Rebirth
As night fell, a coup was taking place within the royal palace.
The coup was initiated by Duchess Stryker, who stormed the palace under the pretext of protecting the king.
The hall was filled with corpses. A red-haired woman in armor with her hair tied in a ponytail stood beside a corpse, holding a sword in her hand. Blood was dripping from the sword, forming a pool of blood on the ground.
"Du Pei." A gentle voice came from behind the woman. The newcomer had a hint of a smile in his narrow eyes, and his lips were bright red with fair skin.
"Is there something you need?" The woman looked at him, her eyes filled with undisguised disgust.
The man noticed her attitude towards him and raised an eyebrow indifferently. "His Excellency the Duke said we can make a move against Hicks now." He lowered his eyes shyly and his ears turned red when he mentioned the word "Duke."
Seeing his appearance, the woman snorted coldly and led her people out of the hall.
A snowflake landed on the back of the woman's hand that was gripping the sword at her waist. She looked up at it.
Strange that it snowed in June.
————
The clatter of high heels echoed through the palace corridors.
The walls of the long corridor are carved with exquisite and intricate patterns, and every few steps hangs a portrait of a king from different dynasties, all of whom shared the surname Eilat.
A blonde woman in high heels walked down the corridor past the portraits of the first king. As she passed each portrait, the maids behind her would remove it, and the place where the first king's portrait had been hung would be replaced by a portrait of a woman.
Her blonde hair was tied up with white lace, her crimson eyes were slightly upturned with a smile, and she wore a ruby necklace with gold trim around her neck. The red silk skirt was stretched into a cake shape by the crinoline.
If someone were to look closely at her skirt, they would notice some uncongealed bloodstains remaining on her beautiful dress.
Of course, even if they discovered it, no one dared to speak up and warn them, because this woman was a rebel who had just stormed into the palace under the pretense of protecting the king's safety and had "accidentally" beheaded the king. She was once praised by everyone as the duke's daughter, and she was the duke supported by half of the eight dukes.
It is the new monarch of this empire—Tiff Strych.
At the end of the corridor was a room. Inside the room was a man wearing white pajamas, with black silk blindfolds covering his eyes and his hands tied behind his back. Even without seeing his eyes, one could tell that he was handsome. He was pale, and there was blood on the corner of his mouth and on his chest.
He sat on the floor beside the bed, breathing heavily. In the huge room, his range of movement was only three meters because a heavy iron chain was tied to his ankle.
Tiffany pushed open the door, her gaze sweeping over the man's lips.
"You're coughing up blood again, Your Highness. You're always like this. The carpet I just changed is dirty again." She crossed her arms, a smile playing on her lips, clearly pleased to see the man in such a sorry state, and slowly walked towards him.
The person sitting on the ground is the Crown Prince of the Inolier Empire, no, he should now be called the former Crown Prince of the Empire.
The black silk in front of him was torn off, and Muli blinked. He looked up and his golden pupils reflected the image of the woman in front of him.
The woman's fingertip first touched the mole at the corner of the man's eye, then landed on his bloodless lips. Looking into his eyes, she smiled and said, "Your Highness, it's been a long time."
The man smiled slightly. "You know I'm not in good health." He replied to Tiffany.
"Alright, then I forgive Your Highness. After all, this is the last time we'll see each other." The woman stood up and looked down at him.
"Does Your Highness have anything else to say?"
“Why?” Murray stopped laughing, tilted his head back and stared intently at Tiffany. “Why did you usurp the throne?” He emphasized the last two words.
Tiff paused, her eyes scanning Mullie up and down before she smiled gently. "What does Your Highness think?"
"Whatever Your Highness thinks is why I am the reason, that is why I am the reason."
Mullie chuckled but didn't say anything, his head hanging down, lost in thought.
Seeing that Mullie didn't react, Tiff waved her hand behind her. "It's getting late, Your Highness. I still have some people to deal with."
The maid Lisa stepped forward carrying a tray.
Tiffany hooked a strand of hair with her fingertip and looked at Murray defiantly, "Give His Highness a proper burial."
"Then I should thank you?"
“Of course, Your Highness must be polite.” The woman picked up a wine glass from the tray, raised her head slightly, and gestured to the man, “Your Highness?”
Mullie reached out her hand.
Tiffany raised her lips and bent down. Before she could hand him the wine glass, a hand grabbed her wrist. Tiffany paused and looked up at Murray with an unfriendly gaze.
"Feed me, Tiffany." He was still smiling, but the smile at the corner of his mouth looked somewhat sad. "After all, this is the last time we'll see each other."
Tiff looked at him expressionlessly, without moving, and after a while, she smiled and said, "Alright, Your Highness."
Holding his chin, Tiffany pressed the rim of the glass to his lips and poured the entire glass of wine into him.
"Smash!" The glass hit the blanket, but the sound was not as loud as the coughing that Muli was coughing from forcing down the wine.
Mullie suppressed the itch in his throat and looked up, wanting to see Tiffany, but for some reason he couldn't see her face clearly; it felt like there was a thin mist blocking his view.
"Cough cough cough."
The poison took effect, and Muli coughed violently, spitting out several mouthfuls of blood.
Murray wanted to ask something, but when he met Tiffany's indifferent gaze, he understood everything.
A tear rolled down her cheek to her chin, then dripped onto her clothes, soaking that small patch of clothing.
He curled up in pain, his chest heaving. Murray's vision blurred, and the red skirt spun around and receded into the distance. He couldn't help but reach out to grab it, but he fell to the floor.
He lay on the floor, spitting out mouthfuls of blood, and finally closed his eyes, watching Tiffany's retreating figure.
Tiff watched him curl up, then turned and walked forward until she heard a muffled thud behind her. She stopped and gently turned the ring on her right index finger.
A tall knight in armor strode in from the doorway, helmet in his right hand. "Miss, all those people have been dealt with."
Tiff didn't respond, but instead smiled at him with an ambiguous expression, her fingertips resting on the sword at his waist.
“Miss…” Before he could finish speaking, Tiffany’s hand drew the sword hanging on his body.
Before he could react, Tiffany plunged the sword into his body.
Carel's eyes were filled with disbelief, so much so that he didn't react until Tiffany plunged her sword into his chest again. But this was Tiffany's territory, and before he could make a move, the knights rushed to pin him to the ground.
“Carel, don’t you understand why?” Tiffany crouched down and gently patted his cheek with one hand, while still holding the sword in her other hand and stabbing it in forcefully. Carel endured the pain, knelt on the ground, stared at her, and shook his head.
“Ah…it seems your memory isn’t very good,” Tiff said with a slight smile, tilting her head. “Do you remember Fran?”
"Ferran?" Karel's voice was hoarse and tinged with doubt.
He looked as if he really didn't know.
"Stop pretending." Tiffany raised her hand and slapped him across the face. "I know what you did."
Karel's pupils contracted, and her hand trembled as she reached for Tiff's clothes, "Miss..."
Tiffany frowned and tugged at his hair, clearly impatient. "Carel, I gave you a chance."
Hearing this, Karel felt a chill run down her spine, and the pain in her wound intensified. "Miss, I was indeed his person before, but..."
“I don’t want to hear it,” Tiff interrupted him. “I’ve never believed you from the beginning.”
She lowered her head and drew her sword, watching as Karel's stunned expression turned to pain, and her body collapsed to the ground as if unable to support itself.
She threw down her sword and walked out of the room, with Lisa handing her a handkerchief beside her.
Tiff carefully wiped herself with a handkerchief. She was about to deal with the last master of the Tower of Demons, the youngest and most outstanding magician in history—Hicks Winley.
The Magic Tower has always been the most feared existence by the royal family. Now that Tiffany has become the queen of the empire, she will certainly not allow such an unstable factor as the Magic Tower to exist. She wants to make the Magic Tower work for her.
Tiff walked toward the main hall.
——————
Footsteps sounded behind him. The black-haired man standing in the center of the hall turned around. His handsome face made it impossible to tell his gender. He had lost his magic and was surrounded by a group of knights, but there was no panic on his face.
He watched as the knights surrounding him parted to the sides, and the woman walked towards him from the middle of the road.
His blood-red eyes stared at Tiffany, his gaze devoid of any emotion.
“Tiffany.” The man’s tone was calm, as if he didn’t care about their current situation at all.
“Hicks…” Tiffany walked slowly forward with a smile in her eyes.
The red-haired woman beside him handed him the sword.
Tiff gripped the sword, looked down at it for a moment, then raised her arm, pointing the blade at the dark-haired man.
"Do you have any last words, Tower Master?" Tiffany smiled gently at Hicks, gripping her sword.
"Next time."
"Huh?" Tiff raised an eyebrow, not understanding what he was talking about.
Hicks curled his lips into a gentle smile and gave Tiffany a slight smile. "I mean, next time, I'll kill you."
Tiffany grunted and scoffed, "Fine, I'll be waiting to crawl out of hell and come find me."
After saying that, he stepped forward and placed the sword on his shoulder.
She gripped the sword and swung it forcefully, splashing a few drops of blood onto her face. She pursed her lips, remained expressionless, and wiped it away with her sleeve, watching Hicks' head roll down the steps.
Tiff strode forward, past his head, and onto the steps, above which was the throne.
———————
…......
His mind was filled with images of women pointing swords at him.
Tiff...
Tiff...
Inside the magic tower, various potions and magic runes were piled on the table in the room. The man lying on the bed was breathing heavily, his forehead was covered with beads of sweat, and his chest was heaving.
“Tiff!” Hicks sat up abruptly, a strange smile playing on his lips as he saw the familiar room. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes as he recalled the woman’s indifferent look at him at the end.
He closed his eyes, leaned back, exhaled, and trembled slightly. When he opened his eyes again, there was a hint of ruthlessness in them.
He knew he had been reborn.
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