Chapter 102: Within Seven Steps—Is the Gun Faster, or the Hand?

A cold sensation pressed against the back of his neck.

It wasn’t the sharpness of a weapon, but the well-maintained skin of a woman.

Yet the strength at her fingertips was like an iron clamp, choking Wendy’s breath—and the fate of the entire kingdom.

The air was instantly sucked away.

A dark foreboding color began to creep at the edges of his vision.

Prince Wendy was forced to arch backward, pinned in a humiliating pose by Agnes Veid’s iron grip.

The back of his head rested against her chest—not full, but oppressive.

His nostrils filled with the cloying, nauseating scent of perfume.

Wendy sighed inwardly.

In the end, he had still messed up.

What he regretted wasn’t exposing the “Guardian of the Ten Rings,” but standing too close and overestimating the Duchess’s rationality.

To use a life-saving short-range spatial shift to grab a hostage—how insane, and how foolish.

“Don’t move!”

Agnes’s hysterical scream shattered the dead silence of the hall.

“Anyone takes one more step, and I’ll snap his neck!”

At this moment, the Duchess’s meticulously styled hair was disheveled, her once elegant and proud face twisted by rage and fear.

But the madness in her eyes burned hotter than ever.

This roar, like a red-hot branding iron, began to melt the string called “reason” in Astreia’s mind.

“—ROAR!!!”

A scream that no longer sounded human exploded from the princess’s throat.

In the depths of her emerald star-like eyes, fury spread like ink.

The war spear in her hands, taller than a person, hummed violently, ready to become a streak of light and charge forward without hesitation.

“Your Highness! Calm down!”

The One-eyed General Sera shouted, using all her strength to hold Astreia back by the waist.

Her iron tower-like body was dragged several meters by the terrifying force.

Steel military boots screeched against the marble floor, sparks flying.

“Let go of me! Sera!”

Astreia struggled like a dragon whose reverse scale had been touched.

“I’ll tear that bastard—apart—piece—by—piece!”

In Astreia’s heart, Wendy’s weight had long surpassed a war or a kingdom.

Anyone who dared hurt Wendy faced only one fate.

Death.

“Tear me apart?”

Agnes laughed madly, her grip tightening on Wendy’s neck.

“Try moving again?”

“Let’s see—in Seven Steps—is your spear faster, or my hand!”

Wendy’s face had turned a livid purple from lack of oxygen, a painful “khh khh” escaping his throat as his legs kicked weakly in the air.

He looked like a cat bitten by the scruff of its neck—small, pitiful, and helpless.

This wretched sight was an invisible shackle, chaining Astreia’s feet in place.

The princess bit her lip, crimson blood beading at the corner of her mouth, her whole body trembling with rage—yet she dared not take another step forward.

A strange standoff fell once more.

The Northern Army and the Veid Household Guard stood with swords drawn, tension crackling, yet not one dared act.

All eyes were on the prince being used as a hostage.

He had become the center of the storm—a fragile balance that could shatter at the slightest touch.

In the corner, Laxana slumped on the ground, her face also purple as she gasped for breath.

The Empathic Link let her taste the same suffocation as Wendy.

Yet in her eyes, looking at Wendy, there was a strange light.

In that light mixed worry, jealousy, and a faint…twisted excitement.

This man…

It was as if he was born to be locked in a strong person’s embrace, forced to tilt up that inhumanly beautiful face, wearing that frightened yet heartbreakingly adorable expression.

Damn it.

Why wasn’t she the one choking his neck?

Agnes clearly had no interest in the odd thoughts of others.

She dragged Wendy step by step, trying to merge with her guards and retreat from the Royal Palace.

“Very good…Nobody move.”

Her voice trembled, but as the situation reversed, the Duchess regained the thrill of being in control.

“Now, listen to my command! All of you, drop your weapons!”

Yet, no one obeyed.

The loyalty of the Northern Army belonged only to Astreia.

Agnes shot a venomous glare at Yekaterina on the throne.

“Your Majesty! Control your sister and her dog! Or I can’t guarantee this beautiful and charming Prince will see the sun tomorrow!”

Yekaterina’s face was deathly pale, hands gripping the throne’s armrests as she looked pleadingly at the Prime Minister beside her.

Old fox Allison maintained her ever-calm smile.

She simply watched Wendy’s hostage situation, her eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses narrowing slightly, her thoughts unfathomable.

Seeing no one respond, Agnes was completely enraged.

“Fine, so my words are just wind in your ears?”

She stuck out her tongue, leaving a humiliating wet trail across Wendy’s flushed face.

Then, under everyone’s horrified gaze, she bit down hard on the prince’s lips!

Blood flowed instantly.

“Ugh!”

Intense pain and suffocation hit at once, Wendy’s vision blacked out, his body convulsing uncontrollably…

BOOM————!!!

A visible, jet-black shockwave exploded outward with Astreia at its center.

General Sera let out a muffled groan, blown away by the force and smashing into a distant pillar.

All watched in disbelief.

Astreia’s dazzling pale golden hair was fading at an astonishing speed, turning into a lifeless white.

Her clear emerald eyes were completely swallowed by a deep, demonic purple.

Ominous crimson markings, like living snakes, spread rapidly from her neck, crawling over her exposed skin.

“This is…”

The ever-narrowed eyes flew open.

As Cardinal and Prime Minister, Allison Visseran’s eternal smile froze for the first time—replaced by pure shock.

“Witchification?!”

The Duchess, who had just tasted the prince’s blood, let out an even sharper laugh after brief astonishment.

“Playing tricks…”

Before she could finish.

The now Witch Queen Astreia slowly lifted her gaze.

In her purple demonic eyes, there was no anger or urgency—only an icy, deathly indifference that saw all things as dust.

She raised her right hand.

Toward Agnes, her five fingers spread, then slowly clenched into the empty air.

The next second.

“Ah—!”

Agnes’s twisted smile froze, her hand loosening from Wendy’s neck in terror.

An invisible force—like the Death God’s Hand—had suddenly seized her throat!

The Duchess’s feet left the ground, her whole body suspended helplessly in midair.

In that unknown terror and suffocation, she let out a series of meaningless “kekeke” sounds.

Her ugliness laid bare…