"It’s ’Your Majesty’ for you, Elder Sylvester," she said, each word deliberate, almost sharp enough to cut. "Do not forget your place in ’my’ palace."
However, the council mbers remained utterly unmoved by her icy tone. They rely scoffed, as if Mireya’s authority as queen no longer held any weight for them. To their eyes, she was no longer a ruler—just a woman without true power behind her.
"Mireya, don’t try to change the subject," Sylvester said, clicking his tongue in mock disappointnt. A sly, provocative smile spread across his face. "You know exactly what you’ve done, and you should accept your mistakes before you try to remind us of our place in this palace."
"Indeed," Davis chid in, his lips curling into a vicious grin as his gaze shifted toward Yuan. "We demand an explanation from you. And don’t think for a mont that being queen ans you can escape the law. Also—" his grin widened, "—we want that bastard who dared to sit on the Evergreen Throne executed imdiately! Only his head will cleanse the dishonor he has brought to our ancestors!"
"There can be no forgiveness for tarnishing the Evergreen Throne," Elder Tharion declared, his tone razor-sharp, eyes burning with hostility toward both Mireya and Yuan. "It is the honor of our Elven Kingdom—the most sacred relic of our nation!"
"Insolence! Do you realize you’re speaking to Her Majesty the Queen?!"
Sylvia’s voice thundered through the throne room as she stepped forward, her sword gleaming in her hand. Her stance radiated unwavering resolve. "Her Majesty risked her life to destroy the space traders and rescue our people! And yet, instead of thanking her, you bare your fangs? What exactly are you implying with this behavior?"
"Hmph!" Sylvester snorted, entirely unmoved by her fury. "Just because she rescued our people does not an we can ignore her insult to the Evergreen Throne and the faith of our ancestors. And as for you, Sylvia..." His lips curled into a mocking smirk. "You are rely a bodyguard. You have no right to lecture ."
"If you don’t want trouble, you’d best stay silent and allow us to carry out the work of the council." His voice turned cold, and he t her gaze with a thinly veiled threat.
"Oh? Are you threatening , Elder Sylvester?" Sylvia’s voice dropped to a deadly calm, her eyes locking onto his with glacial intensity.
"You may interpret it however you wish," Sylvester replied, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "But trust —it will end badly for you if you fail to behave."
Without even flinching, he shifted his focus to Yuan—still seated on the throne, exuding an unshakable composure, as if the storm of accusations ant nothing to him.
Yuan watched their squabbling with quiet amusent, knowing full well he could end all of their lives in a heartbeat if he so wished. But for now, he remained still, intent on watching them bare their true motives beneath their facade of law and tradition.
’Interesting... so they’re not going to reveal their real intentions that easily, huh? Very well,’ Yuan thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. ’Let’s enjoy this pathetic performance from these so-called council elders.’
anwhile, Anna Grace and the others stood quietly at the side, their expressions calm but alert. There was no need to step in—not yet. Mireya and Sylvia were more than capable of handling the situation themselves.
"You are quite brave, young man," Sylvester said, his voice laced with mocking amusent. "Despite knowing the gravity of this situation, you still sit comfortably on the Evergreen Throne. But rest assured—" his grin widened into sothing cold and cruel, "—you will pay the price for tarnishing it with your life."
Then, turning to Mireya, he wore the smug smile of a man who believed he had already won. "Mireya, we—The Elven Council—have co to a decision after careful thought."
"And that is?" Mireya asked, her tone calm, her raised brow betraying not a hint of fear despite the heavy tension thickening the air.
"We have decided," Sylvester said, stepping forward with calculated arrogance, "that you are unfit to rule this great nation. You have broken sacred laws that no ruler should dare to break, showing blatant disregard for our ancestors."
Elder Nyria nodded in agreent, her voice sharp. "Indeed. We no longer recognize you as Queen. It is better for the Kingdom to replace you with soone truly capable—soone who can lead us into real prosperity."
"And," Elder Davis added with a malicious grin, his eyes flicking briefly toward Sylvester, "we have already chosen the new ruler. You needn’t concern yourself. Just step down quietly from the throne, and we will handle the rest."
Mireya’s eyes widened, but not in fear—in disbelief at the brazenness before her. She had expected perhaps one snake among them. But to see every single elder complicit in treachery...
’They’ve gone mad... so blinded by greed they’ve even forsaken the lives of their own kin. Mother, you sacrificed your life to protect this? To protect vermin like them?’
Her body trembled—not with weakness, but with rage that burned deep in her bones. Elder Davis’s mocking words were a blade straight into her heart.
But then, she exhaled slowly. The storm within her cald, her expression shifting into one of cold disdain.
"...Is that so?" she said softly, almost too softly, before walking toward Yuan and lowering herself onto her throne—beside him.
Her voice sharpened like steel. "I’ve been wondering for quite so ti... who was it that allowed the dogs of the Holy Church to trespass across our borders?" She leaned forward, her gaze locking on Sylvester. "And now... I finally have my answer."
A cold, confident smile spread across her face. "It was you, wasn’t it... Elder Sylvester?"
"What?!" the other elders erupted, eyes wide in shock.
Sylvester froze. His mind raced, a cold sweat breaking across his skin. ’Impossible... Who could have told her? Who else knows about my dealings?’
The other elders shifted uneasily, casting wary glances his way. Only Elder Camilla Rose stood unfazed, a faint, knowing smile curling her lips.
"Elder Sylvester," she said at last, her tone smooth but edged with steel, "as Head of the Council, I truly did not expect you, of all people, to stoop to such filth."
"Elder Camilla, do you seriously believe the words of this wretched woman?" Sylvester snapped, his voice trembling—not entirely from anger. "She’s spinning lies to turn you all against !"
Mireya didn’t even look at him. Instead, her gaze swept the council with deliberate calm. "Enough. Tell —who is this ’new candidate’ you’ve chosen to replace ? I’m rather curious. Strange... I’ve never even heard of such a person before. Was I away that long?"
"It’s none other than the son of Elder Sylvester—Elion Florence," Elder Davis declared, his voice brimming with pride. "He will be the new ruler of this nation—the first ’King’ of the Elves! The most talented individual in our Kingdom... and beyond!"
"I see..." Mireya’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "The son of Elder Sylvester. Suddenly, everything makes sense—why he betrayed his own people... why he’s so desperate to see removed from my throne."
Her voice dropped, sharp as a blade. "A ’new king’? My foot! You think you can strip of my crown simply because you want to?"
Her expression darkened, fury flashing in her erald eyes as a tremor of pure rage coursed through her body. The temperature in the room seed to drop.
Yuan, still lounging on the throne, raised an eyebrow at the surge of killing intent radiating from her.
’It seems these fools are about to find out just how terrifying she can be...’ he thought, leaning back in amusent, ready to watch the bloodbath unfold.
"This throne," Mireya snarled, her voice echoing through the chamber, "belongs to my mother—and to no one else! And I am ashad—ashad that she sacrificed her life to protect a pack of hypocrites like you!"
Her hands clenched, her eyes burning. "She should have fed every last one of you to that malevolent dragon instead of saving you! She made a grave mistake that day!"
"Enough!" Sylvester roared, his own mana flaring violently as he tried to crush her under its weight. "You are no longer the Queen! You are unfit to rule—and we have ’decided’ to replace you!"
"Elder Sylvester," Elder Tharion said, his voice low and cold, "she will not surrender willingly. We’ll have to use force." With that, he drew a gleaming purple dagger from his magic pouch, the air instantly thickening with sinister energy.
"Indeed," Sylvester sneered, pulling out an identical blade, its malevolent aura filling the throne room like the stench of blood before a slaughter.
"That dagger..." Mireya’s breath hitched, her pupils trembling as if her very soul had been struck. In an instant, mories surged—violent, unbidden.
She saw it again. That cursed day. Her mother—Queen Valeryan—standing tall after ten days of battle against the malevolent dragon, only to stagger... her proud figure collapsing as a glint of steel pierced her abdon.
A dagger. This dagger.
She had searched for its owner ever since, chasing whispers and dead ends, never finding the truth. Until now.
Her gaze locked onto the weapons in Elder Tharion’s and Elder Sylvester’s hands. Every detail matched—the curved hilt, the faint violet gleam along the blade, the sinister aura that seed to drink in the light.
There was no mistake.
Her entire body went cold.
’So... my mother didn’t die because of the dragon’s wounds...’ Her hands shook as the truth shattered years of belief. ’She was murdered... murdered by her own people.’
Tears welled, blurring her vision—but they didn’t fall from grief alone. Fury burned beneath them, hotter than molten steel.
In that mont, her cultivation erupted like a raging tempest. A violent shockwave tore through the throne room, hurling Sylvester and Tharion backward, their bodies slamming into the marble walls with bone-jarring force.
The air crackled with killing intent.
"So it was ’you two’..." Mireya’s voice shook—not from fear, but from the kind of rage that could burn kingdoms to ash. Her erald eyes were now blood-red, locking onto them like a predator marking its prey. "The ones who killed my mother!!"
"What?!" The other elders gasped, their faces pale, eyes widening in sheer disbelief. The weight of her accusation crushed the air out of the room.
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