The Villainess's Reputation [Kingdom Building]

The shadow of Kim Island stretched along the horizon like a sleeping beast. The early morning sun painted the clouds in molten gold, casting long shadows across the fleet. At the helm of the lead ship, Fleet Commander Lucas Hilos stood with arms clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowing as land began to take shape through the morning haze.

"Land in sight," called a lookout from above the mast.

Lucas gave a single nod, then turned to the waiting mages stationed behind him. "We'll divide into three formations," he said coolly. "Prepare for a full assault, one from each side of the city."

Without hesitation, the imperial mages moved. Clad in their ceremonial navy-blue robes, they each pulled a parchment from their belts and scribbled down the fleet orders in precise, glowing runes. Once finished, they produced flowers, dry and preserved from gardens in the capital, and pressed them against the parchment.

As the blossoms touched the ink, they burst into flame. The parchment dissolved in a swirl of red embers, the encoded spell carried across the sea.

Moments later, on distant warships positioned deeper in the formation, identical parchments ignited in the hands of awaiting mages. As the flames vanished, the orders appeared written in gleaming script across the surface of the scrolls.

"Three divisions confirmed," came the reports. "Twenty to thirty ships per front. Minimum six magic ships in each formation."

With slow, sweeping precision, the imperial fleet began to shift. The sea churned as the ships turned their hulls, splitting like the arms of a vast trident. The eastern flank pulled toward the sun; the western ships banked into a at the far end bank; the central fleet, the largest, began a slow arc toward the Southern Port of Kim City.

"Have the hired mercenaries follow the central division to the southern front," Lucas ordered, turning toward the communication mage. "Keep them close, but out of the range of visibility until the attack begins."

He cast a quick glance toward the rightmost edge of the horizon. There, distant but unmistakable, were the white-sailed ships of the Solious Church's Crusader Fleet, gliding forward with silent menace.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Ask the Holy Paladin Captain what their plan is," he added. "And remind him, this is still an imperial operation."

The mage bowed and prepared another flower for the spell.

Lucas turned back to the sea. Beneath the calm waters, his instincts prickled. Something about the silence ahead, the stillness of the beaches.. felt wrong.

Reserve Fleet Holding Zone, Somewhere in the Ancorna Sea, Between the Mainland and Kim Dukedom

The waters here were still and vast, the open ocean painted with streaks of sun and soft cloud cover. Floating motionless in perfect formation, a reserve battalion of ships stood anchored in the center of the sea. No wind. No movement. Just the slow groan of wooden decks and the idle chatter of bored sailors.

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Unlike the primary fleet charging toward Kim Island, the ships here remained in defensive configuration, watching. Waiting.

Among them were imperial magic ships, their crews lazing in the morning lull. Some leaned over the rails, tossing dice or drinking weak ale. Others napped in hammocks, the tension of looming combat forgotten in the monotony of waiting.

But in the center of the formation, unlike the rest, a sleek imperial family cruiser drifted with elegant poise, its deck polished, its banners embroidered, its weapons nonexistent.

Inside, within its luxuriously furnished observation chamber, Prince Nolan Solarius stood at the balcony, robes of deep crimson fluttering in the sea breeze. He stared out toward the east, where the faint shadow of Kim Island broke the horizon.

In his hand, a parchment burst suddenly into flame, startling the two aides standing near the chamber door. The flame flickered, consumed the parchment and as the smoke faded, glowing letters etched themselves into the surface of it.

He read the message silently.

Then, with a faint smirk, he whispered to himself:

"So… they've reached it."

His fingers closed into a fist, the message vanishing in a trail of smoke.

He turned to the ornate glass map spread across his table, the tiny figurines of the three divisions now moving into position.

"All according to plan," he muttered. "Let's see how long Ravenna's little dukedom holds against the Imperial teeth."

Southern Port, Kim City, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom

From the highest tower above the Southern Port's sea wall, Ravenna stood still as stone, her silhouette outlined by the pale morning sun. Wind tugged gently at her silk thin transparent coat, the embroidered seal of imperial family gleaming faintly against the rising light.

Before her, the sea stretched wide and glittering. But the horizon no longer offered peace. The imperial fleet had fully taken shape, distinct ships, advancing in formation like the armored fangs of a great beast. Masts, sails, and hulls glittered with imperial silver and black, magic ships riding just above the water's surface, propelled by glowing light.

More figures joined her on the tower. Alice stood at her right, expression sharp and focused. Below them, the fortified docks and beach had been cleared of all non-combatants. Ballistas were primed. Steam boats waited silently behind angled barriers. The fog rigging of soaked quicklime sacks hung ready, their ropes coiled tight like the breath before a scream.

Ravenna raised her hand, holding it in the air for a long moment as the enemy came closer—each heartbeat loud in her ears.

Then she let it fall.

"Begin," she said, her voice calm, deliberate, and cold as steel drawn in judgment.

Alice gave a single nod, then unfurled a small crimson flag. With practiced precision, she waved it toward the beachfront below, three sharp arcs, each perfectly timed.

The signal was seen instantly.

Down below, Hughes stood at the center of the beach defense line, binoculars pressed against his eyes. The second he saw Alice's flag wave in the sequence they had rehearsed, he dropped the lenses and turned to the command crews beside the quicklime stations.

"The ships are closing in!" he shouted. "Slowly begin dipping the quicklime sacks into the water! I want the mist up before they're in artillery range!"

Workers and militia sprang into motion, lowering the sacks with controlled precision. As the quicklime made contact with seawater, a violent chemical reaction began. Steam hissed, and thick clouds of white fog started to crawl across the water's surface, curling like ghostly tendrils toward the approaching fleet.

Hughes didn't wait to see the result. He dashed up the nearest stairwell that led to the opposite tower on the western side of the port wall, his boots pounding against the stone. Reaching the top, he took position near the single priest and barked:

"Cast the voice amplifier spell—now!"