The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

"Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides."

- André Malraux.

The librarian peered over the rim of her silver spectacles, one eyebrow arched high. "Is that truly appropriate attire for a library, miss? This is most irregular."

Seraphina tapped the steel helm tucked under her arm and flashed a playful grin. "You'd be surprised how often heavy tomes have been falling on heads of late. One can never be too careful." She swept a hand toward the pair behind her. "Besides, we came straight from combat classes. No time to change, isn't that right, Teacher Frest?"

Inside, Seraphina whispered a silent prayer, hoping that her extremely high Charisma would allow them to pass this test.

"Quite so, Lady Sera—er, Miss de Sariens," Frest replied, adjusting the sword belt that still clinked at his hip.

The librarian's lips pursed, but her tone remained gentle. "This is most irregular, but not against the rules. Please conduct whatever business you have quickly; some students are attempting to study." She nudged her spectacles higher, the silver chain glinting. "And next time, please leave all the extra equipment outside. I doubt you will have need of them here."

"Of course. Your patience is an example to all," Seraphina said, her smile as radiant as a fresh sunrise. She glided past the desk, inclining her head just ever so slightly. It was times like these that she could not quite understand why she bothered worrying at all in the first place. Things were just so easy.

"I'm terribly sorry for the disturbance," Miriam murmured, ducking in a hasty bow before following her mistress.

The towering shelves formed a canyon of wood, parchment, and leather. Dust motes danced in the shafts of amber light from tall windows as Seraphina marched down the central aisle, her armored boots thudding against ancient oak floorboards. At last, her gaze locked onto a hulking volume: The Realm of the Four Gods.

She casually hauled the heavy tome free and dropped it onto a nearby table with a resounding thunk. Bound in thick, mottled leather the color of dried blood, it bore a fist-sized gem set in its cover like a staring eye. If memory served, the hide was, regrettably, human. A subtle Glamour rippled over the surface, a distraction ward meant to make unaware passersby see nothing at all. Unfortunately for the book, this glamour did not work on people who knew of the book's existence.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"This," Seraphina announced, fingertips splayed across the gem, "is a doorway to a Trial. I mean to step through."

"A Trial? In the Academy library?" gasped Eloise, her lady-in-waiting, blue eyes wide beneath her lace cap. "What is such a thing doing here?"

Frest took a nervous half-step backward. "I, ah, suddenly recall urgent business in the staff room—"

"You'll have plenty of time to chase Miss Templeton's skirts later," Seraphina snapped, not looking up. For some reason the thought of Frest chasing her homeroom tutor made her annoyed.

"We are not—Daniella and I are not like that!" Frest sputtered, cheeks blazing crimson.

"Oh, Daniella, is it?" Desdemona drawled, a musical laugh escaping from her pretty lips. "You play a dangerous game courting a fellow member of the faculty."

Gravens kept his handsome features perfectly schooled in a picture of serene indifference throughout the exchange.

Seraphina's smile sharpened. This tome had been left to fester and marinate in the background energies of the library for a very long time. More than a few Mages of the past had added their ambient energies to it, or so the lore of the game dictated. The crystal pulsed once, as though answering her heartbeat, and the air above the book shimmered with a purple haze—an invitation only the daring would accept. It was the gate to a secret Trial, an optional part of the game. The rewards from which… were significant.

In the game, for balance reasons, the Trial was made for the protagonist to face alone, but Seraphina had no intention of indulging in such reckless heroics. That sort of nonsense was beneath her.

"Positions," she commanded, her voice as crisp as shattering glass. "Frest—beside Eloise. Desdemona with Sir Gravens. Giles, Krayton, Milly—with me ." She arranged them in positions, filling invisible party slots she envisioned, each name locking into place like a chess piece.

The rag-tag company shuffled forward. Giles and Krayton, twin mountains clad in travel-worn mail, stationed themselves behind Seraphina like walking ramparts. Miriam, scared and tremulous, worried at the hem of her robe. The men had bulging satchels that clinked with potions, Zajasite lantern-stones, and rope—every contingency accounted for.

Seraphina let her gaze sweep across them, reading the uncertainty stitched around every mouth. Unacceptable.

"If we're separated," she announced, letting the words bite, "pair with whoever's nearest and head toward the smoke and the screaming. We will rendezvous there. Follow my plan to the letter and this will feel like a Sunday stroll. Now, remind me—who's today's enemy?"

"The ones from your sketches?" Desdemona whispered, more affirmation than question.

"Exactly."

"Can I keep one?" Eloise chirped, ears perked.

"Of course, my dear," Seraphina allowed, giving her a forced smile. "Any other questions?"

None. Only the hush of coiled anticipation.

"Good." She pressed her palm to the crystal. The young noblewoman felt she was missing something. "Oh, yes, I believe in you all…"