Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 143: Second Attempt

Chapter 143: Second Attempt

Princess Maria sat alone in her dimly lit chamber, her thoughts swirling like a storm. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the stone walls of the manor, a temporary refuge in a foreign land. Her mind was consumed by the enigma of Shennong, the mysterious man whose feats defied reason.

Could he truly be her brother, long thought dead? The implications for the empire were staggering. If Shennong was alive, wielding powers no one else could, what would Emperor Father think? Would he see a threat or a lost son? Maria’s heart pounded as she imagined the chaos this revelation could unleash.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a commotion downstairs—shouts, the clash of steel, and the unmistakable sounds of combat. Maria’s eyes narrowed. She rose from her chair, her silk gown rustling softly, and strode to the door. Opening it, she peered into the darkened hallway. The noise grew louder, more urgent. Something was wrong.

As she stepped out, the air shifted. Shadows moved in the corners of her vision, and before she could react, five figures clad in black emerged from the darkness, their faces masked, their blades glinting with malicious intent. Assassins.

Maria’s lips curled into a wry smile. "Of course," she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. "This is the perfect place to strike. Kill me here, and you can pin the blame on anyone—Shennong, the rebels, or some foreign lord. Clever."

One of the assassins, a tall figure with a curved dagger, stepped forward. "Surrender, Princess, and your death will be swift."

Maria’s smile widened, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, sheathed at her waist. "Surrender? You think any of you can harm me?" With a fluid motion, she drew her blade, the polished steel catching the faint light. "Let’s see you try."

The assassins lunged, their movements swift and coordinated, but Maria was ready. Her sword met theirs in a flurry of sparks, the clash of metal echoing through the hallway. The scene was like something out of an anime, each strike a dance of precision and power.

Maria’s blade moved with unnatural grace, parrying a dagger aimed at her throat, then spinning to block a sword slashing toward her side. Sparks flew as steel grated against steel, illuminating the darkness in brief, fiery bursts.

One assassin swung a chain, aiming to entangle her, but Maria ducked low, her blade slicing through the air. The chain clattered to the floor, severed in two. "Is that all?" she taunted, her voice steady despite the chaos. Another assassin charged, his twin blades a blur, but Maria sidestepped, her sword flashing upward. The assassin stumbled back, clutching a shallow cut across his chest.

Maria stepped back, planting her feet firmly. She raised her sword, holding it straight before her, the tip pointed at her foes. "En Garde," she muttered, her voice low and resonant. A sudden glow enveloped her, her entire body shimmering with a golden light that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the empire itself. The assassins froze, their eyes widening beneath their masks.

"This," Maria declared, her voice ringing with authority, "is the power of the royal bloodline. You, of all people, should know it well. After all, you’re from the empire, aren’t you?"

The assassins hesitated, but their leader snarled, "Kill her!" They charged again, but Maria was no longer just a princess—she was a force of nature. Her sword moved faster than the eye could follow, each strike precise and devastating.

The golden light around her intensified, and with every swing, the air seemed to hum with power. One assassin fell, then another, their weapons no match for her skill and the radiant energy coursing through her.

As the last of the attackers in the hallway collapsed, Maria’s eyes flicked to the stairs. The sounds of fighting below grew louder, more desperate. She sheathed her sword for a moment and sprinted down the stone steps, her gown trailing behind her like a banner.

In the manor’s grand hall, chaos reigned. Her imperial knights, clad in silver armor, clashed with more assassins, their blades locked in a deadly dance. Among them were the Sturgon, local warriors who had sworn to protect her during her stay. They fought bravely, but the assassins were relentless, their numbers overwhelming.

Maria’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t let her allies fall. Drawing her sword again, she raised it high. "Enough!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the din. The golden light flared once more, and from it, ethereal clones of Maria materialized—golden, smoke-like figures that mirrored her every move.

They surged forward, each wielding a spectral blade, cutting through the assassins like a scythe through wheat. The attackers barely had time to scream as the clones struck, their movements a blur of golden light and deadly precision.

"Leave some alive!" Maria commanded, her voice sharp. Her knights and the Sturgon obeyed, disarming a handful of assassins and pinning them to the ground. The rest were not so fortunate. Maria’s clones dispatched them with ruthless efficiency, their bodies crumpling to the floor. As the last assassin fell, the golden figures dissipated, leaving only Maria standing in the center of the hall, her sword still glowing faintly.

She sheathed her blade and turned to the captured assassins, her expression cold. "Who sent you?" she demanded, stepping closer to the nearest one. He glared at her, his mask torn away to reveal a scarred face. "Speak, or I’ll send you to join your comrades in the next world."

The assassin spat at her feet but said nothing. Maria’s eyes narrowed, but before she could press further, her head knight approached. His armor was dented, his face streaked with sweat, but his eyes were steady. "Your Highness, the manor is secure. The remaining assassins are in custody that were fighting the guards outside. This will be a big clue about the previous assassination attempt."

Maria nodded, her gaze still fixed on the captive. "Good. Bind them and prepare them for questioning. I want answers." She turned to her knight, her expression softening slightly. "It’s time. My work here is done. There are things I must confirm, truths I need to uncover. We return to the empire at once."

Her knight bowed deeply. "Everything will be ready, Your Highness. The horses and supplies will be prepared by dawn."

Maria turned away, her eyes drifting to the shattered windows of the hall, where moonlight spilled across the blood-streaked floor. "The war is coming," she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible. "I can feel it. A new age is dawning, shaped by blood and steel. The nations will clash, and the truth about Shennong will change everything in the empire."

She clenched her fist, her resolve hardening. "I’ll correct every msitake my father did."

***

Mandira stood before the mirror, splashing cool water on her face. Her reflection stared back, cheeks flushed, eyes betraying a storm of emotions. She scrubbed harder, as if she could wash away the memory of that moment. Her hands froze mid-motion, and she buried her face in them, a groan escaping her lips. Embarrassment burned through her. Why did I do that? she thought, replaying the scene in her mind.

In that cursed illusion, she had seen Shennong—Shennong—as her lover. Her heart had raced, her body had leaned into his touch, and for a fleeting moment, she had been happy. But it wasn’t love. No, she knew better. It was loneliness, plain and simple.

As the archmage, she was revered, feared, untouchable. Men didn’t approach her. The students at the academy were too young, too awestruck. Her days were spent locked in her study, surrounded by tomes and spells, not the warmth of another’s presence. Maybe that’s why she had craved it so badly—the touch of a man, any man.

The door creaked behind her, and Mandira’s heart lurched. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Shennong’s presence filled the room, heavy and warm, like a fire she couldn’t ignore. Her shoulders tensed, and she kept her eyes fixed on the sink, willing her nerves to settle.

"Mandira," Shennong’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I... I’m sorry about what happened. I was caught in the illusion. I thought you were Yenissa."

Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening. Yenissa? The name stung, sharp and bitter. She spun around, her violet eyes flashing with something dangerous. "Yenissa?" she snapped, stepping closer. "So, what, you don’t find me attractive enough? You had to imagine another woman while we—while you took my virginity?" She cut herself off, her face heating up. The words felt too raw, too vulnerable.

Shennong’s eyes widened, his hands shooting up defensively. "No, no, that’s not it at all!" he stammered, his usual confidence faltering. "It was the illusion, Mandira. It twisted everything. I didn’t mean—I mean, you’re..." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "You’re a really attractive woman. Truly. I ma honored I am the one to take your viriginity."

Mandira blinked, caught off guard. Her anger fizzled, replaced by a flush that crept up her neck. She tucked a strand of purple hair behind her ear, suddenly hyper-aware of his eyes on her. "Oh," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

For a moment, silence hung between them, thick with unspoken things. Mandira cleared her throat, straightening her posture. "Anyway," she said, her tone brisk, "I’m here for official work, Shennong. Not to... play around." She turned toward the door, her robes swishing with purpose, but her heart was pounding.

Shennong watched her go, a slow smile spreading across his face. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Oh, Mandira," he muttered to himself, his voice low and warm. "I’m starting to like you. Far too much."