The Dark Lady's Guide to Villainy [Book 1 Complete] [Dark Lord, School, Romance]

Two hours later, Julian sat cross-legged on the common room's floor, surrounded by Mo's collection. He handled each book with reverence these LitRPG novels had never experienced before, absorbing concepts like experience points, skill trees, and level-ups with an intensity that made her heart race.

"Look at this," he said. "They quantify everything—strength, agility, magical affinity. They even track 'charisma with dragons' and 'sandwich crafting speed.' And these 'status screens' that show exact progress... Mo, this could revolutionize how we understand magic. I've been missing out on an entire world of knowledge from my mother's homeland."

"And this theory about mana crystallization rates," Julian said, his finger tracing a passage in one of the novels. "The idea that magical energy can solidify at different rates depending on emotional state—it's primitive, but the core concept..."

"…has actual magical validity," Mo said, leaning in to see the text. Their heads nearly touched as they pored over the same page. "I've been thinking the same thing about these progression curves."

"Exactly!"

"If you two are quite finished with your literary mind-meld," Nyx drawled from across the room, "some of us are trying to revolutionize magical education over here."

Mo jumped back, suddenly aware of how close they'd been. "Right. The, um, progression charts."

"I should say I expected these stories to have too much fluff compared to the academic papers," Julian said. "But the ideology… Stories that imagine a world where power isn't hoarded by the elite. Where anyone can grow stronger through dedication and understanding. But simply… learning things instead of imposing their dominance… It can be useful. Isn't that what you're trying to do with Blackthorn Keep?"

The question hit harder than expected. Was she? These past weeks had been about survival, about proving herself worthy of a title she'd never wanted. But underneath it all...

"I want things to be different," Mo said. "When I was a kid, I wanted to just run away from all of it. But now, all this power brings some opportunities. And responsibilities."

As she spoke, that warm, familiar rose-gold energy stirred within her—not just an abstract power but a living thing coiling through her veins, heating her blood until it felt carbonated with magic. The air between them thickened, now tasting of cinnamon and something that eluded her senses.

Julian's pupils dilated visibly, black eclipsing brown as tendrils of her power—invisible to the eye but unmistakable in their effect—reached across the space between them. His breathing quickened, papers forgotten in his hands as his attention locked onto her face with an intensity that transformed his scholarly focus into something far more primal. A single bead of sweat traced his temple despite the room's cool temperature.

Mo felt the intoxicating feedback loop beginning—his emotions amplifying her power, her power deepening his reaction—a dangerous dance she hadn't performed since Earth. And even then, she wasn't really fully aware of her powers.

The worst part? Some buried, primal part of her reveled in it.

"We could…" Julian set down his notes, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "We could create something revolutionary together."

Mo realized what was happening with a jolt. She quickly reined in her power, watching Julian blink in confusion as the subtle enchantment faded.

"That was... A fascinating demonstration of projection dynamics. The intensity gradient was particularly... compelling." Julian cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on hers a moment longer than strictly necessary for academic discussion. "I'd be interested in further observations of this phenomenon. For research purposes, of course."

Mo's cheeks were suddenly reddening. "Nyx is right. We should get back to the progression system. Those quantification models won't develop themselves." She straightened her back, reaching for the stack of charts. "So, about those calculations…"

"I almost forgot," Julian exclaimed suddenly, eyes widening. "I overheard something in the faculty lounge. The seniors from the Midnight Trial are planning to confront you formally. They've been gathering political support while you were gone."

"Let them come," Mo said, not even surprised by the dark edge in her own voice—a voice that reminded her uncomfortably of her father's when he'd addressed disobedient servants. The realization should have horrified her. Instead, she felt a perverse thrill unfurling in her chest like a venomous flower. "I'm done cuddling everyone else's agendas."

The words hung in the air, and Mo caught her reflection in the window glass—familiar features made strange by the predatory gleam in her eyes. For a moment, she glimpsed the barista from Earth watching her with disappointment from the other side of the glass. But that Mo had never had to survive Umbra Academy, had never watched her advisor become an arcane portal anchor, had never felt the intoxicating rush of real power.

That Mo was a luxury she could no longer afford.

"Winter reveals itself in many forms—some gentle as snowfall, others merciless as avalanche. What are you thinking?" Lucian asked.

Mo tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the table, sparks of her energy becoming so habitual and even comforting as she sensed it shifting subtly between her fingers. "The Academy runs on rumors and reputation. We tried to influence that. But right after, we were sent away and had to allow the others to control the narrative."

"Time to write our own story?" Nyx asked. "Something with better character development and significantly more dramatic flair than whatever tedious propaganda they've been spreading? I volunteer to handle the costumes and special effects."

"Oh, you are too kind," Mo said. "For two weeks, they've been spreading their version of events. Time for a... perspective adjustment."

Julian looked slightly alarmed. "What kind of adjustment?"

"The kind that only a succubus can provide," Mo replied, tapping her Advanced Psychological Manipulation textbook with deliberate irony. "A little emotional connection, a shared experience of what happened at Blackthorn Keep. After all, isn't that what Professor Dreadmore keeps preaching in 'Mind Domination Through Emotional Exploitation'? That the most effective form of control is making others believe they've seen the truth?"

"Mo," Lucian said cautiously, frost crystals forming and melting in rapid succession around his collar, "are you suggesting using your power to..."

"To show them exactly what they want to see," she said, opening the textbook to a page marked 'Strategic Illusion: Perception Management for the Discerning Villain.' "A Dark Lady worthy of her title. It's literally our homework assignment for next week. I'm just getting ahead on the curriculum."

"That's..."

"Brilliant!" Nyx exclaimed, bouncing upward until they hovered several inches above the floor. "They expect a villain, give them one! It's practically extra credit for 'Exploiting Reputation Management 202.' Oh! And we should document the psychological aftermath for your 'Trauma as a Leadership Tool' presentation!"

Mo couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity—using the very techniques Umbra Academy taught to challenge the power structures it maintained. There was something deliciously subversive about turning their education against them, especially since none of them would realize she wasn't actually planning to embrace the cruelty they kept trying to instill. "See? I'm being a model student. Just not quite the way they intended."

Something shifted inside her, a darkness she'd been fighting for years. Something that has resurfaced during that decisive moment in the ritual chamber with Aldric.

Now, instead of resisting it, she let it rise.

"I'm a Dark Lady, aren't I? Time to start acting like one."

***

They prepared the scene with theatrical precision worthy of the second-year course of "Intimidating Atmospherics." Outside, the Academy's twisted spires gouged a blood-red sunset as shadows stretched like grasping fingers across their dormitory walls. Candles—one of the many things stolen by Nyx, this time from the Advanced Necromancy lab, and enchanted by Lucian to burn with frost-blue flames—created pools of ghostly light that transformed their ordinary common room into a chamber of judgment.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Nyx took position by the door, having carefully arranged the furniture to force any visitor to walk a gauntlet of psychological triggers outlined in "Strategic Spatial Dominance"—the pathway narrowing, forcing supplicants to step down slightly, gather in a tighter group, the ceiling appearing lower due to shadow manipulation.

Lucian perched on the windowsill, growing and melting ice spikes between his fingertips with calculated indifference, the crystalline fragments catching the dying light in prismatic splinters that danced across the walls like watchful spirits.

Julian stood somewhat to the side—not as friend but as witness, his black faculty assistant's robe lending an official weight to the proceedings. At the center of it all, Mo reclined in an armchair positioned on a subtle elevation, angled precisely to catch the strongest light while leaving her face half in shadow—an homage to her throne at Blackthorn Keep and a deliberate application of "Psychological Intimidation Through Vertical Hierarchies."

The irony wasn't lost on her—using lessons meant to teach oppression subordination to protect themselves from dominance of the upperclassmen. But wasn't that exactly what villain school had prepared them for? Not playing by the rules, but manipulating them to their advantage.

Nyx stepped closer to the door at the sound of approaching footsteps. When they finally opened the door, their form cycled rapidly through increasingly intimidating configurations—growing taller with each shift, sprouting horns that twisted like dark thorns. Then suddenly dropping to half-a-size, before regaining an even more intimidating posture. Their skin deepened to the color of a starless night before settling on something with too many teeth and eyes that glowed like embers.

"The Dark Lady will see you now," they announced with theatrical menace, their voice resonating on multiple frequencies at once.

The delegation—five upperclassmen who'd participated in the Midnight Trial—hesitated visibly before entering. Their leader, Darian Blackcrest, strode in with his usual arrogance, but Mo noticed the slight tremor in his step as he passed the still-shifting Nyx.

"We've come to... discuss the incident," he began, projecting confidence that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The unauthorized interference with Academy traditions. We officially invite you to start a sequence of formal unexpected challenges…"

"Challenges? Formal? What is this children's charade?" Mo said, rising from her seat with deliberate grace. Rose-gold energy cascaded over her body in spectacular arcs, illuminating her silhouette like a living flame as she approached them. The power wasn't just around her fingers now, but flowing through her hair, dancing across her skin, and reflecting in her eyes with dangerous intensity. "Let's figure it out right here. You've heard rumors about my absence, haven't you? About what I did at Blackthorn Keep?"

The seniors exchanged uncertain glances.

"You know how this works, Darian," Mo said, her voice silky smooth as she extended her hand toward him. "I know we have already had this experience before. It isn't scary, right? I want to save time for all of us. Just a little... sharing of perspectives. And you may even get a bit more material to feed your hobby newspaper. A headline or two."

Her eyes gleamed with dangerous light as she leaned forward. "However, I can certainly give you something unexpected, if that's what you're after."

Before Darian could protest, Mo's power surged outward—not the chaotic eruption from her duel with Valerius, but the precision-guided projectiles of influence. Rose-gold tendrils snaked through the air like hunting serpents, wrapping around each senior's mind with delicate, inexorable force. This time, six consciousness—five seniors and herself—connected in a web of her making.

Sensing the perfect moment to amplify the atmosphere, Lucian subtly flexed his powers. The room temperature plummeted. The candles guttered, their flames turning to frost for an instant. Someone gasped as reality dissolved around them.

Mo didn't just tell them what happened at Blackthorn Keep—she submerged them in it, forcing their minds to construct the scenes from her carefully curated emotional imprints. She felt their consciousness struggling against hers like a fish in a net, their initial resistance melting into forced receptivity as she bypassed their defenses with terrifying ease.

First, she showed herself presiding over the Shadow Cabinet—not the uncertain girl who'd arrived trembling at Blackthorn Keep, but a calculating chess master coldly dismissing centuries of tradition with a casual wave of her hand. She felt Darian's disbelief morph into horrified admiration as she allowed him to experience how it felt to command ancient powers with such casual disregard.

Next came the negotiations with Grimz, where she let them feel how she'd allegedly planted subtle compulsions in the goblins' minds while appearing to compromise—making them believe unionization was their idea while she retained complete control. The fabricated memory burned with such conviction that even Mo began to question whether it had actually happened that way. The mind of one of the seniors recoiled from the demonstration of power, trying unsuccessfully to break free of the connection.

The illusion shifted again, the Keep's ancient stones dissolving and reforming around them as Mo showed her calculated reorganization of Blackthorn's power structure, moving pieces as if playing chess with living beings. She let them taste the intoxicating flavor of absolute control—addictive, seductive, terrifying.

Finally, she showed Aldric's betrayal, his scheming with the Council, and then... his final moments. Not as a tragic necessity, but as a calculated execution, his essence harvested to power her return.

She let them feel her satisfaction as the magic consumed her opponent, the rush of power as she dominated the ritual chamber.

When Mo finally released the seniors, all five of them were pale, wide-eyed.

"That was..." one of them whispered.

"Just a taste," Mo said. "My field assignment was quite... educational. You know, no one told me first-years weren't actually supposed to amass body counts. Isn't it more up your alley. As seniors, you know? Apparently, they expected me to fail."

She could see the realization dawning in their eyes: while they'd been playing at villainy with their midnight hazing, she'd been making real power moves—and taking lives.

"Did any of you have any similar experiences or field trips?"

"After careful consideration," Darian said, his voice barely steady as calculation warred with naked fear in his eyes, "we have to up our game. You are right, Midnight Trial is children's play. It is beneath people of our… caliber." he made a dramatic gesture with his hands, unconsciously replicating the embrace Mo offered while standing in front of Darian in the dorm corridor two weeks ago.

"The tradition is ridiculous and absolutely not worth of our time," another senior said.

"Your demonstration was... enlightening," the third one added. "We'll take some time to reevaluate our… approach."

The fourth suddenly kneeled, his face a battleground of emotions. "We pledge our allegiance to you, Dark Lady!" he exclaimed, before someone put a palm on his mouth and dragged him out of the dorm suite.

Mo could read it in their body language—the way Darian's hands trembled slightly despite his formal posture, how another senior kept swallowing convulsively, the sheen of sweat on their foreheads despite the room's cool temperature. They were terrified to their core, but still tried to spin their surrender as strategic alliance. The power dynamic had shifted completely. Two weeks ago, they were the intimidating upperclassmen. Now they were supplicants before a first-year they believed capable of casual homicide.

"Good choice," Mo said, letting the energy dissipate. "I'd hate to have to make another example. Or would I?"

As they left, Mo dropped back into the armchair. "Did I… just make it all worse?"

Nyx's laughter filled the room. "Oh, that was delicious! The mighty seniors, brought low by our coffee-serving revolutionary!"

"Former coffee server," Mo corrected, but the smile was returning to her face. "Now I serve revolutionary reforms with a creamy foam of casual intimidation."

"Did you notice?" asked Julian.

"What?" Mo replied a bit too abruptly.

"You mentioned that your previous level allowed for one precise memory insertion. But here, there were five…"

"…Of them," Mo finished for him, realization dawning on her. "And it seems that I reached every single one with the same intensity…"

"I think the intensity may have peaked for that guy who fell on his knees," Nyx said. "Honestly, I'm disappointed none of them fainted. That would have been properly dramatic."

"Power reveals two faces," Lucian said. "The mask we craft for others, and the truth we glimpse in mirrors. Which face did you show them, I wonder?"

As the implications of Mo's growing power hung in the air between them, the temperature plummeted even lower—the only warning before the wall behind Julian shimmered like disturbed water. Lady Thornheart's spectral form materialized through solid stone, her Victorian silhouette trailing wisps of ectoplasm that smelled faintly of lavender and formaldehyde. The ghost's expression held the particular brand of frosty disapproval perfected by administrators across multiple centuries and dimensions.

"Mr. Fennar," she said, her ghostly ledger materializing in translucent hands—the pages flipping themselves to reveal meticulous spectral notes written in an architectural script. Mo glimpsed her own name appearing multiple times in glowing ink, followed by timestamps and behavioral assessments. The surveillance implications sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the ghost's supernatural cold. "Faculty-student fraternization hours ended precisely four hundred twenty-one seconds ago. And I needn't remind you of the Academy's policies regarding appropriate professional distance."

Julian stiffened, his body language transforming from relaxed colleague to subordinate so quickly that Mo realized he must have practiced the shift. "Lady Thornheart! I was just... consulting on an independent research project."

"Indeed." Her spectral gaze swept over the gathering with transparent skepticism. "The Headmaster would be most interested in how far your... research methodologies… had spread during the past two hours. I've been making notes."

She turned her gaze to Mo. "I should note that your disposal of the upperclassmen was very timely, Lady Nightshade. Section XIII, paragraph iv of the Umbral Code of Conduct expressly forbids terrifying senior students after curfew. However, as it was precisely two minutes before said curfew, you remain perfectly within regulations."

As Julian gathered the archival documents with hasty movements, his hand brushed Mo's. He froze, a strange awareness dawning in his eyes as he felt the lingering warmth of her magic—and something more personal beneath it. Mo felt it too, that the connection forming between them wasn't purely academic.

"I should go," Julian said, his voice dropping to a register meant only for Mo. He flexed his fingers where her magic still visibly sparked, his expression mingling scientific fascination with something far more dangerous. "But we'll continue this... research soon." The way he said "research" carried layers of meaning neither was ready to fully acknowledge.

"Mr. Frostbrook," Lady Thornheart said, switching her attention with deliberate abruptness. "Did you think I wouldn't notice you behind the curtain? Your cooling enchantment was quite effective on the eastern side, but the western corner retained a rather telling frost pattern. Perhaps review Concealment Theory before attempting to hide from faculty again."

After the ghost departed with the two men, Mo stared at her hand, still feeling the echo of Julian's touch.