Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess

Evelyne stirred from her slumber, roused by an unsettling cacophony of distant noises and faint, haunting cries. Groggily, her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the darkness that enveloped her bedroom as consciousness slowly seeped back into her mind.

What in the world could that be?

With a soft rustle of fabric, she pushed aside her bedsheet and gingerly rose, her bare feet recoiling slightly as they met the cold floorboards. She padded across the room until she reached the window, drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal the snow-blanketed inner courtyard nestled at the heart of the estate.

Could it have been part of her dream?

As she pondered, a massive shadow swept across the gloomy morning sky, catching her attention. Evelyne leaned closer to the glass, her breath fogging the pane as she squinted into the distance, questioning whether her still-drowsy mind was playing tricks on her.

Suddenly, an explosion shattered the silence. Plumes of dark smoke began to billow from the city’s edge, unfurling against the pale sky like ominous banners. Her eyes widened as she watched the scene rapidly worsen. More columns of smoke erupted across different points in the city, and soon, the entire skyline above Autumnwell was bathed in an otherworldly crimson glow, its source hidden.

Evelyne immediately recognized it. That was a flare spell. A warning.

The city was under attack.

She spun on her heel, her nightgown swirling around her legs as she rushed to the closet. Without bothering about the details, she forced on her clothes and darted out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. In the mansion’s hallways, she soon encountered clusters of confused servants in various states of undress, their whispered conversations a blend of fear and speculation. She made her way past them, trying to keep a calm expression even as the concern grew inside her.

Now fully alert, she reached the foyer. There, she found a man trying to orchestrate some of the other servants to keep some semblance of order. His brown uniform was impeccably pressed despite the early hour, and his flaxen-blond hair and neatly trimmed mustache gave him an air of cultivated droit as he issued rapid-fire instructions around him.

The head butler of the estate.

As Evelyne approached, the man turned to face her, his expression shifting to one of polite deference. “Ah, Lady Hartford,” he said, his tone surprisingly measured. “My sincerest apologies for the commotion. It appears the city is under attack by some manner of miscreants, you see. However, rest assured, I’m sure that Autumnwell’s stalwart defenders will promptly address this situation with utmost haste and efficiency.”

Evelyne’s gaze swept over the anxious faces in the hall before returning to the butler. “Do we have any information on what’s actually happening?” she asked.

His mustache twitched slightly as he replied, “Regrettably, details are scarce at present. But Milord has instructed me to gather everyone for their safety. This, of course, includes esteemed guests such as yourself. I had dispatched someone to your chambers, though it seems that effort has now been made redundant.” He finished with a rueful shake of his head.

Evelyne recalled that Scarlett had warned her about the butler’s ‘personality’, but she found herself far less bothered by it than her sister’s words had suggested. If anything, his composure in the face of a potential crisis was admirable.

Her attention drifted to one of the nearby windows, where the dark courtyard was visible. Flickers of red reflected across the sky now that the flare’s effect had faded. So there were fires?

“Where are Lord and Lady Withersworth?” she asked.

“When I last spoke with His Lordship, he and Her Ladyship were in their private quarters,” the butler responded. He then cleared his throat, turning to address the murmuring staff. “Now then, let us maintain decorum and focus on the tasks at hand. Any loquaciousness can be left when you are not on duty.”

Leaving him to his job, Evelyne retreated to a quieter corner of the room, her mind racing as she observed some servants hustle in and out of the foyer, though more of them trickled in, their faces a mix of confusion and fear.

Scarlett had warned her of an impending crisis that would engulf the empire. Was this attack part of that supposed calamity? And if so, who was behind it? The Tribe of Sin? They seemed a likely culprit, but what worried Evelyne most wasn’t necessarily the who, but the how. What was the scale of this attack, and exactly what were they facing? Scarlett had told her to be prepared for a threat against the entire empire, not merely a single city.

Evelyne’s brow furrowed deeply as she considered the implication. If Scarlett’s warnings held true, this chaos wasn’t confined to Autumnwell alone. But could the Tribe really mobilise the forces for such a widespread assault? She didn’t have a clear sense of their full strength, but their attacks had always been much more limited in the past.

As the minutes ticked by, the sounds of battle and chaos drew nearer to the Withersworth estate, even though it was situated a fair distance from the city's edge. The gathered servants’ anxiety was almost tangible by this point, their whispered fears a constant undercurrent to distant explosions. Evelyne still fought to maintain her composure, but her eyes never left the window, watching for any sign of immediate danger.

Unbidden, her thoughts strayed to Freybrook. Was her home also under attack? And what of Stagmond and the rest of their barony? With both she and Scarlett absent, the burden of leadership would fall to Garside and Kinsley. Capable as they were, their options would be limited in the face of such a threat.

A small comfort came from Scarlett’s strange assurances that Freybrook was less likely to be directly impacted by the impending crisis. This offered a glimmer of hope, at least, but Evelyne dared not place too much trust in that prediction.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Whatever was happening, she hoped they could weather this storm.

Suddenly, a bone-chilling scream sliced through the tense air, momentarily paralyzing everyone in the foyer. The cry seemed human at first, but Evelyne detected an unsettling, off quality to it that made her skin crawl.

Her sharp gaze swept over the assembled group. Several of the estate’s footmen stood ready, some clad in thick gambesons with arms strapped to their waists, but despite their brave stances, they hardly cut the figure of seasoned warriors. The Withersworths were more known for their political acumen than martial prowess and had few people on hand truly capable of handling these dire emergencies.

The scream erupted again, closer this time, causing several people to flinch. A deep frown creased the head butler’s forehead, and Evelyne approached him, her voice low and urgent. “Do you have a plan for everyone’s safety?”

He hesitated briefly, his previous composure slipping slightly. “Milord directed us to gather here first, whereupon I presumed he had further instructions to follow. However, his continued absence is…concerning. It should not have taken this long to finalise his preparations and join us with Milady.” After a moment of reflection, a resolute look settled over the man’s features, and he shook his head. “No, no, this simply will not do. I must seek out the Lord myself. You, guard, accompany me—”

As he spoke, a cacophony of those strange screams erupted, and several windows around the foyer shattered simultaneously. Through the rain of glass shards burst a pack of wolf-like creatures, their massive forms sleek and predatory. Their jaws, filled with rows of sharp, saliva-dripping teeth, ground against each other, producing those eerie cries that heralded their arrival while numerous pairs of intense, almost glowing eyes fixed on the terrified onlookers with an unnatural hunger.

Evelyne’s blood ran cold as she recognised the intruders. Those were shriekstalkers.

How had monsters penetrated this deep into the city?

A few courageous footmen stepped forward, forming a protective line before those assembled. Evelyne, acting on instinct, pushed the butler back and faced an attacking shriekstalker head-on. She had activated Mana Barrier at the first sign of the city’s assault, and the spell protected her as the creature’s jaw clamped down on her arm, trying to drag her to the ground.

Without hesitation, she cast Blazeblade, summoning a slender blade of fire that materialised in front of her free hand. With a swift, precise motion, she thrust the fiery weapon into the monster’s head, and the shriekstalker’s body went limp instantly, its dead weight slumping against her.

Kicking the corpse away and shaking off the numbness in her arm, Evelyne turned her attention to the remaining shriekstalkers in the room. Her hands traced intricate patterns in the air as she began to cast another spell: Emberflurry Salvo. A volley of fiery bolts formed around her, each one darting with unerring accuracy into the monsters’ heads. Most fell instantly, their bodies crumpling to the floor with sickening thuds. The footmen, emboldened by her display, managed to dispatch the few that remained.

With the sudden ambush handled, Evelyne took a moment to assess the situation. The people had huddled away from the windows, visibly shaken but mercifully unharmed. A couple of footmen sported bleeding wounds, but nothing that looked too serious, thankfully.

Evelyne had faced shriekstalkers once before, during a childhood training session with her father. That was back when she had been enamored with the idea of becoming a knight, dragging him along on all sorts of ridiculous outings. Despite the shriekstalkers’ fearsome appearance, they weren’t as dangerous as they looked, even in packs. More importantly, they never ventured near major settlements, at least not to her knowledge. Their presence here, attacking a noble’s mansion at the heart of the city, was deeply troubling.

“Y-You have my deepest gratitude, Lady Hartford,” the butler said, adjusting his rumpled uniform. His gaze fell to the carcass of the first monster she’d killed, with a large charred hole through its head, and he scrunched his nose slightly. “Given these extraordinary circumstances, it might be prudent to reposition ourselves to a more secure location, even if His Lordship has yet to join us.”

“Is there a safer place we can retreat to?” Evelyne asked, eyes still scanning for any signs of further danger.

“The cellar would be suitable under the current conditions,” the man replied, regaining some of his usual poise. “However, as uncouth as it may be of me to impose, I must insist that you lead them there yourself. In light of what just occurred, the delayed arrival of Milord and Milady is most worrying, and I feel compelled to verify their well-being personally.”

Evelyne turned to study him for a moment, weighing her options. “…I’ll go find them,” she decided. “You can go with the others to safety.”

The Withersworths—Lady Withersworth, especially—had been incredibly hospitable during her stay here in Autumnwell. She couldn’t bring herself to abandon them now, not when danger lurked so close.

The butler gave her a long, somewhat uncertain look, but soon, he nodded his head. “Then so be it. Your commitment to the Lordship and Ladyship’s safety is truly exemplary, Lady Hartford, if I do say so myself. You embody the virtues of nobility far beyond what is exhibited by certain others of a similar rank.”

With that, he began ushering the people out of the foyer and towards a connecting hallway. Evelyne lingered, ensuring no more monsters were skulking nearby.

As she glanced out one of the broken windows, her eyes caught on the silhouette of a tall structure in the distance, its outline emerging from the early morning haze and red-dotted sky. The Wells Tower, Autumnwell’s mage tower. However, what truly alarmed her was the massive figure clinging to its side. Even from this far away, she could hear its roar as the creature clawed at the tower’s stone facade, jets of flame spewing from its maw.

A dragon.

Evelyne’s heart raced. Was the city now under attack by a dragon as well? She couldn’t tell for sure, but its size suggested it was at least an adolescent one, if not an adult.

Out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning split the sky, striking the beast with pinpoint accuracy. The dragon spiraled away from the tower, its massive wings unfurling as it circled the structure like a colossal bird of prey.

Evelyne’s attention snapped back to her immediate surroundings as a thunderous crash reverberated from within the estate, accompanied by muted shouts. It originated from the opposite direction to which the others had fled — towards the southern wing, where Lord and Lady Withersworth’s chambers were located.

The sight of a dragon attacking the mage tower had shaken Evelyne, but she couldn’t let that get to her. Not right now. She’d already faced a similar ordeal during the Tyndall Ball, and she recalled how her sister had remained completely calm and unaffected through that. She could—she must—do the same.

Pushing aside thoughts of the broader implications of these attacks, Evelyne focused on her immediate priority: surviving the current crisis and ensuring the safety of her hosts.

With renewed determination, Evelyne started moving, sprinting through the foyer and along the winding corridors towards the source of the disturbance. As she rounded a corner, she came upon a scene of devastation. The ceiling had partially collapsed, and a gaping hole had been torn in the wall, exposing the broad patio beyond. There, silhouetted against the chaotic skyline, loomed a massive creature several times her size.

Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the beast’s imposing form. It was bear-like in stature, with dense white fur that seemed to shimmer in the light. Where had something that big even come from?

The creature didn’t roar but emitted a constant, low growl that vibrated through the air, shaking Evelyne to her very bones. On the far side of the patio, a small group of people huddled together, cornered by the monstrous beast. Among them was Lord Withersworth, supporting his fallen wife. They were shielded by a wide, translucent barrier that pulsed with mana.

“Dagnabbit and confound it all, have at me, you cursed brute!” the old noble shouted, his voice cracking defiantly as he brandished what appeared to be a wand, its tip crackling with energy. A series of lightning bolts erupted from the device, singeing the creature’s fur and causing it to step back slightly, but not retreat.

Seeing this, Evelyne knew she had to act quickly. Assessing the threat, she began to weave one of her most potent spells, seizing the moment while the creature’s attention was focused on Lord Withersworth and the others.

As the nobleman fired another volley of lightning bolts from his wand, the monster’s rage seemed to intensify. It pressed forward relentlessly, testing the strength of the magical barrier that separated it from its intended prey.

Evelyne marveled briefly at the effectiveness of the barrier. While she knew Lord Withersworth wasn’t a mage himself, whoever had crafted the item generating this protection was undoubtedly a skilled artificer. Still, she could see signs of strain beginning to show in the glimmering field. Any enchanted item relying on its own finite mana reservoir had its limit, and this one was clearly approaching it.

The spell Evelyne was working on was both complex and demanding, but she quickened her casting, drawing upon a substantial portion of her mana. She had never used this spell in actual combat and still struggled slightly with its execution, but the circumstance left no room for hesitation or lesser magics.

Behind the creature, a solitary red rune ignited in the air, hovering menacingly. Moments later, it duplicated itself, spawning identical glyphs to either side. These glyphs multiplied at an exponential rate, weaving an ever-growing network that soon enveloped the monster in a sphere of pulsating symbols. So fixated was the beast on breaking through the barrier that it failed to notice the magical web encircling it until it was completely surrounded.

Evelyne’s focus intensified as she triggered the next phase of the spell, her hands moving in intricate patterns as she composed the runes into a grid of flames. The lines connected, forming a fiery cage around the monster. Finally sensing the danger, it spun to face her, revealing a beaked face and round, black eyes that glared at her with primal fury. The tips of its white fur brushed against the confines of the sphere, sizzling on contact.

With a final surge of concentration, Evelyne completed the spell.

Emberheart Convergence.

For a fleeting moment, the cage of runes and fire beat with increased intensity, as if snapping more deeply into existence. Then, with devastating force, it contracted. The beast had no escape as the flames engulfed it, its movements constricted and its body both igniting and compressing under the ruthless magical onslaught. It howled in agony, its fur catching fire and its limbs emitting a cacophony of disturbing sounds as it burned and was squeezed by the unforgiving spell.

The inferno lasted until the monster was reduced to nothing but a charred heap, now a mere fraction of its original size. A foul stench of scorched flesh permeated the air, making Evelyne’s stomach churn.

Exhausted by the immense magical exertion, she collapsed to one knee, her chest heaving as she gulped in deep breaths. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her limbs trembled lightly.

This spell had been one of her father’s creations, and she was thankful that it had worked. She shuddered to think what might have happened if it failed.

At the patio’s edge, a small group of servants watched, a mixture of awe and horror etched on their faces. Lord Withersworth, carefully helping his wife to her feet, began leading the group towards Evelyne.

It was only then, as her vision cleared and her senses sharpened once more, that Evelyne noticed the white-furred behemoth wasn’t the only dead monster in the vicinity. There was also a grotesque collection of smaller, rat-like creatures scattered across the area. She recognized them as skittercloaks, a type of monster known for their stealth and occasionally found lurking in the sewers of bigger cities like this one.

As the others drew near, it became clear that Lady Withersworth was injured; her left leg was bleeding, and she looked far more gaunt than Evelyne had ever seen her before.

“Thank you, dear,” the older noblewoman said wearily, supported by her husband and a servant. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, who knows what reckless heroics my husband might have attempted.”

Lord Withersworth grumbled next to her but offered a gruff nod in agreement nonetheless. “Yes, thank you. It’s clear that the Hartford lineage excels at producing exceptional mages to this day. Your father before you, and now you and your sister both demonstrate formidable abilities. Most impressive.” He paused, waving the polished wooden wand in his hand along with a silver talisman in the other, his tone tinged with slight disdain. “Certainly more effective than these sorry trinkets that Warley gifted me.”

His wife touched his arm gently. “While I am not one to excuse that old fox’s behaviour, his ‘trinkets’ did save our lives, dear.”

“Hmph. Yes, well, I’ll make sure to give him our thanks next time I meet him.”

Evelyne managed a weary, slightly awkward smile at the praise as she struggled to her feet. A few months ago, she would have found the notion of her sister showing promise as a mage laughable. Scarlett had neither displayed interest nor talent for magic since they were young. Evelyne had always taken a strange kind of pride in that fact. It was one of the few areas where she clearly excelled, regardless of Scarlett’s attempts to downplay it.

Now, however, she was no longer certain of that superiority. After witnessing Scarlett’s prowess at the Tyndall Ball, it seemed possible—even likely—that her sister had surpassed her in magical skill, despite the woman’s unconventional methods.

Evelyne wasn’t sure if she was envious of that or not. There were a lot of things she wasn’t sure about regarding her sister these days.

Pushing all of that aside, she focused on the urgent matter at hand. “We should hurry and make our way to the basement,” she said. “I don’t know where all these monsters are coming from, but it’s clearly not safe here.”

“That it is not,” Lord Withersworth agreed grimly. He tucked his wand into his breast pocket and produced a pair of unusually shaped keys instead. “I suppose I do owe a debt to old Warley for managing to persuade your sister to part with these.”

Evelyne eyed the keys curiously. What were they for? And how did they connect to Scarlett?

“Let’s go,” she urged, letting that be for now and taking the lead and preparing to guide the group back the way she had come.

Suddenly, a disturbing noise made her stop and turn. At the center of the open patio, a black hole had materialised out of thin air, its edges crackling with energy. From it, a pack of shriekstalkers and other small monsters tumbled to the ground, their eyes immediately locking onto Evelyne and the group with an almost supernatural fixation.

Reacting quickly, Evelyne prepared to cast another Emberflurry Salvo to deal with this new threat. But before she could complete the incantation, a second, much larger portal ripped open. From its swirling depths emerged another of those white-furred behemoths, its massive form dwarfing the other creatures. Its eyes briefly landed on the twisted, charred remains of its fallen comrade before fixing a menacing stare on Evelyne.

Time seemed to slow.

“Run,” she said.