Heart Devil [OP Yandere Schizo Ramble LitRPG XD]

The room was quiet for a beat too long.

Hannya leaned back in her chair, draped in the pale blue folds of her kimono, a hand raised to gently stroke the rim of her teacup. The audience chamber had not changed much since the three nobles were dragged from it, high vaulted ceilings carved from mountain stone, murals of past dream knights watching from above in silent judgment. The long, mist-veiled table between the two sides now held nothing but the steaming cups Baku insisted on setting out as a show of hospitality.

Across from her, Salitha 'the Sixth' Luxuria sat gracefully with her legs crossed beneath her, eyes half-lidded and gentle. Her voice had been soft, melodic even, during the opening pleasantries. Beside her stood Shela, the frost-touched half-devil with wrath lineage peeking just beneath her composed demeanor. Her posture was tight. Alert. Observant.

Hannya's gaze flicked between them but lingered, almost too long, on Shela.

'So here you are. The iced-wrath imp. One of the Eight Destinies. You're still just a spark now… But soon, you'll be a wildfire…well, maybe a blizzard to be precise.'

She smiled inwardly, though her outward expression remained ever serene. Shela's name hadn't been spoken aloud during the negotiation yet. Not even once. Hannya had only learned it through hours of obsessive reading. And it wasn't a coincidence; the moment she laid eyes on her, she knew. That quiet balance of chill and warmth. That edge beneath the frost.

Shela, like the others, would be a key figure in the coming chaos of Neel. The kind of person whose rise would shake cities and humble generals.

And Hannya wanted her on her side.

"I appreciate your coming in peace," Hannya said at last, her voice carrying just enough weight to reclaim the room. "The Hazy Mountain is always open to those who understand civility."

Salitha smiled with all the practiced grace of someone born into devil nobility. "Of course, Princess Hannya. We come with no ill intent. Merely concern."

As she spoke, a subtle wave of pink-hued energy passed from her chest, curling into the chamber like invisible perfume. The pressure in the room shifted, just slightly, warmth creeping into the bones, the air softening, soothing.

Hannya didn't blink. Her fingers tapped once on the rim of her teacup.

Then the mist around her stirred. A cool, sharp wind blew across the table, cutting through the charm energy like a sword through silk. The warmth vanished.

Salitha blinked, lips parting just a touch in surprise.

"Forgive me," Hannya said smoothly, "I prefer negotiations to be free of perfumes and posturing. I'm sure you meant no offense."

Salitha bowed her head slightly, concealing her own flicker of tension. "None taken."

Beside her, Shela's eyes flicked between the two women. She had noticed the moment. All of it.

The calm silence returned, but it was tighter now. Sharper. Like standing at the edge of a still lake that hid a whirlpool beneath.

Hannya turned her eyes again to Shela. Calm. Watching.

The knight noticed. For the first time since arriving, her expression cracked, the briefest squint of suspicion. Then it was gone, replaced with quiet vigilance.

'You're not just strong.' Hannya thought. 'You're smart. Careful. Loyal, even now, to a faction crumbling under internal rot.'

"I understand you've come ahead of the council's emissaries," Hannya said, not looking at Salitha this time. "Braving uncertain roads and arriving without fanfare."

Salitha nodded. "We feared politics might get in the way of… necessary connections."

"And you believe this alliance will be necessary?"

The silence stretched. Salitha opened her mouth.

But Hannya raised her hand to stop her, her eyes never leaving Shela.

"I wasn't asking you."

A pause.

Shela stiffened. "...I believe peace should be pursued where it can grow."

Her voice was deep, solid as frozen soil.

Hannya smiled. "A beautiful answer. Practical too."

The tension cracked slightly. Not eased. Just… adjusted.

Shela looked away.

Hannya tapped her teacup again. She had made her move. And Shela had responded. Not with affection. Not yet.

But with interest.

And that, in her experience, was the beginning of everything.

The conversation settled into a smoother current, each side offering the expected pleasantries, with enough ambiguity to leave retreat open on all fronts.

Sawyer stood silently behind Hannya, arms crossed, face unreadable. The visitors had acknowledged his presence with a single glance when he arrived but not once addressed him. He didn't seem to mind; he was just hired muscle. From time to time, his gaze flicked toward the doorway, toward the curling fog along the threshold, subtle movements only Hannya ever noticed.

He was watching for knives in the dark. That was his role.

And Hannya?

She was sharpening them.

"Your mountain is different than I imagined," Salitha said, breaking a lull in the talk. "The roads were well-kept. The demons we passed were working. Building. Not just… existing."

Hannya poured herself more tea. "Did you expect my home to be a den of depravity and dust?"

"Most would assume as much," Salitha answered, not unkindly. "After all, the mountain seat was carved from the bones of a battlefield."

"Traditions can change," Hannya replied. "The past should not be discarded, but it must not shackle us either."

Salitha tilted her head, intrigued. "You sound like a reformist."

"I'm something worse," Hannya said softly. "An opportunist."

That earned a flicker of amusement from Shela, barely there, but it flashed in the corner of Hannya's eye. Sharp, cold, subtle. Like a mountain wind in the dead of night.

Hannya leaned slightly forward. "Let me guess, the council hasn't yet decided what to do with me. Some are furious. Some intrigued. But all are uncertain."

Salitha sipped her tea. "Correct."

"And yet here you are, before any official envoy has been dispatched. You're either brave… or ambitious."

"Both." Shela said before Salitha could speak.

That time, Hannya didn't hide her grin. "Excellent. I admire honesty. It's such a rare thing among devils."

The mist in the chamber pulsed once, like the room exhaling.

"I'll be plain," Hannya said at last. "The incident with the three nobles was unfortunate. But I warned them. Repeatedly." she said with a subtle shrug. "They believed themselves above consequence. One is dead. Two were returned, bruised but alive."

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"Returned," Shela echoed, her eyes narrowing. "You didn't need to."

"I know," Hannya said. "But it sends a message. I'm not reckless. I'm not a butcher. But I am not to be trifled with."

There was a pause. Then Salitha chuckled. "You sound like Gula. My mother spoke of her saying similar things in her early days."

Hannya's expression didn't change, but something behind her eyes sharpened. That comparison again.

"She and I aren't as close as everyone assumes," she said mildly. "We simply have overlapping goals."

Salitha accepted that answer with a faint nod.

The conversation might have continued, more posturing, more coded exchanges, but Hannya's eyes flicked toward Shela again. The Imp woman's body language was unmistakable. Strong, steady, always turned just slightly toward Salitha. A shield, not a servant.

Half frost demon, half wrath devil. A rare hybrid, an "Imp" in the local tongue. More often ridiculed than respected. But Shela bore herself like a general.

And Hannya recognized her. Oh, did she.

In Tragedy of Heroes, Shela was one of the Eight Destinies, those fated to carve legends across the continent. She'd become a demon lord, forged a liberation army in Neel, and nearly succeeded in freeing demonkind from divine tyranny.

And then, like so many in that damned story, she died.

Killed by Damien.

Hannya had screamed at the pages. That moment had ruined an entire arc for her.

Now here she was. Real. Alive. Still untouched by that fate.

And Hannya didn't want to let her fall to it again.

"You've seen war, haven't you?" Hannya asked suddenly, breaking the surface tension of the air like a dropped blade.

Shela answered smoothly. "Enough to know what happens when pride walks into someone else's home… Wrath follows."

A moment of quiet.

Then Hannya laughed, warm, sharp, satisfied.

Perfect.

She turned her gaze back to Salitha. "Let's talk terms."

The atmosphere in the audience chamber no longer crackled with hostility. Instead, it simmered with wary tension, masked beneath civility.

Salitha leaned forward, her voice as soft as falling rose petals. "The Love Faction would like to extend an unofficial offer of cooperation. Mutual defense, resource sharing, and perhaps a cultural exchange."

Hannya raised an eyebrow, sipping the tea she no longer enjoyed. "Against the Pleasure Faction?"

Salitha smiled like someone caught in a polite lie. "We would never say that out loud."

Shela's gaze shifted subtly to the wide stone-paved corridor behind them, mentally charting escape routes and estimating magical boundaries.

"And what do you want in return?" Hannya asked.

Salitha placed a hand to her chest. "Only peace, Princess of the Hazy Mountain. A declaration of goodwill. An opening gesture."

Hannya studied her for a moment, eyeing the way Salitha's aura subtly shifted. Like perfume winding through the air, a veil of charm slowly unfurled from the Luxuria devil. Hannya let it float for a heartbeat.

Then smiled.

Without a word, she released her own charm aura, heavy and laced with spite. Salitha shook as her own magic unraveled in a single breath, and her head tilted slightly. The world spun, not in fear, but in delight. Something about Hannya shimmered, became irresistible, fascinating-

"Salitha." Shela's voice cut through like a blade of frost.

Salitha blinked hard, and the haze lifted. She looked around, briefly disoriented. Then her eyes widened.

"I-I apologize," she said quickly, straightening. "It wasn't intentional."

Hannya waved her hand with mock grace. "I'm sure. Everyone can make a mistake twice."

To her credit, Salitha dipped her head respectfully. Shela, however, kept a protective hand near the hem of her sleeve, ready to draw, to shield, to strike.

"The tension between Love and Pleasure is… persistent," Salitha admitted. "But not always productive. We hoped the Princess of Hazy Mountain might entertain new perspectives."

Hannya offered a neutral smile. "I entertain many things. Guests. Enemies. Even bad ideas."

That earned the faintest upward twitch from Shela's mouth.

Hannya paused for a moment before speaking again.

"Stay here for one week," Hannya continued. "Observe the land. Walk the roads. Speak to the people."

She decided to postpone further talks for now; her blood was getting quite angry with Salitha's lack of self-control, but she did not wish to crush this devil. At least not in front of her future general.

She was a benevolent warlord now. Recruitment required restraint every now and then.

Shela nodded. "Your territory is stable. We saw the markets, the demons working. No chains. No screams. That's rare."

"Dreams do not bloom in chaos," Hannya said.

"You believe in dreams?" Shela asked.

"I believe in nightmares," Hannya replied. "But that's where the best ideas start."

The room held a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of a young page entering from the side hall, whispering silently to Sawyer standing to the side.

Then Sawyer cleared his throat. "A noble from the capital is en route. Likely a gesture from the Council. Quiet visit. Officially unofficial."

Hannya sighed. "Let him come. Let him watch. Let him learn."

Shela studied her quietly, as though trying to understand what kind of devil would invite more scrutiny after eating a noble's daughter.

Salitha glanced between them, then smiled again. "We came to feel the current. Others will do the same."

"And some will drown." Hannya murmured, half to herself.

Her gaze returned to Shela.

The Imp's expression hadn't changed, but her presence was strong, disciplined, cold.

The type of gigastacy the femcel readers admired with blind fervor. She was once like that.

But time gave her more of an understanding of the difference between self-control and a mask…

Though she still felt a lingering rage about the story.

Not an epic showdown. Not even after a fair battle.

She had spared that boy once, believing he was only misguided.

He returned with hero artifacts, Church blessings, cheat-like abilities granted by divine relics, and an ego as bloated as his fanbase. He carved through her army, crushed her cause, and annihilated her with holy fire, his heart never moved by mercy.

Damien didn't hate her personally; he didn't even know her. He hated what she was. A devil. A demon. A thing to be erased. The Church made sure of that.

Hannya clenched her fist under the table.

This time, this timeline, why should she let it happen when she had the means to change it?

Shela was just a young warrior now. Quiet. Calculating. Her name not yet inked into legend. But the flame, or the frost, rather, was there, waiting for the right moment to awaken.

She couldn't afford to scare her off. Not yet.

"And if you spy for the nobles," Hannya said, her voice soft but cold, "do it better than the others did."

Salitha nodded once, more solemn than before. "We'll remember that."

Shela said nothing.

But in her stillness, Hannya could feel the thread of fate tugging.

Shela wasn't here to be impressed. She was here to assess. Hannya didn't mind.

Because she had already decided.

Shela would live this time.

And she'd make damn sure of it.

The hour grew late, and yet the mountain seemed more alive than ever.

After the introductions, Hannya had offered the pair a chance to dine in the guest hall. A gesture of courtesy, though anyone who knew her understood Hannya rarely did anything for free.

The dining chamber was simpler than the grand audience hall. No golden motifs, no embroidered curtains. Just dark polished wood, mist-sealed lanterns, and a warm fire crackling in a side brazier. The table was set with fragrant rice, mountain herbs, thin-sliced dream beast flank, and a stew so spiced it shimmered with red mist.

Salitha took her seat with the grace of someone who'd eaten in palaces.

Shela sat opposite her, rigid but polite, eyeing every detail with quiet calculation.

"You both are free to rest here as long as needed," Hannya said, pouring a pale green wine into three lacquered cups. "Unless you plan to walk back down the mountain tonight."

Salitha smiled. "We're honored by the invitation."

Shela lifted her cup but did not drink.

Hannya watched the frost-imp carefully.

Even now, there was a soft tremble in the air around Shela. The Absolute Zero energy wasn't active, but it slept just beneath the surface. Controlled. Tempered. Almost divine in its purity.

A raw contradiction to the decadence of Salitha's charm magic.

"So," Hannya said, resting her chin on her hand, "why is a frost-imp guarding a Luxuria devil?"

Salitha chuckled lightly, but Shela answered.

"My father was a friend of her mother. They stayed behind in Neel to build an outpost."

"And they got trapped there when the gates closed."

Shela nodded. "They sealed it before I was of age. The Capital claimed all young half-bloods after that. I would've been conscripted into the border wars if Salitha hadn't claimed me."

Hannya's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Claimed?"

"I offered her protection," Salitha interjected, her voice still soft. "I saw the signs early. The capital breeds hate in its half-bloods. They call them imps and pit them against each other. But Shela… Shela stayed gentle. Even when her power awakened."

"I froze a blood cult member by accident." Shela muttered, clearly embarrassed.

"Thirteen members," Salitha corrected gently, placing a hand over hers. "She's modest."

Hannya raised a brow, intrigued. So the frost was already blooming.

"Hellnia breeds monsters," Shela said bluntly. "And it teaches you to hate monsters while becoming one. Much like Neel did in the past."

"It seems you wish to venture there as well?" Hannya asked.

Shela looked at her directly, that glacier calm undisturbed. "Yes. I don't suspect peace blankets that plane for devils and demonfolk, not after the severance. I want to seek out the ones left behind."

A pause. A heavy silence.

Hannya smiled. "How poetic."

She poured more wine and turned to the fire, allowing herself a brief moment to think.

This was not a pawn. Not a diplomat. Not a sycophant.

Shela was a future piece of history, one with the wish to move the board itself.

And Salitha, for all her softness, was not without her schemes. She had brought Shela here with purpose. Perhaps to impress. Perhaps to test Hannya's response.

Hannya didn't mind. Let them guess her motives.

Salitha broke the silence, her voice hesitant. "About earlier… I really didn't mean to use my charm aura so openly. It was reflexive. I meant no offense."

Hannya gave her a sideways look. She wanted to snort, but she knew Noh was somewhere around here skulking around. Waiting for her to slip up.

"Then try not to do it again. You won't like a third time."

Salitha nodded, humbled.

Shela, quietly watching, looked at Hannya with a new kind of attention. Not awe. Not fear. Something closer to… cautious respect.

That was fine.

"I hope your stay proves productive," Hannya finally said, rising.

Salitha stood as well, bowing. "May your dreams remain undisturbed."

Shela followed suit with a more martial gesture, a hand over her heart and one behind her back, an old frost demon sign of honest intent.

As they left the chamber, the flicker of firelight played across Shela's back, casting a shadow long and sharp across the polished stone floor.

Hannya watched it fade.

She'd changed nothing.

Yet.

But with this one encounter, she had rewritten the first line of a death-bound chapter.

Next time, Damien would find no mercy should he stand against the imp.

And this time, Shela would find something far rarer than glory.

A future.