The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 136: what matters.

The council chamber reeked of sweat and panic—the kind that didn’t come from fear of death, but from the fear of having to admit they were already too late. Nobles shouted over each other, spitting numbers and names like they meant anything. Ten thousand men. Gone. Just ash and armor in a crater the size of a nightmare.

"An air raid?" one scoffed, knuckles white around a wine glass. "No flying creature has that kind of mana density."

"They weren’t creatures," another muttered, voice tight. "It was a weapon."

Silence didn’t fall—it collapsed. Like a corpse slumping in its chair.

Lara stood by the window, her breath catching as the names echoed again. Not names. Numbers. Numbers. As if the dead had been spreadsheets instead of fathers and brothers and sons.

She closed her eyes. The noise throbbed behind her temples. She tried to remember the last face of the last soldier she blessed on their way out. She couldn’t. Her guilt tasted like blood.

Then a hand landed on her shoulder. Firm. Steady. Familiar.

Atlas.

He didn’t need to speak.

But he did anyway. His voice cracked the room open like thunder over dry earth.

"SILENCE."

The air choked.

Even the nobles too proud to bow their heads flinched like slapped children. And when the echo of his voice died, it left behind something worse than quiet—it left expectation.

He stepped forward. Not a boy. Not a prince. Just a truth walking on legs made of scar tissue.

"Total casualties: nine thousand eight hundred seventy-four," he said flatly, the weight of the words pressing on the walls. "Yes. It’s a loss. A colossal one. And no, not everyone who died was strong. Some were weak. Some were new. Some had no business in armor." He glanced around, his golden eyes burning. "And yet they stood. They died." freewēbnoveℓ.com

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The truth didn’t shout—it bled.

"And what do we do in response?" His jaw tightened. "Flail like toddlers playing chess with real blades? Panic? Run?"

He laughed once—cold, sharp, like ice snapping in fire.

"This is war. Not a parade. Not a council play." He turned his back to the nobles, pacing slowly. "And if we lose composure now, we don’t just lose another ten thousand. We lose everyone and everything."

A beat. The wind outside howled.

"We strategize. We adapt. We move."

And then, like a curse whispered into the chamber, came ’him’.

Henry.

The king walked with the limp of a sick man—but his eyes, gold-veined and glowing, held something ancient. Something dangerous.

Aurora trailed behind him like a storm made flesh.

"Well, well," she muttered, voice like smoke and razors. "He is your son, after all."

Henry smirked without looking at her. "Little rough. But he’s getting there."

He stepped forward, cane tapping once against the stone like a judge’s gavel.

"My lords," Henry rasped, "my son is correct. We are no longer waiting for war. We are in it. Our skies are theirs now. And our cities?" He looked at the nearest map, fingers trembling. "Our cities are bones waiting to be snapped."

Aurora leaned close, her mana pulsing like a second heartbeat. "You need a miracle," she said. "But you’ll settle for madness."

Henry didn’t deny it.

Instead, he looked at Atlas.

"My son." His voice cracked on the word, but he pressed on. "This mission is impossible. And that is why you’re the only one I can give it to."

Atlas said nothing.

But Claire did.

At the far end, her arms crossed, her face half-shadowed in torchlight. "You’re sending him into the fire again," she said. Not a question. A quiet condemnation. "Of course you are."

Henry met her gaze. "Because he survives it."

Claire didn’t respond. Not out loud. But her knuckles clenched around the edge of the table, and her throat worked like she was swallowing broken glass.

The room waited.

Henry straightened—or tried to. The illness hadn’t left his bones, no matter how much blood magic he’d burned through. But his eyes—his eyes could still kill.

"There is no attack. Not yet," he declared. "Until we understand this new enemy, there is only ’defense.’ That’s not a retreat. It’s survival."

He turned.

"To the Marquise house of Phinixia—Claire, you know what to do."

She didn’t argue. She didn’t have to. That was the price of loyalty: following even when you knew the cliff was coming.

Atlas looked around the room one last time.

Every noble stared.

Some in fear.

Some in awe.

A few in hate.

But none dared speak.

Not while the prince’s shadow still burned on the floor.

As they filed out, one by one, Lara stayed behind.

She looked at Atlas.

And said nothing.

Because what do you say to someone carrying ten thousand ghosts in their lungs?

Instead, she just touched his sleeve.

A quiet offering.

Atlas didn’t look at her.

But his hand covered hers.

Just once.

Before he let go.

And walked away.

.

.

.

"You know this is bullshit, right? He’s sending you to die again."

Claire’s voice cut through the air like shattered glass—sharp, reflexive, and laced with the kind of anger that wasn’t entirely about war.

She stood near the stone archway of Atlas’s chamber, arms folded across her chest, fingers twitching like she wanted to throw something—or maybe just shake him until he saw sense.

"He could’ve sent Lara," she added, softer, but no less bitter. "But no. Of course not."

Atlas didn’t turn at first. He was too focused on folding his cloak—methodically, like it was a ritual that could keep his mind from unraveling. But even the tight control of his fingers couldn’t stop the tension threading through his jaw.

"Claire," he said, finally glancing over his shoulder. His voice was calm, too calm. That calm he wore like armor when the chaos inside threatened to leak out. "We need Lara at the palace. After what happened on the border... if they strike again, if something slips through, we need someone who can respond in seconds, not hours. She’s faster than me. If not stronger than me. Hell, she’s smarter than me when she’s not angry. That’s why."

"And Aurora?" Claire pushed, unwilling to drop it. "She’s a nuclear weapon. Why not send her?"

He turned now, eyes tired but clear. "Because Aurora is the last thing we unleash. When all else fails. When the world starts burning and gods forget their names."

Claire scoffed but didn’t argue. She knew he wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part. The terrifying logic behind every suicidal decision he made.

"I’m leaving Loki," Atlas added, turning back to his bag. "He won’t partake in the war directly, but he’ll defend the palace if it’s attacked. And apparently, he’s got... catching up to do."

Claire’s brow furrowed. "Catching up?"

He gave a half-smile. "You don’t wanna know."

A heavy breath escaped her lips—part exasperation, part reluctant acceptance. She stepped further into the room, her boots clicking softly against the cold floor. Her posture shifted slightly. Not confrontational now. Just tired.

"I wasn’t trying to... I didn’t mean it like that," she murmured, gaze lowering to the floor. "I just hate watching you walk into fire again like it’s the only path you’ve ever known."

Atlas paused. The weight in her voice made him look up.

"Claire."

She met his eyes. He saw it then—the fear she never let others glimpse. It lived behind the snide remarks and sarcasm. A quiet storm she kept bottled for everyone’s safety, even her own.

But this next part? It was the real blade.

"What about your ’Aiden’ identity?" she asked. "I heard Isabella’s tearing through the Emerald Palace looking for you like a madman."

That got him.

Atlas sighed, deep and slow, dragging a hand down his face. "Yeah... I know. She’s been sending letters. Dozens of them. Probably more by now."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "And you haven’t responded."

He gave a helpless shrug. "I couldn’t. Not after what happened."

Claire leaned against the wall, her voice cooling to something more dangerous. "You mean after you seduce her, stole her project, and vanished like a one-night ghost?"

He winced. "I didn’t seduce her."

"Oh please."

Atlas exhaled again, sitting down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. "Look... I’ll deal with Isabella. Before I leave. That’s my mess."

She studied him, eyes narrowing slightly. Then—"I heard you’re taking me with you. Beyond the border. That true?"

He nodded without hesitation. "It’s your territory. You know it better than anyone. And—" he looked up at her now, holding her gaze— "I want you there."

Claire’s mouth opened, but no words came at first. Then, a low chuckle slipped out, bitter around the edges. "So... you accepted the mission because of me...because of my territory?"

Atlas smiled as he suddenly held her waist, pushing her to the wall. His lips close to hers.

"What if I say yes...i only accepted it because i care only about your money and territory." he murmured.

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