Transmigrated as the Crown Prince's Mate
Chapter 211: What The H*ll?

Chapter 211: What The H*ll?

The southern wall still smouldered with the scent of ash and blood.

As Evelina and Jasper approached, two Arcadian guards stepped forward from the makeshift barricade—a hastily constructed defence of stone slabs, charred wood, and overturned waggons still slick with yesterday’s smoke.

The guards stiffened, recognising her immediately.

"Lady Evelina," one of them said, stepping into her path. "Forgive us, but this area is unstable. The wall’s compromised. Debris is still shifting—"

"I won’t be long," she said in a calm voice. "I just need to look around."

The guards exchanged a glance.

She noticed it right away—the tension in their jaws, the way their hands nearly gripped their weapons. It wasn’t because they didn’t trust her; it was because they felt a strong duty to protect her.

"You’re the prince’s mate," the other guard said carefully. "If anything happens to you—"

"I’ll take full responsibility," Evelina said. "I’ve walked through worse."

Jasper stepped beside her with a casual shrug. "I’ll keep her from getting crushed. Or... mostly."

The first guard hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Then one of us will come with you. You’re not going in there alone."

"Fine," Evelina agreed. "But stay sharp."

They moved past the barricade, stepping into the hollow remains of the southern courtyard. The area was eerily quiet, save for the soft groans of stone shifting under its own broken weight.

Dust coated everything. The floor was cracked and cratered, and the center was torn open, where the blast had carved a hole straight through the reinforced wall and foundation.

It looked like a crater from a meteor—blasted from within, not from siege weaponry.

Jasper let out a low whistle. "Still think this was sorcery?"

Evelina didn’t answer.

Because she wasn’t sure anymore.

She crouched beside the largest scorch mark, trailing her fingers through the blackened dust. "Something’s off."

"No scorch pattern from a sigil," Jasper said, scanning the area. "If it were spellwork, we’d see residue—magical discharge."

"But this?" Evelina murmured. "This was heat. Pressure. Chemical."

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was searching for, until she found it—a small, half-buried metal shard near the base of the collapsed tower.

She tugged it free and held it to the light.

It was curved and hollow inside. The edges were fused, almost melted. It was not Arcadian steel. It was lighter, rougher, and improvised.

Jasper stepped closer. "What is that?"

"I don’t know," she said. "But I’m about to find out."

She pressed her palm flat to the stone, the shard gripped in her other hand. She closed her eyes and reached for her power.

Relia tensed. "Evie—this is risky."

"I need to see," Evelina whispered.

The world fell away.

Flashes.

Flames.

The roar of the explosion... then traced back from when it happened to when it was created. It was in a tunnel—deep, cramped, lit by a single flickering lamp.

Jars.

Dozens of them—glass containers filled with thick, dark liquid and wicks wound in soaked cloth. A man hunched over a crude table, hands moving like those of a surgeon and the recklessness of a madman.

Not a bomb, not entirely.

A makeshift Molotov cocktail—engineered, altered, enhanced with oil and a strange powder. It was an unstable creation and the more Evelina looked around in the vision, she finally found what she was looking for... who she was looking for.

Lord Luther.

She could see him clearly now. His face was partially covered, but his eyes shone with intense enthusiasm. Behind him stood the masked warriors, all quiet and still. And further back?

The rogues.

He led them.

He brought the flame.

He struck the first match.

The vision broke.

Evelina reeled back with a gasp, the metal shard slipping from her hand and clattering against the rubble.

"My lady?" Jasper dropped to her side, catching her before she could fall. "What did you see?"

She shook her head once, breathless. "It wasn’t sorcery. Not fully. It was him."

Jasper’s face went grim. "Luther?"

She nodded. "He’s here. Or near. And he’s not working alone. He’s been planning this—he built those... what caused the explosions in tunnels beneath our feet. And he’s controlling them. The rogues, the soldiers, the chaos..."

She stared out at the broken horizon beyond the wall.

"This was just the beginning."

Relia whispered in her thoughts. "You’re not just fighting a traitor now. You’re fighting a ghost armed with your world’s fire."

And Evelina knew—there was no hiding this.

Not anymore.

The heat still lingered in the rubble, and so did the weight in her chest.

She sat on a half-toppled column near the breached wall, metal shard forgotten at her feet, her mind racing too fast for words.

Luther. The blast. The rogues. The masked soldiers. The makeshift Molotov cocktail was built in a way no Arcadian would have conceived.

She didn’t recognise the table in the vision or anything that could suggest the tunnel they were using.

Relia stirred uneasily in her mind. "You’re thinking something dangerous again."

"I’m thinking," Evelina said softly, "what if he’s not from here either?"

A beat of silence.

"What if Luther... was Tobias?"

Relia hissed, the sound barely a whisper against the back of her mind. "You think he transmigrated too?"

"What are the odds? We were in the lab together when it exploded," Evelina murmured. "He was right there. If I ended up here... why not him? And if it is him—gods, what’s happened to him?"

She had no answer.

Only a storm of possibilities—and all of them terrifying.

Then the first scream rang out again.

Another wave.

Evelina and Jasper whipped their heads at the sound of an explosion not too far off.

The siege had continued.

From the woods beyond the ruined wall, more firelight flared—this time in arcs. Not arrows. Projectiles. Glass canisters wrapped in cloth streaked through the sky like falling stars before bursting in flames across the outer courtyard.

The makeshift barricade shuddered.

Jasper cursed. "They’re throwing more of them!"

Evelina stood instantly. Her body moved before her mind could. "We have to—"

A figure dropped down beside her in a blur.

Damian.

His arms came around her at once, tugging her back from a blast radius just before another canister shattered behind them, flames licking at the stone.

"You shouldn’t be here," he growled. "What the hell are you doing this close to the breach again?"

"I saw him," Evelina breathed. "I saw Luther—he’s alive, Damian, and he’s leading them."

Damian’s eyes widened, but he didn’t argue. "Then we deal with him. But not from the front lines. Not with you here."

"I’m not leaving you—"

"You will," he said firmly. "Just until I know you’re safe."

Before she could protest again, another flash struck near them—close enough to blind her. She stumbled, caught her balance on instinct, and her power surged again.

Not pulled from memory.

Not from an object.

Just a raw flash of sight.

Luther.

He stood in a tent of shadows, masked but unmistakable, surrounded by more of those rune-blade warriors. He was giving orders. Drawing in the dirt. Marking the weaknesses of Arcadia’s outer defenses.

Evelina blinked it away. "I saw him. Again."

"You’re not holding anything of his," Relia said. "You shouldn’t be able to—"

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

But something was changing. Deepening. Shifting inside her.

And she wasn’t sure what it meant yet.

The flames danced higher behind them. Screams echoed closer now.

Then she made her choice.

In the chaos, when Damian turned to relay orders and Jasper ran toward the barricade—Evelina slipped back into the shadows.

She ran.

Through the smoke. Around the outer line. Over crumbling stone and under sagging archways. Past guards too distracted to stop her.

And then, into the woods.

The world narrowed to breath and instinct.

She followed her gut. Her gift. The burning thread in her chest that pointed not north, not east—but toward him. Toward the man she used to know. The monster he might have become.

She reached the tree line and paused, crouching behind a thick pine as movement caught her eye.

There.

A robed figure.

Tall. Steady. Walking with purpose deeper into the forest’s edge, toward a rise of hills where shadows crawled and hidden camps could easily be built beneath the roots.

Luther.

He was alone.

Returning to his base.

For a single, heart-thudding moment, Evelina considered confronting him right here. Drawing her blade. Ending it before it could begin.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she followed.

Soft steps. Slower breath. Not a sound to give her away.

If she could find his hideout, his numbers, his strategy—she could bring it all down before another fire touched Arcadian stone.

She kept to the trees.

Closer.

Closer still.

Until Luther suddenly stopped—his head turning, just a fraction.

As if he heard her.

Or felt her.

Evelina froze.

Held her breath.

Then Luther spoke, softly and clearly—without turning around.

"I was wondering when you’d come."

Her heart slammed in her chest.

He knew.

He knew she was there.

And he wasn’t running.

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