"Marvel's Princess Becomes the King"

Bella pushed the wheelchair of the middle-aged chieftain, following the dirt path the Native Americans had cleared, heading deeper into the reservation.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

She guessed that the man might have seen something unusual in her, though she herself felt nothing—no premonition or sign.

Since Bella had saved someone at the airport, she naturally didn't want to bring disaster upon the innocent Native American tribe. Her idea was simple, even naive: she hoped to use this tribe as a bridge to somehow communicate with the so-called "Death God" behind the plane crash.

Of course, making the Death God pay with his life was out of the question—American law wasn't that powerful.

She speculated that this "Death God" might actually be a deity of the ancient Mayans or Aztecs. And perhaps this tribe had its own guardian spirit or totem. If that were the case, then maybe "kindred spirits" wouldn't fight each other—better to talk things out.

"There is indeed something," the middle-aged chieftain replied briefly but didn't elaborate. Instead, he asked, "Bella, do you know the history of our Quileute tribe?"

I know you can turn into wolves!

The werewolves of the Quileute tribe were different from the traditional ones. They appeared human most of the time but could transform into giant wolves when stimulated by the presence of vampires.

In wolf form, they were just wolves; in human form, they were simply people. There was no in-between—no hairy half-man walking on two legs.

Bella suspected they were more like druids from games, shapeshifters by blood.

She pondered for a moment before replying, "Jacob said your tribe has a glorious history, that you were once a great people."

She chose only flattering words—no one could find fault in them.

The chieftain chuckled softly. No wonder his son was so smitten—this girl really knew how to speak.

Polite, pleasant to talk to, and most importantly—beautiful.

He sighed quietly to himself. Since she was the daughter of an old friend and his son's crush, he'd help however he could.

His tone turned solemn. "Your misfortune hasn't left you. Some kind of power—something beyond science—is still watching you."

Bella's heart sank.

"I'll leave tonight. I'll explain everything to Charlie and Jacob," she said firmly.

Billy Black, seated in the wheelchair, gently waved his hand. "No, child, that's not what I meant."

"Quileute is just a small tribe now. There's little left of our ancestral legacy. What I'm about to tell you must be kept secret—even from Jacob."

"I promise. I won't tell anyone—not Jacob, not Charlie."

Billy Black rested his hand on a towering tree beside them. "This tree was already tall when my grandfather was alive. Such long-standing memories... Our tribe's knowledge came from the Mayan empire. We believe all things have spirits. We believe the blood we inherit from our ancestors carries those spirits. You are a spirit. I am a spirit. Even the one who caused the plane crash is a spirit."

Bella carefully absorbed his words. From the way he spoke, it was clear he had no reverence for this so-called "Death God."

As if guessing her thoughts, the chief explained further.

"Our beliefs are very different from yours. In our tradition, the roles of gods change often. Some tribes still practice 'god-killing' rituals—during festivals for new gods, they symbolically 'consume' outdated gods or those from conquered tribes by placing their names on food and having everyone eat it. So whether that being is alive or dead, it has nothing to do with the Quileute tribe."

Bella started to understand. The Native American pantheon was indeed complex. She had never studied such things before—it was a complete knowledge gap for her.

Compared to gods like God, Odin, or Zeus, these Native gods really had it rough. Getting laid off so easily—who could endure that?

Billy Black chuckled and tapped his head. "Old people ramble too much. What I meant to say is: the Quileute tribe can't help you. You're not of our bloodline, so our ancestral spirits can't support you. But your own ancestors can. You can pray to them for strength."

Bella blinked in confusion—she didn't quite follow.

She hesitated. "But our ancestors were just regular people. They didn't have any powers."

Billy Black laughed heartily. "They certainly did. If you search patiently, I believe your ancestors will protect you."

He reached behind his wheelchair and took out a cloth bundle.

"The ritual is simple, but you must understand your strengths. Ancestral spirits aren't omnipotent. Focus on what's in front of you, don't make blind wishes. You're a smart girl—I believe you can get through this."

He handed her the cloth bundle, then wheeled himself away, heading back to the tribal village.

Back home, Bella hurriedly opened the bundle. Its contents were very simple:

Some scorched yellow seeds—she couldn't identify the plantA white animal fangA few colorful paintsAnd a slightly torn sheet of A4 paper with step-by-step instructions—written in English, just in case she couldn't understand

The ritual wasn't demanding. All she needed was a quiet place to carry it out.

But where in Forks was quiet enough? She couldn't trouble the tribe again—not when they'd already given her the ritual. Besides, the Quileute had their own ancestral spirits. If she summoned a Swan family ancestor over there, wouldn't that be like barging into someone else's temple? A total breach of etiquette!

She couldn't go north—tribes lived there. South? That was vampire territory. Definitely not.

In her past life, Bella had dreamed of becoming a vampire. Now? Not so much. In the Marvel universe, vampires weren't very high-tier anyway.

So she had no choice but to perform the ritual at home.

She read through the steps twice. It was essentially a "dummy version"—no explanations of principles or meanings, just a startup sequence and a few cautionary notes.

When Charlie went to work, Bella began the ritual.

First, she placed a bit of charcoal in a small basin and lit it.

Following the instructions, she mixed the seeds with the colorful pigments. These were meant to be painted on her face—it didn't matter what the pattern was, as long as something was drawn.

Staring into the mirror, she painted one line here, another there. Seeing there was still a lot of paint left, she connected the sides. The final result? She looked just like Jiraiya in Sage Mode.

This stuff better not ruin my skin...

She looked at herself in the mirror and cringed. Absolutely hideous. But for survival's sake, she endured it.

She took the animal fang and sliced her right palm.

Blood dripped into the fire basin. She closed her eyes and waited quietly—for an answer from the spirits of the Swan family.

(End of Chapter)