Transmigrated as My Support Mage Avatar-Chapter 70: Ch: The Weight of a Crown

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Chapter 70: Ch:70 The Weight of a Crown

The air thickened as Dila’s magical energy spiraled violently around her like a vortex. Her hair floated. Her blue aura surged—blazing, unstable.

☆ M-Master! Please refrain from using your magical power too much! You’re burning up! ☆

Nari’s frail voice echoed inside Dila’s mind, panic rising.

☆ Mana Level: 0 / 2500

Health Level: 3098 / 25000

Warning: Health is now sustaining magic power. Drop from 6800 → 3098. Please, I beg you—stop this, master! If you die... I die too... ☆

Dila clenched her eyes shut, her pulse hammering.

"Okay..." she whispered to herself. "Dila... calm down..."

But her left side throbbed in sharp agony—right where the massive axe had struck her before. The bandages were soaked through. Blood dripped again, soaking the fabric as her aura flickered, then cracked apart like shattered glass.

Her power vanished.

A silence swept in its place.

Still resting his hand on the general’s shoulder, Zeon chuckled, carefree. "See? She’s calm now. Told ya." He beamed.

The general didn’t reply, eyes still glued to the collapsed girl.

"Sister!!" Fran shouted, scrambling to her.

Dila’s knees hit the stone floor hard.

Blood trickled from her lips as her body hunched forward. Her body and forehead is about to gently touched the ground, too weak to lift. Her voice was nothing more than a broken whisper:

"...What’s the use... of all this fat HP... if it can’t even support me..."

☆ M-Master, no! ☆ Nari’s voice trembled. ☆ You reopened your wounds! That’s the danger of overcasting while injured! You’re... you’re collapsing...! ☆

"I-it’s okay... Fran..." Dila mumbled, her breath shallow. "I can... manage..."

Fran shouted again, "Sister!" Her voice cracked, high and desperate.

Then something shifted.

Zeon’s head snapped toward her. His eyes widened.

In a blur of darkness—he was gone from the general’s side.

No sound.

No warning.

Just vanished like smoke.

The masked man moved forward quietly and calmly, catching Dila in his arms before she could fall hard. He didn’t say a word—just grunted slightly, then lifted her with a careful grip. His expression was unreadable, but for the first time... it wasn’t mocking.

He turned toward the gate.

"Open it," Zeon’s voice commanded sharply from ahead.

The general, still shaken, obeyed at once. "Y-Yes, Hero!"

The third gate groaned open.

Beyond it—the glowing path toward the heart of the castle.

Zeon sprinted ahead, his cloak flickering behind him like smoke. No more jokes. No more smiles. Just silence and speed.

"Sister!" Fran cried again, running after them.

Her feet slammed the ground hard, her arms pumping. But Zeon and the masked man were too fast. She stumbled behind.

And then—

Darkness.

Everything went black.

Meanwhile, within the towering halls of the Eldor Castle...

The doors creaked open.

The masked man—Zeon—stepped into the throne corridor. His boots echoed faintly across the marble floor. He walked slowly. Shoulders slumped. Silent. His usual arrogance buried beneath an invisible weight.

At the far end of the hall, King Albedo stood from his throne.

His eyes lit up the moment he saw him.

He didn’t wait for ceremony. He didn’t even walk.

He ran.

The king—a man known across kingdoms as cold and cruel—sprinted down the royal hallway with the joy of a child reunited with a long-lost treasure. His crown shook slightly with each step, his cloak trailing behind like a comet’s tail.

He reached Zeon and clapped a hand on his shoulder—hard.

"Hahahahah! So?!" the king beamed. His voice echoed across the marble like a thunder of joy. "How did it go? My baby girl... she’s been retrieved, hasn’t she?!"

His eyes—sharp and glowing with hopeful madness—searched Zeon’s face, desperate for an answer.

But Zeon... said nothing.

Not even a smile.

He didn’t meet the king’s gaze.

He just stood there, still masked, still quiet—letting the moment hang.

The laughter faded from Albedo’s throat.

His joy paused—uncertain.

"...Zeon?" the king asked again, this time with a slight crease forming at the edge of his brow.

Still... silence.

And the throne room—so full of echoing pride just seconds ago—fell into a sharp, unnatural stillness.

Then Albedo’s joy snapped.

"Now talk to me!" he roared—his voice no longer that of a father, but a king losing control.

He gripped Zeon’s shoulder tighter, his gauntlet-clad fingers pressing into the light armor with crushing force.

Zeon winced. His left eye shut tight from the pain, but still... he didn’t speak. Not a word.

His body remained stiff. His jaw locked. A twitch passed over his cheek, but no voice followed.

Albedo’s breaths grew heavier—less regal, more primal. His grip didn’t loosen. His knuckles turned white, trembling with a fury that bordered on desperation.

"Why... are you silent?" the king growled low, his face drawing closer. "Is she not with you? Did something happen to her? Did she refuse?!"

Zeon’s head lowered slightly.

He took a breath—but still didn’t meet Albedo’s eyes.

And that silence... that silence was the answer the king feared most.

Albedo’s expression twisted into a storm of grief and rage all at once. His hands finally released Zeon’s shoulder, shoving him back with one sharp thrust of his palm.

Zeon staggered one step, then caught himself. His mask hid his eyes—but not the weariness in his posture.

Albedo turned away sharply. He stormed toward the throne, clutching the bridge of his nose with one hand while his other clenched into a tight fist by his side.

"...Don’t tell me..." Albedo muttered. "She... refused again?"

Silence.

Then... a single nod from Zeon but a nod of uncertainty. A lie.

The king’s scream echoed across the entire castle:

"DILAAAAA!!"

Zeon stood with a calm voice, brushing off the tension with a laugh that didn’t belong.

"No, my lord... I did get her," he said, trying to sound composed. "It’s just—uh—there’s a tiny bit of a problem... maybe..."

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Hehe... tiny."

Albedo blinked.

Then vanished.

BOOM!

Zeon’s body smashed into the marble wall—shattering it into fractured stone. Cracks crawled across like spiderwebs.

Albedo’s furious hand was still pressing Zeon’s face deep into the wall, stone crumbling around them.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BABY GIRL?!" Albedo roared, voice splitting the air like thunder. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Zeon gasped beneath the crushing grip. "It’s just—just—"

The giant throne doors creaked open.

A healer—loyal, robed in emerald and white—entered, eyes wide as he stumbled into the sight of carnage. Zeon, pinned like a broken puppet. The king, fuming like a storm.

The healer stopped cold.

Albedo turn his head.

His voice was low and his face is, as if it was boiling pot. Dangerous.

"You. Saw. Nothing."

The healer flinched and quickly nodded. "Y-Yes, my king."

But then—his duty overtook his fear.

He cleared his throat. "Y-Your daughter... Princess Dila... she’s injured. Badly. And..."

He hesitated.

"...and she’s suffering from severe magic poisoning on top of her wounds."

Time froze.

Albedo slowly turned his head to Zeon. His fury cracked into disbelief, then into something darker.

"You... brought her back injured?!"

His voice trembled with rage.

"You dare return my daughter in that condition?! You call yourself a hero?!"

He threw Zeon aside like trash.

Zeon collapsed, coughing violently, blood staining his lips. His shoulder hit the ground with a sickening thud. He didn’t even try to stand.

Albedo stormed toward the doors.

"HEALER— Where is she?!" he barked.

The healer, already in motion, pointed with urgency. "T-This way, my lord. Quickly!"

Their voices echoed into the distance—fading into rushing footsteps and the slamming of doors.

Silence fell.

Zeon remained on the floor, bruised and half-crushed.

He wiped the blood from his lips with a scoff.

"Tch... you stupid king..."

His voice was soft, bitter.

"This is how you treat the one who brought her home... after everything I’ve done for you."

He let out a shaky exhale.

Then—he smiled.

Not from joy.

But from spite... or maybe from the last flicker of pride still burning in his bruised chest.

Meanwhile...

Deep beneath the castle, in a hidden chamber carved from ancient stone, the air was thick with glowing mist from healing crystals and the soft humming of mana circuits pulsing along the walls.

Though it resembled a dungeon, this place was no prison.

It was a sacred medical sanctum—designed only for royalty or beings on the brink of death.

Inside, three healers moved with speed and precision.

Their robes, ancient and white like alchemic lab coats, fluttered as they rushed between arcane tools and herb-smoke vapors. One ground a glowing root into a paste. Another dripped a clear, shimmering liquid into a tiny vial. The third began enchanting a crystal shard—pressing it to a sigil hovering above the bed.

On that bed...

Dila lay unconscious.

Her breathing was shallow, skin pale, wrapped in white cloth and glowing bandages. Blood still seeped faintly from her left side, staining the clean sheets no matter how many layers they changed.

And beside her...

Fran knelt at her side.

Both of her small hands clutched Dila’s limp left arm, trembling.

Her tail curled tightly around her legs. Her eyes, wide and glassy, were filled with fear.

"...Sister..." Fran whispered, her voice cracking.

Her tears hit Dila’s skin—one by one.

"Sister... please... wake up..."

Fran leaned closer, resting her forehead against Dila’s arm.

"I’ll be good... and I’ll listen to your commands no matter what... I’ll even stop pouting... Just... don’t leave me alone..."

Her small voice broke. "Please don’t leave me like the others..."

In that moment, the healers paused.

They said nothing.

But the pain in Fran’s voice made even the seasoned healers’ hands tremble slightly.

One of them softly muttered under his breath, "Her spirit... is still fighting."

And outside the room, behind the sealed door, the faint sound of footsteps echoed—rushing toward the chamber like a storm.