The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 20 - The Kiss of the Flames [Part 2]

The fires ravaging Meridian had finally died down a few days ago, yet classes at the Academy still hadn't resumed—a frustrating inconvenience for Seraphina, who loathed nothing more than wasting time. Everyone else seemed to be making good use of the lull. Eloise had delved deeper into her Alchemical experiments, and even Miriam was growing more adept at wrestling with the endless paperwork she had to deal with on the lady's behalf. But Seraphina? She felt as though she were standing still.

Not that she had been idle. She had spent hours healing injured animals all across the city ruins—animals she sometimes had first wounded herself with light sling stones, just to create an injury she could treat. Of course, nobody needed to know about that part.

Her goal was simple: she was trying to exhaust her mana reserves often enough to gain the very useful Mana Regeneration skill. She had already achieved a high level in Rest, the prerequisite skill, but the frustratingly random rules of this game-like world refused to grant her the reward. Every day that passed without acquiring it only made her more irate.

It did not help that her rival, Este Lize, the original protagonist, would have access to quests—something Seraphina sorely lacked. Seraphina had tried preemptively to solve a few of these "quests," showing up uninvited at strangers' homes to solve their troubles, even going so far as to purging a merchant's wine cellar of rats, but no experience points or tangible rewards ever materialized. A handful of coins, some polite thanks, and an invitation to dinner were all she earned. It was beyond unfair, and she was furious about it.

Her simmering thoughts inevitably drifted back to that hussy Este Lize. And speak of the devil—Seraphina spotted her, right across the street, in the company of the Crown Prince himself. They stood in the district most scarred by the fires: scorched walls, blackened cobblestones, and the acrid smell of burnt wood lingering in the air. Overhead, a murder of crows circled, occasionally landing to peck at charred scraps still littering the streets. Their discordant caws grated against Seraphina's already frayed nerves.

Este Lize, meanwhile, flitted around the fire victims with a pious expression and sweet words of comfort. Seraphina even spotted her pressing her slight chest against Prince Velens's arm. The shameless girl! And the prince, that oblivious fool, practically beamed with delight, basking in her attention.

Taken by emotional surprise, she stolidly started walking away. Then she stopped. Seething, Seraphina clenched her fists. Why should she be the one skulking away in embarrassment? Her irritation flared hot.

"Frest, Gravens," she snapped.

"Yes, milady," both men responded, straightening at once.

"I want the head of that silver-haired whore's daughter on a pike," she declared, voice dripping venom.

The two knights exchanged uneasy glances. At last, Frest spoke, his tone carefully measured. "Milady, that might be… challenging. It's broad daylight, for one—"

"And it would hardly be chivalrous to strike down a maiden in plain sight," Gravens added haltingly.

Seraphina's glare grew murderous. "That sounds suspiciously like disobedience."

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A bead of sweat rolled down Frest's temple. "We only mean—it's too public here. You'd stir up a hornet's nest of trouble. And, I am a Knight and all now…"

"I think you are forgetting who knighted you in the first place, Sir Frest," came her sharp response.

She flicked her gaze back to Este Lize, longing to stomp over and hurl the girl's head into the nearest wall. The young noblewoman started to move in the direction of the silver-haired girl. Frest saw this and quickly placed a cautious hand on Seraphina's arm.

"Unhand me, Frest," she hissed. "If you value that arm."

He released her immediately. "Please, milady, think carefully," he murmured, eyes darting to nearby rooftops. "This place is swarming with royal watchers—bodyguards and hidden lookouts. The moment you attack, they'll strike back."

She forced herself to calm down, though it cost her dearly. "Fine," she growled. "No direct conflict…for now."

Her anger still burned beneath her skin as she wandered through the charred streets, trying to quell the urge to lash out. Finally, her gaze fell upon a young beggar in tattered rags, fresh burn scars covering thin arms. The girl cradled an empty bowl, hollow-eyed from pain and hunger. Seraphina, searching for something—anything—to distract her, marched right over.

"You—child," she barked.

The beggar looked up, startled, eyes wide and brimming with confusion.

"See that silver-haired woman?" Seraphina pointed across the street. "I want you to call her a whore's daughter."

The child blinked, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I'll pay you ten copper pieces," Seraphina added, with all the reluctance of someone parting with a grand fortune.

A flicker of defiance sharpened the child's gaze. "Won't do it," she said in a small but firm voice. "The Saint of Silver—she helped me an' my family. Gave us comfort when no one else would. I'd never call her such a thing, not for all the coin in the world."

Seraphina's lip curled in a look of pure disdain. "You have a name?"

"Istala," the girl said. "And if you want to be charitable, I'll take the coin. But I'm not insultin' her."

Seraphina bristled. Rage coiled in her stomach, tightening her fists. Frest and Gravens tensed beside her, preparing to intervene if she lashed out. At length, however, Seraphina managed to steady her temper.

"Fine," she said tersely. "A shrewd schemer you are, Istala. I almost respect it. Now tell me—does it hurt? Are you…whole?"

The child winced, shifting on the scorched cobblestones. "Everything hurts, miss. I had a bit of poppy's milk before, but it's gone. An', I can't… walk right no more."

A cold smile curved Seraphina's lips. The girl was clearly trying to manipulate her sympathy, but Seraphina felt only the thrill of a newly discovered vulnerability to exploit.

"I can take that pain away," she said smoothly. "I can make you walk again. All you have to do is shout those words at the silver-haired girl to her face. If she's truly a saint, she'll forgive you, won't she?"

Istala stared at her, torn between hope and dread. "You…you don't want me soul or anything?"

Seraphina's charismatic aura was palpable, flooding the space between them. "Not at all," she purred. "Just a few harsh words from a beg… I mean little girl's mouth—no harm done."

"Oh, and you'll have to add that her magic caused this fire…" the blonde girl added casually.

"But she din't…" the child started before Seraphina's look silenced her like a silken gag.

Istala swallowed, tears pricking her eyes, guilt and desperation tangled in every breath. "If… if you can help me," she whispered at last, "then… I suppose… it wouldn't hurt, right?"

Seraphina smiled viciously. As long as she found the slightest lever to work with, her monstrously high Charisma would do the rest. And she had found it now—buried beneath the child's pain and fear.