Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess-Chapter 411 - Recruitment pitches

Scarlett finished tracing the last of the runes and stepped back to examine the lattice she had inscribed across the parlour’s corner. Thin lines of silvery light stretched outward along the walls, linking to identical patterns in the other corners. They resonated in harmony with the arrays set up in the Loci’s garden, and by Thainnith’s legacy, she judged that this should be enough.

She rinsed her hands in conjured water to remove the residue of alchemical reagents, then dried them with a small flicker of heat before turning towards the centre of the room. Fynn had moved nearly all the furniture aside, leaving only a single sigil circle in front of a sofa.

Rosa was seated on it, braiding Slate’s pale, neck-length hair into thin strands while humming an indistinct tune. The homunculus endured it in silence, expression vacant, her hood pushed back as Rosa worked. Scarlett had told them to keep occupied while she finalised preparations, and of course, in Rosa’s mind, that would translate to tormenting the one person least likely to object.

“You know,” Rosa said conversationally to Slate, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’d have preferred artificial hair. Curls are lovely and all, but you’ve no idea how much of a menace they are to maintain. Especially with certain highborn ladies constantly pawing at them until I look like a startled sheep. Think you could give me a tip or two on getting that looked at?”

Scarlett passed the sofa, checking the central circle for flaws. Satisfied, she gave a short nod.

Rosa kept talking to herself. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t complain. Some people don’t have a single strand left to fuss over. That was very heartless of me.”

Scarlett allowed herself a glance over. Slate was still following her instruction to ignore the majority of what Rosa said, a fact that greatly amused Scarlett in moments like these. She strongly suspected the bard would eventually beg her to rescind that command, and she looked forward to refusing — if only out of petty spite for the woman’s constant jabs at her expense.

At least the first time. After that, she’d probably be merciful.

But now wasn’t the time to focus on things like that.

“Fynn,” she said, turning to the white-haired youth seated cross-legged on the floor. “Are you ready?”

His yellow eyes opened. He nodded once and stood.

Scarlett’s gaze shifted to Rosa. “Rosa?”

The bard tilted her head, glancing towards the door. “The others aren’t joining?”

“I have already spoken with Kat. We will inform them afterwards. It is better that ordinary people are not present for this.”

They weren’t all as resistant to these things as Fynn was.

“Oh. Fair enough.” Rosa released Slate’s newly finished braids and straightened, her expression sobering. “In that case, I’m ready.”

“Good.” Scarlett turned to Slate last. “And you?”

“I am ready,” Slate replied evenly.

Scarlett surveyed them once more before turning back to Rosa. “Then you may proceed.”

Rosa pulled Slate’s hood up, drawing it low so that only a sliver of brow and the faint green glint of the girl’s eyes remained visible. Rising from the sofa, she stepped into the runic circle at the room’s centre.

Scarlett withdrew a cracked, red-black stone from her [Pouch of Holding] and placed it in her palm. Its surface pulsed with a dull, malignant light at her touch, and the Loci stirred at the rise of a foreign power within its domain.

Rosa looked at the stone. Her irises darkened, shot through with violet, and an oppressive aura spread outward, raising the hairs along Scarlett’s neck. The Heartstone flared through the fabric of Rosa’s tunic, and the air warped as the walls seemed willing to lean inward.

Darkness gathered at the circle’s heart before Rosa, expanding into a crawling shroud that devoured light. Before it could advance more than a metre, the defensive arrays Scarlett had prepared flared to life, halting it cold.

“Slate,” Scarlett commanded.

The homunculus rose. A scythe appeared in a single, fluid motion. Its curved blade shimmered as Slate pointed it at the frozen dark. As she cut, the Loci joined in her effort, and the two forces pressed into the shadowy fissure. It buckled, twisted, and finally tore itself apart.

What should have become a doorway to an artificial interstitial space inverted inward. The air grew hot, filled with faint echoes of raw pain. Crimson and black streaks clawed across the walls in jagged patterns, trying to swallow the room, but the Loci’s power stopped them, anchoring the space firmly within its domain.

Last time, the meeting had taken place inside that pocket realm. This time, Scarlett had used the resources at her disposal to keep things contained within her home — where she was in control.

After several moments, the distortion steadied. The pressure eased as things stabilised.

Rosa let out a slow breath and glanced at Scarlett.

“Well done,” Scarlett said.

Rosa smiled faintly, sweat beading at her brow. “Thanks.” She nodded towards Slate. “And thanks for the hand.”

“I did not give you a hand,” Slate said.

“You didn’t, no.”

The girl studied her, then nodded. “An idiom. You expressed appreciation for my assistance.”

Rosa’s smile widened. “Got it in two.”

Slate stepped back beside Scarlett, the scythe dissolving from her grasp.

Rosa followed suit, exiting from the circle. Fynn joined them, and together they faced the fissure lingering in the air like a vertical smear of night.

They waited.

After nearly a minute, Rosa spoke. “Just checking, but did we actually confirm this meeting beforehand?”

“We did not,” Scarlett replied.

“So there’s a chance they won’t show, and I just burned through most of my mana for nothing?”

“Indeed.”

Rosa shot her a look. “A little warning would’ve been nice, Red.”

“Would it have changed anything?”

“No, but it’s the principle of the thing, I’d say. I like to pretend—”

A thin vein of black-green light sliced through the darkness like a blade. Scarlett felt the Loci tense, its domain tightening as it drew on more of its reserves.

Another heartbeat passed.

Then Malachi stepped through.

Her bare feet touched the floor without sound. Wild silver hair fell in loose strands around her pale face, framing eyes of vivid green that glimmered with a similar unnatural clarity as Slate’s, yet sharper, older, and more dangerous.

Two hulking demons followed, their grotesquely compressed bodies scraping through the tear before it sealed behind them.

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Malachi’s gaze locked onto Scarlett.

“Baroness,” she said tightly.

“Malachi,” Scarlett replied calmly. “Welcome to my home.”

The half-demoness’ expression flickered with distaste at the word ‘home’ as if it had personally offended her. Her gaze passed over Rosa, then settled on Slate.

“So,” she said quietly. “You succeeded. You acquired the Tribute of Dominion.”

The demons at her back shifted, low growls vibrating through their chests as something like hunger emanated from them. Fynn growled back, ethereal claws forming. Scarlett raised a single hand, and he stilled.

Malachi studied Slate. “But…why does it look like that?”

“Like what?” Scarlett asked.

“Fleshy.” Malachi gestured with two long, dark-nailed fingers. “And alive.”

Slate blinked once, very slowly, but otherwise her expression remained unchanged. “This form results from compatibility constraints. The Tribute of Dominion is an axiom. Observational factors and Thainnith’s recorded research indicate physical conscious embodiment was necessary to maintain function.” She tilted her head at Malachi. “The criteria for this necessity are unknown to me.”

Malachi exhaled, the sound carrying a harsh rasp. “Unfortunate. And unsightly. What is the value of a weapon that thinks?”

“Slate is not a weapon,” Scarlett said.

Malachi’s gaze snapped back to her.

Scarlett didn’t bother arguing the point and instead changed the topic. “How fares your domain in the Blazes since our last meeting?”

Malachi was silent for a few seconds. “Aggravating,” she eventually said. “The other Viles have resorted to cooperating—” she hissed the word, “—in their incursions into my territory. They conspire, the carrion things. Still convinced I’m weak. That I can be replaced.” A thin smile curved across her lips. “They are wrong. Old monsters clinging to old delusions. Had they not underestimated me, they would not now huddle together like frightened vermin.”

Scarlett arched a brow. “How long do you believe you can hold your ground as things stand?”

“Hold my ground?” Malachi’s eyes flashed. “You speak as though I will inevitably lose.”

“Are you saying you will not?”

She watched Scarlett. “I still command the greater bastions of Anguish, despite numerous betrayals. I will not lose any time soon.”

“I see.” Scarlett gave a small nod. “Good. Have there been other developments? Beyond the local politics of your Blaze?”

With Fate’s unravelling and the stirrings among divinity it had caused, she was curious how that might have affected the six Blazes.

“There have been…shifts,” Malachi said after a while. “The Blazes are always in disorder, but it has been different lately. My agents in the others’ domains are few, but I can confirm that the Viles are restless. Agitated. Or excited. Perhaps both. I suspected the Veil of Convergence had fractured, but it would appear to be intact.”

Her attention lingered on Scarlett for another moment before shifting to Slate. She inclined her head slightly. “Is this because of it?”

“Because of her, you mean?” Scarlett asked. “Possibly.”

“Curious.”

Malachi stepped forward. Rosa and Fynn flinched as both of her demons—hulking shadows of muscle and horn—moved as if to follow, but the Loci pressed down on them with unseen weight. Malachi ignored the tension entirely, stopping before Slate and bending until their eyes were level.

“I need it,” she said, gaze boring into Slate’s eyes.

One of the demons twitched, pushing through the Loci’s pressure and raising an arm.

That arm instantly burst into smoke. Flesh blackened and sloughed away, burning from the inside out. The creature shrieked once—a strangled, wet sound—before collapsing back.

Scarlett watched the disappearing arm, then looked to Malachi. “I warned you about controlling your entourage last time.”

Without turning, Malachi flicked a hand. A coil of dark-green energy snaked towards the wounded demon, snuffing its cries in an instant. To her, the creature’s suffering was little more than static.

Demons really weren’t much more than tools to her.

“You are free to discipline them however you wish,” she said with barely any care. Then her gaze returned to Scarlett, narrowing slightly as she considered her. “…Something is different about you.”

Scarlett met her stare. “Is that so? And what would that be?”

“I can’t tell. Is it several things?”

“It could be.”

“Then tell me what they are.”

“I do not think I will.”

Malachi’s brow furrowed.

Scarlett turned slightly towards Slate. “Regardless, I will not give you the Tribute. I believe I made that clear last time. However, as discussed, I am willing to assist you, under the right circumstances. Discussing those circumstances is the purpose of today’s meeting.”

Malachi’s expression tightened. “Name your terms.”

“They have not changed. Rosa will receive further portions of Anguish’s Authority.”

Her lips drew into a thin line.

“You will not require it once you sever the other Viles’ Authorities,” Scarlett reminded her.

“…Fine.” The word came out bitter, but like last time, Malachi didn’t argue. “If you help me break their hold so I can claim what I want, your incarnate may keep her share.”

Rosa gave a low, theatrical cough. “The ‘incarnate’ has a name, you know. Namely, Rosa. I’m hurt you keep forgetting, Malachi.”

The woman turned her head towards her, eyes narrowing. “I did not forget. It simply doesn’t matter. My dealings are no longer with you, but with your liege.”

“Liege?” Rosa echoed, a tiny smile appearing as she shot a sidelong look at Scarlett.

Scarlett ignored her, folding her arms and tapping a finger lightly against her sleeve. “Then let us be clear, Malachi. You intend to use the Tribute’s power to open the other Blazes and shear their Authorities from their rulers. I assume you have already gathered the forces for such an undertaking and have not been idle since our last meeting.”

Malachi’s gaze returned to her. “I have a plan, if that is what you’re asking.”

“Then share it.”

“And risk you spilling it? Hardly. Not until we have a pact.”

“Then, at the very least, tell me how far you intend to go. How much of the other Viles’ Authority do you plan to take?”

The half-demon was silent for a moment, studying Scarlett with a wary focus that made her think of a predator gauging a potential threat. “…Malevolence and Desolace have been the most persistent in pressing into my territory. They pose the greatest threat. I intend to supplant what I can of their domains.”

“That is all?”

“The others will learn from it,” Malachi said. “They will remember their place.”

“But there is a reason you do not wish to supplant them as well?”

“They will ally. Truly band together, like the cowards they are. Their realms are fortified and difficult for me to reach. Even with more power, it would be difficult for me to fight them together.”

Scarlett scoffed. “Is that truly all it takes to scare you off?”

The woman’s expression didn’t change, but the air turned dangerous. “It is the reality of the situation. What would you suggest?”

Scarlett didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze slid to the two demons standing behind their mistress, their jaws flexing.

Her original purpose in aiding Malachi had been a pragmatic one. To secure a powerful pseudo-Vile as an ally, strengthen Rosa, and reduce the number of Viles free to cause problems in the Material Realm.

Those motives still stood, of course. But after everything that had changed with the introduction of The Other, Time, Fate, and even the potential confrontations with this world’s gods waiting for her in the future…

[Main questline updated: “The time of upheaval”]

{The Tribute of Dominion rests in Baroness Scarlett Hartford’s hands. The rules of the world have been rewritten. A time of upheaval is fast approaching. None can say what comes next}

[Objective: Choose or build a faction to weather the coming storm]

[Reward: One request]

[Failure: A debt]

Her eyes moved to the translucent window that appeared beside her.

She had been thinking about how best to complete this for some time now. There were a lot of ways to fulfil the objective, and she doubted The Other hadn’t already considered most of them when crafting it. At first, she’d entertained the idea of simply taking the simplest path and joining an established power like the Shields Guild to complete the quest cleanly. A system request would be a valuable reward.

But that wasn’t the path she wanted.

If she were to complete something so open-ended, she wanted to do it in a way that was unmistakably hers. She didn’t want to slip into another hierarchy or mimic another’s design.

What she wanted was to build something that bent the world itself around her — something the system itself hadn’t even accounted for.

Whether that was possible wasn’t certain. But she wanted to give it a try.

Her gaze returned to Malachi. “I do not think you would be content with holding only fragments of the Blazes. Am I wrong?”

Malachi didn’t answer.

Scarlett stepped closer. “You want it all. There is no denying this.” Their eyes locked, green against amber. “So what would you say if I told you that is still very much possible?”

“…Explain,” Malachi said.

Scarlett pointed a single finger behind her. “Slate, do you know the names of the Viles?”

“I do not.”

“Is it possible for you to know them?”

“Yes.”

“Would seeing a Vile’s true form suffice?”

There was a stretch of silence.

“Yes,” Slate finally replied.

Malachi’s eyes widened.

The corner of Scarlett’s lips curved upwards. “Slate is far more than a weapon, Malachi. She is the nightmare of every demon that ever crawled from the Blazes.”

The half-demon stared. Her jaw slackened, and Scarlett noticed a faint tremor ripple through her fingers.

There had never been a Vile who commanded more than a single Blaze. Much less one who controlled them all. The possibilities that it promised…

“Of course,” Scarlett continued, “if we grant you such an opportunity, I will expect more than a fragment of Anguish’s Authority in return. But you know how little that is compared to what I am offering.”

Skepticism showed on Malachi’s face, but beneath it, Scarlett saw it. A mad hunger and obsession that couldn’t refuse.

Her lips parted—

—and Scarlett felt the shift.

Space tried to bend. Someone tried to enter her estate from outside, from somewhere far away. A foreign presence that brushed against the Loci’s resistance.

Scarlett’s expression hardened. She stepped back, scanning the room before turning back to Malachi. “Did you invite someone else today?”

“…What?” Malachi asked.

The pressure came again, rippling against the Loci’s defences before being forced back.

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. It’s that woman.”

She almost spat the words.

Scarlett frowned. It took a moment to realise who the woman meant.

She fell quiet for a moment.

“…We will continue this later,” she said.

With a mental command to the Loci, Slate vanished, transported to the most secure and concealed spot in the estate — the cell that housed Nol’viz.

Then she lifted the Loci’s restriction on teleportation.

The air shone beside them. A gate of golden light unfurled, its edges humming with power.

A woman stepped through, robes of molten red and gold draped over her form, and the upper half of her face hidden behind a carved marble mask with ruby eyes.

Mistress.