"It's best not to use it if I can avoid it," Mikaela muttered as she carefully observed the chaos unfolding around her, the droplet of Source Energy in her hand spinning slowly.
This precious Source Energy had been given to her by her grandfather and her husband. The total amount barely constituted one-fifth of a standard unit, but it was more than enough to resolve her current predicament.
"I never thought I'd find myself in this situation," Mikaela thought, her expression calm as she watched the battle raging in the room. Rather than panic, she felt a faint curiosity—this was, after all, a novel experience for her.
In her thousand years of life, she had never known what it felt like to be the target of an assassination. To encounter it in this world, of all places, was almost amusing.
Reflecting on the fleeting moment of vulnerability she had experienced, when her reincarnated body teetered on the edge of destruction, Mikaela couldn't help but find it a little amusing.
But as she resolved to use the Source Energy to address the crisis, her sense of levity vanished. With the power to control the situation firmly in her grasp, she was calm and composed.
"They've forced my hand," she sighed. "What a terrible start. I wonder how Muria's doing. Hopefully, he hasn't run into the same bad luck."
Mikaela turned her attention back to the chaos in the birthing room. The monstrous assassins were clearly prepared, and her bodyguards, despite their best efforts, were being quickly overwhelmed. One by one, they fell, leaving no one left to protect her.
Soon, the last of the guards was slain, and the monstrous figures turned their attention to the nursemaid holding Mikaela. These creatures were hunched over, dragging massive clawed hands, with scythe-like tails swaying menacingly behind them.
The nursemaid trembled violently as the monsters fixed their gazes on her. Fear paralyzed her, yet she refused to let go of the infant in her arms, clutching Mikaela tightly to her chest despite her terror.
Her resolve didn't stop the inevitable. One of the creatures lunged, its massive claw reaching toward the infant. The nursemaid recoiled instinctively, but her movements were slow—far too slow to evade a being designed for slaughter.
In the tense silence of the birthing room, the claw closed in, eliciting gasps of horror from the remaining attendants and even the weakened mother lying in bed. It seemed inevitable that the newborn princess would be torn apart by the monstrous assassin.
And then, the unexpected happened.
A small, pale hand emerged from the swaddling cloth. Tiny and delicate, it was dwarfed by the clawed hand bearing down on it. But in that moment, it stopped the creature's claw cold.
Crack!
The sickening sound of shattering bone echoed through the room. The infant's tiny hand had effortlessly snapped the assassin's claw, rendering it useless.
Pain flared through the creature's mind, but as a being bred for killing, it barely hesitated. Without pause, it raised its other claw, determined to finish its mission.
Before it could strike, the infant's small hand ignited with a crimson flame. The fire spread rapidly from her fingers, engulfing the creature in an instant.
No screams, no cries—it was incinerated so quickly that there was no time for pain. Within moments, only ash remained.
The sudden turn of events stunned everyone in the room, including the other assassins. But their hesitation lasted only a moment before they charged at Mikaela, their sole objective to complete their mission.
Their efforts were futile. As they leapt through the air, flames erupted from the swaddling cloth, forming a crimson barrier around the infant. The sacred, ancient fire swept through the room, reducing every assassin to ash the moment it touched them.
Within seconds, the room was silent. The crimson flames had cleansed it of all threats, leaving only the lifeless bodies of the slain guards and the ashes of the assassins.
Remarkably, the flames had not harmed the nursemaids, nor had they touched the weakened mother lying in bed. The divine fire was precise, sparing all but its intended targets.
The surviving attendants exchanged uneasy glances, their gazes eventually settling on Mikaela with a mix of awe and reverence. Meanwhile, the mother, lying weakly in bed, gazed at her infant daughter with relief and joy.
The quiet didn't last long. Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, accompanied by the clinking of metal armor. Moments later, a squad of armored soldiers marched into the room, weapons at the ready.
They surveyed the scene—ash-covered floors, the bodies of guards, and the disheveled attendants—but their expressions betrayed no emotion. They took up positions in the corners of the room, forming a silent perimeter.
Finally, a man with an androgynous face entered the room. His delicate features seemed almost incongruous against the grim backdrop. Scanning the room, he took in the aftermath of the battle, and to everyone's surprise, he smiled.
The man's gaze fell on the infant cradled in the nursemaid's arms. With a faint smile, he retrieved a scroll and carefully unfurled it.
With a steady voice, he read aloud: "By royal decree, the daughter born of Avela is hereby granted the title of Twenty-Seventh Princess, with the name: Christine."
The decree was brief, but its implications were immense. Upon hearing it, the nursemaids and the mother alike broke into smiles of genuine relief and joy.
"Your Highness, please accept the royal decree," the man said, kneeling before the infant and raising the scroll above his head in a gesture of utmost reverence.
"This… Grand Steward, my daughter has just been born. She can't possibly…" Avela, the mother, began to protest, her voice filled with concern. But her words faltered as she witnessed what happened next.
The infant, still cradled in flames, began to rise from the nursemaid's arms, floating gently into the air. The swaddling cloth unraveled, revealing tiny feet and a face that, despite its infantile features, radiated an undeniable majesty.
Golden hair billowed in the flames as the baby princess gazed down at the kneeling steward. Slowly, she raised her hand.
The scroll, still in the steward's grasp, trembled before lifting into the air, revolving around the floating infant. The steward, watching this miraculous display, felt an inexplicable weight in his heart. He knew what this moment meant.
"Greetings to Her Highness, the Princess," the steward intoned solemnly, bowing deeply before the infant.
Under normal circumstances, the steward would have been overseeing the cleanup of a grisly assassination attempt. Instead, he found himself bowing before a royal child who had turned disaster into triumph.
In this kingdom, weakness was unforgivable, even among royalty. Newly born members of the royal family often faced assassination attempts as a matter of unspoken tradition. Only those who could demonstrate their strength deserved to survive.
"Leave," Mikaela commanded, her tone cold and imperious. She had already spent a sliver of her Source Energy to interpret the world's laws and awaken her powers. Her mood was far from pleasant.
"By your command." The steward rose smoothly, signaled the soldiers, and left the room in orderly fashion.
Once the room was empty of intruders, Mikaela gestured to a nearby nursemaid, who approached hesitantly. The crimson flames surrounding her slowly retracted, and the infant's small body floated back into the nursemaid's arms.
Mikaela knew that her current body, though capable of extraordinary feats, required time to grow. For now, rest and development were her priorities, not combat.
Seeing the room finally at peace, Avela let out a long sigh of relief. As a royal consort, she had always known this trial was inevitable. In this kingdom, even royal infants had to earn their place in the world.
In this land, weakness was a sin.
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