The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 19 - The Fires of Determination [Part 2]

From the side, Eloise peered over the top of her thick tome. "I see White's territory is quite sizable on the right," the doll-like girl murmured softly, as though reading the game's outcome in the lines of her book.

Miriam set down a white teapot with a gentle clink before refilling Seraphina's cup. The steam rose in a graceful swirl that faded into the clean garden air.

Seraphina sipped her tea as Ibn contemplated an approach on the left side—perhaps a reduction of White's territory around C10. Desdemona pointed to an inward push near D12.

"That might cause her some trouble," the de Savant girl declared, though with a skeptical edge to her voice. Ibn ventured a short thrust, dropping a black stone at D12, but Seraphina calmly countered with a solid block at C11, linking her groups and leaving minimal aji, latent potential, for Black to exploit.

A hint of desperation crept into Ibn's subsequent moves. He probed the lower side near R4, then tested the center around K10. Each time, Seraphina responded precisely, neither overplaying nor missing any small gains. She played a ko threat at L8, forcing a trade that netted her a few extra points of endgame territory. It was an inelegant, if effective, move.

"You might consider playing carefully now, dear boy," Desdemona offered, though she was quick to add, "But if you're feeling bold, you could—"

"Stop listening to her," Seraphina interjected with a light laugh. "Trust me, a big, reckless move would not be in your favor at this stage." Though he was still far from ever matching her skills, she was delighted to see how much progress he had made in so little time.

Seraphina had spent years honing her skills at this game, one of her father's favorite pastimes, in hopes of winning his approval. And that approval, much like any advantage, she had wielded like a blunt instrument against her half-siblings.

Desdemona's "advice" just reminded Seraphina once again why she was third-rate.

It was truly a shame that this level of progress was not reflected in Ibn's letters. Or, lamentably, in his poetry, for that matter. Could he not see that she was trying to mold him into something other than a boring old weapon?

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Ibn exhaled heavily. He placed another stone with a small clack—this time at P17, a final attempt to squeeze White's top corner. But the green-eyed girl had read the sequence clearly. She extended at Q17, turned at R18, and cut off Black's approach, denying any hope of seizing vital points.

For a long moment, Ibn surveyed the board. The shapes and flows of influence spoke plainly: White's advantage was undeniable. Black simply could not close the gap. Ibn's shoulders slumped as he recognized the inevitable.

The game had been truly educational; it showed insights into how Seraphina thought, her weaknesses, and her overwhelming strength. For the young Hazagadami boy, the black-and-white stones had traced a hypnotic rhythm across the board—a dance in which he had not led, yet one that enthralled him all the same. He felt in his secret heart that he had been able to converse and grow closer to his mistress through the game.

Desdemona let out an indelicate sigh. "Well, it was worth a try. You fought bravely, Ibn."

Still poised in her seat, Seraphina set her last stone on the board with a light click. "Do you see how all of this will end?"

Ibn bowed his head. "I… see it. There is nothing I can do." He removed his hand from the bowl of stones. "I resign."

Seraphina smiled and gently lifted a cup for Miriam to pour in some more tea, her gaze sweeping across the pattern of black and white. "Remember, in Stones, every move is a chance to learn. And, it is good manners that one must be graceful in both victory and defeat."

At this, Miriam's hands stopped, almost spilling the tea.

But Ibn merely nodded, as if absorbing some secret wisdom. There were lessons to be found in the game of Stones—feints, deceptions, tactics, and grand strategy. The art of the cut and the precision of the thrust each had their place, just as they did in the Romance of the Sword.

He realized that his mistress had once again gone out of her way for him. This had been no mere game, no idle pastime—she had deliberately taken the time to teach him a lesson, one that he was just seeing now. Not even his own mother had guided him in such a way, and at that thought, a deep sense of loyalty welled up in his heart.

The young Hazagadami boy stood and bowed deeply before Seraphina, his voice soft yet brimming with respect. "Thank you very much for your supreme guidance," he said. A gentle breeze stirred the orchard around them, carrying the faint scent of blossoms through the warm air.

Seraphina regarded him with an indulgent smile, and his heart caught in his chest. "Oh, come now, Ibn," she teased. "It was just a little game to pass the time. Now, girls, whatever shall we do for the rest of the afternoon?"

Desdemona, sitting primly now, let out a melodramatic sigh as she took out an unfinished piece of embroidery. "I did not expect classes to be canceled so early in the term. The seniors told me this afternoon's lessons were to be insufferably dull," she said, somehow managing to look down her nose despite her own petite stature.

"Yes, this fire business has been most inconvenient," Seraphina replied dryly, her tone cool as she flicked an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve.

Above them, the blooming branches rustled under a sudden landward gust. Shadows danced across Ibn's face as a single white petal drifted lazily from overhead and landed in his cup. He looked upon it and felt a sudden swell of purpose. It had been his mother's favorite flower.

In that moment, he silently vowed that he would become the Lady Seraphina's perfect sword—an unyielding blade born from her teachings and tempered by his devotion.

And honed to a fine razor's edge on only the strongest of foes.