Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess

Godwin raised an eyebrow at Scarlett’s question and cast a mildly surprised glance at Arnaud. “I may be leaping to conclusions, but it sounds like I’m missing a touch of context.”

Arnaud was silent for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Yes,” he said simply.

Scarlett looked between them. “Have you met with Yamina Ward?”

Godwin turned back to her. “While I can’t speak entirely for Mister Astrey, I can say it’s been quite some time since I last saw Ward in person. That said, you are not entirely wrong — we have had contact with her recently, though only by magical means. And yes, it was indeed her advice that prompted this impromptu visit.”

“What did she say?” Scarlett asked.

Godwin gestured loosely with both hands. “Put plainly, she urged Mister Astrey to make his way to Freybrook, implying that any delay might prove costly. I found the message rather odd—given the significance of our current obligations in Elystead, and the challenges in leaving—but I have never known a Ward to speak without purpose. And my companion here evidently saw cause to take her words seriously.”

Scarlett frowned. How could Yamina possibly have known they’d be leaving now, of all times? It was worrying that the woman supposedly had this level of insight into their movements. Yamina herself had been the one to admit that divining anything substantial related to Scarlett was difficult, if not outright impossible. It didn’t seem likely she’d foreseen the departure far in advance. Otherwise, Arnaud would have been warned sooner. More likely, she’d only just discovered Scarlett’s plans and rushed to intervene by contacting Arnaud.

Yet she still refused to contact Scarlett directly.

Scarlett fixed her eyes on Godwin. “Where is she now?”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “I’m afraid that’s not a question I can answer, Baroness. Yamina, much like her father, has a talent for eluding even those who know how to look. It’s a habit that continues to surprise me, frankly, after so many years.”

Scarlett turned to Arnaud, who predictably shook his head as well. She studied them in silence, weighing their expressions. Once again, she was left in the dark when it came to Yamina Ward — and as before, she had no clear path to uncovering more about the woman’s actions or intent.

With little more to glean from either man, she shifted focus. “You mentioned it being difficult to leave the capital. What exactly were you doing in Elystead?”

She understood the chaos surrounding Beld Thylelion’s appearance would have demanded their attention. Even so, it didn’t explain why Arnaud had been entirely unreachable.

“Before we get into that,” Godwin said with a small smile, “might we be allowed inside first?” He gestured towards the doorway ahead, which neither man had yet crossed.

Scarlett nodded, motioning them in. Both men stepped through, the door closing quietly behind them. Godwin adjusted his sleeves and cleared his throat.

“Before we begin,” he said, “I’d like to confirm something, Baroness. Are you aware of the current situation in Elystead?”

“I am,” she replied. “Beld Thylelion has emerged, and the Undead Council’s citadel now hangs in the skies above Lake Rellaria. For the time being, both are shielded and contained by powerful magic barriers.”

Godwin’s smile tightened ever-so-slightly. “Correct. Though matters have progressed beyond what’s been publicly shared.”

“In what way?” Scarlett asked, already running through possibilities in her mind.

Godwin glanced at Arnaud, then back to her. “The Guild likely wouldn’t approve of me revealing too much to someone not directly involved in operations. But as the head of Elystead Tower, I should be allowed some leeway. Since Beld Thylelion’s appearance, there have been a number of skirmishes between imperial and external forces near and around the ruins.”

Scarlett’s eyes widened slightly. “Why have I not heard of this?”

It wasn’t exactly shocking — she’d expected conflicts to break out eventually. But from what she’d gathered, no actual fighting had occurred yet. If it had, it should have drawn more attention. With the forces involved, total silence seemed unlikely.

“That is because the fighting hasn’t happened within conventional bounds,” Godwin said.

Scarlett’s brow furrowed. “Explain.”

He regarded her. “…Baroness, I presume you are familiar with the wards that protect Dawnlight Palace?”

“I am, yes. How is that relevant?”

The palace’s defences drew power from the heart of an elder dragon slain by the first emperor — a relic that had likely reached the strength of an ancient dragon by now. It was one of the main reasons Elystead remained the safest city in the empire. She’d assumed that power might be redirected to protect the city during this conflict, but she didn’t know exactly how it factored into this.

Godwin looked faintly amused. “This might be one of the rare few times I’ve seen you lacking a key detail.” He chuckled gently. “Sadly, I must be cautious in my answer — revealing too much could cause problems even for me. But suffice it to say, the palace’s defences include protections against large-scale conflict between powerful individuals within the city or its bounds.”

Scarlett eyed him for a few seconds. Was that a thing? She couldn’t remember anything like it from the game. Or at least not anything that had been explicitly shown. The way he spoke, it sounded like they had some way of isolating or containing high-level clashes.

That would explain the lack of news. But still, if figures like Dean Godwin and Arnaud Astrey both were involved in the conflicts, and they were strapped for time…

“I was under the impression the barrier containing the Undead Council’s citadel had not yet been breached,” she said. “Who have you been fighting?”

“It hasn’t,” Godwin replied. “But while their base remains sealed, individual Council members have still emerged somehow. We’ve engaged several already. And though this hasn’t been made public, we have also confirmed confrontations with members of the Hallowed Cabal and Tribe of Sin.”

Scarlett paused. She could imagine the battles that must have been going on, if that were the case.

At the very least, this mostly lined up with the early stages of the Beld Thylelion arc from the game. Cabal involvement was expected eventually. The only question was who had appeared. Vail likely wouldn’t have shown herself yet, but the Cabal and Tribe had other heavyweights, ones Scarlett hadn’t crossed paths with in this world yet.

She found herself wondering what the casualty numbers looked like on both sides at this point.

“Has any of these groups bypassed the defences around Beld Thylelion?” she asked.

“They have not.” Godwin shook his head. “Though I doubt we can maintain the barriers indefinitely. What troubles me is that neither the Cabal nor the Council has made what I would describe as a serious attempt to pierce them yet. That kind of restraint rarely comes without a purpose.”

If Scarlett had to guess, they were waiting — biding their time for the right moment. No need to burn resources holding ground when they could break through once conditions shifted.

She turned to Arnaud. “Can the Shields Guild afford to focus on this while monster incursions continue elsewhere?”

“We can’t,” he said. “But we haven’t been given much choice, as it stands. We’re committing only our strongest Shielders to counter the Cabal and Council near Elystead. The rest are still operating as normal across the empire to contain the outbreaks. We’re coordinating with the mage towers and imperial legions to keep things stable.”

“In that case, your sudden absence will cause a significant disruption to Guild operations.”

One of only three S-ranked Shielders disappearing without warning wasn’t something easily brushed aside.

Arnaud regarded her silently, an unreadable look showing in his eyes.

“…You must place considerable trust in Yamina Ward’s warnings to be here despite that,” Scarlett said.

“Dad…” Allyssa spoke quietly from Scarlett’s side.

Arnaud’s gaze shifted to his daughter, softening. A faintly reassuring smile passed over his face before he turned back to Scarlett, serious once more. “I am here. That is all there is to it. I’ll admit, I am disappointed you didn’t wait the two weeks we agreed on, but I won’t hold it against you. For now.”

Scarlett held his gaze, then gave a slight nod. “Very well.”

Having him here was one burden off her back, even if it added several others.

Godwin cleared his throat politely. “While my presence here is simply a favour to Ward and Mister Astrey, I can’t help but be curious. It strikes me as peculiar that you appear to be embarking on some sort of expedition amidst current events.” He looked at Scarlett and her companions, his gaze sharp. “Where exactly might you be heading, Baroness?”

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed subtly. Even for an arch wizard, the amount of mana necessary to teleport two people halfway across the empire wasn’t small. Godwin may usually have enough mana to spare for such a trip, but with his involvement around Beld Thylelion, could he really afford to spare it unless he had an ulterior motive?

“Our destination is not your concern,” she eventually replied in an even tone.

Under normal circumstances, she might have tried spinning some convincing lie. But with Godwin’s enchanted ring, that wasn’t an option.

“It may not be his concern,” Arnaud said, “but shouldn’t it be mine? I held from pressing last time, but given everything, I would like to know where we are going.”

Scarlett turned towards him. “…You will know once we arrive.”

A crease formed between his brows. He looked at Allyssa, but the girl avoided his gaze, her expression tight and somewhat apologetic.

“Are you leaving by carriage?” Godwin asked, an almost knowing edge to his voice. “Or are you using other means? I imagine access to the Kilnstone network is difficult to secure these days, even for someone with your connections. And unless you’re heading somewhere near Freybrook, the road won’t be short. Judging by your attire, however, it would almost seem you are expecting trouble soon.”

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Scarlett noticed his eyes flicking towards the [Sphere of Serendipity] in her hand. A flicker of concern rose in her mind.

Had he recognised it?

He made no comment on the artifact itself, which was a small relief.

She should have hidden it. Hopefully, he only recognised it as a powerful Zuverian artifact — not where she might have gotten it or its twin from.

Still, he definitely suspected she was up to something. Whether he knew she was heading for Beld Thylelion was another matter. If Yamina had figured it out, would she have told him?

Scarlett considered pressing him, but Godwin—like herself—knew better than to speak freely with Fynn nearby. Arnaud would be easier to question later, when they were alone.

For a moment, she did entertain the possibility of revealing the truth, but quickly discarded the notion. It would only make things more complicated. Godwin might be courteous, but dragging the head of Elystead Tower into this directly would create a political mess. She was already taking a risk by involving Arnaud. The aftermath would be hard enough to manage as it were.

That said, the arch wizard knew she had knowledge of the future, and that she had a role to play in the original preparations for Beld Thylelion’s appearance. She doubted he believed this sudden departure had nothing to do with the ruins.

Scarlett raised the [Sphere of Serendipity] slightly. “Given the unrest spreading across the empire, I have learned to expect danger behind every corner,” she said. “And we have our own means of travel, much like you, Dean. But since this concerns my household, I suggest you stay out of it.”

Godwin watched her closely, his otherwise polite demeanour slipping just slightly to reveal a faint but unmistakable frown tugging at his features. Scarlett could all but feel him weighing the potential risks of letting her plans proceed unchecked.

A subtle tension crept into the foyer like a held breath, but Scarlett held his gaze without flinching. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if he chose to press the matter, but she had no intention of backing down. Not here, in her own home, and certainly not now, with Beld Thylelion so close.

The silence dragged, growing heavier, until Garside’s smooth voice broke through.

“Might either of the gentlemen care for refreshments? Perhaps some tea?”

The butler remained near the entrance, hands clasped behind his back, every bit the picture of composed hospitality as he addressed Godwin and Arnaud.

Godwin turned towards him, raising his brows faintly. Then, just as swiftly as the tension had built, it dissolved. He let out a dry chuckle and waved a hand. “No, thank you. I’m quite alright. I really should be on my way. If I linger too long, I risk drawing the ire of my colleagues back in Elystead.”

Garside gave a respectful nod, then glanced at Arnaud, who declined with a brief shake of his head.

Godwin returned his attention to Scarlett, offering yet another courteous smile — this one tinged with unmistakable curiosity once more. “I hope you’ll be more forthcoming once your endeavour is done, Baroness. I suspect it’ll make for quite the story.”

“Perhaps,” Scarlett replied without much emotion.

He dipped his head to the room. “My regards to you all. And to you as well, Mister Astrey.” He paused, then extended a hand. “Ah, and if you don’t mind, I’ll take that. I think our friends in Elystead would be less than pleased if we failed to return it.”

Arnaud removed a slim, white-silver bracelet from his wrist and handed it over. Scarlett watched it, wondering what exactly it was.

With a flick of magic, the bracelet vanished into Godwin’s palm. He gave Arnaud a final nod. “Best of luck with the Baroness and her companions. Until next time.”

A soft glow began to gather in his hands as he prepared a spell, only for it to flicker out. He turned to Scarlett, chuckling wryly. “Baroness, if you would.”

She regarded him for a beat longer, then gestured with one hand, mentally instructing the Loci to allow his magic through. Godwin inclined his head in thanks, resumed the spell, and with a shimmer of light, vanished, leaving only Arnaud by the door.

Scarlett turned to Garside. “Thank you, Garside.”

The butler bowed. “Merely fulfilling my duty in welcoming and accommodating your guests, My Lady.”

“Indeed,” Rosa said from the side, tone laced with dry amusement. “Because you were surely just about to pop out off the room to make tea for an arch wizard and an S-ranked Shielder while we merrily went off on our grand adventure.”

As always, Garside’s expression didn’t falter. He turned just slightly towards her. “Naturally, Miss Hale. One must maintain standards, even in the face of the unexpected. As a practiser of the arts, I am sure you can appreciate the sentiment.”

Rosa snorted, muttering something under her breath about ‘weaponised etiquette’.

Scarlett looked away from them, her gaze settling on Arnaud. She considered him for a moment, eyes drifting to the sheathed sword at his side and the satchel slung over his shoulder. He didn’t exactly look like someone who’d supposedly just been clashing with the likes of the Undead Council and Hallowed Cabal — nor like a man preparing for another fight. But then, most Shielders had their own ways. From what she knew, Arnaud had never relied much on heavy armour.

“I assume you require no further preparations before we depart, Mister Astrey?” she asked.

“I don’t,” he replied.

“Excellent. Then come.” She gestured for him to join them, then turned to Allyssa and Shin. “You two, as well. Step forward.”

Allyssa’s face showed a mix of relief and lingering worry as she looked between her father and Scarlett. Shin, true to form, gave little away — but Scarlett had a feeling both of them were quietly glad they weren’t being left behind. Even if that meant facing danger they couldn’t yet name.

Arnaud approached, stopping beside Kat. He glanced at her, brow slightly raised. “I didn’t expect you to be caught up in this, Kat.”

Kat gave a sheepish grin. “Hard not to be, with the kids jumping in headfirst. ‘Sides, I owe Scarlett.”

Arnaud nodded thoughtfully, his eyes moving to Scarlett. “I see…”

For a moment, she caught a flicker of something more guarded in his eyes, but it faded as he turned to Allyssa and Shin. The warmth of a father’s affection returned to his eyes, and he reached out to gently tousle Allyssa’s blonde hair, jostling the goggles perched on her head. “It’s been a while since we did a mission together, hasn’t it, kiddos? And with Kat this time too. Exciting, right?”

Allyssa batted his hand away, cheeks flushed. Whatever tension had been in her face before had almost vanished. “Dad. Please. This is serious. And Shin and I are adults now.”

“Barely.” Arnaud chuckled. “But I understand. You’re embarrassed to have your old man tagging along. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to show your friends and that employer of yours just what the Astreys are made of.”

“Daaad…”

Beside Scarlett, Rosa stifled a snort with her hand. Scarlett watched the exchange with mild curiosity. Arnaud seemed to switch between the composed, analytical S-ranked Shielder and the doting, overbearing father with unnerving ease. She wasn’t sure which version of him would dominate once they reached their destination.

She turned back to Garside. “Then we will take our leave. Properly, this time.”

“May fortune favour your path, My Lady,” the butler said.

Scarlett raised the [Sphere of Serendipity] once more, her eyes lingering on the artifact. She reached out to its powers.

Now, finally, it was time to enter Beld Thylelion.

Raimond could not help but sigh as he brushed flecks of dawdling shadowy sand from his robes with a flick more theatrical than perhaps necessary. The stuff clung like soot to silk, coiling in lazy tendrils towards the fading remnants of the gaunt figure that had just crumbled before him. What was left of the unfortunate creature dissolved further beneath a soft, radiant pool of light, its edges eating away at the last motes of darkened matter until all that remained was its memory — and an unpleasant scent.

There were many things in this world that Raimond disliked, disdained, decried, or found aesthetically offensive. Necromancy, tragically, managed to satisfy all four with startling efficiency. For the life of him, he could not fathom why the divine-forsaken magic had to be so…sticky. It got everywhere. Demonic magic, at least, came with a certain flair — dramatic flames, infernal red hues, an undeniable sense of occasion. Necromancy and its ilk, by comparison, was the greasy smear on the tablecloth of magic. Coarse, rough, and best avoided entirely.

Fortunately, the blessings of Ittar—and a rather indulgent application of lumomancy—managed to banish the last stubborn traces from his garments. Raimond lifted his gaze to take in the expanse around him.

The landscape was flat, washed in dull, lifeless tones — an endless stretch of shifting dust, like the skin of some great, slumbering beast. The ground shimmered faintly, not unlike the surface of a lake disturbed by unseen ripples, its texture somewhere between illusion and dream.

In the distance, rising above the desolate illusory terrain, loomed an island of bronze-red stone. A fortress-palace presiding as the only certainty in this domain, its walls gleaming dully beneath the indifferent sky. Beyond it sprawled the faint impression of a city. Not quite real, not quite image. A phantom echo etched in ash and forgotten colour. The sight pulled Raimond’s attention for a few, unaccounted seconds.

Then, with a blink, he shifted his focus back to the present. Other figures moved through the pasty landscape — wizards robed in greys and deep hues, Dawnbringers gleaming like small suns in their golden armour, and imperial knights bearing the silvered steel and tabards of their orders. Whatever resistance had met them here was, or had already been, mostly dealt with, and thankfully, Raimond saw no fallen among their own.

This time, there had been little in the way of a fight. A thoughtful wariness did stir in Raimond’s chest at that. He couldn’t decide whether he preferred it when the enemy sent defenceless fodder or seasoned executioners. Both were unsettling in their own ways. The Undead Council knew by now that striking Elystead directly yielded little gain, yet they still persisted. Probes, distractions, small incursions. Raimond suspected their true plans lay elsewhere, behind thick veils of necrotic strategy and patient malice, but for now, they remained difficult to discern.

A short distance away, one of the imperial mages—clad in the formal coat and trim of an officer serving the emperor directly—raised a small sigil-rod above his head. A flicker of light danced along its length, and in the next heartbeat, the muted, crumbling landscape was gone.

Raimond stood once more on the pristine white stone of Beld Thylelion — the central platform of the ancient Zuverian ruins. The contrast was rather startling.

Around him, the makeshift expedition camp that had been erected at the heart of Beld Thylelion stirred with motion. White and gold tents billowed softly in the lake breeze. Priests passed in and out. Knights stood at post. Wizards flitted between tables, casting divinations and scribing arcane readings. A procession of ordered chaos.

He lowered his gaze to the bracelet on his wrist — a delicate band of white-silver metal, its gem now dimming as it recharged off his mana. A marvel of magical craftsmanship, and one he would very much like to meet the mind responsible for crafting. He had not been entirely convinced it would work as claimed when first issued one before the ruins appeared, but clearly, his skepticism had proved deliciously unfounded.

He allowed himself a moment.

A graceful motion here, a sweep of fingers through his hair there, and a light dusting charm over the shoulders of his robes. Flawless, once again. Not to his surprise, his Dawnbringer ‘guards’ had found their way to his side with near-perfect timing, their masked faces blank as ever.

With the poise of one born to parade through history, Raimond set off at a measured pace, weaving between wizards deep in debate and acolytes scribbling furiously. He nodded at a Solar Knight he recognised from one particular outing in Chillburg two years prior—the fellow looked bemused, though Raimond was sure they couldn’t have forgotten him—and offered a small wave to a passing wizard, making sure to look just the right amount of contemplative.

Important. Informed. And ever-so-slightly mysterious. That was his role here as a deacon of the Quorum.

Though, in truth, his duties at the moment were…minimal. Aside from the occasional summons to lend his considerable talents to the defence of Elystead or the safeguarding of Beld Thylelion—and the solitary instance where someone had actually requested his theological insight on the ruin’s awakening—there was little call for his direct involvement.

He told himself, quite reasonably, that this was for the best. Were he burdened with constant obligation, he might be forced to deprive the camp of his dignified presence. A tragedy no one was prepared for.

And he most certainly did not waste any time wondering whether his presence might serve better elsewhere in the empire. That would be unproductive. And unlike him.

He was midway through appreciating the clean leyline symmetry of a newly raised arcane relay near the centre of the camp when one of the younger acolytes hurried towards him. A wiry, wide-eyed youth with robes just slightly too large for him and a mask that Raimond suspected clung to his face with more than one unfortunate bead of sweat.

“Deacon Abram,” the acolyte said, dipping into a respectful bow. “Deacon Solnate has sent word.”

“Oh? Splendid,” Raimond replied, not slowing in his step. “What does our ever-vigilant Ava wish to grace us with this time?”

The acolyte was just about to respond, then stopped.

A low tremor rippled through the ground beneath their feet. Subtle. Barely there. But enough.

Raimond paused. So too did nearly every servant of the cloth in view, their heads tilting in quiet unison, even as the wizards and knights continued about their tasks, seemingly unaware.

He looked down at the white stone beneath him. Like all of Beld Thylelion, it was covered in impossibly fine etchings — spirals and sigils that danced just shy of perceptibility, always hinting at movement.

He stared. And he saw it.

A flicker.

Then a second tremor came. Less subtle. Wizards paused. Knights tensed, hands moving to hilts. Voices stilled. All eyes turned.

From the furthest edges of Beld Thylelion’s expanse, the etchings began to glow. Light traced the ancient lines like veins igniting. Thin, argent streams that ran along the stone with startling speed. They spiderwebbed inward, flowing in perfect synchronicity, converging towards the platform’s heart. The glow grew stronger. Rhythmic. Steady. Like the beat of a colossal heart, just beginning to wake.

And then, the heart itself stirred.

The great stone aperture at the centre of Beld Thylelion—the sealed passage carved into the ruin’s deepest depression—rumbled. Not loud, yet the age-old, unbroken seam that had until now sat inert changed, its surface shifting with potential.

Above, a shadow passed.

The silhouette of the Undead Council’s citadel—its grim monolith suspended in the sky—flickered. From its underside spilt a ripple of darkness, like smoke meeting wind. Tendrils of shadow-sand began to drift downward in spiralling currents.

Forming.

Preparing.

Raimond braced himself. Somewhere, something had begun.