Chapter 10: Sister’s “Defense”

Elder Mephist’s face twisted violently, shifting from pale to iron-gray.

His murky old eyes fixed unblinkingly on Avira, burning with the fury of being humiliated in public.

“Your Highness, the Crown Princess.”

He spoke each word deliberately, his voice barely suppressing a volcanic rage.

“Are you using violence to threaten an elder who has served the Empire for three thousand years?

“Are you attempting to undermine the Third Order of the Empire — the rigid class hierarchy that sustains it?”

The old man struggled, trying to steer the conversation back onto legal grounds.

He sought to use the Empire’s order to suppress Avira’s madness.

But he had chosen the wrong opponent.

Avira laughed.

Her laughter shook her whole body, shoulders convulsing with each burst.

The Silver Table Knife in her hand danced lightly at her fingertips.

“Old man, have you been asleep too long? Did you damage your brain from it?”

Her laughter abruptly stopped.

The innocent joy faded from her crimson eyes.

Only pure, icy killing intent remained.

Sylvia watched her sister’s expression change, alarm bells ringing in her heart.

This madwoman was about to strike.

“What is the Core Law of the Empire’s first rule?”

Avira didn’t wait for Mephist’s answer.

“The First Iron Rule: Royal Supremacy.”

“Mother’s Will is the highest law of the Empire.”

Avira’s voice softened, yet sent chills down everyone’s spine.

“So, it’s not me who’s shaking the class order.

“It’s you who’s challenging the royal authority.”

She stopped twirling the knife, the tip steady and pointed directly at Elder Mephist in the center of the hall.

“You… should die.”

Elder Mephist’s pupils constricted sharply.

Three thousand years of life experience instantly told him that killing intent was no empty threat.

A massive surge of energy erupted from his aged body, forming a deep purple Protective Battle Aura.

The heavy armor of energy covered him entirely, Ancient Defensive Runes glowing along its surface, exuding the overwhelming pressure of a Starforged Body.

“Avira! How dare you!”

He shouted harshly, trying to stop this madwoman with his last shred of dignity.

Sylvia silently cursed in her heart: Old man, you’re finished.

Avira’s figure vanished from beside Sylvia.

No warning, no afterimage.

She simply disappeared into thin air.

Sylvia didn’t even have time to blink.

***

The next instant, Avira appeared before Elder Mephist.

She still carried that lazy, carefree posture.

A pleasant smile curled at the corner of her lips.

The wrinkles on Mephist’s face twisted into shock for the first time.

Too fast.

His nerves, honed by three thousand years of combat, only caught a vague outline.

He instinctively raised his right arm, clad in his energy armor, to block.

The knife in Avira’s hand was nothing more than an ordinary Silver Table Knife.

But the moment she poured her power into it, everything changed.

Blood Runes, dense and pulsating like veins, appeared on the smooth blade.

A Law Ripple radiated from the small edge, freezing hearts in fear.

Sylvia felt that power and thought: This isn’t a sister; this is a walking disaster.

“Disrespect to the royal family is a capital offense.”

Avira’s voice was light and cheerful, almost like singing.

She swung the knife down.

No earth-shattering crash.

No dazzling light effects.

Just a simple, clean cut.

The Protective Battle Aura that Mephist had taken pride in was as fragile as a bubble before the tiny table knife.

Silently and effortlessly, it was sliced apart.

The knife’s trajectory did not falter in the slightest, slicing precisely at the raised right arm.

“Pfft.”

A faint sound, like a blade cutting through cooked meat.

Elder Mephist’s right arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder.

The very hand that once wielded the scepter and commanded the realm did not fall to the ground.

Instead, it swiftly turned into a handful of black ash suspended midair.

Not a single drop of blood spilled.

The entire process was clean, swift, and brutal — a perfect display of violent beauty.

Sylvia watched in stunned silence.

In her past life as Knight Ignatius, she had witnessed countless battles.

Yet she had never seen such a clean, merciless execution.

Time seemed to slow at that moment.

Until Elder Mephist let out a muffled groan, unable to contain the agony.

Blood gushed from the shoulder wound like a fountain.

Only then did the nobles present snap out of their daze, realizing what had just happened.

The Crown Princess, at the Night Banquet of the royal court, in front of the queen and nobles of the thirteen clans, had severed Elder Mephist’s arm.

Avira flicked the knife clean, not even a speck of dust clinging to it.

She turned and strode back to her seat lightly.

As if she had merely gotten up to swat a fly.

Sylvia looked at her back, thinking only one thing: This family is truly mad.

Avira picked up the pristine silk napkin on the dining table and carefully wiped her fingers, then tossed it aside with grace.

After that, she sat back down, propping her chin with her hand.

Her crimson eyes swept the room, scanning every face drained of color by fear.

Finally, her innocent smile returned as she softly asked,

“Is there anyone else who doubts my sister’s identity?”

The Banquet Hall fell into complete silence.

No, not even silence could describe the atmosphere at that moment.

It was emptiness.

Every sound, every emotion, every thought was utterly shattered and devoured by that single slash.

The Conservative Nobles who had just agreed with Elder Mephist all lowered their heads.

They buried their faces deep into their chests, wishing they could become chairs.

Afraid that Avira’s gaze would linger on them for even a fraction of a second longer.

Avira had delivered her “defense” in the most direct, bloodiest, and effective way possible.

Reason?

The foundation of the Empire?

The purity of bloodline?

Before this absolute, irrational violence, all of these became nothing but jokes.

Sylvia’s body trembled slightly.

Not from cold, but from fear.

In her past life as Knight Ignatius, she had seen battlefields far bloodier by a hundredfold.

Severed limbs and rivers of blood.

But those were wars—fights between enemies.

What she saw now was judgment.

Her mad sister protecting her in a way she could never understand.

The thick smell of blood mixed with roasted meat filled her nostrils.

Her stomach churned violently.

Sylvia thought: I just want to be a lazy fish. Why must I get caught up in this crazy family?

***

At that moment, Queen Ophelia, who had been silent since the banquet began, finally spoke.

She put down her knife and fork, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

She did not look at Elder Mephist, who knelt on the ground trembling from blood loss and pain.

Her gaze fell on Avira, cold and emotionless.

The nobles in the hall held their breath.

How would the queen handle this?

Would she condemn the Crown Princess’s brutality?

Or comfort the elder who had served the Empire for three thousand years?

Everyone expected the queen to at least say a few polite words to maintain the court’s last shred of dignity.

However, Ophelia only said softly one sentence.

Her voice was quiet but carried clearly to every ear.

“Avira.

“Mind your table manners.

“There’s blood everywhere.

“It might ruin Sylvia’s appetite.”

Sylvia nearly fainted on the spot after hearing this.

The mother and daughter were truly madder than each other.