I Became an Ant Lord, So I Built a Hive Full of Beauties-Chapter 215: Choosing a Proxy

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Some went mad. Some begged for death. Others simply vanished into the wilds, too ashamed to return to their clans.

This truth wasn’t a secret—it was etched into every kingdom’s, every clan’s history, whispered by every master to their disciple.

And now... the Queen herself was attempting it. On the dais, the glow of her aura was steady, but even that couldn’t quell the tide of panic laced beneath reverence.

"She’s risking everything..." an elder court lady murmured, her mandibles trembling.

"If she dies... who will take the throne?" another hissed.

"She has no heir. Her daughters are strong, but still too young to command war and diplomacy alike..."

The murmurs grew louder, fed by decades of suppressed fear, admiration, and ambition.

A collective gasp echoed through the grand stone chamber.

The Council of Ant Elders, a line of timeworn advisors in red and gold robes, exchanged alarmed glances. Their antennae stiffened (They were in beast form, they like old traditions. Doesn’t like human form.), a twitch of disbelief and dread. No Ant had successfully ascended to Nine Star in the Scarlet Ant Kingdom in over a hundred years.

Whispers spread like fire across dry silk:

One elderly ant says, "She’s serious... she’ll try it with the Desert Ruler Core? Nobody ever did this with a ruler core."

Another elder added, "Even she might not survive..."

Third elder sighed, "If she fails, her star core could collapse entirely... she might become a cripple."

Some of the nobles reeled in their seats, eyes wide, breath held. One junior ambassador from the eastern excavation team clutched her scroll so tightly the wax seal cracked. A noblewoman fainted quietly into her steward’s arms.

General Vorak, present near the dais before his march order, tightened his jaw, fists clenched. "To risk the entire royal chain..." he muttered to himself. "She truly intends to wager it all."

Thea’s lips parted in astonishment, her sarcastic mask breaking for once. Mia was composed, she blinked once. Hard. Even she hadn’t expected this.

On the throne, the queen remained composed, fingers resting lightly upon the old armrests carved with the history of their line. Her voice, steady and resolute, sliced through the growing murmurs like a blade:

"There is no throne without strength," she said coldly. "No kingdom without a beacon. If I do not try, we will remain what we are—strong, yes, but never supreme."

Her eyes swept across the chamber, each gaze pinning its target like a spear. "I leave not because I desire power for myself, but because our future demands it. You all know what is happening in the North land and the forest of death. We need power strong enough to survive that."

The room fell silent again—deeper this time. A reverent, terrified silence.

Even those who had disagreed with her in secret bowed their heads in respect. For no matter her methods, no matter her coldness, she was staking everything—her body, her throne, her soul for the glory of the Scarlet Ant Kingdom.

The Queen raised a single finger saying, "While I am in seclusion, the kingdom requires a Regent to oversee governance. I appoint Duchess Hoorius (Mother of Darius) as acting minister."

A tall figure stepped forward from the second row: Hoorius, a Seven Star rank Noble Ant, she stepped forward with a mourning face. She bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, I... am humbled. But in my grief over my son’s passing—"

The queen’s voice sliced through her protest. "Grief is expected. Yet your acumen in statecraft is unmatched among all nobility. My daughters are not ready for the mantle. You will obey my order."

Hoorius bowed lower. "As you command, my Queen."

Inside her mind a cold gleam flickered in her eyes. "After so many years... at last." She masked the thought behind a teary visage. "I shall honor your trust, my queen."

Thea nudged Mia. Mia offered no opinion, though a chill crawled down her back. Hoorius seldom spoke in open court, content to maneuver behind veils of etiquette.

And in the Queen shadow, Regent Hoorius stood one step lower on the dais, her face a masterwork of solemn loyalty. But her fingers... curled slightly. Tight enough to draw blood. Not from grief. Not from fear. From triumph.

The queen dismissed the gathering. Thea strode out. Her armor clacking. Mia followed, mind swirling. Hoorius lingered behind, accepting token condolences, yet inside she was counting steps to the throne. She had already envisioned her rule.

That night, the royal halls dimmed. The Queen retired to her private castle sealed by thirty-two basalt gates and ten arrayed barriers. Before she vanished, she found her daughters on the balcony overlooking the capital’s night lights and the moonlight sky. She called for them to be present here.

Her farewell was frosted glass: formal, distant. "Learn statecraft while I am gone," she said to both of them. "Mia, Forget that worker ant, Kai. He is dead. Your sadness and tears will not resurrect the lost. You must focus on state politics. Thea is better than you in that matter."

Thea folded her arms, hiding her smug face while thinking, "See, mother also knows I am better than you, little sister." Mia said nothing but rage and sorrow knotted inside her chest.

The Queen left them there, her hands patting their heads in a gesture that might have been affection or evaluation, and stepped into the sealed corridor. Array torches quenched one by one behind her.

One day later...

Sunrise split the royal skyline, casting violet heat across citadel walls. Hoorius ascended the throne dais in full regent regalia—black scarlet robes embroidered with golden silk, seven star projecting from her back. On the other side, officials filed in, bowing not to the absent queen, but to her appointed voice.

After ascending the throne... "Hear me," Hoorius called, her voice smooth as lacquered steel. "By edict of Her Majesty the Queen, I assume the mantle of Regent post."

Most nobles accepted with practiced bows, but a smattering of high captains exchanged wary glances. They obeyed nonetheless.

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