced themselves from the royal guards who had attacked them earlier. Nobles started calculating the political ramifications of the chaos.

The clergy, too, was restless, their voices rising in confusion and worry.

“Lena, please look after Lerialia for a moment,” Lean said as he turned to address the crowd. He seemed intent on calming the rising tensions.

But before he could speak, a nobleman’s shout rang out.

“The king is mad! This is the work of the royalists!”

Accusations flew, and factions began to take sides. The Swordmaster faction exchanged wary glances, suddenly aware of their precarious position.

And then—

“Count Herman Forte! Is the count safe?”

Heads turned toward the rubble in the distance. The count had been found, barely alive amid the debris. The Swordmaster faction’s nobles wept openly, their grief tinged with anger.

“Those filthy royalists!”

Whether or not it was a sufficient pretext for bloodshed, the tension finally boiled over.

A young noble from the Swordmaster faction grabbed one of the crimson spears floating in the air and drove it into a royalist noble.

“Ugh!”

Blood spilled, and death followed.

The young noble seemed shocked at first but quickly lifted the spear triumphantly.

“Fight! The royalist conspiracy is clear! What are we waiting for?”

“You lunatic! Conspiracy? Nonsense!”

“Marquis Tatian is dead on our side too! Don’t be absurd! Hey, stop—what are you doing?”

But it was too late. A royalist noble, seizing one of the floating spears, retaliated, stabbing a Swordmaster faction member.

“Wait! Stop! Everyone, stop this madness!”

Lean waved his arms and shouted, but it was no use.

“Kill them!”

Knights began to draw their swords, and chaos erupted as fighting broke out across the hall.

Meanwhile, the Church was not spared from the madness.

A wounded royal guard, brought to a priest for healing, suddenly stabbed the cleric. The guard dropped the knife in shock, muttering, “I didn’t do it! I swear!”

The templars subdued him quickly, but then another wounded soldier stabbed a templar, escalating the chaos even further.

“Priests! Step away from the wounded! Hamlet, order them to retreat immediately!”

Ophelia, a high priestess, commanded with urgency. But at that moment, her eyes widened in shock.

“Ophelia!”

“...”

Hamlet Oldenburg, captain of the royal guard, plunged his sword into her neck.

Ophelia stared at her former lover, her eyes filled with sorrow and disbelief. With her final breath, she cradled his face.

“This… this wasn’t you…”

Her voice faded into silence.

Screams and cries of betrayal echoed throughout the palace as friends turned on each other.

Rera, clutching Princess Lerialia, stomped her feet in frustration.

“What the hell is going on? Rev do you know why everyone’s gone crazy?”

“I have no ide—whoa!”

Rev suddenly lunged toward her with his sword drawn.

The blade zipped past her face, and Rera gasped as it struck down a soldier who had been creeping up behind her.

Turning, she saw blood spraying from the soldier’s chest. His eyes burned with a dark crimson flame.

And in that instant, she understood.

The soldier had been possessed.

The fire in his eyes flickered briefly before extinguishing, leaving only a lifeless body behind.

A chilling laugh echoed through the hall.

“Fools… my beloved humans… Do you not see? You are all me.”

Astroth’s voice resonated from the corpse before fading entirely.

Rera shivered. She finally realized the truth.

Astroth had not disappeared.

He was everywhere.

The Grand Duke had used the bloodline of Leonel, the first Swordmaster, to ensure his survival.

Long ago, Leonel had shared his {Bloodline} with Astroth, granting the demon god a foothold in the mortal realm.

In the ten thousand years since, every descendant of Leonel bore his blood—and through it, Astroth’s essence.

No one was immune. Not nobles, not commoners, not even the Swordmasters themselves.

Anyone could become his vessel.

Foolish mortals. My dear, cherished humans…

You are all… me.