Reincarnated as a Flower, Fine then I'll bloom my own way-Chapter 77 - 75: Enjoyment

The sun over Paradise Garden burned bright and soft like golden silk, casting warmth over the celebration that filled the island from coast to cliff.

Colorful streamers waved in the wind, fluttering between tall buildings made of marble, carved wood, and glowing crystal. Banners flowed from every rooftop—deep reds, celestial blues, silver white. Lush flowerbeds exploded with color along the cobbled streets.

Laughter echoed from every corner.

Beastmen in embroidered robes danced alongside human children, while elves strummed harps beneath glowing trees. Orcs tossed barrels in friendly contests of strength. Food stalls filled the air with scents of grilled meat, sweet nectar cakes, and spicy cloudfruit tea.

For the first time in what felt like centuries, the whole island breathed as one.

Life had returned.

And inside the church it was same.

The interior was bathed in gentle blue light from the stained glass windows—each one depicting a different Chapter of their war. At the center of a long, polished wooden table sat four figures, each wearing signs of exhaustion—and victory.

Bokkon, leaned back with a full grin on his face. His tail thumped lazily behind his chair.

Yooto, sitting beside him calmly with a small smile on his face.

Lunara, on the top looks at everyone while holding a wooden glass on her hand.

And Aurthor his arms crossed he sits there his eyes closed.

Between them sat an empty chair.

Gearor stood beside Aurthor’s shoulder, arms folded, gaze distant, and a quiet smile on his lips.

They raised their wooden mugs, clinking them together with a loud.

"Cheers!"

The blue juice inside splashed slightly—

"this drink tastes very good," Bokkon grinned, wiping his lips.

"Would’ve been better with a shot of moon-burn rum," Aurthor muttered, smirking.

"I prefer water ..." Yooto said.

"You survived death and this is where you draw the line?" Lunara quipped.

They all burst into laughter.

Then Yooto leaned forward, glancing toward the empty chair.

"Shouldn’t we wait for Lady Sumi?" he asked.

Bokkon shrugged, waving a paw dismissively. "She said we could enjoy ourselves. She said she have some important things to deal with."

Lunara sighed. "why didn’t she take me with her huhuhu master."

She took a sip of her drink, then tilted her head, then with a straight voice she asked.

"So? Who did you all fight?"

Silence.

Everyone shared the same look—the kind where no one wants to speak first.

Aurthor finally cleared his throat.

"Mine was... strong. Like, really strong. Thought I was gonna die at least ten different times."

Bokkon snorted. "Mine had four arms. Four. Arms. Who even fights like that?! I couldn’t tell if I was being punched, kicked, or choked."

Lunara chuckled. "Oh, a four-arm demon? I bet he looked like someone stuffed a gorilla into a dress shirt."

More laughter.

Yooto leaned toward Lunara.

"What about you, Miss Lunara? Who’d you fight?"

She set her cup down, her smile turning ever so slightly mysterious.

"You remember that brown-haired guy? Supreme something-or-other?"

Everyone went quiet.

Bokkon’s ears perked up.

"Wait... that guy? No way."

Aurthor raised an eyebrow. "isn’t he supposed to be, like super strong since he was working with the demon lord?"

Lunara winked. "Was."

Even Gearor blinked then he speaks and says.

"Well....," he said, scratching his neck. "Sounds like you all had fun."

Yooto turned to him, grinning. "You weren’t in the war right?"

Aurthor waved a hand. "Nah, he’s too old for that."

They all burst into laughter again, the sound echoing through the church.

Meanwhile somewhere far beneath the living sky.

The earth here was black—soaked in oil, bone, and something far older. The ground pulsed faintly, as if breathing. Trees clawed at the sky, but they weren’t truly trees. They were twisted husks of something once alive—flesh-like bark stretched tight around bone-shaped trunks, leaking a thick red sap that steamed in the cold air. Their leaves moved even without wind, whispering to one another in a language that tasted like rot.

The air was foggy. Heavy. Metallic.

Screams echoed.

At the heart of this desolate land stood a structure unlike any other—a castle not built but grown. It rose impossibly high, stitched together from shadowed stone and writhing veins of obsidian. Its jagged towers pierced the clouds themselves, with windows that bled black smoke and balconies that opened into pure darkness. The gate alone was large enough to swallow a cathedral.

This was The Spire of Malvek, the meeting place of the Seven Demon Lords.

Inside the castle, deep past endless spiral halls and blood-lit corridors, lay a room.

A room never touched by daylight.

Its walls were not built from bricks or stone—but from skulls, thousands of them, fused together with molten gold and cursed iron. The floor was a mirror—yet it didn’t reflect what stood above it. Only what lurked beneath. The ceiling was hidden behind an eternal storm of red clouds swirling endlessly overhead, trapped inside the chamber itself.

In the center of this massive space were seven thrones, arranged in a perfect circle. They were not ornate—they were living. Each chair seemed grown from the floor, shaped from bone and shadow, pulsing with demonic energy.

Six of the thrones were occupied.

One was empty.

The figures seated were cloaked in heavy darkness. Faces hidden. Their bodies moved subtly, with forms too unstable to fully define. One had elongated horns curling like blades. Another sat hunched, dripping something thick from its fingers. One had feathered wings made of smoke. Another wore chains that slithered across the floor. One female form pulsed with eyes along her shadowy arms, and the other sat in stillness, a single claw tapping the throne arm rhythmically.

They did not speak often.

But, one of them broke the silence.

"...Vekamoru is dead."

The room rumbled slightly, reacting to the words.

Another voice replied, deep and slow, like something speaking underwater.

"He was weak... but still ranked fifth among us. How was he killed?"

A female voice spoke next, elegant but laced with venom.

"Tch. I was planning to surpass him soon. Take his seat for myself."

She gave a soft laugh. "Looks like I don’t have to now."

Silence hung for a few moments.

Then a sharp voice cut through it.

"Who was it? Who killed him?"

The one with the wings of smoke leaned forward slightly, voice coiling through the room.

"...A God. At least what those mortals called her but she might just be another Human with just some special blessings. Someone named... Sumi Hana."

A beat.

Then—

Laughter.

Mocking, cold, and disjointed.

"A human? You mean one of those fragile little toys?"

"God, you say?" another mocked, their voice laced with bitter amusement. "These mortals think having a spark of power makes them divine."

"They don’t know what godhood means," one said, voice barely above a growl.

The demon with chains shifted, their voice filled with disdain.

"Vekamoru wasn’t useful. All he ever did was chase his stupid dream of getting a true form... trying to force a soul into his shadow like body."

"Waste of a seat," another hissed.

The one with the claw tapping the armrest let out a slow sigh.

"...Forget him."

Their eyes—though hidden—seemed to gaze at the empty chair.

"We need to find someone worthy. The seventh throne needs a new lord."

The room fell into silence again.

"Ah-choo!"

Sumi blinked as she rubbed her nose gently, her long cloak fluttering slightly with the wind.

She sat calmly on a massive floating flower—its petals wide and sturdy like a boat, its surface soft and glowing faintly with light. Dozens of similar flowers floated in the sky around her, gliding through the clouds like a fleet of gentle airships. Each one carried orcs, some armored, some resting, others watching the skies below.

Sumi exhaled and murmured, "Is someone remembering me...?"

She pulled her cloak a little tighter around her shoulders.

The breeze carried a faint scent of ocean mist, and the sky ahead was beginning to shift in color—light breaking through the clouds like a brushstroke of gold and blue.

From the flower behind her, an orc stepped forward.

He knelt respectfully beside her flower-seat.

"Lady Sumi," he rumbled. "We are close to Paradise Garden."

She glanced at him, her red eyes softening.

"Oh...hey Rise. That’s nice to hear."

Her voice was quiet, almost dreamy.

The orc, Rise, nodded but paused—his eyes flicking down to what she held in her arms.

Wrapped gently in soft, leafy blankets, was a baby, still sleeping, its face mostly hidden beneath the folds of enchanted petal-fabric. Sumi’s arms cradled the infant with unnatural stillness.

Rise blinked, confused. "My Lady... that child..."

His voice lowered, hesitant.

"...May I ask... whose baby that is?"

Sumi looked down at the little one in her arms.

"...It’s mine," she said softly.

Rise’s eyes went wide.

The large orc stared at her, completely speechless, his jaw tensing like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His mind tried to wrap around the idea, but Sumi didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to.

She just turned her gaze forward again.

And then—

She saw it.

Beyond the curtain of clouds and drifting petals—Paradise Garden.

A small smile appired on Sumi’s lips.

Her fingers brushed across the baby’s shoulder as she whispered.

"...I’m back."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺