Transmigrated Into A Women Dominated World-Chapter 228: A Battlefield Of Two

Zaeryn watched Ravena's retreating back, his offer of a truce hanging in the air like a poorly cast spell. She didn't even glance back.

"Okay. Well, let me know when Ingrid arrives?" he called out.

The only response was the rhythmic, indignant click of her heels against the stone path. Apparently, ruining a future Judge's meditation was a crime that didn't come with a quick pardon.

He turned back to the garden, the silence of the estate settling over him. It was a beautiful day, too beautiful for the kind of work he needed to do. There was no Viora today. No princess to dismantle his form with surgical precision or kick him into the dirt until his Vitae finally learned how to scream.

Yesterday she'd dismantled him with surgical precision, and somehow that had been exactly what he needed. The pain, the pressure, the constant threat of getting teleported behind and kicked in the spine, it had forced him to adapt. Three abilities had jumped ranks in a single session.

That kind of progress didn't happen when you were comfortable.

He dropped into push-ups, the gravel biting into his palms. He did three pushups and his mind drifted back to the previous day, sitting across from Viora over coffee, watching her go from cold interrogator to... something warmer. Almost sibling-like. The shift had been subtle but undeniable.

By the time he hit fifty, his sweat was dripping onto the grey stones and his triceps were screaming. He rolled onto his back, staring at the blue void of the sky, waiting for his heartbeat to stop thudding in his ears.

He stood, shook out the tension, and summoned his Vitae.

The golden light flickered to life between his fingers. It was warm, familiar, and, compared to what he'd seen Viora do, this was hopelessly primitive. Her ice constructs hadn't been static objects; they'd been fluid. A blade that flowed into a whip, a shield that sharpened into a cleaver mid-swing.

Zaeryn's constructs, by comparison, felt like wooden toys.

He focused and drew the light into a tight sphere between his palms. It held steady. Slowly, he pressed on it with his will, trying to squash it into a flat disc. The surface warped and trembled, edges turning sharp and uneven, then the construct collapsed into a spray of harmless sparks.

"Come on," he hissed.

He tried again. Sphere. Stretch. It held for three seconds, forming a trembling oval before the construct destabilized and collapsed. He was fighting the energy instead of guiding it.

For the next twenty minutes, the garden was a graveyard of failed shapes. It felt like trying to sculpt liquid mercury with his bare hands. But slowly, the stubbornness of his Vitae began to give way. He managed a short spear that didn't shatter the moment he gripped it. It wasn't elegant, but it was malleable.

He formed a whip next, letting the golden cord coil through the air like a living thing. Then, with a surge of focus that made his vision tunnel, he forced it to condense. The energy folded, compressing until the light turned a blinding, dense white.

It snapped into a dagger.

He held it for a heartbeat, grinning through the sweat. The concentration required was immense, the moment he even thought about the ache in his lungs, the dagger dissolved into nothing.

'Progress,' he thought, wiping his brow with a grime-streaked sleeve. Not Viora-level mastery, but it didn't matter. He'd done it. Given enough time, enough practice, he could match Viora's fluidity. Maybe not today. Maybe not next week. But he'd get there

He headed inside. He needed a shower before Ingrid arrived;

he didn't want to look like a stray dog when Ingrid arrived. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

When Zaeryn stepped into the living room, he stopped short. Ingrid was already there.

She was reclined on the midnight-blue divan with a predatory sort of grace, looking like she'd owned the place for years. Across from her, Ravena sat in her armchair, her posture as stiff and majestic as a statue.

They weren't fighting. They weren't even glaring. They were... talking.

A miracle, Zaeryn thought. Or a trap.

He realized then that Ravena hadn't come to get him, despite him asking her to come and let him know when Ingrid is here. A small, silent act of petty revenge for the garden incident. He'd have to remember that: Ravena didn't just get even; she let you stay dirty while your girlfriend waited in the parlor.

"... A warlady in training….. I really don't see the appeal of front-line combat," Ravena was saying, her tone measured. As he got closer, Zaeryn could finally hear every sentence she was saying. "Too much chaos. I prefer the structured violence of a courtroom."

"Different battlefields, but they're all battlefields," Ingrid replied, shrugging. "But I get it. Some people aren't built for the mud."

She turned as Zaeryn approached, her eyes darkening with that familiar, possessive hunger. She didn't bother with a formal greeting. She simply looked him up and down, lingering on the damp patches of his shirt.

"Speaking of being built for things," Ingrid said, her lips curving into a slow, wicked grin. She looked back at Ravena, her voice dropping into a sultry, deliberate drawl. "Take Zaeryn here. He isn't made for a courtroom, and he's certainly not made for the front lines. He was built for the bedroom and the laboratory, and between the two, I find the bedroom much more productive for his particular... talents."

Ravena's lips twitched, "Oh, I agree with you on that,"

Zaeryn felt the heat creep up his neck. He cleared his throat, stepping into the room. "Hey. When did you get here?"

Ingrid rose, crossing the room. "Not long ago," she said.

Before he could respond, her arms were around his neck, pulling him down. The kiss wasn't a greeting; it was a reclamation. She tasted unique and delicious her teeth catching his lower lip in a sharp, deliberate nip that sent a jolt straight down his spine.

She pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, "Missed you."

Her fingers trailed down his chest, resting right over his heart, feeling the rhythm.

Zaeryn kept his hands on her waist, acutely aware of Ravena's eyes on them. "Missed you too."

Behind them, Ravena sat perfectly still. Her expression was neutral, but her green eyes tracked Ingrid with quiet, focused intensity. Not hostile. Just... assessing. Cataloging. Filing away information for later use.

"Nice place," Ingrid said, turning to scan the room. Her gaze lingered on the new divan, the garden views through the tall windows, the impressive decor.

"Thanks," Zaeryn said, though he couldn't help thinking of Ingrid's multi-level estate. He had been there once and it was at night, but still, it was one of the most impressive places he had been to. This house was comfortable and had its own charm to it, but it wasn't that.

Ingrid turned her attention back to Ravena, her voice sharpening. "So. The cousin. You've known him for a long time?"

"My whole life," Ravena said, her voice like cool silk. "We grew up together."

"Sweet." Ingrid tilted her head. "You're about his age. Training to be a Warlady?"

"No." Ravena's chin lifted. "I have no interest in the mud and the Vorthak. I'm studying for a seat as a Judge on the High Tribunal."

Ingrid actually blinked, a flash of genuine respect crossing her face. Now she understood that Ravena was actually speaking for herself a few minutes later ago.

"A Judge? That's the hardest entrance exam in the Queendom. My older sister tried twice. She's a librarian now because she couldn't cut the paperwork."

"I was accepted on my first attempt," Ravena said simply, not bragging. But it sounded like she was.

"Respect." Ingrid walked over and sat on the divan beside her, not invading her space, but acknowledging her as an equal. "That takes a specific kind of ruthlessness. I like that."

Zaeryn watched them from across the room, a strange, cautious sense of relief washing through his chest. He had expected tension, maybe even open hostility, but instead the two women were calmly talking, comparing goals and trading notes about their career ambitions like seasoned professionals instead of rivals on the edge of a duel. They were proving his worst expectations wrong in real time. No threats, no barbed smiles, no subtle power plays. Just conversation. For once, the universe decided not to set his life on fire. He counted that as a personal victory.

He excused himself and took a quick shower to cool off and reset his thoughts. When he returned a few minutes later, towel-dried and dressed, the atmosphere had shifted even further. What had started as a wary truce had softened into something closer to genuine engagement. Ravena and Ingrid were now deep in discussion about his unusual bond and how irregular the whole arrangement sounded from the outside.

Then Ravena casually mentioned that she and Zaeryn were bondmates as well. Based on the way Ingrid paused mid-breath and narrowed her eyes, she definitely had not expected that detail.

Which made sense. Officially, Ravena was supposed to be his cousin.

"So wait," Ingrid said, leaning back and crossing her legs with slow deliberation. Her gaze moved from Ravena to Zaeryn and back again, curiosity sharpening into focused interest. "You two are bondmates too? The same kind of bond he and I share?"

The air in the room seemed to thin and tighten around his lungs.

Ravena turned her head toward Zaeryn, a mischievous, razor-edged glint flashing in her green eyes, like she was enjoying every second of this setup.

"Yes," she said smoothly, her voice light and far too innocent to be trusted. "We are. Right, cousin?"

Cold sweat gathered along his spine.

He didn't know what Ingrid will think of this, but he feared she might not react well to this news.

"Actually… yeah," Zaeryn muttered, forcing the words out while his heart hammered hard against his ribs. He looked at Ingrid and braced himself for outrage, shock, or worse, she might leave with disgust.