From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 213: The Three Sisters [FIXED!]

The news reached the elven kingdom through the scrying pools, the crystalline waters rippling with images of carnage that made even hardened warriors draw sharp breaths. They had seen the battle unfold in real-time—watched their sisters fall to the dwarf’s brutal efficiency, watched Byung be dragged into that cursed prison, watched two capable elven warriors reduced to broken bodies in a matter of moments. The images replayed in the council chamber, preserved by magic so the full scope of the disaster could be assessed.

The Queen’s three strongest warriors stood at attention, their expressions carefully neutral despite the fury burning beneath the surface. They knew they needed to act because it was only a matter of time before the dwarf escaped their line of sight completely, vanishing into those cursed underground tunnels where scrying magic failed and tracking became impossible. Every moment they delayed was a moment closer to catastrophe.

When the Queen dismissed the council to issue orders to the shadow hunters, two of the elves slipped away to a private chamber—a balcony overlooking the crystal gardens where conversation couldn’t be overheard by the ever-present magical surveillance. The second-strongest warrior, Aetherys, her silver hair catching the moonlight like liquid metal, paced with barely contained rage. Her eyes glowed brighter than usual, power crackling at her fingertips in tiny arcs of white lightning.

"Two of our sisters have had their magic taken," Aetherys hissed, her voice low but venomous. "And we’re supposed to sit here while hunters—hunters—are sent to finish what should be our duty?"

The third warrior, Seraphel, leaned against the balcony rail, her pure white hair stirring in the breeze. Ancient scars visible on her arms spoke of battles fought in eras most had forgotten.

"The Queen’s authority is supreme," she said carefully, but her tone carried doubt. "But you’re right—this doesn’t sit well. It has been so long since we have witnessed such a thing, since elves have fallen to an outsider’s hand. Centuries, perhaps."

"There’s something strange about all of this," Aetherys continued, stopping her pacing to face Seraphel directly. "The dwarf shouldn’t have been able to defeat them so easily. Our sisters were skilled, experienced. And yet he cut through them like they were novices. As if he knew exactly how to counter every move before they made it."

Seraphel nodded slowly, her scarred hands gripping the rail. "And the Queen refuses to send us—her strongest weapons—against a threat she herself admits is catastrophic. The logic about his siphoning abilities makes sense on the surface, but—"

"But we’ve faced worse," Aetherys finished. "We’ve killed demons, aberrations, things from the dark continent itself during the ancient wars. Are we truly so helpless against one dwarf?"

Before Seraphel could respond, they both felt it—a presence that made the air itself grow heavier, charged with power that dwarfed their own considerable magic. They turned to find the first warrior, Lysandra, stepping onto the balcony with silent grace. Her starlight armor dimmed the moon by comparison, and her ancient eyes held warning.

"Don’t do anything stupid," Lysandra said quietly, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "Even you two wouldn’t want to be the recipient of the Queen’s wrath. I heard your thoughts from three chambers away—learn to shield your minds better when plotting dissent."

Aetherys bristled. "We’re not plotting—"

"You’re questioning," Lysandra interrupted, moving to stand between them. "Which is the first step toward defying her orders. And you need to understand something neither of you seem to grasp: our Queen is strong to a terrifying degree. You’ve never faced her, never felt the full weight of her power turned against you. Pray you never do."

"We know she’s powerful," Seraphel said carefully. "We’ve served under her for—"

"You know nothing," Lysandra cut her off sharply. "There is something about her magic, something that defies the very laws of magic we all follow. She doesn’t just wield mana—she commands it in ways that shouldn’t be possible even before the barrier reduced our access. I’ve seen glimpses during her private practices, felt echoes of something vast and wrong and utterly beyond our understanding."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "The Queen has her reasons for keeping us back. Trust them. Trust her. Because if she believes the dwarf is dangerous enough to warrant caution, then he is dangerous in ways we cannot comprehend. And if you defy her orders, what she does to you will make the dwarf’s brutality look merciful by comparison."

Aetherys and Seraphel exchanged glances, the rebellion in their eyes dimming under Lysandra’s warning. The balcony fell silent except for the distant singing of the crystal gardens, as the three strongest warriors stood united in obedience—however reluctant—to a Queen whose power defied explanation.

---

The three daughters of Urgar had begun their journey a little over a day ago, departing at dawn as commanded despite Roktha’s complaints about the unreasonable hour and Mazga’s request to "just five more minutes" of sleep. The morning mist had clung to the ground as they rode out from their father’s stronghold, three imposing figures mounted on warhorses bred specifically for their size and endurance, capable of bearing orc weight without faltering.

They didn’t travel with anything else but themselves—no escort, no supply wagons, no entourage of warriors that would slow them down and draw unwanted attention. They had the strength to defend themselves, a fact proven countless times in training and the occasional skirmish when raiders were foolish enough to test Urgar’s bloodline. On paper, they were stronger than even Kraghul, each having inherited their father’s legendary physical prowess combined with training that had been relentless since childhood. Though not all of them liked engaging in violent acts—Roktha in particular considered it unladylike, preferring to resolve conflicts through intimidation or clever negotiation when possible—they could all fight with devastating efficiency when necessity demanded it.

"When we find that idiot brother of ours," Thulga said as they navigated a rocky path through the foothills, her voice carrying over the steady clopping of hooves on stone, "we’re going to punish him severely. He’s getting too old for such games—disappearing without word, making Father worry, forcing us to chase after him like he’s some reckless teenager."

"Oh, I have so many ideas for punishment," Mazga chirped from the rear, her youthful energy seemingly inexhaustible despite the long ride. "We could shave half his head! Or make him do all our chores for a month! Or—oh! We could tell everyone about that time he got scared by the—"

"We’re not sharing embarrassing stories," Thulga cut her off firmly. "We’re going to drag him home by his ear if necessary and let Father decide appropriate consequences."

The youngest one had been making light of the situation all through the journey, her cheerful commentary providing a constant backdrop to their travel. But now, barely two hours after their most recent brief rest, Mazga groaned dramatically. "Can we please stop to rest? I’m exhausted! My legs feel like they’re going to fall off, and I’m pretty sure my butt is permanently shaped like a saddle now."

Roktha raised an eyebrow without turning around. "You literally asked me to race you ten minutes ago. I specifically remember you saying ’bet I can beat you to that tree’ and then taking off like your horse’s tail was on fire."

"That was different!" Mazga protested. "That was fun exhaustion. This is boring exhaustion. Completely different things!"

"No," Thulga said flatly, her tone brooking no argument. "We’re not stopping. If we continue at this trajectory, we can make the journey in five days—maybe four and a half if we push through the night in certain sections. Every delay adds time, and time means Kraghul could be getting into deeper trouble or moving further away."

"But Thulga—"

"No."

Mazga slumped in her saddle with an exaggerated sigh that would have done a theatrical performer proud, but she didn’t argue further. She knew that tone from her eldest sister, the one that meant the discussion was over.

The girls made light of the journey despite Thulga’s serious demeanor, Roktha and Mazga trading jokes and observations about the landscape, the weather, speculation about what Kraghul was actually doing. Their horses could keep up with the stress it would put on their bodies because they were of the finest breed—massive destriers standing seventeen hands high, bred specifically for orc riders over generations. Black as coal with white markings, muscles rippling under glossy coats, these animals were worth small fortunes individually.

More importantly, the girls had made sure to train their horses for long journeys, conditioning them through months of gradually increasing distances. They had also implemented unorthodox exercises designed specifically to increase their glutes and overall horsepower—hill sprints with weighted saddles, swimming in deep rivers against current, pulling loaded sleds through sand. The result was animals with hindquarters like boulders and stamina that could shame lesser breeds, capable of maintaining a ground-eating trot for hours without faltering.

"We’re taking the northern pass," Thulga announced as they approached a fork in the road, guiding her horse toward what appeared to be the less-traveled path—narrower, rockier, with vegetation encroaching from both sides.

"The northern pass?" Roktha questioned, finally showing interest in their route. "Isn’t that the one with the—"

"Yes," Thulga confirmed. "The one with certain dangers. But it cuts two days off our journey, and I’ve traveled it before. As long as we stay alert, we can handle whatever we encounter."

Thulga was a good explorer, something that set her apart from most orc warriors who preferred straightforward routes and direct approaches. She occasionally explored the world during her free time, mapping territories and cataloging threats not out of wanderlust but from tactical necessity. A commander who knew the terrain held advantages that could mean the difference between victory and massacre. This meant she knew shortcuts that others wouldn’t risk, paths that traded distance for danger in calculations most would consider unfavorable.

"What kind of dangers are we talking about?" Mazga asked, her exhaustion suddenly forgotten as excitement crept into her voice. "Monsters? Bandits? Oh please tell me it’s something interesting!"

"Cave bears, and there’s a section where the cliff face is unstable," Thulga listed matter-of-factly.

"We’re not fighting anything unless we have to," Thulga corrected. "We avoid conflict when possible, eliminate threats only if they block our path. Speed is priority, not glory."

Roktha smiled despite herself. "You know she’s going to be disappointed if we don’t encounter at least one of these things, right? She’ll pout for weeks."

"Then she can pout," Thulga said, though her tone held the faintest hint of amusement. "Come on. The pass entrance is another hour ahead, and I want to make it through the narrow section before nightfall."

The three sisters urged their horses forward, following Thulga’s lead into terrain that would have given most travelers pause, confident in their strength and their eldest sister’s knowledge. Whatever dangers awaited in the shortcuts, they would handle them together—just as they’d always done.