Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess-Chapter 355Memoirs - Grouchy old people

“There’s something I need to do.”

Fynn’s words hung in the still air.

Scarlett and the others stared at him. A low, restless wind curled around their feet — barely more than a whisper, but enough to graze their skin like an early warning.

“…Hey, buddy,” Rosa said. “What kind of ‘something’ are we talking about here?”

Fynn turned his head. Not sharply. But not exactly slowly either. Just…intent. Deliberate. His bright yellow eyes settled on her.

But he said nothing.

After a few seconds, he turned away, and the wind shifted. Sharper now. More focused. It threaded between the terrace’s stone pillars and wound towards the craggy stone formation ahead — a hulking, jagged mound that resembled a miniature mountain at the heart of the terrace. He started walking towards its base without another word.

Scarlett narrowed her eyes, watching his advancing figure.

“Do we…follow him?” Allyssa asked, glancing at the others.

“Depends, I guess,” Kat replied, then looked at Scarlett. “What’s he doing?”

Scarlett’s gaze didn’t move. “…I do not know.”

Eventually, she stepped forward, and the others followed suit. They trailed Fynn at a cautious distance. The air grew cooler as they neared the base of the strange, mountain-like formation. Its presence felt weirdly natural yet artificial at the same time. Like someone had cut a chunk from an actual mountain range and dropped it here with no care for how it fit.

It spanned a somewhat sizable area for something indoors—at least as large as a small plaza—and nestled into the surrounding terrain with clear gaps between the rock and the cut stone beneath. To their right, a narrow cleft split the rocks, partially veiled in shadow. It resembled a passage formed by time and erosion, though how either would have played a role in this place wasn’t immediately obvious. The golden light from high above filtered through in streaks, patchy and uneven, painting the stone with uneven bands of warmth and shade.

Fynn moved through the opening without pausing.

They followed him into what could only be described as a miniature hidden valley. Its floor was uneven and strewn with blackened stone, as though the area had once been scorched and left half-buried in soot. It wasn’t particularly wide—Scarlett could have crossed it in under half a minute—but the irregular terrain and strange atmosphere made it feel untouched. Forgotten. Like no living thing had stepped here in a very long time.

Scarlett came to a halt. Her eyes widened just slightly as she saw what stood at its centre.

The others drew in behind her. Kat let out a low whistle. “That’s another Kilnstone, right?”

“This one’s whole, as well,” Allyssa said.

“It is…” Scarlett murmured, her voice tight with thought.

The obelisk floated within a circle of half-collapsed stone columns. Oddly, its surface was a dull, matte grey, so unlike the smooth, reflective sheen that characterised the Kilnstones she’d seen before. It looked old. Very old. If not for its unmistakable shape, she might not have recognised it at all.

And here she’d believed Beld Thylelion wasn’t supposed to have any other Kilnstones.

Her gaze returned to Fynn.

He was already close to the artifact.

Her eyes narrowed further. He must have sensed this long before any of them did. More importantly…what was he about to—?

He reached out.

Scarlett’s form shimmered into a blur of mist as she activated her [Garments of Form]. She reappeared beside him and caught his wrist just before his fingers could make contact.

The moment they touched, Fynn’s body went rigid. His head snapped towards her, and his free hand twitched, as if reaching for something unseen. Scarlett didn’t need magic to feel the aggression roll off him. His jaw clenched. Muscles tensed. His eyes flared with a sudden, dangerous light.

The [Hartford Garnet Ring] on her finger pulsed.

Her gaze fixed on him.

“Fynn. Control yourself.”

The fire in his eyes faltered. For a long moment, they stood locked in place — her grip tight on his arm, his breathing shallow. Then the tension began to drain from him. The glow in his eyes dimmed. He looked at his outstretched hand.

A harsh frown appeared on his face.

Scarlett didn’t move until he lowered his hand. Then she released him.

He stood silently, staring at the Kilnstone.

“…Are you aware of what you were just about to do?” she asked.

He gave a short nod. “Activate it.”

“To go where?”

His jaw moved slightly before he answered. “The Whitdown Mountains.”

Scarlett studied him — the lines of his face, the strange intensity that had been there just a few seconds earlier.

“That would have been a mistake,” she said after a while.

She stepped past him and closer to the Kilnstone. Her fingers brushed its rough surface. A subtle pulse passed through it, followed by a low vibration that travelled up her hand. The stone reacted sluggishly. Flickering, then darkening beneath her touch, like it only half-remembered how it was supposed to respond.

Then came a stream of information — abstract, fragmentary, and barely coherent.

“As I thought,” she murmured.

The feedback she received was…off. This Kilnstone wasn’t fully functional. It might have managed to send Fynn to Whitdown Mountains, but she doubted it could have brought him back. Or if it did, not in one piece.

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She had never interfaced directly with a Kilnstone this way before, but Thainnith’s legacy provided her the knowledge to do so. And while the legacy’s knowledge couldn’t fully replace first-hand experience, it was enough to tell her that something about this Kilnstone was wrong. It was like her intentions had to wade through static and noise to be understood.

A technical person like her sister might have compared it to booting up an ancient 80s-era computer with a corrupted operating system and half-documented commands. A mechanism on the edge of collapse, driven by enchantments and instructions whose meanings had eroded with time.

Which didn’t make much sense.

The Kilnstones scattered throughout the empire and the continent were basically indestructible. Monolithic slabs of carved arcana that had survived over a millennium of conflicts without faltering. She’d never heard of one degrading like this. Certainly not one hidden in an off-the-record ruin like Beld Thylelion, where it should have remained untouched.

Her fingers lingered on the worn stone as a frown settled across her brow.

What was this doing here? Was this even really an actual Kilnstone? If so, why did it feel so different?

She turned to Fynn.

“…Were the ancestors responsible for your actions just now?” she asked.

His expression tightened. “Yes.”

“What did they want?”

“For me to complete the second trial. To finish the second awakening.”

“…That is concerning.”

Fynn said nothing, but the silence spoke for him. He looked like he agreed.

She studied the side of his face for a while longer. “Do you want to leave?”

In theory, she might be able to coax this Kilnstone into functioning well enough to at least get him out safely.

A scowl formed on Fynn’s face as he met her gaze directly. “No. I’m staying.”

Scarlett held his eyes. “Even if your ancestors are becoming a risk?”

“Even then.” He shook his head. “I won’t let them out again.”

Scarlett was silent for a long moment.

It was troubling that the influence of his ancestors had reached the point of overriding his agency, if only briefly. With everything else already spiralling into uncertainty, it was yet another unpredictable variable she did not want to contend with. A part of her seriously considered whether forcing him out might be the most pragmatic choice.

She didn’t enjoy being forced to weigh allies against outcomes.

Before she could reflect further, Arnaud stepped forward. She hadn’t even noticed him approach.

“Fynn,” he said in a calming voice. “Hold out your hand.”

Fynn blinked, glancing at the older man. Then, after a brief pause, he complied.

Arnaud took his hand, pressing his fingers lightly against the palm. A faint glow flickered to life where they touched — a subtle thread of light winding up Fynn’s arm like a breeze-caught ribbon. It faded just as quickly, the whole exchange lasting barely a few seconds.

Scarlett raised a brow. “…What did you do?”

“I did nothing of note,” Arnaud replied, still watching Fynn. “Do you feel any difference?”

Fynn tilted his head, looking thoughtful. Then he gave a slow nod. “A little.”

A small smile tugged at Arnaud’s lips, his moustache lifting slightly. “Good.”

The others approached. Rosa leaned towards Allyssa with her usual lack of subtlety or regard for the situation. “What did your dad’s ‘nothing’ just do?”

Allyssa looked helplessly at her, then at Kat.

Kat raised her hands in a shrug and glanced at Shin.

Shin looked at them, then sighed and turned to Arnaud. “Was that a Grounding technique?”

Arnaud inclined his head. “It was. A simplified version. As I said, I did little. Fynn is doing the real work.” He scanned the others’ puzzled expressions and chuckled softly. “Maybe you’re all unfamiliar with aura practices.”

He gestured with one arm. “Most formal aura schools teach a concept called ‘Aura Centring.’ As the name suggests, it involves stabilising one’s inner energy. Useful for calming the mind, resisting outside influence, or contemplating techniques. One might compare it to meditation, and it also shares much with the centring rituals you’ll find among priesthoods.” He paused, then added, “Grounding is a subset of that. It creates a short-lived internal loop of focus — a soft anchor point. Something to draw the self back to the body. Not a perfect fix, but for someone who meditates regularly, as Fynn appears to do, it should feel familiar.”

To the side, Fynn gave a faint nod of agreement. “It does.”

Allyssa folded her arms. “You’ve never taught me any of that.”

Arnaud looked at her, amused. “If I recall, a certain young lady once screamed that she’d rather eat gravel than be forced to learn the tenets of my school.” He lifted a brow. “The same young lady who promptly shoved her very dear friend at me and declared alchemy was less ‘boring’ to study.”

Allyssa flushed red and turned away, grumbling. “…That’s not fair. You should’ve made it look cooler if you actually wanted me to learn it.”

Arnaud chuckled again, unbothered. “Oh, I’m not complaining, my sweet honeybunny. Those aura techniques were never a good fit for you. And Shin turned out to be quite the dogged student in the end, didn’t he?”

Shin gave him a sideways glance. “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”

“I would,” Kat said with a light laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You know how the Astreys are.”

“Oi,” Allyssa glared at her. Kat just grinned.

“Mister Astrey,” Scarlett said, steering the conversation back on track. “Will this technique be sufficient to suppress the influence of Fynn’s ancestors?”

“It may help,” Arnaud replied. “But I cannot say with certainty. I am unfamiliar with the nature of these ‘ancestors’ or the specific workings of his bloodline.”

They both looked to Fynn, who was now standing quietly, expression a contemplative mask. After a moment, his focus returned, and he met Scarlett’s gaze. “I’m okay.”

Scarlett considered him for a bit, then glanced back at Arnaud.

Aura practitioners seemed to have a lot more tricks to them than she’d originally thought.

Her gaze shifted over the group, then returned to the Kilnstone. Finally, she let her eyes drift upward to the dark, stretching ceiling above, etched with the flickering of runes and golden illuminations.

At last, she turned away. “…For now, let us move on.”

The group filed out the way they’d come, retracing their steps through the narrow pass and back out onto the terrace. Just as the last of them stepped free of the stone corridor, Fynn stopped.

Again.

Scarlett tensed.

The others slowed, eyes turning towards him.

“…Fynn?” Allyssa asked carefully.

He didn’t respond at first.

Arnaud stepped up beside Scarlett, his hand settling lightly on the hilt of his blade. His posture was steady and alert, but he didn’t look concerned. So then…was he sensing something else?

Suddenly, Fynn’s head turned. His mouth pulled into a line. “There’s someone else here.”

Scarlett’s eyes hardened.

“…Is it the same presence we encountered before?” she asked.

More of those strange reflections of game companions?

Fynn shook his head, gaze fixed on something unseen. “No. This feels different.”

She studied his face, searching for signs of interference, but his features were composed. No hint of the ancestors’ influence. Whatever he was sensing, it was likely real.

She followed his line of sight. He wasn’t looking at the ground, but at the air above — just off-centre from their position, towards one of the far terraces in the gloom. Then she saw it. A flicker. Something moving. Descending.

Her stomach dropped.

A lift.

Someone was coming down.

Her mind snapped to attention.

This meant they weren’t alone in Beld Thylelion. Someone else had made it this far. Someone who wasn’t supposed to.

They should have had a considerable head start on everyone else.

Behind her, the others shifted. Kat’s fingers flexed inside the chained gloves Scarlett had given her. Shin stepped closer to Allyssa, eyes scanning the upper darkness. Even Rosa had gone quiet, glancing at Scarlett.

“…What should we do?” Allyssa asked.

Scarlett didn’t answer right away.

She squinted up at the descending shape, trying to make out any details. “What can you see, Fynn?”

“Not much. It’s too far. Too dark.”

Scarlett exhaled through her nose. “…Then we have no choice but to investigate. If someone has breached these chambers, we have to learn who and how.”

She turned to Fynn. “Lead the way.”

He nodded and moved without hesitation.

The group exchanged quick looks, then followed. No one spoke. They stuck close together as they crossed the vast, layered walkways spiralling through the vast chamber. Every stone bridge they crossed, every dim terrace they passed, took them closer to that source of unease. The pressure weighed heavier on Scarlett with each step.

They veered from their original path, leaving the centre of the chamber behind. The detour cost them time, but eventually, they arrived.

Fynn raised a hand, and the group slowed.

From where they stood—partially obscured behind a crumbling pillar on a neighbouring terrace—they could make out motion on the platform ahead. Black robes, some glints of metal, and figures surveying the area.

Scarlett frowned heavily.

That wasn’t just any group.

The Cabal. Or the Undead Council. She wasn’t sure which, but either one meant trouble.

And that the game had just changed.

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