The Villainess's Reputation [Kingdom Building]

[ Reputation System v0.1 ]
User: Ravenna Solarius / Joy Cha Kim
Reputation Level: 71 — (0 / 120,400 EXP)
Current Reputation Points: 210,140 RP
Titles Unlocked: Raven of the Sun Palace, Unruly Princess, Beast Slayer
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The afternoon light slanted through the stained-glass windows of Ravenna's private study, casting fractured hues of crimson and gold across the polished desk. Her fingers hovered over the translucent blue interface of the Reputation System, its glowing text reflecting in her cold, assessing eyes. The morning's chaos had left her with more questions than answers, and the numbers on the screen did little to soothe the restless edge in her thoughts.

A soft knock interrupted her brooding. The door opened without waiting for permission.

Alice stepped inside, her footsteps silent against the plush carpet. Her dark braid swung over one shoulder as she inclined her head, the familiar ease of years spent at Ravenna's side evident in her posture.

"I've settled Lady Aurora in the chambers beside yours," Alice said, her voice low but firm. "Young Lord Ken is with Lady Maria for now. He seemed… uneasy, so I had the kitchens send up honey cakes." She placed a neatly bound dossier on the desk, its pages filled with meticulous script detailing every crate, every weapon, every whispered conversation aboard Aurora's ship. "The full inventory. Nothing unusual, but the knights are jumpier than cornered foxes."

Ravenna took the report, her thumb brushing over the wax seal, Aurora's personal sigil. The weight of it felt heavier than parchment warranted.

"Tell her to meet me in my quarters once she's properly rested," Ravenna said, her tone clipped. She didn't miss the way Alice's gaze lingered, probing for something in her composure. "And summon High Priest James. I want the Church's eyes on every shadow in that wing. If so much as a whisper of a magic message leaves their lips, I expect to know before the ink dries."

Alice nodded, her expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, the ghost of something unspoken hung between them—a shared history of secrets and sleepless nights. Then, with a flick of her skirts, she turned to leave.

"Alice." Ravenna's voice halted her at the threshold.

A pause. A glance back.

Ravenna's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Don't let Marie or Ken near my chambers to—"

Alice didn't let her finish. A knowing smirk curled at the corner of her lips, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Understood. I'll make sure the children don't come sniffing around tonight."

With that, she slipped out, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind her, leaving Ravenna alone in the dim glow of the study's lanterns. The scent of aged parchment and ink lingered in the air.

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Ravenna exhaled sharply and sank into her high-backed chair, fingers drumming against the armrest. The pieces of this puzzle refused to align neatly.

Two months ago, Count and Countess Flask had vanished without a trace. No ransom demands, no bodies. Aurora's brother had been relentless, chasing shadows until he uncovered something in the Free City of Otto.

And then, Duke Albert Roland, the iron-fisted head of the Ministry of Economy, had personally approved Ethan's diplomatic mission to Otto. Not the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Not Frank Eldric, the Emperor's own right hand.

Because Emperor Andrew no longer trusts him.

A day later, Ethan was found slumped over his desk in a luxury hotel, poisoned. Beside his corpse lay a letter in a drawer—one that explicitly blamed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for his death.

Ravenna's lips twisted into a grimace. "So the Ministry of Economy and Foreign Affairs are at each other's throats in court now."

The parallels were too obvious to ignore.

The Magical Beast attack at the imperial wedding had been meant to destabilize the court, to delay reinforcements to the Morgen Dukedom. And now? A high-profile assassination, a letter designed to incite infighting between ministries—another distraction. Another way to buy time? But why?

In the original novel's timeline, Otto City had already fallen to the Conley Empire by the time war erupted in Estra. But now? Ravenna had acted too fast. She'd crushed the beast horde before it could wreak havoc. She'd sent Eugene to fortify Morgen's borders, halting the Conley Empire's advance before it could gain momentum.

Did the Hercule Syndicate panic?

Were they scrambling to recreate the chaos they'd lost?

A cold realization settled in her chest. This wasn't in the novel. This is new.

She leaned back, staring at the vaulted ceiling. The answers wouldn't come from speculation.

"Enough." Ravenna pushed herself upright, the legs of her chair scraping against the marble floor. "Aurora will have the truth."

Night fell over Kim City like a velvet shroud, the distant hum of the harbor fading into the rhythmic crash of waves against stone. Ravenna had taken her dinner early—a perfunctory meal of spiced lamb and honeyed figs, eaten alone at her private study while reviewing documents. The flickering light of the lamps had danced across parchment after parchment until the words blurred before her tired eyes.

Now after fifteen minutes, standing in the hushed solitude of her bedchamber, she worked loose the intricate fastenings of her dress. It slithered from her shoulders like a slain beast, pooling at her feet in a whisper of silk and thread. In its place, she donned a nightgown so sheer it might have been woven from moonlight itself—the delicate fabric clinging to every curve.

She had just run her fingers through the unraveling braid of her hair when the knock came.

Three precise raps. A pause. Then two more—their old signal from her days in the palace, when secrets were traded under cover of darkness.

"It's Aurora."

The voice beyond the door was softer than Ravenna remembered, worn thin at the edges. She crossed the room in five silent strides, the plush carpet swallowing her footsteps. When she opened the door, the sight gave her pause:

Aurora stood haloed in the dim corridor light, her flame-bright hair tamed into a single thick plait over one shoulder. She wore no jewels, no cosmetics—just a simple nightgown of imperial violet linen, high-necked and long-sleeved, as befitted a noblewoman. Yet for all its modesty, the way the fabric skimmed her waist, the way her collarbones caught the candlelight, made it somehow more intimate than Ravenna's own transparent attire.

Without a word, Ravenna stepped aside. Aurora entered like a ghost crossing a threshold, the scent of lavender to her skin. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the kind of silence that came before confessions.