Supreme Bloodline Evolution System

Chapter 200: The True Mask of the Beautiful Elven Woman

The entire garden fell deathly silent, the sort of silence that settled over marble and leaves alike when a foolish remark had gone too far, and everyone present knew it.

Shaelvyn’s words lingered beneath the green canopy of vines, heavy enough that even the fountain seemed too loud in the hush that followed, each spill of water into the basin sounding strangely clear while the seven women stared at the widow as though she had finally said something so reckless that even grief could not excuse it.

Myrathien was the first to break, and she did so with a laugh that began softly enough to sound like disbelief before it sharpened into open amusement. She covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders trembling as smug delight spilled from her in quiet, cutting waves, and her pink eyes stayed fixed on Shaelvyn with the bright, cruel satisfaction of someone watching another person step too close to a cliff.

Shaelvyn did not answer at once, but the dagger in her hand betrayed her; the curved blade slowly angled toward Myrathien, her fingers tightening around the hilt until the crimson gem at its base caught the light and a faint pulse of mana seemed to stir in the air around her.

"Do you truly believe you can kill someone who single-handedly captured our Aelvarith Empire?" Myrathien asked, her laughter thinning into a sharp smile. "The man who killed Emperor Thalvendor, crushed our mighty army, and made a pact with ancient spirits that even our ancestors feared to approach in the deepest parts of the forest?" She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow against her knee as though she had all the time in the world. "You may be strong, Shaelvyn, but you are as dumb as a rock."

Her eyes were like poisonous vipers, slow and patient as they sank their fangs into the green-haired elf.

For one heartbeat nothing happened, and then Shaelvyn’s dagger began to vibrate. The air around it twisted, the blade blurring at the edges as if it were being pulled somewhere else entirely, and then it vanished from sight.

Myrathien’s smile faltered, and all color left her pale face as she jerked back in instinctive alarm, her hand snapping beneath her sleeve.

A thin metal hairpin flashed through the air so quickly that none of the others even saw it leave Ilyndessa’s hand. It struck the dagger’s spine with a sharp metallic note, knocking the blade off line just as Myrathien drew the narrow knife hidden in her sleeve, and the two weapons met at her throat with a loud clang that rang through the garden.

The hairpin spun away and skittered across the marble, coming to rest near the bench, while Shaelvyn’s dagger hovered for a breath against the resistance of Myrathien’s blade before both women froze.

A single drop of blood rolled down Myrathien’s neck. Shaelvyn had cut her, not deeply, only enough to draw a thin red line and make the danger of the moment impossible to ignore.

Before either woman could move again, Ilyndessa’s voice cut through the garden, low and sharp and far more dangerous than shouting. "Shaelvyn, enough. Put the dagger down before you make me regret saving Myrathien’s life in my own garden."

Shaelvyn’s jaw tightened, and for a moment it looked as though she might argue, but Ilyndessa was already rising from the marble bench, her long golden-pink hair falling down her back as she straightened with the kind of calm that made everyone else feel suddenly too exposed.

"Ilyndessa, she started that—" Shaelvyn began, but the coldness in Ilyndessa’s eyes was enough to stop her before she could finish.

"I do not care who started it," Ilyndessa said. "You are better than trying to kill your sister over a few words. Or have you lost yourself faster than any of us expected?"

Shaelvyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she lowered her gaze before she could stop herself. Around them, the others shifted in uneasy silence. Rosethae straightened at once, crimson hair sliding over her shoulder as she prepared to rise if needed.

Arissavel’s hand moved beneath her robes, and Aeravelle stared through her glasses without blinking, already measuring whether she would need to intervene. Xyranthia lowered her head and twisted the end of one silver pigtail around her finger, pretending not to watch the tension settle over the group like a storm cloud.

It was not the first time such a clash had erupted between the seven sisters, and it would not be the last, because they had all spent too many years living too close to grief, pride, and one another’s sharpest edges.

Ilyndessa let out a deep breath and placed both hands on her wide hips, closing her eyes for a moment as she shook her head with slow disappointment. "Sisters, I understand that all of you are frustrated. Our entire future is in the hands of a man none of us have even seen." Her eyes opened again, and for the first time some of the hardness left them. "I am frustrated too."

She turned her gaze toward the city beyond the palace garden, where white marble towers rose beneath the morning light and green vines crawled across balconies and pillars, flowers blooming between the pale stones as if the city itself refused to accept that it had been conquered.

Dragon warriors stood on every corner, their armor gleaming beside fountains, their spears watching over bridges, their shadows crossing the white streets that had once belonged only to elves. It was a city that looked peaceful from a distance and stubborn up close, a city that had survived too much to surrender easily.

"This city has stood here longer than our records can stretch," Ilyndessa continued, her voice steady and carrying easily through the garden. "It has seen empires rise, kings die, wars burn through its streets, and enemies swear that our people would disappear." Her gaze returned to her sisters, and when she spoke again there was a quiet force in her words that made even Shaelvyn listen. "And still, we remained Aelvarith."

The words settled over them.

"We will remain much longer. No human or dragon will order us around forever. I promise you that." Her voice softened, though it did not lose its strength. "But now, we must wait. We must learn. We must survive long enough to choose the moment that benefits us."

Shaelvyn finally lifted her eyes. "So what do you suggest, then?" she asked, much quieter than before. "If my dagger can solve this, why should we bother with anything else?"

Ilyndessa walked toward her, not hurriedly, but with the measured certainty of someone who knew exactly how much space she needed to cross before the other woman would begin to feel cornered.

"Let us pretend you somehow miraculously assassinate the King of Voidstar," she said. "What happens after his wives become furious? What happens when the dragons of Voidstar learn their king has died? What happens when his entire population comes crashing against our gates?"

Shaelvyn’s fingers curled around the dagger at her side.

"Perhaps you do it perfectly. Perhaps nobody sees you. Perhaps you leave no trace behind." Ilyndessa stopped directly before her. "But what if you do not? What if you fail? Are you willing to risk every man, woman, and child in these lands for your reckless gamble?" Her eyes sharpened. "Can you live with yourself when blood is soaking our white streets?"

Shaelvyn’s shoulders slowly fell, and for the first time since the argument began, she looked less like a woman ready to strike and more like someone forced to hear a truth she had not wanted to face.

Ilyndessa raised her hand toward her head, and Shaelvyn flinched before the touch even came, the reaction so quick and instinctive that it made Rosethae’s lips tighten, and Arissavel look away. Xyranthia’s fingers stopped twisting her hair, and even Myrathien, still pale from the near miss and with a thin line of blood on her neck, went completely still.

"No..." Shaelvyn said at last, her voice barely more than a breath.

"I thought so."

Ilyndessa smiled then, and it was an extremely bright smile, warm enough to look almost motherly as her hand settled on Shaelvyn’s lowered head. Her fingers gently petted through the widow’s curls, slow and soft, as though comforting someone much younger and far less dangerous.

But that single motion drained every trace of color from the other women’s faces.

"Pack your things. We are going to meet this so-called King Maximus, and then we must do our best to make him fall for us," Ilyndessa said.

Without warning, her fingers closed around Shaelvyn’s green curls and pulled hard enough to make her cry out, her body jerking forward beneath Ilyndessa’s grip.

"Only by making him believe we are weak women who have lost the source of our protection can we slowly undermine his rule. We will buy his so-called loyal officials one by one, turn his people against him, and make him beg on his knees to spare his own kingdom someday."

Her grip loosened, though her hand remained tangled in Shaelvyn’s hair.

"That Maximus will become our pet, sisters."

Her smile grew so dark that the entire garden began to feel less like a paradise and more like a devil’s den.