Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 178 --

One of the beast knights—the fox-eared one, Ken—stepped forward. He looked better than Iris but not by much. His uniform was pristine as always, but his face showed strain.

"Your Highness," he said carefully. "In your absence, several crisis situations developed. Minor ones," he added quickly, seeing Elara’s expression. "Nothing that couldn’t wait for your return. But they’re all documented in those files and require your direct authorization to resolve."

Elara looked at the desk.

At the paperwork.

At Iris’s desperate, exhausted face.

At Demerti’s guilty expression.

At the five beast knights standing ready, probably expecting her to immediately dive into work despite having literally *just* regained consciousness.

She thought about the goddess’s words. About choosing compassion. About treating people as more than resources. About acting with care even when you couldn’t feel it.

Then she thought about the three days she’d apparently been unconscious while everyone else scrambled to keep things running.

And she made a choice.

"Iris," Elara said quietly. "Go to bed."

Iris blinked. "What?"

"You’ve been maintaining my appearance for three days straight while handling public duties you weren’t trained for. You look like you’re about to collapse. So go. To. Bed." Elara’s tone was flat but firm. "That’s an order. Sleep for twelve hours minimum. Eat something substantial. Don’t come back until you’re functional."

"But the paperwork—"

"Will still be here when you’ve recovered. Go."

Iris stared at her for a long moment, eyes welling up with tears—exhaustion, relief, gratitude all mixed together. Then she stood on shaking legs, bowed deeply, and stumbled toward the door.

Ken moved to support her elbow, guiding her out.

Elara turned to Demerti next.

"When did you last sleep?"

"I... uh..." Demerti’s guilty expression intensified. "Two days ago. Maybe. Briefly."

"Unacceptable. You’re my primary administrator. If you collapse from exhaustion, everything stops functioning. You have six hours to sleep, eat, and make yourself presentable. Then you can return."

"Your Highness, the crisis situations—"

"Have waited three days. They can wait six more hours." Elara pointed at the door. "Go."

"But—"

"*Go*."

Demerti hesitated, then bowed and left, looking torn between relief and anxiety.

That left the five beast knights.

Elara looked at them—really looked. They stood at attention, professional as always, but she could see the signs now that she was paying attention: the slight tremor in one knight’s hand, the way another kept shifting weight between feet, the redness around a third’s eyes that suggested recent tears hastily wiped away.

They’d been terrified.

Actually terrified.

Not because of orders or duty, but because they’d thought she might die.

"Rotation schedule," Elara said. "Two of you stay here with me. The other three get four hours rest, then rotate back. I want everyone at functional capacity, not running on fumes."

The knights exchanged glances.

Ken spoke up: "Your Highness, we’re fine. We can—"

"That wasn’t a request." Elara’s voice stayed flat. "You maintained grounding protocols for how long during my magical overflow? Seven minutes of continuous high-level magical channeling through your collars? That’s physically taxing. You need recovery time."

She paused, then added—because the goddess’s words were still echoing in her mind:

"You saved my life. The least I owe you is making sure you’re healthy enough to keep doing your jobs. So rotate. Rest. That’s an order."

Silence.

Then Ken bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Highness."

Three knights filed out. Two remained—Ken and the wolf-clan woman, Marcus.

Elara turned finally to look at the three mountains of paperwork.

*Right. Work.*

She sat down—carefully, because her body still felt weak and unsteady—and pulled the first stack toward her.

"Ken. Summary of crisis situations requiring immediate attention."

"Yes, Your Highness." Ken moved to stand beside her desk, pulling out a small notebook. "First: The merchant guild contract negotiations stalled because only you have authority to approve the final terms. Kael Verin sent three increasingly concerned messages asking when you’d be available."

"Noted. Next."

"Second: The beast knight who was sentenced to execution—the one you intervened for—is still in holding. The Empress is demanding resolution. The magistrate is requesting clarification on your proposed alternative sentencing."

"Noted. Next."

"Third: Your... the Sixth Princess visited twice, asking to see you. She was told you were conducting sensitive magical research requiring isolation. She seemed suspicious but accepted the explanation. However, she’s demanding you attend her birthday celebration next week."

Elara paused. "The Sixth Princess has a birthday next week?"

"Yes, Your Highness. She’ll be turning ten. It’s apparently a significant celebration—all the princesses are expected to attend and present gifts."

*Wonderful.*

"Noted. Continue."

Ken listed fourteen more items—trade disputes, administrative approvals, budget allocations, personnel decisions. All important. All requiring Elara’s direct input. All things that had piled up because she’d been unconscious for three days.

When he finished, Elara sat back and looked at the sheer volume of work.

Three days. Just three days of absence, and everything had nearly ground to a halt.

Because she’d centralized too much. Made herself the single point of failure. Created a system where her personal incapacitation meant total paralysis.

*Inefficient,* she thought. *Need to delegate better. Build redundancy. Create protocols that function without me.*

But that was a project for later.

Right now, she had work to do.

Elara pulled the first document toward her and began reading.

"Ken. Bring me tea. Strong. And whatever food the kitchen has available that’s high in protein and easily digestible. I’m going to be here for a while."

"Yes, Your Highness."

He left.

Marcus remained, standing silently by the door, watching Elara work with an expression that was carefully neutral but somehow conveyed profound relief.

Elara read through contract terms, budget proposals, personnel files. Made decisions. Signed authorizations. Drafted responses. The familiar rhythm of administrative work settled over her like a comfortable blanket.

This, she understood. This, she could do.

No emotions required. Just logic, analysis, optimization.

But as she worked, the goddess’s words kept echoing:

*When you treat your life like it’s worthless, you hurt them.*

*He was willing to die to stabilize your magic.*

*Choose compassion over efficiency.*

Elara glanced at Marcus. The wolf-clan woman stood perfectly still, professional, face showing nothing. But her tail was slightly raised—not aggressive, just... present. Alert. Protective.

"Marcus," Elara said without looking up from the document she was reading.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"During the magical overflow. You helped maintain the grounding circle."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"For seven minutes. At significant personal risk."

Pause. "...Yes, Your Highness."

Elara set down the document and looked at her directly.

"Thank you."

Marcus’s ears flicked forward in surprise. "Your Highness?"

"Thank you for saving my life. I recognize that wasn’t part of your standard duty parameters. The grounding protocol could have killed you. You chose to do it anyway." Elara’s voice stayed flat, but the words were deliberate. Intentional. "That has value. You have value. I’m acknowledging that."

Marcus stared at her, expression frozen somewhere between shock and something that might have been emotion if she’d been allowed to show it.

"I... Your Highness, it was just—we couldn’t let you—" She stopped. Swallowed. "You’re welcome, Your Highness."

Elara nodded once and returned to her paperwork.

But something had shifted.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

The work continued. Ken returned with tea and food. Elara ate mechanically while reading, drank while annotating, kept processing the endless stream of decisions that apparently couldn’t be made without her.

Hours passed.

The first document mountain slowly decreased.