Unrivaled in another world
Chapter 48: Judgement of a Ruler

Chapter 48: Judgement of a Ruler

[: 3rd POV :]

Ever since Caelira had reclaimed her peak strength and the Crown of Sylvae had willingly returned to its rightful bearer.

The aftermath of her resurgence began spreading through the heart of the Elf Continent like am

It was only a single day after her return when everything began to shift.

Whispers carried by the winds, flickers of unnatural energy in the atmosphere.

It was signs that something ancient, something once lost, had returned.

But none yet knew the truth.

Inside the Grand Throne Hall of the Elf’s Heart, the sacred palace of the Empress—tension thickened like a choking mist.

At the head of the room stood the Empress’s throne, tall and adorned with leaves of moonsteel and starlit bark.

Beneath it, the twelve seats curved in a crescent, these were the Council of Twelve Roots, the most powerful political figures below the Empress herself.

And those seated within it did not wear humility upon their faces.

Their gazes were cold, sharp, and arrogant—piercing through Aeriwen’s absence with nothing short of disdain.

Contempt flickered in their eyes like oil on fire.

A few murmured under their breath, their tones laced with venom.

"Typical of a child to keep her betters waiting."

"Perhaps the blood of Caelira wasn’t so noble after all."

"She summoned us, and now she’s late? Tch."

It was in that moment that the grand doors swung open, not with rage—but with confidence.

Aeriwen walked in, clad in green and gold armor, the cloak of moonshade leaves swaying behind her.

Her eyes held no fear—only purpose and quiet fire.

"Apologies for being late," she said, smirking lightly. "I had something... important to prepare."

One of the elder elves, tall and pale with silver lashes, scoffed.

"A Queen should not keep her council waiting. Or perhaps you’ve forgotten your station, girl."

Aeriwen’s smirk widened.

"Funny... you would never have dared say such things when my mother sat that throne."

The room stilled.

No one replied, but the tension deepened.

It was an open wound now, the resentment and power struggle festering beneath their civility.

Another elder narrowed her eyes.

"You summoned us. Speak your reason, or stop wasting our time."

That was when everything changed.

Aeriwen stepped closer to the throne, her voice rising with steel beneath velvet.

"Very well. Let me tell you why you’re here."

And then, calmly—methodically—she began exposing them. One by one.

She spoke of Councilor Thalor, who had secretly sold slivers of the World Tree’s sacred bark to human traders, despite it being forbidden.

Elder Myrrin, who had met with agents of the Zero Organization, exchanging names and maps for personal gain.

Councilor Elandir, who allowed the harvesting of spiritual plants older than their own lifespans, destroying thousands of years of sacred growth for black-market value.

Each secret she spoke was a blade.

Each word was a proof.

And by the time she ended, the silence in the room was deafening.

Some had gone pale.

Others clenched their fists.

But none denied it. Because they couldn’t.

Finally, one of them stood, his voice bitter with defeat and fury.

"You think exposing us will stop what’s already in motion?" he sneered.

"There are twelve of us and only one of you. You don’t command the Sacred Elves. We do. What power do you truly have?"

Another followed, rising to his feet.

"This is your end, Aeriwen. We’ve tolerated your rule long enough. It’s time the Elf Continent had a new order."

They smirked. Confident. Backed by numbers and strength. And Aeriwen?

She smiled.

"I agree," she said, voice soft, yet unshaken. "I’m not strong enough. Not yet."

The smirks widened.

"But..." Aeriwen lifted her hand, and her voice dropped an octave. "My mother is."

A beat of silence.

Confusion. Murmurs. Laughter even.

"Your mother is dead," someone snapped.

And then—

Boom

A force unlike anything they had felt in centuries exploded through the throne hall like a divine storm descending.

A golden-green pressure fell from the sky, so heavy and sovereign that it brought the councilors to their knees.

Their breath hitched.

Their bodies trembled.

The sacred floor cracked beneath the weight of her aura.

And then—she appeared.

From the shimmer of light and mana stepped Caelira Etheria, wreathed in robes of moonwoven silk and armor blessed by the World Tree itself.

Her hair glowed with silver and forest green, and her golden eyes pierced through each of them like divine judgment itself.

Her presence was both beautiful and terrifying.

She smiled not kindly, not cruellt just enough to chill the room with its meaning.

"It seems," Caelira said softly, "that my disappearance has allowed you all to show your *true colors*."

None of them could speak.

Because none dared to.

The grand throne hall of the Elven Empire, once a place of elegance and political balance, now pulsed with tension so thick it gripped every breath like vines around the throat.

The Twelve Elder Councils, the most powerful political figures under the Empress herself, sat in their designated seats below the throne.

Once united by ambition and hidden agendas, they now stared ahead in disbelief and dread.

Because seated upon the high throne—where no one but the true Empress could sit—was someone who shouldn’t be alive.

It was Caelira Etheria.

The Empress and the Ruler of Elf Continent.

The one whose death had been whispered, buried, and quietly celebrated by some of them in private chambers.

The Empress they believed long gone, forever erased.

And yet there she was.

Crowned.

Alive.

Watching them with eyes that held no forgiveness.

"No... no, this is impossible," Elder Vaelin muttered, rising slowly to his feet, his voice hoarse. "You were... You’re supposed to be—"

"Dead?" Caelira interrupted smoothly, her voice soft but razor-edged.

She leaned back in her throne, one leg crossed, her posture effortlessly regal.

"Slain by my beloved husband and the traitors who stood beside him?"

Her golden eyes swept across the council. None could meet her gaze.

Then she smiled coldly.

"How disappointing," she said with a breath of a chuckle. "I expected at least one of you to say welcome back"

Several of the council members paled.

Elder Theral’s fingers trembled as he gripped the edge of his chair.

Her gaze hardened as her daughter Aeriwen stepped to her side, chin held high.

"Lucky for all of you..." Caelira’s smile grew crueler. "I’m still alive. And I’ve never felt better."

The atmosphere shifted again—heavier, more suffocating.

The council could barely look up, their confidence unraveling like threads in a flame.

"And now," Caelira said, resting her hands on the arms of her throne, "I hear from my daughter that during my absence, you’ve aligned yourselves with the Zero Organization"

"And allowed corruption to worm its way through these sacred halls."

"No—Your Majesty, that’s a lie!" Elder Sareth shouted, rising abruptly. "We’ve done everything to preserve the Empire! Those claims are—"

"Excuses," Caelira cut him off coldly.

"And you think I’d waste my time listening to them?"

Her tone left no room for argument.

The pressure in the room thickened again, the spiritual aura she exuded causing even the floor to faintly hum with suppressed power.

"Or are you trying to tell me..." she said slowly, her voice now low and cutting, "...that my daughter is lying?"

Silence.

Not one of the twelve spoke.

Caelira’s gaze was unrelenting.

"I see. Not even brave enough to defend yourselves when it matters."

A few of them began to panic quietly, exchanging desperate looks.

"I suppose I shouldn’t have placed hope in any of you," she said, rising slowly from her throne, her presence like a mountain rising over a broken valley.

"But perhaps you were right about one thing."

Their eyes followed her every move, dread mounting.

"It is time for a change."

"What do you mean by that?" Elder Altheon asked, though his voice shook despite trying to sound stern.

Caelira’s expression didn’t change.

"But it’s a change that no longer includes any of you."

Gasps.

Panic.

Scrambling.

"You would dare cast us out?!" Elder Rynel shouted in outrage.

"We are the Elder Council! We built this empire in your absence!"

"Built it?" Aeriwen snapped, stepping forward. "You leeched from it"

"You sold the roots of our world for profit and power!"

The elders flinched.

"Traitors," Caelira whispered.

With the final word, the twelve elders surged to their feet, their divine elven mana flaring outward.

"You leave us no choice!" Elder Myrrin snarled. "If you claim the throne again, we will not let you do it uncontested!"

Twelve brilliant lights exploded into the air, twelve sacred techniques meant to destroy a Mythic being if necessary.

And yet—

Caelira remained still.

She didn’t even blink.

Her smile vanished, replaced by an expression of ancient judgment.

"...How predictable," she whispered.

Then the ground moved.

With a deep, thunderous groan, ancient roots and vines erupted from the floor beneath the council, glowing with golden sigils and emerald veins of power—imbued with the will of the World Tree itself.

The attacks never landed.

The vines caught them mid-air, devouring their magic, binding their limbs, silencing their mouths before a spell could be cast.

They writhed and struggled, but the more they resisted, the tighter the sacred nature binds became.

"What—what is this?!"

"I can’t move—my essence is being drained!"

"These vines are divine!"

Caelira looked down upon them once more, this time not as a sovereign—but as executioner.

"You forgot who I was," she said coldly, stepping closer.

"You forgot why I ruled."

Her hair flowed like silver mist, and her aura shimmered like an ancient storm ready to be unleashed.

"I was not chosen by politics, or councils, or tradition."

She raised her hand, and the vines pulsed with the rhythm of nature’s fury.

"I was chosen by *Gaia herself*."

"And now," she whispered, "I cast out the rot."

The elders screamed—choked and bound—as the vines swallowed them into the floor beneath, their cries muffled, their fates sealed.

Only silence remained.

Caelira returned to her throne.

The light above the hall slowly returned.

Aeriwen stood by her side, eyes shining with awe and newfound strength.

The Queen had returned.

And judgment had begun.