The Villainess's Reputation [Kingdom Building]

Imperial Noble Academy, Outskirts of the Imperial Capital, Ancorna Empire

The morning sun filtered softly through the towering windows of the Imperial Noble Academy's grand dining hall, bathing the polished marble floors in golden warmth. The hall, with its high ceilings and ornate columns, buzzed with youthful chatter as noble children rushed through their breakfasts, exchanging gossip, laughter, and complaints about morning classes. Footmen and maids wove between tables with practiced grace, refilling tea cups and clearing plates in a rhythm perfected over generations.

Seated at a long table near one of the large, arched windows, Princess Gracie Solarius sat alone, an unusual sight. Her delicate hands held open a heavy tome titled "Foundations of Magical Combat: Theory and Practical Tactics." Her untouched breakfast sat nearby, growing cold, as her eyes scanned the faded ink with intense focus.

Normally, Gracie would be surrounded by her usual circle of well-bred companions, noble ladies and young lords from prominent houses who competed to sit near her. After all, as the daughter of Prince Landon Solarius and a member of the Imperial Family, her presence in any social group carried prestige. But today, she had slipped away from her retinue to steal a rare moment of solitude. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

She kept replaying a memory from a few weeks ago—Marie standing protectively in front of her during the magical beast attack at the imperial church. Marie had wielded her crossbow with terrifying efficiency, shielding Gracie without hesitation. Gracie could still recall the trembling in her legs, the acrid scent of burning fur, and the way Marie had stepped between her and death.

Even before that, Marie had embarrassed her younger brother in front of the capital's noble children, defeating him in a mock sword match with surprising elegance. Benric had never quite recovered from the humiliation.

"I want to be strong like that," Gracie thought, flipping a page as her brow furrowed in concentration. She wanted to take up ranged combat—perhaps the bow or crossbow, like Marie. She recalled her Aunt Serena's words when she brought it up: "Magic is also an option, dear. With your bloodline, it would come naturally."

Gracie was considering her next steps when a voice rang out behind her, filled with mockery.

"What are you doing here all by yourself? Has the queen of the social circle become a recluse?"

She turned, already knowing the voice.

Her younger brother, Benric Solarius, strolled toward her with the lazy confidence of someone too used to attention. His academy uniform was slightly disheveled, as always, and his black hair tousled in a way that could only be achieved through intentional effort.

Gracie didn't bother looking up from her book. "What about you?" she asked dryly. "Weren't you sneaking off to eat at those common restaurants downtown? Did you run out of coins?"

Benric plopped into the seat next to her with a dramatic sigh, ignoring her sarcasm. "Of course not. But I may have… slightly miscalculated my monthly allowance."

She finally looked at him, her violet eyes narrowing. "How? Didn't Grandfather just give you a reward during our last stay in the capital?"

Benric groaned, grabbing a pastry from her untouched plate. "Ugh. It's that idiot Samuel Jola's fault."

Gracie raised a brow, curiosity piqued. "Samuel Jola? The son of former Duke Edward Jola?"

Benric nodded as he took a large bite. "Yeah. He asked to borrow some money. So I gave it to him."

Gracie slowly closed her book. "Wait. Doesn't his family still have a massive fortune? Wasn't Edward Jola given an imperial settlement when he left the dukedom?"

Benric shrugged, now chewing noisily. "I asked him that. He said his father cut his allowance because he's spending all the money preparing… something. Apparently, the old duke's been meeting with Uncle Nolan a lot. Something about an attack on Aunt Ravenna's territory."

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Gracie froze.

"…An attack?" she repeated slowly.

Benric nodded again, carelessly. "I dunno the details. Samuel just said it offhand. Said the Jola estate's finances are being drained for 'military preparation' or whatever. So, yeah. He needed some extra coin and promised we'd split the winnings from a game—"

Gracie's eyes flared. "You didn't."

Benric paused mid-bite. "What?"

"You gambled with him? Again?!"

He quickly raised his hands in defense. "Hey! I didn't gamble! Not exactly! It was more like… an investment in a sure bet."

"You complete idiot!" Gracie shouted, snatching the rest of his food and slamming it onto another plate. "You didn't think your classmate casually mentioning that Edward Jola and Uncle Nolan are planning a military attack on Aunt Ravenna's territory was important enough to report!?"

"I—I assumed Father already knew!" Benric stammered. "He's not exactly out of the loop, you know!"

Gracie stood, fury in her small frame. "You are the most useless brother in the history of the empire!"

Benric flinched. "That's a little harsh—"

"Get lost!" she snapped, pointing to the door. "Before I write to Father and tell him you lost your entire allowance gambling over political secrets!"

Muttering curses under his breath, Benric stood and slouched out of the dining hall, dragging his bag behind him.

Gracie sat back down with a huff, brushing crumbs off her book. She pulled out a piece of parchment and dipped her quill into the inkwell, her hand already moving with practiced grace.

"To His Highness Prince Landon Solarius,

Father! This morning, I received information that may be of importance…"

She paused for a moment, staring out the window where the sun had risen higher over the capital.

Commanding Ship, Imperial Navy Fleet, Somewhere in the Ancorna Sea, between Kim City and Mainland Ancorna Empire

The atmosphere inside the command cabin was heavy with smoke from the incense brazier and the unspoken tension of men preparing for war. Brass-latched maps were spread across a wide oak table bolted to the floor. A lantern swung slightly overhead as the waves rocked the massive flagship, its flame casting dancing shadows on the faces of the assembled officers.

Fleet Commander Lucas Hilos, a man of stern countenance and battle-hardened resolve, sat at the head of the table in a deep chair carved with the imperial crest. Around him stood naval generals in polished steel, a paladin emissary from the Solious Church, and a knight-captain representing Prince Nolan's faction. Every man present bore the weight of the campaign ahead.

"We'll position one full battalion of ships here," Commander Hilos said, tapping a spot on the nautical chart that marked a calm stretch of sea some distance behind the vanguard. "They will serve as a reserve force, stationed just beyond visual range of the Kim coastline."

He looked around the table, ensuring his words landed. "This will create the illusion that our main force is committed, prompting Kim City to deploy their defenses and focus all their resources on what they think is our full strength."

Nods followed around the table, murmurs of approval rumbling between officers. It was a sound plan—classic misdirection. But not everyone looked convinced.

Seated opposite the commander, his fingers nervously drumming against the wood, was Edward Jola, former Duke of Jola and now a man attempting to claw his way back into relevance. His tunic, though elegant, was slightly disheveled. His anxious energy stood in stark contrast to the calm professionalism of the military men around him.

"But... aren't there rumors.." Edward began hesitantly, "—that Her Highness Ravenna has established ties with the Herptian Church in the western continent? I've heard she's doing well, very well. Some say she's received substantial backing from across the sea."

He hesitated under the weight of their stares but pushed on. "We shouldn't assume she's limited to the three hundred knights she left with when she was exiled."

Lucas Hilos didn't flinch. His voice remained calm but edged with steel. "That is precisely why I'm splitting the fleet," he said. "If she has additional forces hidden, perhaps support from foreign waters—then our reserve fleet will move in as reinforcement."

He pointed to another spot on the map, slightly westward. "We'll keep them out of sight. If our forward fleet engages and the situation turns, the reserve force will close in. Fast."

His voice lowered. "And if there are enemy ships hiding, waiting to ambush us from behind, we won't be boxed in. This is a safety net, not a retreat."

Edward swallowed hard and nodded. "I... I understand."

But understanding didn't make the tension in his chest disappear. This would be his first real taste of war in decades—perhaps his first real one ever. Back when he held the dukedom, its strategic location had always protected him from getting his hands dirty. But here, on the open sea, aboard a leading command vessel, there was no escaping what was to come.

What twisted the knife deeper was the knowledge that Prince Nolan and Count Jeremy were not among those leading the vanguard. Instead, they remained comfortably aboard slower, less-armed cruisers far behind the front lines, safe, luxurious, and detached.

Edward stared at the sea map, its waves inked in smooth, deceptive curves. The chill from the lantern overhead did little to cool the sweat forming at the base of his neck.

"You agreed to this," he reminded himself. You wanted back into the game. "You wanted to reclaim your name. Now see it through."

He said nothing more, choosing instead to fix his eyes on the coastline of Kim City drawn before him.