Absolute Cheater-Chapter 273: Fantasy Dungeon XII

He kissed her temple, his hands splayed possessively across her belly.

For a few minutes, they said nothing.

Just breathing together, listening to the storm's slow birth beyond the cliffs.

Valeris spoke at last, her voice soft.

"When I was transferred into this body—Melina's—I thought maybe I'd get to know what family love feels like from a child's perspective. But even the memories I received were just like mine in the real world. I thought I might glimpse something different… not the life where I was only an heir who had to prove her worth."

She shook her head slightly.

"But here? In this world? They're worse. Just masks. Tools. Knives. In my original world, I was a tool, yes—but at least I was somewhat loved. But this Melina's world… it's been pure torment. From childhood until now, nothing but struggle."

Asher's arms tightened around her.

"They're not your family," he said firmly. "They're characters. Shadows. You owe them nothing."

"I know," she said. "And that's why I won't hesitate."

Lightning flashed again.

She turned in his arms, rising on tiptoes to kiss him—slow, lingering, a promise and a claim both.

"I want to kill them all, Asher," she said against his lips. "We end it all."

He nodded once.

"Together."

***

Asher brushed his thumb across her cheek, her skin warm against the cold air rolling in from the storm-swept cliffs. The wind tugged at the silken curtains behind them, stirring the room like a restless ghost.

"Then we begin tonight," he murmured.

Valeris stepped back, just enough to meet his gaze fully. Her eyes held no hesitation—only fire.

"The ball will be the first knife I drive into their illusions. Let them wear their masks. I'll carve through every one."

She moved across the room, her bare feet whispering against marble. At the far wall stood an oaken armoire carved with serpents and flowers—Melina's childhood possession, now dusted and polished for the Queen's return.

She flung it open, revealing rows of gowns, cloaks, and old ceremonial regalia. But Valeris bypassed them all.

She reached deep behind the velvet hangings and withdrew a locked case. Asher recognized it immediately: the secure vault box she'd brought from the last realm—smuggled in with their gear, disguised as a wardrobe trunk.

She keyed it open with a drop of her blood.

Inside was her war regalia.

Black as the void between stars. Woven with soul-thread and spellsteel. The armor of the Dragon Queen—not Melina Mimir, but the sovereign Valeris had once become in another life, another world.

"If they want Melina," she said, lifting the cuirass from the box, "they'll learn she died the moment I arrived."

She turned her gaze to Asher.

"I want them to remember this night. I want their grandchildren to tell stories of it."

"Then let's write something worth fearing," he said.

He opened his own case. His armor—sleek, dark, rimmed in soulsteel—waited within. The crest of the Sovereign's Fangs burned faintly across the chestplate.

They dressed each other slowly, with the ritual quiet of warriors preparing for a holy war.

Valeris laced his bracers with the same hands she'd used to caress him only hours ago.

Asher buckled her sword belt, letting his knuckles graze her hip with reverence.

Their eyes never left each other.

Not lovers now.

Weapons.

Each the other's sheath.

The Royal Ball

The ballroom of Mimir Palace was a prism of candlelight and deception.

Gleaming chandeliers floated overhead, enchanted to shed soft golden light like starlight frozen mid-fall. Musicians played high on a dais behind a silk screen. The scent of wine, honeyfruit, and perfumed oils filled the air.

Nobles moved like dancers in a dream. Silks whispered. Jewels shimmered. Every laugh was a blade sheathed in honey.

And above them all, at the head of the room, the new Queen made her entrance.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

Valeris descended the grand staircase with Asher at her side, clad in black regalia not seen since the Founding Wars. Her hair was braided back in the war-style of her mother's line. No tiara. No veil. Only a circlet of iron thorns coiled at her brow.

Not the blushing flower-child they'd expected. Not the hostage-queen.

A conqueror reborn.

The room bowed.

Some slower than others.

Asher's eyes scanned every face. Every masked smile. Every wine cup.

Somewhere in this crowd was the assassin they hadn't caught.

Somewhere, a knife waited in silk.

The Dance of Blades

Hours passed. Toasts were made. Courtiers wept false tears for her survival.

Then the dancing began.

Valeris allowed herself to be led by dukes and lords, one after another—each trying to curry favor, each too aware of the fate awaiting the unaligned. She smiled. She whispered.

She gathered names.

Asher stood by the pillar nearest her throne, playing the loyal guardian. But every step she took, he matched in his mind. Every glance, every twitch of a noble's fingers, every suspicious gesture.

It was just past midnight when she returned to him, gliding across the floor like smoke on the wind.

"It's her," she whispered.

Asher followed her gaze.

A servant girl. Pretty, unassuming. Dressed like dozens of others. Pouring wine, bearing trays.

But her eyes never blinked. Her hands never trembled.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes. She's not human anymore. I can feel it."

Valeris stepped away again, returning to the crowd. The assassin followed—close, patient.

But this time, Asher moved as well. Silently. Purposefully.

It was time to spring the trap.

The Kill Room

Valeris slipped through an archway that led to the Winter Garden—a frost-glass atrium filled with nightblooming roses and silver-furred trees. The assassin followed at a distance.

She thought Valeris had strayed from protection.

She thought this was the moment.

The servant set the tray down.

She approached slowly.

Valeris stood still, her back exposed, arms resting on the icy balustrade.

"I waited so long," the assassin whispered. Her voice was melodic. Beautiful. Not hers. "You will not feel pain. Not for long."

Valeris didn't move.

The assassin stepped closer, hand glowing faintly as the curse within her activated. Black veins spread across her skin.

She reached forward—

And Asher was there, sword sliding through her chest.

She gasped.

But she didn't fall.

"Smart," she said, blood frothing her lips. "But not enough."

The curse ignited.

Asher grabbed Valeris and threw them both into a barrier shield just as the assassin exploded in a burst of corrupted soulflame.

The blast shattered the garden, annihilated the roses, scorched the very air.

Guards rushed in. Cries rang out.

But Valeris and Asher emerged unharmed—shield flickering, armor singed.

The ballroom went silent as news reached it.

Valeris stepped into the shattered doorway, hair wind-tossed, blood spattered, crown crooked.

She raised her voice.

"Another coward sent to kill me tonight."

She pointed toward the nobles with a single, commanding gesture.

"I will find the one who sent her."

"And when I do…"

Her voice dropped to a whisper, heavy as prophecy:

"There will be no mercy. Only fire."