How do you usually describe a villainess?
A woman who enjoys toying with lives for her own twisted pleasure?
Or someone who finds joy in cruelty, who smirks as others break beneath her heel?
Or maybe… a cold-blooded figure—one who moves like a tyrant, carrying out all kinds of dreadful deeds, killing without flinching, without a shred of emotion.
That's how they always describe her in the stories.
That's how villainesses are written into every magic fantasy game—
Heartless. Dangerous. Beautiful.
A symbol of power wrapped in elegance.
However, it was different in The Legends of Aldoria.
In the game, her fall into the role of the villainess wasn't sudden. It was a slow, painful descent—like watching a rose wither petal by petal under a storm it could never withstand alone.
Arianne didn't start as a villainess. No, she was forced into it.
Each decision, each betrayal, each sacrifice chipped away at the person she used to be, until there was nothing left but the cold, elegant figure that players came to fear.
And even then… it never happened early.
It was always mid-game when she truly embraced the title. When her tears had dried, her heart hardened, and her smile turned into something unreadable.
That's when the world began calling her the villainess.
But by then, the real Arianne was already long gone.
However, right now, the one who stood in front of Azhriel wasn't the feared villainess of the game. No malice flickered in her eyes, no blood stained her hands.
She looked… calm. Composed. Just a bit cold.
Actually, no—calling the daughter of the Duke normal would be a... stretch.
Even with her face expressionless, there was a presence about her that made the air feel heavier. Her white hair shimmered faintly in the sunlight that filtered through the trees, and her crimson eyes—quiet and calculating—held a glint of curiosity.
At this moment, she wasn't Arianne, the Grand Villainess of The Legends of Aldoria.
She was just a noble girl standing at the edge of the forest, meeting the eyes of a boy fate had already marked.
******
'Oh'.
Arianne stared at the unknown boy before her, her crimson eyes scanning him quietly. He looked to be around her age—perhaps a little older—but it wasn't just his age that caught her attention.
As the daughter of a duke, she had met more than her fair share of attractive individuals, from noble heirs to foreign dignitaries, each groomed to perfection. But this guy…
There was something different about him.
The way his snow-white hair caught the light, the sharp cut of his jawline, those piercing azure eyes that seemed to hold storms within them—it was almost mesmerizing. Not delicate or pretty like some noble sons, but striking.
He looked like someone carved from ice and shadow, distant yet impossible to ignore.
"Hm, wait."
Arianne's crimson eyes flickered slightly, a small, nearly invisible crease forming between her brows as she took another glance at the boy.
In the next breath, something else struck her—something even more shocking than his looks.
'He has no presence… and I can't sense his rank at all.'
The thought rippled through her mind like a sudden drop in still water. Her expression didn't change much, but the sharpness in her gaze deepened.
Her senses were finely honed, trained by years of strict noble upbringing and battle exposure. For someone like her to be unable to read a person's aura—it was rare, extremely rare.
'Is it some kind of artifact… or an innate ability?'
She tilted her head slightly, thinking. Then, as if seeking confirmation, she turned her eyes toward her personal guard.
Serica—always composed, always precise—was already frowning, her black eyes narrowed, at Azhriel. Turning to Arianne, she gave a subtle shake of her head, her own confusion mirroring Arianne's thoughts.
"Were you the ones who were chasing it?"
Before she could think any further, Azhriel's voice broke the silence. His gaze flicked toward the boar, still dangling limply from the ice spike that pierced its body.
"Yes," Arianne replied, her tone calm and composed, "but it seems someone has already killed it?"
Though her words were simple, the unspoken question hung in the air between them.
Azhriel didn't miss it.
"It's Azhriel. My name," he answered plainly, voice steady, posture relaxed.
Arianne's crimson eyes narrowed slightly.
'A commoner,' she noted silently. I see.
"You can take that," Azhriel said, his voice even as he glanced at the boar. Without waiting for a response, he turned away, footsteps light on the forest floor.
It had been surreal—talking to someone he'd only ever seen on a screen. A character brought to life, flesh and blood.
But dusk was settling in fast, and he knew better than to linger. The night in this forest was merciless; prey became scarce, and monsters prowled freely under the moon's shadow.
"No, it was your hunt. It wouldn't be fair to take it," Arianne's voice rang softly behind him.
He paused.
She stood there with calm poise, her crimson eyes locked onto his, a stillness to her form that echoed strength. Her voice carried no false humility, just a quiet honesty.
For a villainess, she was far more... noble than he ever expected.
Thinking for a moment, Azhriel turned slightly, meeting Arianne's gaze.
"How about dividing it equally into three? Would that be fine?" he asked, his tone casual, but firm. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he added, "Also, I'd prefer it more if your guard would stop glaring at me."
He motioned toward Serica, who hadn't let her gaze stray from him since they arrived. Her stance was rigid, hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, eyes sharp with suspicion—as if she expected him to pounce at any second.
Arianne blinked once, then shifted her gaze to Serica.
"Serica," she said calmly.
The guard hesitated, then let out a short breath, lowering her guard—but only slightly. Her posture remained alert, but her hand moved away from the weapon.
"Fair enough," Arianne said, her voice carrying a trace of amusement. It was quite interesting for a commoner to not only speak with such composure, but also standing firm before Serica.
"Three-way split, then."