Heart Devil [OP Yandere Schizo Ramble LitRPG XD]

The hall was quiet except for the echo of footsteps on smooth wood. Salitha walked alone down the corridor of banners and veils, a ceremonial path prepared for her second introduction to the mistress of the mountain.

She wore her formal robes now, rose-gold with black thread lining the sleeves, no sigil of faction embroidered on the chest. She had scrubbed it clean the night before. If she was to be seen, she would be seen as herself, not what she had been.

At the end of the corridor, the sliding panel was open.

Inside waited Hannya.

She sat on a raised platform in the shadow of a massive bloom of hanging velvet petals, an illusion of her own making, perhaps. Her black veil was lowered over the bridge of her nose, revealing only her sharp pink eyes.

Shela stood just inside the room, leaning silently against a pillar.

Noh, seated nearby, offered a shallow bow of welcome.

Salitha stepped inside and lowered herself to one knee.

"My name is Salitha 25th Luxuria," she said. "Formerly of the Love faction. I have come without title."

Hannya tilted her head slowly. "Then I will not greet you as one."

She paused.

Then she added, "But you are welcome… It seems you also discarded the title of 6th?"

"It will not shield me here," she replied, head still lowered. "Since you know its value."

Hannya held back a snort, staying silent.

Salitha rose carefully.

"Why did you come?" Hannya asked, voice quiet.

"I came for Shela."

"Loyalty, then."

"And the others I brought."

"Responsibility."

"And for myself."

That made Hannya smile.

"Ambition."

Salitha's jaw clenched slightly. "Is that a sin?"

"No," Hannya replied. "It's a resource."

She rose to her feet in one smooth motion, descending from her platform barefoot, a melodic jingle with every step. The hem of her black kimono whispered across the polished floor, patterned with faint petals of pink and gold.

Salitha remained still.

Hannya circled her slowly, once, like a hawk assessing an offering.

"You've been trained in charm laws," Hannya said. "Subtle techniques. Enchantments through voice, posture, warmth."

"I served as a council heart-guard and speaker."

"I know... You failed Shela."

Salitha flinched, but did not deny it.

"You thought love would be enough," Hannya continued, now behind her. "You thought if you stayed soft, the world would change shape around you."

"And you think only blades matter." Salitha said without turning.

"No," Hannya said. "I think the blade must know who it bleeds for."

Salitha turned then, slowly.

"And you?"

"I bleed for someone too great to remain forgotten."

The words came like a confession, but not to her.

To the air.

To the weight of Neel's history.

To him, whoever he was.

Salitha studied her carefully.

"Do you always test those who come to serve?"

"I test those who hesitate." Hannya replied without missing a beat.

"Then test me. Just don't expect me to grovel."

Hannya's eyes spun slowly beneath her veil.

"Good," she said. "We already have enough kneelers."

From her place against the column, Shela watched the exchange like a duel. Not of weapons, but of wills.

Salitha had changed.

Her edges had sharpened.

But Hannya's aura was a different thing altogether, like a slow-burning heat, like water drawn to a simmer but never spilling. It didn't crush others. It altered them.

Subtly. Efficiently.

Shela didn't know if that frightened her or not.

…

…

After the meeting, as Hannya and Noh withdrew into the upper tiers of the fortress, Salitha remained behind in the rose-wood hall.

Shela approached her. Her posture cold… yet encouraging.

"You did well."

Salitha exhaled. "It felt like being dissected."

"She dissects everyone."

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"She's… not what I expected."

"She never is."

They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by soft candlelight.

"She still doesn't trust me." Salitha said finally.

"No," Shela replied. "But she doesn't waste what she finds useful."

Salitha's face fell.

"Is that all I am here? Useful?"

Shela looked at her. "That's what everyone is. Even me."

Salitha turned back toward the veiled corridor, determination shining deep in her pink eyes.

"Then I'll be useful enough that she regrets ever doubting it."

~~~

In the inner court of the Superbia estate, three high nobles sat beneath mirrored chandeliers, cloaked in ceremonial robes of blood-red and gold. At the center of their gathering, the sword Vanity rested in its sheath atop a velvet cloth.

The mood in the chamber had changed.

Gone was the dismissive contempt of the early Compact days. In its place: irritation, confusion, and now, strategy.

"We cannot deny the request outright," said Eronius, fingers pressed together. "That gives her too much control. But if we accept without demand, we lose face."

"So," asked a cousin, "we bait the exchange?"

Eronius nodded once. "A ceremonial transfer. Public. Formal. Witnessed by multiple factions. That sword has not left our vault in eight centuries, offering it in a public rite of good will forces them to step into our space."

"And if she refuses?" asked a minor lord seated near the wall.

"Then she shows weakness. Or cowardice. Either way, we reclaim ground."

The older woman at the end of the table, gray eyes sharp beneath feathered lashes, leaned forward.

"And if she accepts?"

Eronius met her gaze.

"Then we see what she really looks like beneath her veil."

~~~

The messenger arrived at Hazy Mountain two days later, dressed in diplomatic gray, bearing the Superbia seal pressed into red wax. The scroll was placed into Noh's hands first, then passed along to Hannya in her garden courtyard.

She sat amid blooming thorns and frost-bitten lilies, a vine-covered arch growing overhead. She opened the scroll in silence.

Baku entered a moment later, watching her face as she read.

"Conditions?" he asked.

"They'll send Vanity," she replied. "But only in a public transfer ceremony. With multiple factions present. A trap disguised as tradition."

Baku's expression tightened. "They want to drag us into their court. Make you bow on their floor."

Hannya folded the scroll and set it aside. Her fingers moved with thought. She rose from her cushion and crossed to a standing mirror at the side of the chamber, adjusting her veil.

"I'll go."

Baku blinked. "You?"

She snorted at that.

"I've played with shadows long enough," she said. "They want to measure me? Let them bring a taller ruler."

Baku's silence stretched. "Then we plan for complications."

"We always do."

She reached into her spatial ring, her mana brushing a familiar, heavy item. A shimmer of runelight flickered over her hand, and in a moment, she withdrew a seven-foot mirror of black-veined marble and gold-tinted glass.

Narcissus' Envious Mirror.

The artifact pulsed faintly, humming with quiet awareness before she slid it, frame-first, back into her ring.

Baku didn't ask.

But he knew better than to assume it would be used for decoration.

Later, in the summit hall, Hannya addressed both Shela and Noh, her expression veiled but intent unmistakable.

"Shela," she said, "you'll accompany me as my blade."

Shela stood straighter. "To the Capital?"

"Yes, to the ceremonial exchange. They'll want a familiar face. You'll remind them I don't need introductions."

Shela nodded once. "As you will."

"Noh," Hannya said, eyes sliding toward her with wry amusement, "you'll be my whisper."

Noh grinned, fan hiding half her face. "I do so enjoy formal occasions."

"It won't be formal for long," Hannya replied. "But our presence must be."

She stepped forward, placing one hand briefly on Shela's shoulder. "You won't be there to fight. You'll be there to remind them what restraint looks like with a sword on its hip."

"And if they try to press us?"

Hannya smiled faintly.

"Then I show them what happens when the mountain moves."

Elsewhere on the mountain, Salitha stood before a small circle of acolytes, some from her own group, others curious local trainees. They had gathered in a meditation chamber hollowed from amber-colored stone, warmed by the constant pulse of enchantments sewn into the walls.

She spoke not with charm aura or glamour, but with clarity.

"Love," she said, "is not only patience. It's not only warmth. It's willingness."

The young devils watched her, a few nodding.

"You can love someone and still challenge them. Still bleed for them. If you believe in love, you fight for it. You don't just whisper it like a spell."

One raised her hand, an acolyte with budding horns and scars on her knuckles. "What if you don't know if it's real?"

Salitha smiled. "Then ask yourself: would you protect it even if it hurt?"

Silence.

But it wasn't a bad silence.

It was a listening, pondering one.

She didn't teach them to seduce.

She didn't teach them to please.

She taught them how to stand for something soft in a world that rewarded cruelty.

And slowly, quietly, they began to understand why she had followed Shela.

And why Shela hadn't turned her away.

The sun was barely cresting the jagged line of the eastern ridges when the mist-cloaked mountain stirred. A quiet tension rolled down its spine as banners were lowered, veils fastened, and orders issued from the central halls.

The mistress of Hazy Mountain had decided to descend.

And the world would not ignore it.

Inside her private hall, Hannya stood before an arched glass window, her veil folded beside her on the table. Noh knelt nearby, carefully sliding lavish instruments and tools into an ebony case.

On the side table, a sealed mirror flickered faintly in the light.

Narcissus' Envious Mirror.

Seven feet tall when revealed, now compacted by magic. The marble frame was veined with black lines like spiderwebs carved through obsidian, and the glass shimmered with a dull gold sheen.

The original owner, the infamous 1st Narcissus, had been a devil of fame and elegance. A rare six-star prodigy whose vanity bloomed into madness.

This mirror had been his final triumph and downfall. Slain by this very mountain's former ruler.

A mirror that could cleanse curses, drawing afflictions from one body… and cast them onto another.

Two commands. Two rules.

"Mirror, mirror, look up to me" - to cleanse oneself.

"Mirror, mirror, look down on them" - to transfer the burden to a target.

A weapon of healing. A weapon of hate.

Hannya's fingers brushed the mirror's faint heat as she whispered, "It's not for them. But someone might need it."

She sealed it away.

…

…

Shela arrived at the lower garden gate already armored in layered frostweave. She wore no house crest, only the embroidered emblem of the Dreamveil Compact, a stylized veil split into three arcs, half-frozen in mist.

Noh trailed behind her, robes fluttering faintly, a small scroll case tucked under one arm.

"The horses are ready." Shela said.

"We're not nobles," Hannya said behind them. "We don't need horses."

They turned to see her descending the staircase, her black kimono traced with gold-pink petals, a thin veil half-shading her face. Her steps clacking with each stride.

"You're walking?" Shela asked.

"I'll walk into their court like I walked into their war." she said simply.

~~~

News traveled faster than couriers.

By dusk, the Capital was stirring.

Envoys from the minor houses and guilds whispered of her decision. The Pleasure faction scribes took note. The Dream faction's inner circle prepared to watch from behind enchanted glass.

And in the Superbia estate, Eronius received the news with his wine halfway to his lips.

"She's actually coming?" His eyes slightly wide.

The messenger nodded.

Eronius stared at the firelight. The sword Vanity had already been placed on its crimson velvet tray.

"Then the ceremony is no longer a trap," he muttered. "It's an arena."

~~~

As night settled on the high ridges of the new Dreamveil pass, the three devils moved like shadows across the snow, Hannya leading, Shela one step behind to her right, Noh gliding with casual grace.

They said little.

But none of them walked lightly.

Near midnight, they stopped by a spring glowing with hellfire moss. Noh brewed a bitter red tea said to settle aura flow before long journeys.

Shela drank without question. Hannya didn't touch hers.

Instead, she sat before a stone basin and stared into the reflection of the moon.

In the reflection, she saw herself…

But also the faint outline of another.

A face of strength.

And resolve.

Vainglory.

The cursed one. The forgotten one. The devils had thrown him away.

The gods had used him.

The heroes had consumed him.

But his sword would get to his hands this timeline, in this story. The Supurbia withheld it during his time as heir of his line…

But no longer. It would return to its rightful owner. That birthright was wasted on them.

A strange feeling, an energy, throbbed in her chest, but she held it down for now.

She closed her eyes as she whispered into the water.

"They won't understand what I'm taking from them."

"They never do." Noh murmured from behind.

Shela didn't speak.

But her hand found her weapon's hilt.

Not in fear. In readiness.

By morning, the gate to the Capital would open.

And Vanity would be waiting on a stage meant to humiliate.

Instead, it would serve a declaration.

One veiled, gilded, and sharp enough to wound without ever drawing blood.

And somewhere deep in her ring, the Mirror pulsed quietly, as if listening.