The Villainess's Reputation [Kingdom Building]

For a moment, Ravenna was the trembling girl in the cathedral, sitting beneath Solious's unkind gaze, comforted only by the quiet rebellion of an old man who had dared to slip her forbidden words.

Her eyes closed briefly, lashes trembling. Then she straightened, her usual smirk struggling to rise against the heaviness of her chest. "Rest well, old man," she whispered to the wind.

But even as she said it, a hollow pang pressed against her chest. She knew the truth. She knew why High Priest Caldus had died. In the original novel, his death had been inevitable: the first victim Eugene struck down after uncovering the existence of the forbidden mind-control spells wielded by the Cult. That was the fate written for him.

Her meddling in this world had shifted the timeline. Yet even so, Caldus had still fallen. It had come earlier than expected, but the end was unchanged.

Ravenna closed her eyes and forced herself to confront the thought. I didn't even try to save him.

No. That wasn't true. She pressed her hand against the balcony rail, steadying her breath. "There was no way to save him… not after he fell under the spell," she muttered, a whisper as much to convince herself as to justify it.

And it was true. Once the mind control took hold, nothing could undo it. That was why Eugene killed him in the novel and why no alternative path had been written for him. Still, the knowledge did nothing to soothe the gnawing guilt.

Her reflection in the window glass caught her attention: not Joy Cha Kim, the exhausted office worker who once longed only for survival, but Ravenna Solarius, the woman who had inherited this world and its weight. She stared at herself and finally said, with quiet finality:

"It's clear to me now. I am Ravenna. Joy does not exist in this world. Only Ravenna does."

The words tasted like iron and salt, bitter yet undeniable. She had been clinging to fragments, to excuses, to the thin veil of identity. But here, watching the sea stretch endlessly beneath the morning light, she let it fall.

And in its place, resolve.

"So be it," she whispered. "If I am Ravenna, then I will make sure everyone Ravenna once cherished… will not meet the same fate as in the novel. I will rewrite their ends."

Her gaze hardened as she unfolded the stack of letters on her desk. The first had been Caldus's death notice, and she carefully set it aside. The second bore Kenric's seal, and a thin smile tugged at her lips as she read his sharp, calculated words. "So, Kenric replied…"

But it was the third letter that made her pause longer than the rest. The crest of Morgen Dukedom, sealed in deep blue wax. She broke it carefully, eyes scanning the words penned by her cousin, Aria Morgen.

Her fingers lingered on the parchment as she read, her expression softening. "Uncle Kevin… Another one who was always on Ravenna's side," she murmured, as though speaking to herself, yet with a weight that filled the silent room. "No… on my side."

She leaned back in her chair, letting the words sink in. In the novel, Kevin Morgen's loyalty had not been rewarded. His dukedom, battered by endless blizzards and war, he had eventually fallen, his daughter swallowed by despair and the creeping corruption of the Cult. His and his family's loyalty had been wasted in a world that never intended to let him survive.

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Not this time.

"I won't let him meet the same fate," Ravenna said firmly, her voice cutting through the still air of her study.

Her eyes returned to Aria's request, an urgent appeal for help. The weather had grown catastrophic, the blizzards worse than ever. The peasants of Morgen Dukedom were starving, unable to afford the enchanted flowers that kept homes warm. The nobles, desperate, sought imports of flowers at impossible prices.

Ravenna's lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. "They're looking to import more flowers because of the weather… But they think they need the Herptian Church for that." Her hand tapped against the desk, her mind already racing with calculations. "No. They don't. Not when I can give them what they need directly."

Her eyes glimmered as she rose from her seat, the long folds of her gown whispering across the floor. With brisk steps, she crossed the room and flung open her desk drawer, retrieving fresh parchment and a pen.

"Alice!" she called sharply.

The door opened almost instantly, her ever-reliable head maid stepping in with calm precision. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"Bring me blank letters. Several. I will need to draft responses at once." Ravenna's tone carried the weight of command, but beneath it lay something fiercer, an eagerness to seize the game before others could even play.

Alice bowed. "At once, Your Highness."

A Week Later, Herptian Church, Kim City, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

The serene temple of indulgent worship, its marble halls now thrummed with the restless pulse of anticipation. The Festival of Lust was no ordinary celebration; it was the highest holy day of Herptian faith, a mingling of pleasure, performance, and prayer: meant to sanctify indulgence as divine will.

The outer courtyards were the busiest. Dozens of artisans strung silken banners dyed in deep crimson and gold from column to column, the colors of desire and sacred ecstasy. Perfumed braziers were arranged along the walkways, their smoke carrying scents of rose, sandalwood, and spiced amber through the air. Priests and priestesses supervised, chanting soft hymns as apprentices polished the engraved obsidian altars until they gleamed like mirrors.

Everywhere, workers bustled. Carpenters hammered together temporary stages for performers, while sculptors erected ornate statues of Herptian, the goddess of indulgence, draped in garlands of fresh lilies and crimson orchids. Each statue bore her likeness in different moods: smiling seductively, reclining with wine in hand, or watching over lovers entwined. The statues were positioned along the streets leading up to the church, a pilgrimage route where citizens would walk while offering tribute.

Inside the cathedral itself, the preparations carried a different gravity. High Priest James, dressed already in partial ceremonial robes, oversaw the placement of relics brought from storage: golden chalices, jeweled censers, and centuries-old copies of indulgence scriptures. He ordered musicians to rehearse in the main nave, where the acoustics turned every note of the flute and every beat of the drum into a sensuous echo. Above the altar, seamstresses scaled ladders to hang velvet curtains embroidered with scenes from Celestia's myth.

And then there was the most sacred preparation: the gathering of Indulgence Artisans. Men and women, dressed in translucent silks that left little to imagination, arrived from across the city. They were perfumed, adorned with body paint and gold chains, their hair woven with flowers and jeweled combs. They trained for weeks to offer not only companionship but also performances of dance, recitations of Herptian's canticles, and ceremonial unions that symbolized the faith's doctrine: that desire was divine.

Beyond the church walls, the city itself mirrored the same frenzy. The main plaza was being transformed into a carnival of delights. Bakers prepared honeyed breads and candied fruits, food stalls lined the streets offering delicacies marinated in wine, roasted meats dripping with fat, and spiced fish wrapped in fragrant leaves. Brewers rolled in casks of ale and sweet mead, while vintners uncorked bottles of rarest wines. The scent of cooking mingled with incense drifting from the church, overwhelming and intoxicating.

In the plaza's center, laborers were finishing a towering wooden archway carved in the image of Herptian's open arms, symbolizing indulgence without shame. Citizens hung garlands from the arch, laughing, drinking, and kissing openly as if the festival had already begun. Children, too young to partake in its carnal aspects, raced through the crowds chasing kites painted with symbols of the goddess.

Everywhere, expectation hung like a storm in the air. The Festival of Lust was no longer simply a holy day: it was about to become the most important stage Kim City had ever seen.