Chapter 417: Ch 417: The Voices – Part 2

The Grand Duchess stood tall atop the ridge, her cloak flaring behind her in the high winds of battle.

The screams of monsters and the clash of steel echoed across the valley. Her face remained composed—until the scout approached.

“My lady! The monsters—they’ve begun to change! Their regeneration rate has spiked. And… and they’re coordinated now!”

He shouted, bloodied and panting.

She didn’t reply at first. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the battlefield shift in subtle but deadly ways.

Monster formations that once lunged wildly now moved with uncanny discipline. Soldiers who had just begun gaining ground were being pushed back, struggling against the overwhelming force.

Then, her gloved hand tightened into a fist.

“Tch.”

A deep frown etched across her regal face, and the air around her seemed to grow colder.

She turned to her officers.

“Inform every squad—tighten formation. Do not fight alone. If a group is overwhelmed, retreat and regroup. I will take the front.”

“My lady! You shouldn’t—”

Her second-in-command protested.

“Save your breath. This is not a negotiation. If I let them push us back here, the entire flank will fall. I’m not losing anyone else today.””

Her voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Without waiting for a reply, she leapt into the air, crashing into the middle of the horde with devastating force.

Her sword sang through the air, glowing with condensed mana as it cleaved a dozen monsters in one sweeping arc.

Screams. Explosions. The ground shattered beneath her as her power tore through the ranks of the enemy.

And yet…

A whisper.

It was soft at first, barely audible beneath the sounds of war.

‘You abandoned us…’

The Grand Duchess blinked.

‘You let us die while you stood above us… watching…’

She clenched her jaw and kept moving, blade swinging, magic flaring. The voices were an illusion, clearly a trick from the enemy. She wouldn’t fall for it.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

‘We trusted you. You let the capital burn.’

‘You sat on your golden throne while our children screamed.’

‘You don’t deserve to lead anyone.’

“Silence. You’re not real.”

She muttered, her grip tightening around her sword.

But they were louder now—closer.

‘Heartless. Cold. Coward.’

‘How many more will you let die, Grand Duchess?’

A surge of guilt flashed through her. Her foot faltered mid-step, and a claw grazed her shoulder.

She spun and cut down the monster, but her breathing had grown uneven. The faces of the voices began appearing in the mist—phantoms of dead soldiers, advisors, and even servants she once dismissed.

“You can’t protect them. You never could.”

A familiar voice whispered in her ear.

She growled, lashing out with her blade, cutting through three monsters—but her movements lacked their usual precision.

“Stop it. I made the decisions I had to make.”

She hissed.

But the battlefield around her was beginning to blur.

She saw the ruined capital of the past, burning with fire, screams echoing, and her own reflection in the shattered windows of her manor.

The same cold face. The same look of indifference. The same accusation.

‘You think leading is sacrifice? No. Leading is responsibility. And you failed.’

The Grand Duchess roared and unleashed a burst of mana that blasted the illusions away temporarily. She knelt in the dust, shoulders trembling.

“Damn it… I know I made mistakes. But I will not crumble here.”

Her voice cracked—not from weakness, but from suppressed weight.

But the voices only laughed. Mocking. Reminding. Crawling back into her mind like claws through her soul.

She rose again, sword glowing with a deep red light. This time, her eyes burned with something far more volatile—defiance.

“Fine. If I must walk through the past to claim the future, then so be it. I’ll carve my path through blood and shadow.”

She muttered.

Even as the ghosts screamed and the monsters charged again, she pressed forward—cutting, slashing, roaring.

The illusions hadn’t ended. But neither had she.

And she would not break.

The Grand Duchess swung her blade in a wide arc, cleaving through a monster’s throat as blood splattered across her armor.

Her stance remained firm, her expression cold—but inside, her mind was beginning to fray.

‘Amana… Amana…’

Her name echoed through the fog like a cruel lullaby.

Familiar voices—her late knight-commander, her dead handmaid, her mother—all whispering her name in varying tones of grief and accusation.

‘You left us behind, Amana.’

Her eyes darted to the side, distracted by the phantom of a burned-down village she once failed to defend. A moment too long.

A claw raked across her side.

She stumbled, pain blooming across her ribs as the monster snarled and lunged again. She raised her blade just in time to block, but her parry was sluggish, mistimed.

Another monster took the opportunity to slam her into the ground.

The wind rushed out of her lungs. She rolled aside, gasping for air, and thrust her blade up, skewering the beast above her. But even as it died, the voices returned louder.

‘You were supposed to protect us.’

‘Why did you run?’

‘Heartless bitch.’

“Shut up! You’re not real. You’re not real…”

She hissed through gritted teeth, trying to steady her breath.

But they felt real.

Every word scraped against the raw parts of her conscience. Every voice sounded like someone she had known—someone she had failed.

Their faces drifted through the smoke. The battlefield felt like it was closing in around her, and her mind, despite her pride, was beginning to buckle under the pressure.

Her sword wavered.

A monster lunged again.

She blocked—barely—but the impact jarred her already wounded side, and she winced. Blood dripped from her armor, staining the ground beneath her.

“I don’t regret leading. But I never… I never claimed I was perfect.”

She muttered, her voice shaking now.

‘Then why did they die, Amana?’

Another attack—another blow she couldn’t fully parry.

She was bleeding, slowing, and for the first time since she took command of this army, doubt gnawed at her like a hungry beast.

And the voices?

They kept calling her name.

Amana staggered back, blood dripping from a shallow cut across her cheek. The phantom voices still rang in her ears, harsh and unrelenting.

‘Heartless. Coward. You let us die.’

Her grip on her sword trembled, her composure unraveling beneath the crushing weight of guilt and confusion. The monster in front of her reared its claw, ready to strike a fatal blow.

Her eyes widened.

Too slow.

But before the strike could land, a powerful burst of mana exploded between them.

The creature’s claw was knocked aside, and Amana blinked in disbelief as a slender figure slid into place beside her, sword flashing.

“Don’t space out, Your Grace. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Melissa snapped, slashing at the beast and forcing it back.

Amana exhaled shakily, her voice breathless.

“Melissa…? Why are you—”

“I got here as fast as I could. We received the report of rising monster levels. The young master is fighting too, and we’ve been ordered to hold our ground.”

Melissa said, not taking her eyes off the enemy.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Amana felt the haze in her mind ease. Reinforcements had arrived.

And this time—she wouldn’t lose focus again.