Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 143 --

Yet internally Eleana blood ran ice-cold.

He was right.

The Deadly Seed spell was tied to the estate’s foundation. Limited range. If the Emperor escaped the building and got his magic back—full, forty-years-of-stolen-power magic back—no one here could stop him. Not Eleana. Not Elara. Not anyone.

He’d slaughter them all.

She had minutes. Maybe less.

"Guards, move!" she shouted at the beast knights blocking her path.

They didn’t. Couldn’t. Their conditioning ran too deep—protect the Emperor, even at cost of their own judgment.

Eleana changed tactics. Instead of trying to force through, she went around—vaulted over one guard’s shoulder, blade flashing toward the Emperor’s retreating back—

Two more guards intercepted, weapons raised in pure defense.

Meanwhile, human knights who *could* fight her directly rushed in from the sides. She had to split her attention—deflecting their strikes while trying to reach the Emperor who kept backing toward freedom.

Her sword caught one human knight’s blade, redirected it, and her elbow smashed into his face. He went down. She spun, blocked another attack, kicked the second human knight hard enough to crack ribs.

But the delay cost her precious seconds.

The Emperor was at the door now. Hand on the handle.

"Goodbye, Eleana," he said. "Try not to die too quickly when I come back."

He yanked the door open—

And stopped.

His face went from triumphant to confused to terrified in the span of a single heartbeat.

Because standing in the hallway, directly in his path, was Elara.

She looked at him with those cold, emotionless eyes and said, "Father. Are you going somewhere?"

The Emperor stared at her. Shock. Then recognition. Then pure, concentrated hatred.

Because he knew now—knew from Lin Mei’s recording—that this girl wasn’t even his daughter. She was the magical child of Lin Mei and Consort Mei. No Blackwood blood. No connection to him whatsoever.

Just the living reminder of the woman who’d outsmarted him even from beyond the grave.

"You—" he started, rage distorting his features.

Elara tilted her head slightly. "You were attempting to escape the building to restore your magic. Logical strategy. Unfortunately, I predicted it."

She gestured behind her.

The hallway was blocked. Not by guards. By her five administrators—Dimitri, Mira, Gregor, and two others—all standing with various improvised weapons and very determined expressions.

And behind them, ten more beast knights loyal to Elara, blocking every exit route.

"You see," Elara continued in that same flat tone, "while Eleana kept you occupied in the dining room, I exited through the window, circled around the exterior, and positioned blocking forces at every potential escape route. Standard tactical containment."

The Emperor’s hand shot to his belt—reaching for a concealed weapon, a poison vial, something—

Elara was faster.

Her sword—which no one had even seen her draw—was suddenly at his throat. The movement had been so quick, so precise, that he’d barely registered it happening.

"Don’t," she said simply.

The Emperor froze, feeling the blade’s edge against his skin.

Behind him, Eleana burst through the doorway, breathing hard, sword ready. She saw Elara holding their father at sword-point and nearly collapsed with relief.

"You... you got him?"

"Containment successful," Elara confirmed. "Though he remains dangerous until magic drain completes. Recommendation: full restraint and immediate return to spell-active zone."

The Emperor’s eyes darted between them—looking for an opening, any chance to escape.

Elara pressed the blade fractionally harder. "I don’t experience fear or hesitation. If you move, I will cut your throat. Not from anger. Just logical response to hostile action. Please factor that into your decision-making."

The absolute emotionless certainty in her voice was more terrifying than any threat could have been.

The Emperor went very, very still.

"Wise choice," Elara said. "Eleana, please disarm him. Check for concealed weapons, poison, magical artifacts, anything that could be used for escape or suicide."

Eleana moved forward, roughly patting down her father. She found two daggers, a poison vial, and a small magical charm that probably served as an emergency beacon.

She threw them all down the hallway, far out of reach.

"Clear," she said.

"Excellent. Return him to the dining room. The spell needs—" Elara paused, calculating, "—approximately four more hours to complete magic drain. During that time, he must remain within the estate’s foundation boundaries."

"I’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere," Eleana said coldly.

She grabbed the Emperor by the collar and started dragging him back toward the dining room. He didn’t resist—not with Elara’s sword still hovering near his vital areas.

As they walked, the Emperor finally spoke. "You’re not even my daughter."

"Correct," Elara said. "I’m the child of two women you murdered. Does that bother you?"

"You’re an abomination. A magical construct that should never have existed."

"Perhaps. But I exist nonetheless. And I’m currently the one holding you at sword-point, so the ontological debate seems rather secondary to your immediate survival concerns."

Despite everything, Eleana almost laughed at that.

They reached the dining room. Lira was still on the floor, hand shattered, sobbing quietly. Rony remained unconscious. Duke Romian knelt nearby, looking lost. Parmilda stood over Lira, sword ready in case she tried anything stupid.

"We have the Emperor," Elara announced. "Escape attempt failed. Recommend securing him to prevent additional attempts during magic drain completion."

The beast knights moved immediately, producing iron chains that definitely weren’t standard palace equipment.

The Emperor was forced into a chair and chained at wrists, ankles, and chest. Secured completely.

He glared up at Elara with pure hatred. "When this spell ends, when my magic returns—"

"The spell is designed to be permanent," Elara interrupted. "Mother’s notes were very clear. The Deadly Seed doesn’t temporarily drain stolen magic. It severs the channels that allowed you to steal magic in the first place. Even if you tried to perform the blood rituals again, your body can no longer absorb the power."

She leaned down to his eye level.

"You’re going to live a very long life. Powerless. Ordinary. Watching everything you built crumble while being unable to stop it. Mother designed your punishment very specifically."

The Emperor’s face went white as the full implications hit him.

Not temporary weakness. Permanent removal of his magical capability.

He would outlive his power. Survive to see his empire dismantled. Watch his children—the ones he’d abused, manipulated, nearly destroyed—rebuild everything better than he’d ever managed.

"No," he whispered. "No, that’s not—you can’t—"

"It’s already happening," Elara said flatly. "Irreversible. Efficient. Exactly what you deserve."

She straightened and turned to Parmilda and Eleana.

"The Emperor is secured. Lira is defeated. Rony is unconscious. Duke Romian is non-hostile. Immediate threats neutralized." Her voice stayed clinical. "Recommend beginning transition planning. Imperial Council notification, governance structure establishment, reform implementation timeline."

Eleana stared at her. "We just—we just defeated the Emperor. Stopped a forty-year reign of terror. And you’re already planning administrative procedures?"

"Yes. Empire requires stability. Delays increase probability of loyalist uprising or systemic collapse." Elara tilted her head. "Should I wait for some reason?"

"Most people would at least take a moment to process what just happened!"

"Processing occurs continuously regardless of activity. No need to pause operations for it."

Parmilda put a hand on Eleana’s shoulder. "She’s right, even if her delivery is... unsettling. We need to move quickly. The Emperor’s loyalists will learn about this soon. We need governance in place before they can organize resistance."

Eleana took a deep breath. Let it out slowly.

"Fine. You’re right. Both of you." She looked at Elara. "But Fourth Sister, after we’ve stabilized everything, you and I are having a very long conversation about appropriate emotional responses to traumatic events."

"Noted. I’ll schedule time for that discussion." Elara made a mental note. "Approximately one week from now, after immediate crisis resolution?"

"...Sure. One week. That’s fine." Eleana rubbed her face. "I can’t believe I’m negotiating therapy scheduling with the most emotionally detached person I’ve ever met."

"Efficient time management benefits everyone involved."

"That’s not—never mind." Eleana turned to her mother. "What do we do first?"

Parmilda pulled out a document from inside her robe—she’d apparently been carrying it for years, waiting for this exact moment.

"First: Imperial Council emergency session. Second: Expose the Emperor’s crimes publicly with documented evidence. Third: Establish interim governance under Fourth Princess with First Consort as advisor and First Princess as secondary administrator. Fourth: Begin arresting everyone involved in the blood rituals."

She looked at Elara. "Can you handle coordinating that?"

"Yes. Optimal timeline is eighteen hours for initial establishment, seventy-two hours for comprehensive implementation." Elara was already making mental calculations. "I’ll need access to imperial records, communication with military commanders, and authorization to deploy enforcement personnel."

"You’ll have it all."

"Efficient."

And as the golden moon finally began to set, as the Deadly Seed spell continued its work, as the Emperor sat chained and powerless while his stolen magic drained away forever...

The three women—First Consort Parmilda, First Princess Eleana, and Fourth Princess Elara—began the work of dismantling forty years of tyranny.

Not through revenge.

Not through emotion.

Through systematic, comprehensive, ruthlessly efficient reform.

Exactly the way it should be done.