Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters-Chapter 170: A Traitor Walks Among the Seven Houses — Part 3.

On a secluded chamber within the palace, Morgant and King Drakovitch had stood in the shadows, far from the prying eyes of the court. The King had looked weary, his voice a low mutter that carried the weight of centuries.

"From the very beginning... a hundred Dragonborn could end a war against thousands of demigods with barely a scratch. We are the apex. And yet... someone is rotting us from within. A traitor."

Morgant had nodded then, his face a mask of cold duty.

"I sensed something today, Sire. During the meeting. The Verdant Wings... their House Leader didn’t flinch when you threatened them... He waited."

Drakovitch had let out a short, grim laugh, a rare flash of pride crossing his features.

"Good. You’ve always been my most sharp eyed shadow, Morgant."

"It is my duty,"

Morgant had replied, though the praise did little to warm his heart.

"Then continue the play. Keep pretending to be against me. Shout the loudest in the Council. Let them believe my suspicions are locked on you. If they think you are the rebel, they will come to you—and when they do, you will show them exactly what happens to those who touch my blood."

Back in the present, Morgant stepped toward the trembling Luavier, the black fan opening.

"The King didn’t pass me over because he feared my power, boy. He placed me in the dark because that is where the monsters are. And right now, I’m looking at one." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Sairant remained frozen, his mind a blurred mess of betrayal and old loyalties. He didn’t want to believe it, but Morgant was a Councilor—a man trained to read the smallest shift in a soul. And then there was Luavier. Even through the blood and exhaustion, Luavier’s posture had changed; the desperate hero was gone, replaced by a coiled, predatory tension that Sairant recognized with sickening clarity.

Luavier knew he couldn’t defend himself with words anymore. To speak was pointless—the truth had already been stripped bare. If he was to die, he would ensure the narrative died with him, twisted into the shape he had first presented to Sairant.

A low chuckle escaped Luavier’s throat, wet with blood.

"Of course... the youngest Councilor in all of history. You were always sharp, Councilor. Your tongue is as keen as your blade. But that intelligence will be your undoing... because it makes my cover up all the more BELIEVABLE!"

Suddenly, Luavier moved.

He didn’t lunge at Morgant. He knew he couldn’t win that fight. Instead, he turned his spite on the only witness who could verify the truth. With a desperate, animalistic wail, he swung the black spear toward Sairant’s throat.

"YOU, SAIRANT—YOU NEED TO DIE NOW!"

His voice breaking into madness.

"So Morgant looks like nothing more than the butcher you first accused him of being! HA—HA—HA!"

The black spear whistled through the air, a streak of midnight aimed at the heart of the man who had just tried to save him. Sairant was an easy mark, stripped of his House’s blade and clutching nothing but dull kitchen steel. He was dead before he could even blink.

The horror inside was suddenly eclipsed by a roar from above. Outside, the Gigante unleashed her true form. The sky itself seemed to fracture, swallowed by a localized, screaming storm.

"ADVANCED TRUE GIANT’S LIGHTNING ELEMENT: SCREAMING THUNDERSKY!"

Bolts of jagged lightning crashed into the courtyard, each strike exploding in blinding blue light—turning the fragile order into a merciless slaughterhouse.

The seven Houses, once proud in their formation, were torn apart like leaves in a storm. Some warriors dove for cover, only to be struck down by errant bolts. Others weren’t so lucky—electrocuted mid-step, their bodies convulsing under the raw power.

Even the Crimsonscales, whose legendary defenses had withstood her earlier assaults, found their stalwart body shattered. One brave warrior raised his forearm to block a direct strike—and was vaporized where he stood, frozen in agony.

Percieval watched the devastation from the edge of the crater, his teeth gritted so hard they threatened to crack. He tasted copper and ozone.

"If I only had my black blade... with that steel in my hand, I could shield them all. I could cut through this storm."

He felt the heat of his dragon power simmering beneath his skin, a restless, golden fire begging to be unleashed. But he held it back.

"Even if I tap into the dragon’s blood now, it’s a waste. It would drain my mana to nothing before I could even reach her and I wouldn’t even leave a scratch."

He watched another bolt of lightning turn a warrior to ash, the frustration boiling in his gut.

Behind them, the tide was shifting. King Drakovitch, usually an immovable was finally showing the strain. Gin pressed him with a feral, newfound determination, her strikes heavier and more desperate than before. She wasn’t fighting for shame anymore; she was fighting for the dead.

"Give me your head, King! Give it up so they can finally rest!"

She swung with a force that cracked the very air, her movements becoming uncontrolled violence. As she lunged, dark mana formed around her feet, erupting into shimmering Witchblades that tore into the stone with every stride.

"Those three... no, all of them! My grounded brothers, my sisters—everyone! I will carry them all with me to Valhalla. Not as living souls, but etched into my memory and my heart. And they won’t be satisfied until your blood stains my hands!"

She didn’t give him a moment to breathe. The Witchblades on her feet allowed her to skate across the battlefield, eaving deep grooves in her wake as she circled the King.

"If you hadn’t slaughtered the demigods then, they would still have a way home! They would have had a justifiable path to Valhalla! But you didn’t just destroy the demigods—you destroyed us too!"

Drakovitch caught her next strike against his forearm, the impact vibrating through his bones. He looked at her not with anger, but with a weary understanding.

"I know your ways, Giant. Your Valhalla... your path to glory... it is forged in victory, in conquest, in the proof of your strength."