CHAPTER FIVE : The Vile Queen had to Descended

Ramona Ellett Rhostein's POV

The corridor reeked of iron, dust, and forgotten years. Ramona Ellett Rhostein — now cloaked in the identity of Ellijah Harvert — stalked through the stone spine of Hilrose Fortress with footsteps as soft as a shadow. The fortress held decades of records, a vault of bureaucratic rot. Here, among criminal archives and imperial corruption, her name had been buried.

She said she was heading to the city library. But that had been a diversion.

In truth, Ramona slipped away beneath the veil of night, trailing behind a lone guard until she could mimic his route. With a small spell — not quite magic, but the echo of a force deep within her — she blended into his shadow, a flicker in the corner of the eye. She'd trained herself in observation, movement, breathing. Now, all of it was survival.

Doors creaked. Maps on walls. Dusty cabinets. Locked drawers. She passed forgotten rooms, flickering lanterns, and marble busts missing eyes. Her gaze stopped at a door with bold red letters: DO NOT ENTER.

A grin. "So dramatic."

The room beyond was chaos — not by mess, but by intent. Papers stacked recklessly. Files left open. Everything looked like it had been rifled through and hastily abandoned. The door had been sealed from the outside. Curious.

Ramona entered, locking it behind her.

She began her search. Her hands moved with speed. The titles on folders made her skin crawl: Nobility Surveillance. Experimental Subjects. Property Repossession. Then she found her own name.

As I sifted through the paper, a strange scent clung to one document — faint, floral, familiar. Not ink. Not mold. Rose and ash. My mind traced back to aristocratic fragrances and ceremonial inks, remembered stories of a city famed for such blends. Varrucet. A city where many things, including poisons and perfumes, are born alike.

Ramona's fingers trembled slightly as she pried open a rusted filing cabinet hidden beneath a loose panel in the floorboards. The hidden drawer groaned open, revealing stacks of confidential files marked with wax seals she hadn't seen since her days as a noblewoman — Seals of the Royal Intelligence Division.

Among the folders, her eyes caught a fresh packet marked:

"Subject: Luna Crimsongarde"

Status: Under Surveillance

Objective: Terminate upon confirmation of contact with Subject R. Everild"

Her heart froze. Luna Crimsongarde — that was Oswald's mother. Someone had already planned to eliminate her after Ramona's execution. Worse, the report dated it as next week.

There was more — photographs of Oswald's home, maps of his family estate with attack routes, shadow agent movements. Names. Schedules. Even a fake suicide note template in case "loyalty" had to be staged.

After all ofthat, she also saw among the chaotic stacks, she found something unsettling: a metal insignia identical to her family's, but… wrong. Too polished. Too new. She ran her gloved fingers over it, feeling the heat of indignation rise in her chest.

"Why would a copy of my insignia be here, sealed in an envelope meant for the High Judge?"

She found a ledger tucked behind the drawer, coded in symbols. But with her "Tenibris" power heightened, her mind processed the pattern — it was a registry of items ordered through a secret smithing guild. The name linked to the order: V. Albricht.

A chill ran down her spine. Albricht was known to her — a disgraced ex-member of the royal forgers, exiled a decade ago.

And then she saw it. A page buried at the very bottom. The accusation towards her.

One, Embezzlement of health and education funds.

Two, Conducting prohibited experiments on humans.

Three, Operating illegal gambling dens and human trafficking networks.

Four, Exploiting labor and destroying protected forests.

Five, Distributing illegal drugs.

Lady Ramona Ellett Rhostein, of noble blood and title, is hereby charged with high treason against the Empire. Through acts of manipulation, forbidden alliances, and intellectual conspiracy, she is accused of seeking to dismantle the state from within. Effective immediately, her rights as a noblewoman are forfeit.

Sentence: Death.

Ramona let out a low, humorless laugh. "At least make it believable…"

But as she traced her fingers over the paper, her nose twitched. A scent — faint, but sharp.

Roses.

Not perfume. Not natural. Artificial, buried beneath ink and dust. Her eyes narrowed. The paper had been tampered with.

She leaned in and took in a deeper breath. Then she closed her eyes and recalled the exact note Oswald once described — a cult that used rose-oil ink in their secret correspondences.

Schwarzezirkel.

She'd heard the name whispered before. Myths. Folktales. Now, a symbol was etched faintly into the margin. Not visible — not unless you knew where to look. A small circle of thorns.

Ramona stared, her face tightening. "So that's how you plan to erase me."

But it wasn't the lies that rattled her. It was the precision.

"Whoever forged this… they studied me. Every strength, every shadow."

Her mind burned with names, possibilities. But one thought eclipsed them all.

They weren't trying to destroy me. They were trying to steal what I knew.

And just then —

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

A voice. An officer at the door, fury blooming on his face.

Ramona's heart didn't skip. Her hand didn't shake. Before he could reach for his whistle, she moved — faster than sound, sharper than instinct.

A blast of force sent the man crashing against the wall. He slumped, unconscious. Her breath was steady. Her mind wasn't racing — it was sprinting ahead.

"This is nothing," she whispered.

And then, like it had happened once before… she disappeared.

Back in her room, dust and moonlight greeted her like ghosts. Her breathing steadied. But her heart — her heart was singing.

That taste of rebellion, that rush of certainty — it felt good. Alive.

She looked at the trunk of stolen clothes from earlier. Men's garments. Commoner fabric. All rough and dull.

No. Not anymore.

She tore seams, cut lengths, and stitched pieces into something bold. Something shapely. Something... scandalous.

Black corset. High slit. Scarlet trim. Long gloves. A choker of her family crest, repurposed.

She found dark kohl, deep rouge, and lined her eyes in shadow and blood.

And then she stepped into heels like daggers — sharp, tall, defiant.

As she looked into the mirror, her lips curled into a slow smile.

"If they want a monster…" she whispered, eyes gleaming.

"…I'll give them a queen."

The villain they created would be the storm that buried them.

*clack* the sound of open doors

She turned. A small figure entered the room — pale, trembling, and wide-eyed.

"C-Cynthia?"

The young maid froze. Her tears welled instantly. Her mouth covered, muffling sobs.

Ramona stepped back, stunned.

They froze—like time, caught in a spell. A girl with a maid's apron and red-rimmed eyes, and a woman painted in sin and power. One dared not speak. The other didn't know what to say.

Cynthia's knees gave in first, but her mouth held tight. She bit down on her hand to silence her sob, tears rolling freely down her cheeks.

Ramona blinked.

"Why are you crying?" she asked. Her voice was softer than expected, unsure.

"You… You came back, My Lady…" Cynthia whispered. "I knew you weren't dead. I knew it. I told them all that you mst be innocent and somehow survived—I knew it!"

Ramona opened her mouth, but nothing came. Her fingers hovered awkwardly, unsure if she should reach out or stay still. "You… still trust me?"

Cynthia nodded, then hiccupped. "Of course! I know you would not do such terrible thing! Lady Ramona i know is very humble and kind. And full of love!"

As in her unreasonable adoration towards Ramona— she continued it with prayers

"Lady Ramona, let me be your servant again! You're the one i want to serve, i spare all my life and Luxis Strength to you however...."

"...?!" Ramona was too stunned to speak, but still let Cynthia finished her sentence

"....I have two brother, the older ones is David he has Aqualil Holder, and a healer. The younger one is Ellijah. They both got kidnapped. I'd like to share my stength to have the resolve of your problem for free-ing both of them as in repayment."

Ellijah— what a coincidece

The sudden proposal from Cynthia seem suspicious to Ramona, but somehow Luxis Holder in the party would be really helpful.

"That was a big suprise, a Luxis holder but a maid?" 

"It because i don't wanna be a saint!!"

"..... okay "

Then Cynthia wiped her eyes, looked up at Ramona, and… paused. A very suspicious pause.

Her gaze swept from Ramona's heavily made-up face, the alluring neckline of her altered noble dress, down to the killer heels stabbing into the wooden floor.

Cynthia blinked. Then furrowed her brow.

"My Lady… if I may… respectfully…"

"Yes?" Ramona tilted her head.

"…You're not planning to sell your body, are you?"

Ramona's eyes widened. "What?!"

"You vanished for months, everyone thought you were dead, and now you return dressed like that—I'm sorry!" Cynthia bowed so fast she almost hit the floor. "It's none of my business! I just—! I mean—! There's nothing wrong with that if you have to survive! I just—!"

"I am not selling anything!" Ramona snapped, cheeks burning.

Cynthia froze.

Ramona took a breath, then smirked. "Although… I did steal this outfit. And I did assault an officer."

"…oh."

"But it's not for men's eyes. It's for war."

Cynthia slowly nodded, wiping her nose. "Right. War. Of course, My Lady."

A long pause.

"…You still have a place to stay?" Cynthia asked hesitantly. "My brother's apartment is empty for now. We can go there. It's small but… safe."

Ramona exhaled, her expression gentling. "Lead the way."

In Cynthia's apartment

The apartment was cramped, quiet, and smelled faintly of dried herbs. A stack of books tilted on one side of the room, next to a half-organized shelf of glass vials and medical notes.

Ramona glanced around, her gaze drawn to the well-used desk in the corner. "Your brother… is a healer?"

"An apothecary," Cynthia replied, tidying nervously. "His name's David. He's the best in the district, though he doesn't like attention. He went out to find our younger brother, but he hasn't returned yet."

Ramona nodded faintly, her eyes scanning the room. She stopped at a symbol — a faint marking etched into the corner of a notebook. It looked like a triangle, but twisted at the ends, a serpent threading through it like a thread in a needle.

She frowned. It looked familiar.

"Cynthia," she said, turning the notebook toward her. "What's this?"

Cynthia peeked over her shoulder. "Oh. That? My brother said it was a sigil connected to an underground society. Schwarze… something. He was trying to learn more about it before he disappeared. Why?"

Ramona stared at it, heart skipping. She didn't know the name—but the shape. She'd seen it. Felt it, even.

She sat down and flipped through the pages. There were formulae, records of strange patients with crystalline growths on their skin, and rumors of people being used as "testing vessels." In the margins, David had jotted down thoughts. "Their technology isn't from here." and "Something older than science."

"Schwarzezirkel…" Ramona murmured. "A shadow society. Perhaps the architects of my downfall."

She traced the logo with her finger. So it had all led her here—not by strength, not by rage, but by quiet knowledge left in the cracks.

And in that moment, she smiled.

"They thought they'd buried me," she whispered. "But they only sowed the seeds for their own ruin."

Cynthia had fallen asleep at the desk, cheek against a page still stained with ink. Ramona draped a thin blanket over her before returning to the window.

She could feel it — a thread tugging at her. Like something from her past life was beginning to awaken again. Not magic. Not rage.

Clarity.

A power far more dangerous.

She narrowed her eyes at the city skyline, where towers scraped the stars and masks hid monsters.

She wasn't ready to forgive.

She wasn't ready to forget.

But she was ready to hunt.