The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss
Chapter 176 - 177: The last gambit.

Chapter 176: Chapter 177: The last gambit.

Atlas’s eyes burned with exhaustion, his breath sharp and heavy, each inhalation slicing down his chest like a blade. Smoke curled in the distance from the battlefield, a cruel reminder of what had just happened—and what was yet to come. His plan had worked. The impossible had been pulled from ruin. His forces had survived. He had survived.

But it wasn’t a victory.

"Protect your land...Burn them... burn them all," he had said earlier, each syllable etched into the air like a scar. He’d meant it. He still did. He’d seen too much suffering. Soldiers turned to ash. Screams buried beneath rubble. Blood boiling on stone. Balance? Balance was the word cowards used when they were too afraid to take a side.

He checked behind him, limping on a leg half-burned and trembling. His army—his people—were marching toward him now, banners torn but upright, wounded but breathing. Alive.

He was alive.

But something was wrong.

{{{...No.}}}

The voice hummed through the air, like an ancient pulse threading through his spine.

"...What?" he answered aloud, though no one was near enough to hear him.

{{{...my dragons... you killed them all...}}}

It wasn’t guilt that clutched his ribs. It was the reminder of what he had sacrificed to pull this off. An entire flight of dragons turned to charred bone and flame-wrecked wings.

"Don’t you have another batch or some shit?" Atlas asked, trying to mask the pit in his chest with irritation.

{{{Currently no. Most of them are still ....hatchlings...}}}

His jaw clenched. Sweat trickled down his temple despite the cold wind. The smoke and scorched earth stung his nostrils.

"What the fuck..."

Did he celebrate too early? Was this one of fate’s twisted jokes? Or something worse—a consequence meant not just for today, but tomorrow. For her.

For Eli.

The thought of her hit like a spear to the ribs. He wasn’t ready to face her. Not after what had happened. Not after who they’d become. Not after how they had shattered everything between them.

Lovers no longer.

If they met again, there would be no forgiveness. No mercy. Kill or be killed. Or worse—capture. Humiliation. Used as leverage. A fate he wouldn’t wish on even his enemies.

But what options did he have?

His leg was a mess of scorched muscle and torn tendon. The result of his reckless sprint through inferno and death. He could barely stand. Fighting now was suicide.

He should be thinking ahead.

Not mourning. Not fearing. Not remembering the taste of her name. _{fre.ewebnov el.com}

He should be calculating the next plausible effect. The next step. The next viable plan.

His eyes narrowed.

’...If I take the evolution route and turn to High Human... one of the stages gives super-fast healing. If I go through that now—I can make it. Everyone can be saved. We can go back.’

But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was.

His hand hovered mid-air. Trembling.

’System. Activate evoluti—’

A voice pulled him back.

"Atlas..." Claire’s voice trembled but held. She grabbed his shoulder and helped him up, her armor scraping against his singed robes. She was trembling too—though not from weakness. From knowing.

"...I don’t like saying this," she said, eyes darting past him to the sky where metal aircraft loomed, sharp like razors against clouds. "But while my army holds them... we can get away."

His stomach dropped.

"What...? Claire, they are your people... your army."

She belted back, "You are more important here!"

Atlas flinched.

Claire’s breath was hot against his cheek as she leaned in. Her eyes—those haunting violet mirrors—locked with his.

"You are a prince. The future king, for God’s sake. You managed another miracle, yes—but miracles don’t come often. Don’t be stupid, Atlas."

Her words struck something deeper than fear. They cut into his shame. Into the wound he’d kept hidden beneath all the victories. The truth that terrified him.

He didn’t want to be saved.

He wanted to earn survival.

"I can’t let you die," she whispered again. Soft this time. Almost reverent.

Atlas grit his teeth so hard his jaw trembled. He hated this. This powerlessness. This moment—this exact moment—was what he had spent years training to never experience again. He remembered the Primes. The pain in their eyes as they fell. Not because they weren’t strong. But because they were outmatched.

They were too late.

He would not be late again.

’No... I have to take the evolution route. That’s the only way.’

{{{...What?}}}

{{{...You want to go and help them. But you are still young...?}}}

{{{...Haaaaa...}}}

The voice sighed, sad and ancient.

{{{Atlas the Avatar...}}}

His head jerked up. "...?"

{As per the deal... Even I don’t want to. But... my youngest daughter is on her way.}

"...She strong?"

{{{You will find out soon...}}}

There it was again.

Fate. Twisting.

Atlas felt a click in his mind, like a door swinging open in the dark. Not light—no, not salvation. Just space. Space for one more reckless, godforsaken plan. A last-ditch path etched in desperation, paved with blood, shadow, and what little remained of his soul.

A suicidal possibility.

But possibility nonetheless.

His breath slowed. The edges of the battlefield seemed to blur, as if the world had decided to hold its breath with him.

He turned slowly, every joint in his body aching like rusted iron. The wind clawed at his coat, tugging it backward, urging him toward retreat, toward surrender, toward the safer silence of disappearing into the dark. A lesser man would have obeyed.

But his eyes found Claire.

She stood some distance away, ash in her hair, her staff slack in one hand. Her lips were chapped, face streaked with smoke and fatigue. Yet her eyes—those eyes—locked onto his with something terrible and unwavering. Not fear. Not hope.

Recognition and also something deeper.

She saw it before he even spoke. Whatever madness had just flared to life behind his golden eyes—she saw it. She knew.

Her lips parted slightly, the ghost of his name on her tongue. But he beat her to it.

"Claire..." His voice cracked, low, unsure for the first time in what felt like years. "Can you trust me one more time?"

Because why not. The price had been paid.

And this reckoning was just beginning.

His breath was a whisper carried by wind.

"Let them come....."

And the war wasn’t over. Not yet. Not even close.