Absolute Cheater-Chapter 266: Fantasy Dungeon V

Valeris stood before the mirror, her reflection cloaked in soft golds and muted reds—the formal colors of House Mimir. Her hair was pinned back in a way she loathed, too delicate, too demure. But it was how Melina Mimir, the royal daughter returned from exile, was expected to look.

"I feel like a lamb fattened for slaughter," she muttered.

Asher, standing by the chamber's tall arched window, smirked. "You look like a wolf in lamb's silk."

"Good." She turned to face him, the light catching the small gemstone crown now resting lightly on her brow. "Because they'll be thinking they're dealing with a girl they once sent away to be forgotten. But Melina Mimir died the moment they did that."

He tilted his head, admiring her. "Then let's go let them mourn her."

Together, they stepped out into the hall.

The guards saluted stiffly. Valeris moved with the quiet authority of someone who remembered how to rule—and how to remind others she hadn't forgotten the weight of power. Asher followed half a step behind, not as a knight, not entirely. He was her shadow now, her anchor, her blade.

The Council Hall loomed ahead, its great silver doors etched with the history of Mimir—victories carved in marble, bloodlines immortalized in gold.

And behind those doors: her family.

The High Table was already filled when the doors opened.

Duke Remiel, her uncle, sat at the head beside the throne—his hair now streaked with grey, though his posture was rigid with command. He didn't rise when she entered. He merely looked at her with pale, evaluating eyes. To his right sat Lady Virelle, her cousin by marriage, whose soft smile never reached her eyes. To the left: Lord Caedan and his twin sister Serah, both distant relatives, both schemers in their own right.

A dozen more filled the seats—lesser nobles, advisors, members of the old court. Each one wore the mask of loyalty.

Each one had something to lose if she remained Queen.

Valeris approached with unshaken grace. She stopped just short of the table, her gaze meeting her uncle's.

"Uncle," she said evenly.

"Melina," he replied, rising now, slowly. "It warms the heart to see you home."

"Does it?" she asked, a smile flickering. "Or were you already preparing another funeral?"

A few courtiers shifted. One even choked softly on their breath.

Remiel's expression didn't change. "We mourned you. We feared you would not survive your journey. Bandits, after all…"

"Indeed," Valeris interrupted. "But it wasn't bandits. It was assassins. Trained. Coordinated. And sent by someone who knew our route."

Another silence.

Asher stepped forward now, just far enough for them all to see the knight's blade at his hip.

"We tracked their tactics. Their movement. Their poison of choice. Not random mercenaries."

He didn't need to say what came next.

Someone in this room sent them.

Remiel raised a hand slowly. "Surely you do not mean to accuse your own family, child. We have waited years for your return. Mimir is your home."

"My home," Valeris said, "does not need to remind me who holds the throne. I sit there, not you."

She stepped forward, past the guards, and sat directly in the Queen's seat. No ceremony. No permission asked.

Remiel's jaw tensed—but he said nothing.

Asher took his place behind her chair, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the room.

"I've returned," Valeris said to them all. "And I won't be leaving again."

"And your… champion?" Lady Virelle asked, eyes flicking to Asher. "Shall we expect him at every meeting? At your side in every decision?"

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Valeris tilted her head. "You'll expect him where I put him. And you'll thank the gods I have someone I trust, when the rest of you are little more than masked daggers."

No one spoke.

She rose again, slowly, her voice turning iron.

"The game is over. If you want to try again, next time, don't send cowards in the night. Stand up. Declare yourself. Let history remember your failure with dignity."

She stepped down from the throne and swept from the hall without waiting to be dismissed.

Asher followed, his presence like thunder in her wake.

Once outside, he leaned close and whispered, "They're going to move faster now."

"Good," she said, her voice low and deadly. "So will we."

Later that evening, the palace halls had quieted, but tension lingered like smoke after fire. Servants moved in hushed pairs. Guards doubled their patrols. Whispers slithered through the noble wings like spiders through stone.

In a private chamber deep within the Queen's quarters, Valeris—Melina Mimir no longer in truth—stood at the center of a long marble table, surrounded by hand-picked loyalists and recently sworn guards. A large map of the capital had been unfurled, marked with pins of gold and black.

"We don't wait for them to act again," she said, her voice sharp as a honed blade. "We move first. Quietly. Surgically."

Asher stood at her side, arms folded, expression unreadable but alert. "Strike where it hurts. Where they think they're safe."

She nodded. "We begin with House Caen. I want their private holdings inspected. Their estate near the southern aqueduct—no guards posted there, yet the assassins knew how to approach our caravan through that same route."

One of her scouts, a wiry man named Dren, spoke up. "You want surveillance? Or to make noise?"

Valeris looked to Asher. He gave a slight nod.

"Break in," she said. "Take only what confirms what we already suspect. Ledgers, letters. Anything in cipher. Leave no trace."

Dren grinned. "Done."

The meeting ended quickly after that, each piece set in motion with no fanfare. Valeris dismissed them, then stood in silence at the window while Asher lit the lanterns behind her.

The city glowed with a thousand lights—an illusion of peace. But under that glass-slick surface, war was already brewing.

" You know, I juts got few more original memories " She said as Asher looked at her,

" You got more memories?" He asked as she nodded.

"I remember the night they sent me away," she said quietly. "I was seventeen. Still calling Remiel uncle as if it meant something."

Asher stepped up beside her. "What did he say to you then?"

She didn't turn. "That I should consider myself lucky. That politics were no place for a 'delicate girl' like me."

She let the silence hang before turning to him, her eyes hard. "I want him to feel what I felt....I mean the original felt. The weight of isolation. The slow realization that no one's coming to help."

"He will," Asher said simply. "So will the others."

She stepped close, her fingers brushing his. "Stay with me tonight."

"Always."

—

Later That Night – Southern Estate of House Caen

The moon hung low, wrapped in clouds. A single flickering lantern burned by the estate's side gate.

And then, the flame went out.

Dren moved like smoke through the garden, three shadows trailing behind him. All wore the colors of palace guards—but none of them had ever sworn oaths to House Caen.

The gate was unlocked. The door—ajar.

Inside, the estate was quiet. Too quiet.

They passed through the lower levels with surgical precision, until one of Dren's scouts signaled.