Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I'm Stuck as Their Baby!-Chapter 90: Main obstacles

The moon hung low in the night sky, its pale glow filtering softly through the grand windows of the academy's forbidden west wing a place that lay silent and shrouded in mystery. Tonight, however, shadows flickered across the walls as a group gathered quietly in one of the abandoned lecture halls, their whispered voices mixing uneasily with the gentle creaking of the old, wooden floorboards.

"Are we certain they're the main obstacles?" a cloaked figure murmured, hood pulled low to obscure their face. "They're just servants. Two simple caretakers."

A taller, broader silhouette shook their head slowly, annoyance evident even without visible features. "Do not underestimate them. Elira Valenheart and Mara Nightshade are no mere servants. The princess's protection is absolute because of those two. Removing them is critical."

A hush fell over the room at the mention of the names. Even among these schemers, their reputations carried weight names spoken only in cautious whispers, legends long dismissed as exaggerations by those who had never seen their skill firsthand.

Elira Valenheart, known as the Ghost of the Northern Front, had once been the youngest captain in Velmoria's imperial forces. Her prowess with magic was nearly unmatched, her mastery of illusions and shadow manipulation allowing her to infiltrate enemy lines unseen, dismantling entire battalions before they realized she was among them. Tales spoke of entire armies disappearing overnight, reduced to scattered memories and whispered warnings never to cross her path.

Mara Nightshade was equally fearsome but infinitely more brutal, having commanded the elite unit known simply as the Crimson Reapers. It was said that when Mara entered the battlefield, even death took a step back, unwilling to challenge her. Her blade was notorious for its ruthless efficiency, the perfect extension of a mind that could dissect enemy strategies with chilling precision. Few who faced Mara lived to recount the encounter, and those who did spoke of eyes as cold and unfeeling as the steel she wielded.

Yet both women had abruptly retired at the height of their careers, shocking Velmoria's court. Rumors swirled about their reasons, but no one dared question openly. Only the imperial couple knew the truth that they had personally requested Mara and Elira become guardians to their beloved daughter. Entrusting Elyzara's life to anyone less would have been unthinkable.

And yet here were fools, plotting their demise.

Another hooded figure shifted nervously. "But they're at the school now, away from the empire's protection. This might be our only chance."

A figure seated in the shadows a man who appeared as little more than a silhouette against the wall spoke slowly, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to command. "Precisely why we must strike now. Elyzara Thorne grows more dangerous each day. Her powers, if allowed to mature fully, will make her unstoppable. Removing her guardians is the first step in bringing the princess down. Without them, she will falter."

The first speaker hesitated. "But if we fail—"

"There can be no failure," the shadowed leader snapped. "We act tomorrow night. Ensure every precaution is taken. Their reputations are legendary but even legends bleed."

The conspirators murmured their agreement before dispersing silently, melting back into the shadows from which they'd come.

But the shadows had eyes tonight.

"Leaving so soon?" a voice murmured, dripping with a dark amusement that made the blood freeze in their veins.

The conspirators halted abruptly, spinning around with a collective gasp, reaching instinctively for their weapons. The room's already dim lighting flickered ominously as two figures emerged from the darkness itself, stepping forward with the lethal grace of predators who've finally cornered their prey.

Elira Valenheart appeared first, violet eyes glittering dangerously beneath the veil of her dark hair. Illusory shadows coiled around her slender form like loyal serpents, licking playfully at her skin, blurring the line between what was real and what was nightmare. She lifted a delicate hand, fingers tipped in nails painted midnight black, and smiled.

"Truly disappointing," she whispered softly, eyes narrowing with cold contempt. "I expected something more… competent."

Beside her, Mara Nightshade materialized from the encroaching darkness, her crimson gaze locked unerringly onto the trembling figures. Unlike Elira's ethereal grace, Mara carried herself with the stark, predatory assurance of a warrior who relished every moment of battle. Her raven-black hair cascaded in waves down her back, framing a face as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Across one eye ran a faint scar, a silent testament to past battles survived. Mara's expression was calm, indifferent even, yet her mere presence radiated a threat so palpable it choked the air around them.

"How disappointing indeed," Mara said casually, sliding a long dagger from its sheath at her hip. The steel gleamed wickedly in the faint moonlight. "Did you honestly think you could threaten Elyzara Thorne while we still draw breath?"

One conspirator, braver or perhaps simply more foolish than the rest, stepped forward defiantly. "You can't stop us! There are dozens more hundreds even. If we fall, more will rise. Your precious princess—"

He never finished the sentence.

Mara's blade moved faster than thought itself, slicing through air and flesh alike. For a heartbeat, no one moved, stunned into silence as the defiant man's words died on his lips, replaced instead by a soft, strangled gasp. Slowly, almost poetically, a thin line of crimson appeared across his throat, blossoming swiftly into a torrent of blood.

As his body collapsed lifelessly to the floor, the remaining conspirators erupted into panicked action, drawing swords, chanting hurried spells, each desperately attempting to fight back or flee. But escape was impossible, and resistance was meaningless.

Elira lifted her hands with delicate precision, shadows surging obediently from the corners of the room, spiraling and converging into spectral tendrils that seized conspirators, binding arms and legs, squeezing tight enough to evoke cries of agony yet careful enough to prolong the torment. The illusions twisted further, manifesting nightmarish visions that made grown men scream, begging for mercy from terrors only they could see.

Mara moved through the chaos with deadly calm, cutting down anyone foolish enough to come within reach. Her blade was swift and ruthless, each strike surgical in its precision, targeting vulnerable spots with calculated cruelty. She did not rush; instead, she savored every moment, taking silent pleasure from the raw terror reflected in their eyes just before the final blow fell.

The conspirators fought desperately, driven by survival instincts more than actual skill, but they were hopelessly outmatched. Soon, the smell of blood and fear saturated the room, the stone floor slick with crimson. A few attempted to surrender, dropping to their knees in helpless despair, pleading for mercy they would not receive.

Mara tilted her head slightly, considering one man who groveled pitifully before her. "Mercy?" she echoed softly, almost gently. She leaned closer, crimson eyes boring into his soul. "Did you intend mercy for our princess?"

The man stared into her face, trembling violently, voice cracking. "Please—please, forgive—"

"Wrong answer," Mara whispered.

With a swift, decisive motion, her dagger found his heart, silencing him forever. She stood slowly, calmly wiping her blade clean against the fabric of his cloak.

On the other side of the room, Elira advanced toward another conspirator who was entangled by tendrils of shadow, sobbing hysterically, eyes wide with terror. She tilted her head, observing his futile struggle. "You planned to remove us, correct?" she murmured, her voice deceptively gentle, almost melodic. "Did you really believe we were merely servants? You truly underestimated the monsters lurking beneath."

The man whimpered, struggling to form words through his panic. "We—we didn't know—"

"Oh, but you should have," Elira whispered. Her shadows tightened around him, wrapping lovingly, squeezing until bones cracked with sharp, grotesque snaps. She watched him die without pity, only mild curiosity reflecting in her violet eyes.

In mere moments, the number of conspirators dwindled to a handful, those still breathing cornered and begging, broken beneath the crushing weight of their mistakes. Mara and Elira moved gracefully among them, methodically executing each one, leaving only a single survivor a trembling, sobbing figure pressed against the wall, wide-eyed with terror.

Mara approached slowly, stepping deliberately over the bodies at her feet, her voice as cold as ice. "You," she said quietly, the word heavy with threat. "You will deliver a message."

The man nodded frantically, tears streaking his face, barely coherent in his desperation. "Y-yes—yes, anything, I swear—"

"Tell your masters," Mara continued softly, leaning close enough that he flinched violently, "tell anyone foolish enough to plot against Elyzara Thorne that Mara Nightshade and Elira Valenheart still live. Remind them of who exactly stands in their path."

She drew back slightly, studying his terrified eyes. "Will you deliver this message?"

"Yes," the man breathed, barely audible, "yes, please, just—let me live, please."

Mara turned to Elira, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Elira smiled faintly and nodded, releasing the shadows binding him. The man stumbled toward the door, tripping over bodies in his blind panic to flee, escaping into the night.

This content is taken from freёnovelkiss.com.

Silence returned to the room.

Mara sheathed her dagger calmly, glancing around the blood-stained hall, now filled with death. "They never learn, do they?"

Elira sighed softly, shadows fading to nothingness around her. "Perhaps this time, the lesson will stick."

Mara tilted her head thoughtfully. "If not, we'll just have to repeat ourselves more clearly."

Elira chuckled softly. "How troublesome."

Together, they left the carnage behind, slipping silently into the corridors as if the massacre had been little more than a minor inconvenience. Both warriors knew this would not be the last attempt on their princess. Yet both women were resolute; no enemy, no matter how cunning or powerful, would ever threaten Elyzara Thorne while they stood guard.

After all, Elira Valenheart and Mara Nightshade had long ago abandoned their humanity,