CHAPTER 111: CHAPTER 110. MIXED BLOOD VS WEREWOLF SHIFTERS

Erengard Royal Palace, Hall of Throne

The air in the royal palace is thick with tension, filled with all the alphas’ dominance, ready to start getting violent.

A hundred of Dietrich’s elite stood transformed, monstrous, magnificent, the embodiment of primal fury. Their massive forms loomed in the torchlight, muscles coiled like steel springs beneath fur that shimmered like molten silver. Claws scraped against marble, a sound like knives being drawn, as their glowing yellow eyes pierced the shadows.

These aren’t just beasts; they’re warriors, honed by years of training. Their very presence is a declaration of power. Jaws locked in silent snarls, fangs bared, they waited, a storm held at bay by a single command.

"They have all these bastards and still ask us to defend the North." Mara made a nonchalant growl, her voice low and resonant. She shifted into her beastman figure, taller than the werewolf race, her body infused with a potent, dark magic that radiated strength and authority.

Meanwhile, Maxim stood at the forefront, ensuring those younger warriors around him understood what it truly meant to be a werewolf. With a heritage that combined both beastman and werewolf blood, he towered above them all, his form massive and awe-inspiring.

His musculature is wrapped in sleek, dark armor that mirrored the werewolf warriors’ might, yet it’s infused with a supernatural essence that hinted at his greater power. The mix of ferocity and command in his demeanor served as a reminder that they’re not merely defenders but a force to be reckoned with, a living embodiment of the ancient, untamed spirit that dwelled within them all. In his presence, the shifter werewolf now look small in comparison

The Wyndham knights, along with every noble house behind the Borgia Knights, could only watch in silence as the Borgia forces tore through the emperor’s elite guard.

They know that those shifters aren’t just the ordinary shifters. They’re shifters bred for war, monsters who had never tasted defeat. Their howls had once drowned battlefields in terror. Now, they died in choking gasps, their bodies collapsing mid-charge, their claws useless against the storm of mixed blood that came after them.

And there’s Vivianne de Borgia, the wife and mate of Roxanne de Borgia, and the Borgia Luna. She hadn’t shifted. She couldn’t shift. The curse or blessing of being unable to take her full werewolf form had followed her since birth.

In an empire where strength is measured in claws and fangs with their noble blood, that should’ve made her lesser. But Vivianne de Borgia in this life is anything but lesser. What she lacked in physical transformation, she surpassed with something no werewolf, demon, or beastman could ever replicate.

Her power is transcendent.

Her body hummed with the combined resonance of the four Spirit Kings, Undine, Tempest, Afrit, and Terranova. Undine’s ethereal calm radiated from her, turning fear into stillness. Tempest’s winds bent to her will, sharp and cutting, like invisible blades that sliced through armor and bone.

Afrit’s fire flared beneath her skin, a fierce crimson glow that licked through her veins, hot enough to melt steel. And Terranova, solid and unyielding, answered her every step, making the very earth tremble when her horse struck the ground.

Vivianne’s pheromone had always been strange. Even before her bond with Roxanne, it didn’t behave like other omegas’. It was something Vivianne couldn’t control, she thought it was just a weakness.

Because her pheromone couldn’t be contained by just any alpha. She needed a perfect one—an alpha whose power is so absolute that no one could ever question it.

Her pheromone was dangerous, uncontrollable, and in her past life, it had driven her to the brink of madness. It had also driven every alpha who tasted it into a frenzy, consumed by the illusion of power it offered.

She could have started wars with nothing but her scent, alphas turning on each other, desperate to claim her, to dominate what could never truly be tamed. But under Dietrich’s hand, she had been broken so completely that she could no longer think, no longer remember what freedom or strength had once felt like.

But now, bound to Roxanne, her alpha, her mate, that power had been refined, tamed, and sharpened into something devastating. Roxanne’s dominance anchored Vivianne’s chaos, turning it into focus.

And Roxanne’s overflowing power is tamed by Vivianne’s overwhelming pheromone. The omega’s scent no longer spilled uncontrollably; it radiated with intent, threading through the battlefield like a spell.

And now, when Vivianne willed it, her pheromone could bring even the strongest alpha to their knees.

It’s not a lust or submission, like what alphas used to do with the other. It’s a pure command, a mind-seizing obedience that struck straight into instinct, bypassing reason and pride alike.

The fighting stopped the moment Vivianne walked past them, as if the battlefield itself bowed before her presence. With Roxanne’s alpha dominance radiating beside her, they held command over even the most savage of werewolves shifter.

The Spirit Kings magnified that dominance a thousandfold. Their elemental energy pulsed through Vivianne’s aura like the heartbeat of the earth itself, a fusion of flame, wind, water, and stone. Every step she took rippled with their power; her will became law, her presence an order the world couldn’t disobey.

Roxanne stood beside her, silent and unshaken, the perfect counterbalance to her wife’s ethereal force. The Alpha of Borgia didn’t need to raise her voice, for her strength is the kind that existed beyond words. Her every breath carried authority, her shadow bending even the fiercest alphas to stillness.

Yet even Roxanne could feel the hum of Vivianne’s control weaving through her veins, fierce and tender all at once, like moonlight condensed into power. And in that moment, no empire, no god, and no monster dared to stand against them.

"Bring me your emperor," Vivianne said, her voice calm and low.

The werewolves stirred, growls rumbling through their throats, their instincts screaming at them to obey and to resist all at once. One of them, larger than the rest, his fur streaked with silver, bared his fangs in defiance. "The audacity—" he snarled, and before anyone could blink, he lunged forward, claws ready to crash.

But he never reached her.

Roxanne moved before the sound of his step even finished echoing. Her hand caught his throat with effortless power, stopping all his momentum as if the air itself had frozen around him. The creature’s claws barely grazed her armor before she lifted him from the ground, her strength absolute.

"Your emperor," she said, her tone laced with quiet amusement as she smiled, her crimson eyes gleaming with dominance, "do as my wife told you."