Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess

The soft glow of lanterns cast dancing shadows across the leather-bound tomes lining the Hartford mansion’s library. In a secluded corner, Scarlett sank deeper into a plush armchair, her eyes poring over an old text. A teacup, filled with half-steaming brew prepared by Garside, sat within easy reach on the crowded table before her as she pulled a thin pelt tighter around her shoulders to ward off the evening chill.

Her head was weary after a long day. Her morning had been consumed by practicing magic and the tedious reviewing of Evelyne’s usual workload, which was tiring enough. The afternoon hadn’t afforded her much rest, as she found herself swept into a smaller forum called by Count Knottley, where local nobility and influential figures gathered to discuss current events.

In truth, the forum held little direct relevance for Scarlett. The Count had delivered some impassioned speeches advocating for unity and collaboration, but nothing she listened much to. His updates on the empire’s state of affairs also hadn’t offered her any particular new insights. Even the discussions of monster attacks and the potential of them appearing more here in the southwestern reaches of the empire didn’t affect her much, since she’d already confirmed that things were good in her own fief.

The other nobles and representatives had at one point started debating defensive strategies and organisations, which did capture more of her interest, but it had hardly been enough to warrant the others seeking her input. The Hartford barony barely had its own retinue, consisting of only a handful of guards at the Freybrook mansion and a small unit at Stagmond Keep. Only when whispers of her recent extensive purchases of goods and grains reached some people’s ears did she find herself the subject of some curiosity, but that was all.

Throughout the proceedings, Count Knottley himself had shot her the occasional look, though he approached her only once to inquire about Evelyne’s condition. In general, the forum felt largely pointless to Scarlett, and as it dragged on, she only found herself increasingly frustrated and tired from having to skirt around topics. But the prospect of returning home to face a mountain of paperwork hadn’t exactly lifted her spirits either. This included both the work left over from the morning and what had likely accumulated during the day.

Technically, the seneschal was supposed to manage most of this work, and he did. But for some stupid reason, Scarlett found herself shouldering more responsibilities than necessary now that Evelyne was unavailable. Whether this was due to pride or some other stubborn quality of hers, she wasn’t quite sure. She just knew that she regretted it.

That’s why she had been more than just pleasantly surprised to find, upon her return, that Lady Withersworth had spent the entire day and more familiarising herself with—and subsequently overseeing—the relief efforts and associated business matters. This included even those initiatives Evelyne hadn’t fully gotten off the ground yet.

A brief meeting with Lady Withersworth was all Scarlett needed to recognise that her fears of a long night poring over reports had been unfounded. Though she’d already suspected as much, the older woman proved to have extensive experience in managing all kinds of ventures, which shone through in their discussion. Though this particular venture was new territory even for Lady Withersworth, it seemed she had no issue adapting her skills—and probably connections, given enough time—to the task at hand.

And since Scarlett actually trusted the woman’s judgement more than her own in these matters, she found herself more than willing to relinquish control this time. This turn of events afforded her the luxury of an evening devoted to her own pursuits, which was a plus. Because she felt drained from the day’s activities and had been pretty moody in general these last few days, she had opted to focus on simpler tasks that didn’t require her to think as much about complicated matters or the state of the empire.

Still, as she surveyed the array of books before her, Scarlett couldn’t help but question whether she’d been successful in that goal. The volumes sprawled across the table varied in topics, but none could really be considered ‘light reading’. They included tomes on magical theory, placed alongside research texts delving into the intricacies of Zuverian civilisation, which were in turn interspersed with her own notes collected from the Veiled Library, scrawled in Zuverian or other obscure, dead languages that were only decipherable through Thainnith’s legacy.

She was starting to wonder if she hadn’t unwittingly become a workaholic.

Her current task involved cross-referencing her notes from the Veiled Library with personal observations and comments about the game, aiming to confirm and expand upon the information while identifying potential areas of future interest. The contemporary Zuverian texts served as both reference material and a more updated perspective on the information she was investigating.

The books on magical theory, however, were gathered more as a small experiment. Scarlett had gathered them in the hopes that Thainnith’s legacy might lend her new insight into concepts that had previously eluded her understanding. Since the legacy let her both read Zuverian script and interpret the symbols used in runes and arrays, she had wondered if this knowledge might extend to modern equivalents and spells.

The simple answer was that it didn’t.

The longer answer was that it didn’t, kind of.

Not all, but many of the symbols used in contemporary magic theory and spells were either derived from or identical to those used by the Zuver. As a result, Scarlett could actually comprehend much more of the theory. Recognising the meaning behind specific symbols composing a rune helped her grasp its general purpose, which she found both intriguing and useful.

However, understanding or recognising the symbols and runes used in spells didn’t equate to knowing how to cast them. This was a gap that Thainnith’s legacy, for all its value, seemingly couldn’t bridge.

Somewhat disappointing, perhaps, but she couldn’t complain simply because she didn’t get the ‘magic cheat’ she’d partly hoped for. She already possessed one of those with her pyrokinesis and hydrokinesis skills, and the legacy already held significant potential as it was.

After several hours of study, Scarlett felt her eyelids growing heavy. With a resigned sigh, she closed her books and carefully stowed her notes in her [Pouch of Holding]. Rubbing her temples to ease the faint throbbing—a reminder of the strain overusing Thainnith’s legacy seemed to bring—she rose from her seat.

Despite her weariness, she tidied up the remaining books scattered across the table, returning them to their respective shelves around the library. Though she could have asked a servant to do this, she often preferred the task herself, finding something soothing about putting things back in their place. As she moved about the library, the soft whisper of leather bindings against wood shelves filled the air.

Her hand paused as she went to return a book on the foundational elements of pyromancy, her gaze falling upon a partly concealed door wedged between two bookshelves, a small cabinet obscuring it further. Her eyes lingered on it for several seconds.

It had been some time since she had ventured beyond that door. She’d only bothered passing through it once, shortly after arriving in this world. Since then, she’d mostly thought it best to leave the room alone.

But now, there was a part of her that tugged at her, urging her to explore its contents more closely.

She approached the door, studying it briefly before leaning forward, using what strength she had to push the cabinet aside. Reaching into her [Pouch of Holding], she retrieved a small key she’d once found hidden in her quarters. With a soft click, the lock yielded, and she stepped inside.

Darkness enveloped her, so she summoned small, floating flames overhead with her pyrokinesis, providing just enough light to see. The space resembled a storage room, filled with dusty shelves, chests, and fabric-covered paintings leaning against the walls.

As she surveyed the room, a small frown marred her features. The lingering emotions within her made it clear that the original hadn’t been fond of this place.

That wasn’t entirely without reason.

She began by following the wall to her right, her finger tracing a dusty bookshelf to her right. Ledgers and documents lined the shelves, their spines bearing dates stretching back generations. When she reached the end of the bookcase, her gaze fell upon a covered frame resting on the floor.

Scarlett hesitated, then used her hydrokinesis to cleanse the dust from her fingers. She then reached out and grasped the fabric covering the frame, pulling it away.

It was a painting, depicting a middle-aged man with dark-red hair—so like her own—and clear amber eyes. He sat with an air of authority and confidence in the very office Scarlett now called her own, his determined gaze aimed forward.

A lump formed in Scarlett’s throat, but she forced herself to study the portrait. After a long moment, she finally replaced the covering.

Nearby, another obscured frame caught her attention. Stepping over to it, she unveiled it as well, revealing a painting of a woman with long chestnut hair and soft features. She stood amidst a vibrant flower garden, smiling down at a young girl Scarlett recognised as Evelyne.

A wave of revulsion welled up, and Scarlett immediately re-covered the painting, shocked that the original had even allowed it to remain, even hidden away in this forsaken room.

Her eyes moved around the space, finally settling on another frame that lay nearly concealed in the corner. Crates and various odds and ends had been strategically placed before it, as if to further obscure its presence. For several heartbeats, Scarlett simply stared at it.

Eventually, she walked over, carefully navigating the cluttered floor, moving obstacles aside until she stood before the veiled painting. Reaching out, she gripped the fabric’s edge and slowly drew it away.

The canvas beneath revealed a solitary woman seated before a roaring hearth, her bearing proud and regal as her piercing gaze seemed to stare directly at the observer.

The resemblance was uncanny. Save for the woman’s black hair and sharp light blue eyes, she could have been Scarlett’s older sister. Even the haughty expression, the way those painted eyes seemed to look down upon the viewer, was eerily similar to how Scarlett often saw herself reflected in the mirror.

Time seemed to stand still as Scarlett regarded the painting, lost in a vacuum of unknown emotions and half-formed thoughts. When she finally covered it once more, she realised some of her earlier anger had ebbed, but she wasn’t sure what replaced it was much better.

As she turned to leave, a small chest resting on a nearby counter caught her eye. Scarlett’s brow furrowed as she studied it, a niggling sense of familiarity pulling at her mind. She didn’t recognise the chest, but she sensed that it was significant somehow.

After considering it for a moment, she approached and unlatched the chest. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay a single garnet ring. Its thin gold band glinted in the ghostly light of her conjured flames, the deep red stone on its face seeming to pulse with a slight inner fire.

[Hartford Garnet Ring (Unique)]
{Blessed by an unknown power, this ring has been passed down through generations of the Hartford family, often worn by its head. There appears to be a slumbering flame burning within}

Scarlett stared at the ring. Though she had no memory of it whatsoever, the item stirred something inside her, suggesting it might have belonged to the original.

But if so, why was it locked away here? On her previous visit to this room, she’d still been adjusting to being Scarlett and had left without exploring thoroughly because of how uncomfortable this place made her feel. She never imagined there would be an enchanted item here, one worthy of a system description, no less.

Her fingers hovered over the ring for a while, conflicting impulses warring within her. A part insisted she leave it be, saying she didn’t need it. That she was above it.

She silenced that voice, tucking it into a corner as she picked the ring up and slipped it onto her finger.

The Hartford family had produced numerous skilled mages over the years. Scarlett wasn’t about to pass up an artifact traditionally worn by the family head.

To her surprise, she felt no immediate change. It felt like any other enchanted item, establishing a faint magical connection with her and all, but she couldn’t discern its actual purpose. The description also didn’t help much.

She frowned. She was missing something. Should she ask Garside or Evelyne about it?

…No, she didn’t feel much like doing that, frankly.

Scarlett’s gaze swept across the room one last time, lingering on the covered paintings and dust-laden shelves. With an annoyed shake of her head, she moved towards the exit.

For now, she’d leave this place and return to her quarters. She needed some rest, and that took priority. As for what the ring was for, she would look into that later. She would probably figure something out.