Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 192 --

Ken screamed.

But he didn’t let go.

"More—" he choked out. "Need more capacity—get the others—"

Footsteps. Two more beast knights staggered into the room—the ones who’d been thrown into the wall. Mahir, the head of the knights, face set with grim determination. And another, younger, with wolf ears and wide, terrified eyes.

Both grabbed her arms.

Both triggered their collar clasps.

Three magical leashes blazed to life, connecting their collars to Elara’s wrists and the bands she wore beneath her sleeves. The magic that had been destroying her office, throwing back all help, found new channels.

It flooded into them.

All three beast knights convulsed, backs arching, strangled sounds escaping their throats. But they held on, gripping her arms, absorbing the overflow that would have killed any human instantly.

And slowly—agonizingly slowly—the pressure inside Elara began to decrease.

The pain was still there, still excruciating, but it was no longer building. The fire in her bones stopped spreading. Her magic stopped detonating outward and instead drained through the three knights in controlled streams.

She gasped, drawing in air that actually reached her lungs this time.

"That’s it," Mahir gritted out, sweat pouring down his face. "Keep going—we can take it—"

The younger knight made a choked sound, his grip faltering. Ken immediately shifted, grabbing Elara’s other wrist with his free hand, taking more of the load. The leash from his collar blazed brighter, almost white-hot.

"Don’t you dare fall," Ken growled at the younger knight. "Hold her. Ground the discharge."

The wolf-eared knight’s grip tightened again, trembling.

Time lost meaning.

There was just pain, and the draining sensation, and the three beast knights kneeling around her on the destroyed floor, absorbing magic that should have killed them. Should have killed all of them.

The System mouse hovered nearby, helpless, watching with wide, horrified eyes. "This isn’t—the poison shouldn’t do this—something’s wrong—"

Minutes passed. Or hours. Elara couldn’t tell anymore.

But gradually, the fire in her bones cooled. The pressure behind her eyes faded. Her magic stopped trying to tear free and settled into something more like the controlled drain of a normal episode—painful, exhausting, but not *destroying* her.

The three knights sagged but didn’t release her. Their faces were ashen, skin clammy, breathing labored. Ken’s golden eyes had lost focus. Mahir was trembling so hard his armor rattled. The youngest looked barely conscious.

But they held on.

"Your Highness," Ken rasped. "Are you... can you speak?"

Elara tried. Her throat was raw from screaming. "I... yes..."

"The pain?"

"Less," she whispered. "Still there. But less."

"Good." Ken’s eyes slid closed briefly. "That’s... good."

Footsteps, running. Cullens burst into the room, medical case in hand, face white with shock. He took in the scene—the destroyed office, the shattered windows, the three beast knights collapsed around Elara with glowing magical leashes connecting them, her own pale, trembling form on the floor.

"Merciful Heavens," he breathed. "What happened?"

"Unknown," Elara managed. Her voice sounded distant, not quite her own. "Started without warning. Not... not the normal pattern."

Cullens knelt beside her, hands already moving over her arms, checking for broken bones, burns, anything physical. "The poison shouldn’t—this makes no sense—" He looked at Ken. "How long have you been grounding her discharge?"

"Twenty minutes," Ken said roughly. "Maybe longer. Lost track."

"You should be dead," Cullens said bluntly. "All three of you. Absorbing that much magical overflow for that long—"

"We’re beast knights," Mahir said, voice hoarse but steady. "This is what we’re for."

Cullens looked like he wanted to argue but shifted focus back to Elara. "Your Highness, I need to examine you properly. Can you move?"

She tried to shift her arm. Pain lanced through her shoulder, sharp enough to make her gasp, but not the agonizing fire from before. "Some. Not well."

"Don’t," Cullens ordered. "Just lie still." He pulled vials from his case, prepared something quickly. "This will help with the pain and stabilize your magic channels. But Your Highness—" His voice was grim. "This wasn’t a normal episode. This was something else. Something catastrophic. If these knights hadn’t intervened..."

"I know," Elara whispered.

Cullens checked Elara’s pulse again, his frown deepening. His fingers pressed harder against her wrist, counting, recounting. Then he looked at her directly, and his expression was grim.

"Your Highness, it is..." He bit his lip, clearly struggling with what to say.

Elara’s head was still foggy, her body weak and trembling from the episode. But she recognized that expression—a physician about to deliver bad news. And she didn’t want the beast knights hearing whatever it was.

"Out," she said softly. Her voice had no power behind it, barely more than a whisper, but the command was clear.

Ken hesitated, golden eyes flickering between her and Cullens. "Your Highness—"

"Out. All of you."

The three beast knights exchanged glances. They were exhausted, drained from absorbing her magic, but still functional enough to be stubborn. Finally, Mahir nodded once, and they withdrew, closing the door behind them. She could hear them taking positions just outside—close enough to respond if needed.

Elara turned her attention back to Cullens. "What is it?"

The physician set down his instruments carefully, choosing his words. "Your Highness... your magical pressure is at a catastrophically dangerous level right now. I’ve never seen readings this high in a living person."

The System mouse materialized beside her, ears perked with alarm. "You mean like how blood pressure works, right? Or blood sugar? Something that suddenly spiked too high?"

Of course, Cullens couldn’t see or hear the System. He continued speaking directly to Elara, voice low and urgent.

"Your Highness, the levels are so elevated that if you don’t find a way to discharge this excess magic safely, it will kill you. Not in days or weeks—in *seconds*. Your magical channels are already stressed beyond their limits. Your heart..." He paused. "Your heart is under immense strain trying to pump blood through a body flooded with uncontrolled magic. The next time this happens, if we can’t ground the discharge fast enough, your heart will simply... rupture."

Elara’s foggy mind tried to process that. Death by magical overload. Heart explosion. Clinical. Efficient. Horrible.

"When is the next episode?" she asked slowly, each word requiring effort.

Cullens shook his head, and something like despair flickered across his face. "Your Highness, we don’t know. That’s the problem." He gestured helplessly. "The pattern we thought we understood—three to four days between episodes—that’s gone. This happened barely a day after your last spike. The poison has destabilized completely."

"Irregular," Elara whispered.

"Exactly. Like sudden bathroom emergencies, if Your Highness will forgive the crude comparison. No warning. No predictable timing. It could happen in an hour. Or three days. Or while you’re sleeping. While you’re eating. While you’re standing in front of the entire court." His voice dropped. "We cannot predict it anymore. And each episode seems to be more violent than the last."

The System mouse’s ears flattened. "That’s... really bad, Host. That’s catastrophically bad."

Elara knew that. Even through the fog, she understood the implications. No pattern meant no preparation. No preparation meant she could detonate in public, in front of enemies, in the middle of critical political moments.