Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 140 --

Rony stiffened, genuine shock flashing across his face. "You—"

Eleana tilted her head. "What?" she said lightly. "Don’t recognize your sister now?"

"How could you be—" Rony began, voice unsteady.

Elara smiled faintly.

"Oh, come on, brother," she said, almost gently. "You were always beside me. How could you forget about Dimrti... and the others?"

She curled her fingers.

The doors exploded open.

With a thunderous crash, dimrti strode in, flanked by her remaining administrators—all five of them, every one previously presumed dead or disappeared. Their expressions were calm, ruthless, ready.

Rony’s breath hitched.

Fuck.

This wasn’t a trap anymore.

This was an execution.

Behind them came the knights—elite, battle-hardened. And towering among them, the Beast Knight stepped forward, armor heavy, presence suffocating. Blades were drawn in unison, steel gleaming under the golden moonlight.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then the Emperor threw his head back and laughed.

Loud. Sharp. Desperate.

"Hah! You think this is enough to deal with me?" he sneered, eyes locking onto Elara. "Have you forgotten, daughter? Everyone here carries royal blood."

Elara looked at him with open disbelief.

"Come on, Dad," she said flatly. "You always talk like an idiot."

She rose from the chair.

And snapped her fingers.

Steel sang into existence in her hand—clean, lethal, perfectly balanced. A sword formed as if reality itself obeyed her will, moonlight sliding along its edge.

"As for royal blood," she continued calmly, "it only matters if you live long enough to bleed it."

A soft thwip cut through the air.

Before anyone could react, Dimrti fired.

Two thin arrows flew—silent, precise.

The human knights guarding the Emperor stiffened, eyes widening as the darts struck their necks.

They collapsed without a sound.

Dead before they hit the floor.

Elara stepped forward, sword steady in her grasp, gaze unwavering.

"Now," she said quietly, "we can finally talk without interruptions."

The Emperor’s mana finally snapped.

Dark frost burst from his palm—a burnt ice stone, blackened at the core, veins of cruel light streaking through it like trapped lightning. The air screamed as the temperature dropped, rays of corrupted magic tearing across the hall.

"You dare!" he roared.

"Until now, I was merely playing with you. That is why I allowed all this nonsense. But do you truly think you can defeat me—the Emperor of this empire, the strongest mage alive—"

"Wait."

The word cut through his fury like a blade.

Elara raised her hand.

The magic wavered.

She looked straight at him. No fear. No hesitation.

"The strongest mage?" she repeated slowly.

Then she smiled.

Not wide. Not cruel.

Mocking.

"Oh, come on, Dad." Her eyes sharpened. "—or should I say, Your Majesty? Maybe you’ve forgotten. The strongest mage was never you."

Her gaze flicked over him, dismissive.

"You were useless. Even as a prince."

Something snapped.

The Emperor’s composure shattered completely. Rage twisted his features, mana surging wildly—but beneath it, something uglier surfaced.

Panic.

Because Elara wasn’t guessing.

She was stating the truth.

A truth so vile that even Elara—who claimed to feel nothing—had felt something close to disgust when she uncovered it. She had dealt with monsters before. In trade. In politics. In blood-soaked negotiations where human greed scraped the bottom of existence.

But the Emperor?

He was filth.

Every story he had told her—the tragic love, the righteous rise to power, the fate that "chose" him—was a lie.

The real story belonged to Consort Mai.

Meiwas never a commoner plucked from nowhere.

She was the daughter of a powerful merchant house, widely respected, well-traveled, sharp-minded. She didn’t chase power. She didn’t crave titles.

She fell in love.

The man she loved was the Fourth Prince—gentle, refined, uninterested in war or ambition. A man who preferred books, magic theory, and quiet afternoons. They were engaged. Truly happy.

They were meant to marry.

Then one day, the Fourth Prince went on a hunt.

He never returned.

The empire said a wild boar killed him.

A tragedy.

A closed case.

But oddly enough... after his death, the Fifth Prince—the unnoticed one, the mocked one, the useless one—began to grow powerful. Rapidly. Unnaturally.

Meididn’t believe in coincidences.

She planned.

And she committed an imperial crime.

She dug up the coffin.

Through a hidden passage beneath the cemetery, she reached the Fourth Prince’s body with her own hands.

And what she found shattered everything.

The wound on his chest looked like a beast’s mark—but it wasn’t deep. Not fatal. With his healing ability, it should have closed within minutes.

Yet his body was already decaying.

No glow.

No lingering royal mana.

Every royal corpse retained magic for days—sometimes weeks—preserving the body unnaturally.

But the Fourth Prince?

Empty.

Hollow.

As if his power had been ripped out entirely.

That was when Meiunderstood.

Someone hadn’t killed him with a beast.

Someone had stolen him.

His magic.

His life.

His existence.

And as she searched further, she noticed it—the same aura, the same magical resonance she had felt countless times when her fiancé playfully showed her spells to make her smile—

It now surrounded the Fifth Prince.

The useless one.

To access the imperial library, Mei needed royal blood.

So she did something ruthless.

She got close to him.

She let him believe she loved him.

She entered an engagement with him.

Not for power.

Not for ambition.

But for truth.

And when she finally read the forbidden texts—when she learned of soul-stripping, inheritance theft, and forced magic transference—

She realized what kind of monster stood before her.

Elara looked at him the way one looks at a particularly dense fool.

Then she spoke.

"You, Emperor—" her lips curled in faint disdain, "—even a village idiot knew more than you."

She tilted her head slightly, eyes cold, sharp.

"What did you say just now?" she continued flatly. "That you loved my mother? That you fell for her? That tragic nonsense you keep repeating?"

A pause.

Then—

"You damn bastard."

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

"My mother was a lesbian."

The words landed like a hammer.

The hall froze.

Even the First Consort—who had remained silent all this time—went utterly still. Her breath caught as she turned to stare at Elara, disbelief flickering across her face.

Elara simply shrugged, unbothered.

"Huh," she said lightly. "You didn’t even know?"

She gestured lazily toward the Emperor.

"The woman the Fourth Prince was always bickering with?" Elara went on. "The one you thought was some annoying political thorn?"

Her eyes sharpened.

"That was my mother."

A ripple of shock moved through the room.

"And no," Elara added, almost bored, "it wasn’t some ridiculous jealousy or secret affair with you, you idiot."

She looked straight at him.

"It was because she loved Consort Mei."

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

Even Rony’s face drained of color.

The Emperor’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

"What... what nonsense—" he stammered, shaking his head. "That’s impossible. She—she—"

"She tolerated you," Elara cut in. "Because she had to. Because survival demanded it."

Her gaze hardened.

"But love?" She scoffed softly. "You were never even considered."

For the first time, the Emperor truly looked lost.

"No... no, no, no..." he muttered, almost frantically. "That can’t be right. If that were true, then everything—"