Son of the Hero King

Chapter 759: Who messed with my robe?

There was no falsehood in Freya’s words.

Witches suffered from a few powerful curses the moment they agreed to give up on their humanity and become a Witch, pursuing eternal knowledge.

The first being the curse of eternal youth. They were locked to the bodies of teens who had barely crossed puberty or worse.

The second being the curse of love. All their relationships were doomed to fail one way or another. It was a curse that affected both their Fate and Karma. A binding that transcended time and space.

The third and most powerful curse that all witches suffered from. The curse of life steal. Being forever unable to share warmth with their loved ones without absorbing their life force while in the act, bringing them ever closer to death’s door, the more they stayed in their touch.

This one in particular had the added consequences of rendering all of the witches infertile. A witch's body was cursed to never be able to give birth, no matter what. All of the fluids entering their body would be turned into life force for them to be absorbed, nothing more.

Medea was lucky in many ways. Thanks to Sol being a Blessed, his Fate was superior to the Fate of doomed love imposed by her curse. Furthermore, since he was a Half Chaos dragon, the curse of life steal was weaker on him and could hardly dent his long lifespan.

But how many such people could exist out there? Even throughout their long lives, Medea had only seen one, Sol alone.

For witches, their love was doomed the moment it started— eternal suffering and loneliness were their destiny. Most witches’ love lives ended in tragedy, betrayal, tears, and utter misery.

For those reasons, witches would either become reclusive and distant or cold and abrasive. Obviously, not all witches sought warmth or love. Such witches were the luckiest among their race.

“This is why Medea’s wedding needs to succeed. Not only because she is our representative. But also because this is a way to affect the curse as a whole. The second curse, more precisely.”

Freya had been working on the curse ceaselessly for more than a few centuries now. The second curse of doomed love was clear about its effect.

Then, what would happen if a witch managed to have a love that did not fail?

“A paradox will be created. The curse will go wild until it either dies or succeeds. This is why we need to be very careful today.” Freya had already informed Sol about her hypothesis, but all he did was smile confidently and tell her that everything would be alright, gently chiding her not to worry.

“Honestly, even if a meteorite fell on us today, I would not be surprised. That's how dangerous the situation is.”

This text was taken from ReadNovelFull.com. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Freya sighed and shook her head while the others became more serious as they understood what was at stake today. They could now perfectly glean why Freya was so stressed.

A clap stopped the atmosphere from becoming too somber.

All eyes fell on Ambrosia, the medium of the sudden sound.

The black-haired witch stood in serene contrast to the chaos and somber mood surrounding her. Clad in her signature ivory robe, with her witch hat perched just right atop her flowing curls…

She gave a graceful clap, then smiled with that calm, all-knowing expression of hers— one only who had gleaned on the door of Omniscience could wield.

“Ladies,” she said, her voice even and warm, soothing their vigilant hearts. “Let’s not forget what this day is about. We can argue, bicker, and panic all we want, but your dear sister and my beloved daughter is getting married in less than two hours. Focus.”

Medea looked up from where she was being tended to, a faint blush coloring her cheek in a lovely pink hue.

“... Sorry.”

Ambrosia walked over and gently tapped her nose, booping her. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You’re the bride. It’s your right to be a mess.”

Then she turned, gaze sweeping over the other witches with the weight of centuries in her eyes. “And you all, relax. If anything was going to go wrong today, it would already have by now.”

Kali raised an eyebrow at her words. “That sounds like a flag. Just saying.”

“Good.” Ambrosia giggled with a mischievous grin. “Let the world try. I dare it.”

That earned a ripple of laughter from all the ladies. Clearly, the ever passive Ambrosia decided that enough was enough. If Fate, Destiny, or even the Gods themselves wanted to mess with this day, she would show them all why she once feared across multiple dimensions.

Even La Befana allowed herself a faint smirk, her poise returning as she checked her wrist-sigil for any updates on the outside situation.

“All systems outside are reporting green,” she said with a calm nod. “Sheherazade neutralized the last wave of magical interference, and the security circle is stable. Isis is handling the air perimeter, and Echidna has been blending in with the nobles while disguised as a maid. She’s particularly enjoying her work, apparently.”

“I’d be more worried about what she’s doing than what she’s watching,” Freya muttered.

“She knows better than to ruin this day,” Ambrosia replied with a smirk. “Even Echidna wouldn’t dare to act frivolously in Sol’s presence.”

Persephone sighed as she closed the last makeup box, wiping her hands on a silk cloth. “Medea’s all done. She looks divine.”

Medea stood slowly, adjusting the hem of her white ceremonial gown— a fusion of ancient witchcraft patterns and modern bridal designs. Arcane embroidery shimmered in silver threads wrapped across the fabric, protection wards woven seamlessly into divine elegance. Her eyes, red and gold, glowing faintly, stared at her reflection in the enchanted mirror with a misty look.

“I look… different,” she whispered in awe and bewilderment, still not sure if what reflected was her own self.

“You look beautiful,” Persephone corrected. “And you will be even more so once Arachne works on that robe.”

Medea turned toward the others. “Do you think Sol will like the new changes?”

Ambrosia stepped forward, placing both hands on Medea’s shoulders.

“I think,” she enunciated softly, “Sol won’t care what you wear or how you look. You could walk in with bloodstained robes and messy hair, and he’d still look at you like you hung the stars.”

The silence that followed was warm and comforting.

For a moment, none of them were witches, commanders, or ancient beings feared across the continents.

They were sisters, mother, and daughters.

And one of them was about to be wed to the love of her life— a wedding that could change the very course of their destiny.

“Alright, girls,” Freya said, clearing her throat and breaking the moment. “Let’s not cry. If someone ruins Medea’s eyeliner right now, I will curse you.”

A collective chuckle echoed through the dressing room.

Outside, bells began to chime, and the door opened, showing Milaris holding a black fan.

She scanned the room, not even caring about the presence of Ambrosia.

“So, where is the witch that messed with my robe?”

Medea and the other witches gulped under Milaris' eerily glowing scarlet iris. Somehow, they felt like she was way scarier than any curses they could face.