[Greek Mythology] The Demons Under My Command - Chapter 52

Hearing Moise’s call, Hera’s figure emerged from the shadows on the west side. The hem of her robe swept across the floor, stirring up fine dust.

“King Consort Miel.”

Hera’s voice was light, yet it pierced the confusion in the hall like an ice pick: “When you sought to marry Fran back then, you knelt before the temple and swore that you feared Moise would be ridiculed and lack motherly love without a mother, afraid she would become an incomplete child.”

She took two steps forward, her gaze landing on Miel who was slumped on the ground. Her tone held no fluctuation, yet every word was damning: “Now you hold the royal power of Stuart, proclaiming you will uphold the duties of a King Consort, yet you turn around and scheme against your own biological daughter in your power game.”

Miel recognized Hera.

Decades had passed, but this Goddess of Marriage, who was always cold-faced in the picture books and surrounded by divine radiance, was still the same as the first time he saw her.

The divine being before him was an existence forever untouchable by mortals like himself, an entity so remote that even time could not wear her down.

“You shameless, disgusting leech! You’d even prey on your own flesh and blood! Are you even human?!”

Li Jia charged out from behind Hera and spat several times fiercely on Miel. Faced with the sudden appearance of the little yellow chick, Miel didn’t have time to react and could only let her spit on him.

This was no one else; this was her father!

He shared the same blood as Moise, the second closest person to her in the world besides her mother.

That’s why Li Jia hated it when people said, “A daughter is her father’s lover from a past life.”

A daughter is a daughter, a partner is a partner, a lover is a lover, but a daughter cannot be a ‘little lover’.

It is precisely this kind of language that gives opportunities to pedophiles.

Why don’t they say a son is his father’s big, fierce top from a past life?

After being thoroughly scolded by the little yellow chick, Miel struggled to get up but was held down on the shoulder by Catherine, who stepped forward.

The long sword pressed against the back of his neck; the icy touch made him shiver all over.

“Goddess of Marriage…” His voice was hoarse, like it had been rubbed with sandpaper: “Please let me explain… I just… I just wanted to make Stuart stronger. I did it for this country, for Moise’s future…”

Hera did not speak, merely raising her eyes slightly. The young girl stood up before him, then slowly walked to Fran.

Fran looked at the girl before her, the same hair as Hawthorn, the same eyes—bright, sunny, and confident, just like her mother.

The only relic the girl in her memory left in the world.

Fran was immensely relieved.

Moise spoke: “Aunt Fran, I understand everything. I know it all.”

Since Moise could remember, Fran had been as gentle as a mother. She didn’t allow Moise to call her “mother.” Many times Moise wanted to, but Fran refused.

She told the young girl, “Moise do not forget your mother.”

Fran taught her to ride horses and shoot arrows, taught her how to handle state affairs, taught her how to keep her true heart in the complicated court, and how to become a monarch beloved by her people, just like her mother.

In those fragmented moments, the tenderness Fran never voiced was hidden, as was the truth Moise had long understood.

Moise looked at Fran’s reddened eyes and gently clasped her hand: “Auntie, you don’t need to protect me anymore.”

“Starting today, I will guard Stuart, and I will guard you, just like my mother.”

After speaking, Moise turned to face Hera, bowing slightly, her tone sincere and firm: “Please dissolve the Fate Token for Aunt Fran.”

“She has already wasted half of her life for me, tied to this waste. For the rest of her life, I just want her to be herself.”

“Crazy! You’re all crazy!”

Hearing the four words ‘dissolve the Fate Token’, Miel instantly forgot the sword at his neck and roared with rage, like a beast whose tail had been trodden on: “No way! Fran is mine in life, and my ghost in death!”

He glared at Fran, his eyes full of malicious mockery: “You think where can she go after dissolving the Fate Token? A deposed Queen, a wife abandoned by her husband, she’s worth less than a dog in this world!”

As soon as he finished speaking, Catherine advanced her sword another half an inch. The cold blade against Miel’s skin instantly silenced him, leaving only the sound of chattering teeth.

Hera finally spoke, her voice still calm, but carrying an unquestionable divinity: “The Fate Token is decreed by the temple, and naturally, it can be dissolved by the temple.”

“Miel, you broke your oath and desecrated the bond of marriage; you have long lost the qualification to hold the Fate Token.”

She raised her hand, a faint golden light emerging from her fingertips as she looked at Fran: “Queen Fran, are you willing to dissolve this bondage that has wasted half your life?”

Fran looked at the golden light on the fingertips, then at Moise holding her hand beside her. The light that truly belonged to her ignited for the first time in her always gentle eyes.

She took a deep breath, her voice not loud but incredibly clear: “I am willing.”

The golden light on Hera’s fingertip suddenly brightened, transforming into a slender ribbon of light that slowly drifted towards Fran’s heart.

The crowd watched as the starlight circled over her chest for a moment, then seemed to penetrate some invisible barrier, after which the silhouette of a faintly glowing token condensed in the air.

It was the Fate Token that bound her and Miel years ago. As soon as the glowing token appeared, fragmented cracks began to appear at its edges, as if being torn apart by an unseen hand.

Until the golden contract scripts disappeared from both their chests simultaneously.

“No!”

“Don’t!”

Miel struggled like a madman. The sword at the back of his neck cut his skin, and blood flowed down his collar, but he was completely oblivious.

“Fran! If you dissolve the Fate Token, you’ll never have a good day for the rest of your life! Stuart won’t tolerate you; everyone will mock and despise you!”

Fran didn’t look at him, only at the gradually shattering Fate Token. The mist that had accumulated in her eyes for half a lifetime finally dissipated.

She recalled agreeing to the marriage under coercion, with the same cold frost falling outside the hall as today. She remembered countless late nights, working on state affairs alone in her study while Miel caroused in the back palace.

He did not fulfill his duty as a husband, nor did he assume the role of a father, let alone contribute to the country and its people.

She held no affection for him; what she needed was the Queen’s status, to take care of her lovely Moïs.

Now, the Fate Token was shattered, and those restraints should shatter too.

“Miel.”

Fran finally turned to look at him, her tone calm but with unprecedented detachment: “Whether I have a good life has never depended on you, let alone this Fate Token.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over everyone in the hall.

“As for Stuart, whether it tolerates me is up to the citizens, up to Moise. It is certainly not for you, a hypocrite who plots against his own daughter, to comment.”

Hera looked at Fran, her voice holding a degree of approval: “The Fate Token is dissolved. From this day forward, you and Miel have no marital ties. The rest of your life is yours to decide.”

Fran gently sighed, as if a great weight had been lifted.

She raised her hand to feel her chest; the feeling of subtle constraint was gone, replaced by an unprecedented lightness.

Moise looked at the light in her eyes and couldn’t help but grip her hand, a smile in her voice: “Aunt Fran, from now on, together we will guard Stuart well, and we will live a good life.”

“Crazy! All of you are crazy!”

Miel looked at the dissipating golden light, completely slumped on the ground, his eyes unfocused, mumbling non-stop, “Without the Fate Token, you’re nothing… nothing…”

Catherine withdrew her long sword, gave him a cold look, and instructed the Death Guard beside her: “Take King Consort Miel away and confine him to the forbidden palace. No one is to visit him without the Princess’s command.”

“Catherine, no need.”

The young girl suddenly exerted force on her wrist, plunging the hat pin into Miel’s throat. She used all her strength to pierce the skin, stating dully: “In your sixteen years of reign, you forced Catherine, a lone girl, you blindly trusted those old foxes in the cabinet, you ceded Stuart’s land to neighboring countries, and stacked the people’s taxes into the bricks and tiles of your life of debauchery.”

“You forgot the Mother Empress’s dying wish for you to protect the home and country. You forgot your oath before your grandfather’s memorial tablet to bring peace and prosperity to the citizens. You only remember your power, your pleasure, your incompetence.”

“Royal Father, it’s time to go to hell.” The girl leaned close to the man’s ear and whispered: “Mother Empress will be proud of me.”

Accompanied by a dull thud.

The head that once symbolized supreme power rolled onto the ground, the eyes still wide open, as if unable to believe he had died by his own daughter’s hand.

Blood splattered on Moise’s cheek. The warm sensation made her shiver, but she did not loosen her grip on the hat pin.

She raised her head, looking towards the outside of the hall.

The morning light of early dawn was spilling through the clouds, falling onto the dust-laden palace walls.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Fran approached with a clean handkerchief, gently wiping the blood from her face, her voice laced with distress yet containing unstoppable joy: “Well done, Moise.”

“Starting today, Stuart is due for a change of life.”

Moise’s coronation was chosen for a bright, sunny morning, a rare good day in the Northern Kingdom.

The ice sculptures, usually perpetually coated in frost, now radiated a soft light under the sun, mixing with the white breath exhaled by the densely packed citizens in the square.

People stood on their toes, wrapped tightly in their wool cloaks, their eyes fixed on the high platform, even their frostbitten red cheeks etched with an almost devout anticipation.

This was their new sovereign, the daughter of Empress Hawthorn, the hope of Kisco, the future of Stuart.

Moise was dressed in a white imperial robe embroidered with gold patterns. The broad hem of the gown trailed over the steps, and every step she took was steady.

Her black hair was styled into an exquisite updo, secured only by a single pearl hat pin. The lack of excessive, ornate decorations could not conceal the sharpness and gentleness surrounding her, like a snowdrop blooming in the cold of winter.

When she reached the center of the high platform, she turned to face the citizens, her gaze sweeping over the faces filled with hope. In the cloudy eyes of the elderly, there were tears; children bounced, holding tiny flags; and the guards stood with straight backs…

Moise involuntarily tightened her grip on the hilt of the sword at her waist—the sword left behind by her mother, Hawthorn.

Today, she would carry this legacy, fulfill her duty as Empress, and accept that weighty burden.

Fran held the gold crown inlaid with emeralds. Her rose-colored dress gently fluttered in the breeze, and her maternal radiance made her appear even more solemn.

She looked at the young girl before her, from the child who used to hide behind her to the Empress who could now stand on her own. The passage of time had not left her with timidity or fear, but with the steadfastness that comes after weathering storms.

“Moise Kisco.”

Fran’s voice echoed into every corner of the square.

“Are you willing to protect this land with your life, to treat every citizen with justice, and to lead Stuart to light with wisdom and courage, never betraying your oath, through prosperity or hardship?”

Moise slightly curtsied, the hem of her imperial robe carving an elegant arc.

“I am willing!”

“Until the blood of Kisco ceases to flow, I will never betray my people. I will protect Stuart’s future, just as my mother did!”

Her voice was not loud but carried the power to penetrate hearts. A thunderous cheer instantly erupted in the square.

Fran stepped forward, carefully placing the crown on Moise’s head. As the weight of the gold crown settled, Moise did not waver in the slightest.

The light of the emeralds fell on her black hair, intertwining with the subtle gleam of the silver hat pin, gradually replacing the childishness in her eyes with a unique monarchical authority, as if this crown rightfully belonged to her.

The crown shines only for the true heir.

“From this day forward, you are the Empress of Stuart.”

Fran’s hand rested on Moise’s shoulder, gently helping her to stand. The warmth of her palm transmitted through the imperial robe, as warm as the many nights years ago when she tucked Moise into bed.

Moise straightened up, running her hand over the crown, feeling the weighty responsibility.

She looked once more at the citizens in the square, slowly raising her mother’s sword, its tip pointing towards the sky.

The morning light fell on the blade, reflecting a dazzling glow, illuminating her resolve: “I, Moise Kisco! Swear here today that I will certainly bring peace and prosperity to my people, and I will certainly protect this land to flourish eternally!”

Cheers erupted again, the citizens waving their flags and shouting, “Long live the Empress!”

Fran stood at the edge of the high platform, looking at Moïs, who was surrounded by light. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her lips curved into a relieved smile.

Hawthorn, look, our child has finally grown into the one who can protect everything.

The sunlight shone on Moise’s crown, reflecting a dazzling light that illuminated the square and the brand new future of Stuart.

From this day forward, this young Empress will lead her country towards new glory, carrying her oath and her legacy.

Li Jia and her party stood in the crowd, concealing their appearances and auras, watching Moise ascend to the throne.

Li Jia felt a little teary-eyed. She had initially thought Moise would resent her stepmother, but she hadn’t expected that night, when she and Hera informed Moise of Fran’s plan to die with Miel for her sake.

The girl knelt barefoot on the cold floor, thanking them for telling her everything.

She offered the Fate Token and requested the Goddess of Marriage to descend precisely to dissolve the absurd marriage between Fran and Miel.

For years, she had endured and hidden her true abilities, daring not to let Miel perceive her ambition, nor the true nature of her relationship with Fran.

From the day she took on the burden for Catherine, she firmly believed she could change everything. She was going to reclaim everything that rightfully belonged to Kisco.

After the coronation ceremony ended, Moise returned to her chamber, removing the heavy imperial robe. At the door, she met a familiar face.

Catherine walked towards her, holding a bouquet of purple tulips, and smiled gently: “Congratulations, Empress Moïse.”

The language of purple tulips is eternal loyalty.

After handling one Fate Token, they finally didn’t break the Temple of Marriage’s record, preserving their 100% success rate reputation.

Having finished her work, Hera was about to go home, but Winslet was asked by Dorin to stay a little longer before returning.

Although Winslet didn’t know what Dorin meant, she obediently complied. Although Li Jia didn’t know what Dolyn meant, she also didn’t say anything when she saw Winslet complying.

Li Jia left the Peacock Chariot for them and instantly shadow-teleported back while clinging to Hera.

“Let’s go.”

Dorin didn’t say much, standing up and walking ahead of her. Though Winslet was suspicious, she followed behind her.

Neither of them spoke the entire way. After crossing several ice fields, Winslet’s legs felt like they were about to break, so she complained, “How much further?”

As she spoke, she bumped into Dorin’s solid back. Dorin, who constantly practiced her sword, had firm muscles, which made Winslet’s nose hurt.

“We’re here.”

Hidden beyond the ice field was a vast wasteland.

Wind carrying shards of ice swept across the low slope at the edge of the wasteland. Winslet wrapped herself tightly in the thick cloak Dorin handed her, but her fingertips still felt cold.

She watched Dorin crouch down, meticulously clearing the frost from a half-buried stone tablet in the frozen earth with a dagger. The surface of the tablet was covered with a thick layer of frost, making any inscription illegible.

“What are we doing here?”

She took two steps forward; the sound of her boots crunching on the snow was especially clear. She stared at the stone tablet, which was clearly unfamiliar dark-blue-black rock, yet her eyes inexplicably felt sore, as if tiny needles were gently pricking them.

Dorin paused her movement, lifting her hand to brush away the accumulated snow from the top of the tablet, her voice much softer than usual: “To visit an old friend.”

Just then, a gust of wind carrying fragmented snow blasted Winslet’s face. She instinctively closed her eyes. When she reopened them, her gaze fell on a shallow mark at the base of the stone tablet.

That mark looked exactly like the crooked, yet strangely familiar, little sun she used to carve on the wooden table when she was a child.

Her heart suddenly tightened. She abruptly crouched down, her fingertip lightly touching the mark. The moment the cold touch of the stone tablet reached her, fragmented images flashed through her mind.

Someone was holding her by a fireplace, a piece of malt candy in their hand, smiling and saying, “Luo Luo should be happy like the little sun.”

“What’s wrong?”

Dorin’s voice held an undetectable tremor.

Winslet snapped back to reality, but tears were already hitting the frozen earth, instantly solidifying into tiny ice crystals.

She didn’t know why she was crying, only feeling an emptiness in her heart, like she had lost something extremely important. She looked at the stone tablet, having no memory of it, yet unable to stop herself from wanting to reach out and hug it.

“I…”

She opened her mouth, her voice hoarse: “I don’t know.”

Her heart was still faintly aching, not a physical pain, but an ache seeping out from her bones.

“I just feel… this place is so familiar, like I should have been here, should remember something.”

Dorin stood up, walked to her side, and gently wiped the tears from her cheek, smiling: “No, you haven’t been here.”

“This is my old friend.”

“Stay with me to see them.”

Dorin and Winslet knelt before the stone tablet for a long time, until the sky darkened. Dorin helped Winslet up and said, “Let’s go home.”

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