CHAPTER 80: MELIRA’S QUESTIONING

[: 3rd POV :]

Melira’s eyes narrowed as she continued scanning the document, her voice low but laden with authority.

"Vermith Family."

The name barely left her lips before a wave of crushing mana radiated outwards once more.

Like the Stratoths, the Vermith clan members who were present suddenly staggered, faces paling as the oppressive force bore down on them.

They collapsed, gasping, their bodies heavy as if weighted by the very earth itself.

The crowd tensed again, startled by the swift and merciless display.

Melira’s voice cut through the murmur like a blade, steady and unyielding.

"Drenwald Family."

The reaction was immediate.

Members of the Drenwald family fell to their knees, shaken and subdued by the overwhelming power that pressed down upon them like an unrelenting storm.

"Calverin Family."

The fourth family name echoed in the grand hall.

The same suffocating pressure slammed into them, leaving no doubt that the Empress’s wrath was real and absolute.

Finally, Melira’s voice grew colder, her tone sharper, more severe as she uttered the name that made the very air tremble:

"The Ashburn Family."

This time, the force unleashed was far greater—heavier, denser, practically tangible.

The assembled nobles watching held their breath as the Ashburn clan was nearly crushed under the immense power that surged from Melira.

Without hesitation, Melira turned to one of the Sacred Valkyries standing closest to her, her voice a firm command.

"Serena, drag them beneath me."

Serena, a tall, resolute Valkyrie clad in shining armour with flowing silver hair, inclined her head with unwavering loyalty.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Without a flicker of emotion, Melira’s gaze remained fixed and unyielding as Serena stepped forward.

In an instant, the Valkyrie’s body shimmered with an ethereal golden light.

From the base of her spine, dozens of magnificent golden tails erupted, each flickering with sharp, precise movements.

They writhed and coiled through the air like serpents of pure light, extending swiftly toward the subdued members of the families named.

With merciless efficiency, the tails wrapped around each one of them—cold, unbreakable bonds that silenced all protests and struggles.

Within moments, Serena retracted her tails, dragging the captured nobles effortlessly through the great hall’s wide expanse.

The sound of their limbs scraping against the polished marble floor echoed faintly, powerless beneath the overwhelming presence of the Empress.

The golden tails vanished as Serena brought the prisoners beneath Melira’s throne on the second floor.

There, the nobles were forced to lie flat, faces down, utterly humbled before the silent storm that was Melira Valenhardt.

Melira’s eyes, once glimmering with fierce sorrow and restrained rage, now bore into them with cold detachment.

Her voice emerged—devoid of warmth, mercy, or even the faintest flicker of humanity.

"Do you know all of your mistakes...?"

Her tone was flat, empty, a hollow echo resonating with a barely controlled, simmering fury.

It wasn’t kindness.

It wasn’t coldness.

It was a void—a crushing emptiness that masked the depth of her rage, a rage so deeply buried that it only fueled a terrifying resolve.

These were not enemies she wished to slay hastily.

Not yet.

She would uncover every truth, squeeze every secret from them, before the final reckoning.

Because this—this betrayal—was personal.

Her son’s fate was intertwined with every one of these criminals.

And Melira Valenhardt’s justice would be merciless.

One of the trembling nobles, barely able to hold himself upright, dared to lift his head and stammer, "N-No, Your Majesty..."

His voice cracked with desperation, eyes wide as they locked onto Melira’s icy gaze—an ocean of unforgiving wrath.

Without a flicker of hesitation, Melira’s cold, steely eyes snapped toward Luke, who stood rigidly by her side.

"Luke," she commanded, her voice a chilling whisper that brooked no argument, "slice his head off."

Luke moved with lethal precision, a blur of motion faster than any eye could track.

In an instant, the noble’s head was severed clean from his body, falling to the polished marble floor with a sickening thud.

The noble’s lifeless body crumpled like a ragdoll, blood pooling beneath him as the hall fell into a stunned silence.

Melira’s expression remained utterly devoid of feeling—no satisfaction, no remorse—only the cold resolve of a ruler who would sacrifice anything for her child.

Around the hall, reactions rippled through the crowd.

Some gasped in horrified disbelief, clutching their robes or averting their eyes in shock.

Others stood impassively, their faces masks of political neutrality—knowing that in these halls, mercy was often a luxury few could afford.

Yet a few watched with sharp interest, eyes gleaming with the twisted allure of court intrigue and ruthless power plays.

Among them, the Dragon Empress’s gaze lingered thoughtfully, a faint, inscrutable smirk curling her lips—her own pride and cunning stirred by the grim display.

But Melira did not flinch or waver.

This was only the beginning.

The message was clear:

Betrayal, especially against her son and her people, would be met with swift and absolute retribution.

Melira’s gaze swept over the five noble families, her eyes cold and unyielding—void of mercy, yet burning with a silent, seething fury beneath the surface.

Her voice was low, measured, yet every word cut sharper than any blade.

"I asked all of you once again," she began, her tone devoid of warmth,

"What mistake—no, what crime—did each of you gravely commit...?"

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Not a single noble dared to meet her eyes.

Their faces were pale, and some trembled subtly as the weight of her question settled over them like a dark cloud.

Not one of the five noble families uttered a word.

They were stunned, uncertain, blinded by the cold truth pressing down upon them.

Melira’s voice dropped even further, chilling the very air around them.

"Very well," she said, her words deliberate and cold.

"Since none of you have the courage—or the wit—to answer... allow me to remind you."

Her eyes glinted like frost as she spoke, every syllable heavy with accusation and silent rage.

"The Black Pirate. The slave merchants. You all did business with them."

A collective shudder rippled through the five families, their faces draining of colour as terror set in.

How—how had the Empress uncovered such a secret?

Around the hall, whispers surged like a rising tide.

The gathered nobles and imperial families exchanged glances, astonishment and unease etched on their faces.

Melira’s voice was cold and razor-sharp, slicing through the tense silence like a blade.

"You know," she began, her tone laced with barely restrained fury, "I can barely hold back my patience any longer. Speak now, or I will show you no mercy whatsoever."

The noble families’ faces drained of all colour, their breaths shallow and uneven.

The heavy atmosphere pressed down on them like a vice, each one gripped by a raw, primal fear.

They had all heard of the Empress’s merciless nature—the devastating wrath she unleashed on even the slightest betrayal.

None dared to imagine what awaited them if she lost control.

In that suffocating moment, Velorth—the most desperate among them—could bear it no longer.

His eyes darted frantically as beads of sweat dripped from his brow.

With a trembling hand, he raised a finger, shaking as he pointed toward a figure standing nearby.

"Y-Your Majesty! I-It was him! It’s him—the leader of the slave merchants, the Black Pirate!"

Velorth’s voice cracked under the weight of his fear, his words hurried and pleading.

He gambled everything on sacrificing this man, hoping to save himself.

Melira’s gaze shifted sharply to where Velorth pointed.

The leader of the Black Pirate—a man whose arrogance had carried him far—suddenly went pale, his confidence shattering in an instant. Panic ignited in his eyes like wildfire.

"Velorth, you’ve—" he began, but the words died in his throat.

Before the man could finish, Luke moved with a terrifying speed—too fast for most to even perceive.

Like a shadow striking in the night, he seized the leader by the neck and dragged him down to the first floor, thrusting him face-up before the Empress.

The captive’s eyes were wild with terror, his breath ragged as the cold reality of his situation crashed down upon him.

The gathered crowd gasped, a ripple of shock and fear sweeping through the hall.

Even the hardened warriors and rulers exchanged uneasy glances.

None dared speak as the silent storm in Melira’s eyes promised that judgment had just begun.

The instant Caelira, Kiel, Rika, and Manork caught sight of the Black Pirate leader’s face, a sudden, explosive surge of energy burst forth from their auras.

The air around them crackled with raw, unleashed power—their fury palpable and immediate. Without hesitation, they surged forward, driven by a primal, unrelenting desire for vengeance.

Caelira’s hand shot out, aiming to snap the leader’s neck with brutal precision.

Kiel was right behind her, his fingers poised to pierce the man’s heart as if it were nothing more than a fragile vessel.

Rika’s eyes blazed with wrath, her hands curled into claws ready to tear the man apart.

Manork’s sword gleamed menacingly, prepared to sever limb from limb in a merciless strike.

However, each of them were stopped.