I was reincarnated into the world of the otome game 'Rosalian Chronicle' as Mia Rosalian, the villainess. In the game, she's executed after being condemned—an utterly garbage role. But I know this world's rules, the love interests' weaknesses, everything. If I use my head, I can avoid the bad end.
At first, I planned to live quietly. But wait, as a commoner I couldn't do anything. So I used my past-life knowledge and schemes to take the top spot at the Royal Academy, crush the nobles, and climb
The Villainess's Rise to Power. - The Villainess and the Butler ~Oath Under the Moon~
"...That woman's name again, is it."
The top-floor office of Vernheim Castle. Remilia Rosalian gazed steadily down at a single report spread across the heavy ebony desk. The candlelight cast a bluish sheen across her glossy black hair, which reached all the way to her waist. Her right eye was a deep, blood-like red; her left, a purple that seemed to dissolve the darkness of night. Those mismatched eyes moved as if tracing the letters inscribed on the parchment.
The Shadow Garden—the intelligence network she had built with her own hands. Its regular report contained the very information she had been most concerned about, and worse, in the most unsettling form imaginable.
"At the Royal Academy in the royal capital of Alventia, First Prince Ren Alventia was seen conversing intimately with Mia Celestia, a commoner-born candidate for sainthood dispatched from the Holy Kingdom of Celestia, at the academy-hosted evening party the other day. To outside eyes, their closeness resembles that of old acquaintances."
Her fingers gripping the report naturally tightened. Her crimson dress seemed to sink deeper into the candlelight, as if mirroring her emotions.
"So it's come."
Her short murmur dissolved into the cold, quiet air of the office.
The otome game from her past life's memories—"Rosalian Chronicle." In its scenario, the villainess Remilia Rosalian was destined to be condemned by Prince Ren on her eighteenth birthday and executed. Charged with the crime of tormenting the heroine Mia Celestia, she would be publicly shamed before the grand cathedral in the royal capital, and then—
But she was now twenty. The execution event from the original work had long since passed.
"...Well, of course. In that game, as far as I played it, Prince Ren speaks to Mia right after the entrance ceremony. But reality differs from the game. Timing can shift."
She exhaled deeply and leaned back into her chair. She looked up at the ceiling. Beyond the intricately decorated beams, it seemed as though the absurdity of this world swirled above her.
This world—the continent of Asteria. Once ruled by the ancient Asteria Magical Kingdom, and after its collapse, a land where five kingdoms vied for supremacy following the Ash Crown War. The Rosalian March, which she governed, was located in its northeast. It had originally been a small barony. Through territorial management she began at age eight and numerous achievements, she had elevated it to a marchland equivalent to an earldom.
But no matter how much territory she expanded, no matter how much the people adored her, the terror of that condemnation event had taken root deep in her heart and would not leave.
"In the original, I was just a villainess. I tormented Mia, earned Prince Ren's hatred, and in the end was condemned before the masses. ...I will never meet such an end."
She placed the report on the desk and touched her fingers to the silver butterfly necklace at her chest. Her grandmother's keepsake. Her only protection. The cold sensation of the silver calmed her heart, if only slightly.
"It's all right. I'm no longer a pawn in a game. I've come this far by my own will."
The moment she told herself that, a restrained knock came at the heavy door of the office.
Knock, knock.
A regular, refined sound. In this castle, at this hour, there was only one person who would knock like that.
"Come in."
When she answered briefly, the door opened quietly.
What appeared was a tall young man with deep violet-navy hair swept to one side. His height was 182 centimeters. His hair, which appeared nearly black under the moonlight, and his deep emerald-green eyes further accentuated his refined features. He wore a black butler's uniform to perfection, and there was not a single wasted movement in his bearing.
Cyan Crawford. Remilia's exclusive butler, and also the vice-commander of the Shadow Garden—her most loyal right hand.
"Forgive my intrusion at this late hour, my lady. I've brought your dinner. Tonight it is a warm mushroom soup and herbal tea."
He supported the silver tray effortlessly with one hand as he walked to Remilia's side in a flowing motion. His voice was low and calm, with a strange resonance that seemed to soothe the heart of whoever heard it.
Remilia stared at his face.
"...Your timing is too good, as always. You always show up right when I've gotten hungry."
The corners of her mouth softened, just slightly. Cyan never failed to notice that change.
"My lady's condition is always within my heart. The signs of your hunger, the traces of your fatigue—they are as clear to me as if I held them in my hands."
He reverently placed the tray at the edge of the desk and lifted the lid of the soup. Steam rose softly, and the rich aroma of mushrooms warmed the cold air of the office.
Remilia took up her spoon as if drawn by that fragrance.
"...Delicious. Why is it that the soup you make always tastes so gentle?"
"That is because I understand the flavors my lady loves more deeply than anyone."
At his smooth reply, Remilia gave a small laugh.
"Yes, yes. I don't think I can ever beat you with words."
A quiet time flowed between them. Each time the candle flame flickered, the shadows cast on the wall danced gently.
After bringing the soup to her lips for a while, Remilia suddenly looked at Cyan's face directly.
"Hey, Cyan. How far along are the preparations for entering the Royal Academy?"
In that instant, Cyan's fingertips gripped the edge of the tray just a little too hard—for only a moment.
Remilia did not miss it. In his emerald eyes, something dark seemed to pass by for just an instant.
But that change was already gone the next moment.
"Yes. All documents necessary for enrollment in the academy have been prepared. As for the residence in the royal capital of Alventia, the servants have already gone ahead and are making preparations. Whenever my lady departs, you will be able to begin academy life without delay."
A perfect answer. A perfect butler.
And yet, why.
Remilia did not press him on the reason for that momentary shadow.
His abnormal degree of loyalty. Its depth was something even Remilia herself had not yet fully understood. But that he would never betray her—that alone she knew down to her bones, through twelve years of master-and-servant relationship.
"...I see. Thank you, Cyan. With you here, life in the royal capital will surely be fine."
When she said that, Cyan's expression visibly softened.
"...To hear my lady say such words is my supreme joy."
He bowed deeply. His gesture was so reverent, and somehow so happy, that Remilia couldn't help but let out a small laugh.
"Honestly, you're so dramatic."
It was this about him.
This man would rejoice like a boy at a single casual word from Remilia. Just being told "thank you" would put him in a good mood all day. That loyalty, pure to a fault, sometimes left Remilia bewildered.
But right now, his presence was reassuring.
She took a sip of the herbal tea and felt the warm liquid pass down her throat. The gentle scent of chamomile slowly loosened the heart that had been stiff with tension.
"Cyan, you may withdraw. I'll clean up the rest myself."
"Understood. If anything should happen, please call for me at any time. I will be nearby."
He took the tray and quietly left the office. The sound of the door closing echoed strangely loudly.
Now alone, Remilia exhaled deeply.
The Royal Academy. The royal capital of Alventia. That place was the stage of the game, and the crossroads of her fate.
She walked to the window and opened the heavy curtains. Below spread the streets of Vernheim, the capital of the Rosalian March. The rooftops of stone houses were lit by moonlight, and the lights leaking from countless windows twinkled like stars fallen to the earth.
This city of thirty-two thousand people, she had governed since she was eight.
"...How nostalgic."
She murmured, then removed the silver butterfly necklace from her chest and held it up to the moonlight.
The silver butterfly reflected the pale light, shining as if it were alive.
Memories of her past life.
She had once been an ordinary female university student in Japan. Her name—she no longer much wanted to recall it. But back then, she had been tired of real-world relationships, unable to focus on either romance or studies—just another student you could find anywhere.
Her only emotional support had been otome games.
Among them, "Rosalian Chronicle" she had played over and over and over again. The charming love interests, the sweet and bittersweet scenarios, and—above all—the existence of the villainess Remilia Rosalian had seized her heart and refused to let go.
Arrogant, cruel, and yet somehow lonely—the villainess. Perhaps she had seen a shadow of herself in the character named Remilia.
So when she woke up and realized she had become that villainess Remilia, she genuinely thought it was a dream.
The body of a seven-year-old girl. A luxurious bed. An unfamiliar canopy. And servants calling her "my lady."
Her past-life memories remained, vivid and raw.
"...Back then, I really panicked."
She smiled wryly.
When she had just been reincarnated, she nearly screamed every time she looked in a mirror. A right eye of red and a left eye of purple—heterochromia. Black hair reaching to her waist. A doll-like beautiful girl utterly unlike her past self.
And she understood immediately.
This was the world of the game. She had been reincarnated as the villainess destined to be condemned and executed.
She despaired.
If things followed the game's scenario, she would die in eleven more years. On her eighteenth birthday, before the grand cathedral, while showered with the jeers of the masses, her head would be struck off by the sword of condemnation.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
She gripped the necklace.
What took root in the heart of that seven-year-old girl that day was fear—and a fierce, intense defiance.
I will never meet such an end.
I will survive.
I will rewrite the game's script with my own hands.
That resolve was the beginning of everything for her.
At age eight, she awakened the Black Evil Eye in the underground ruins of Vernheim.
She still remembered that day clearly.
Deep within the ruins, in a sealed chamber no one had ever set foot in. Driven by curiosity, the young girl wandered into the ancient labyrinth and touched a certain magical tool.
In that instant, it felt as though the world turned over.
The depths of her right eye burned hot. Her left eye was cold as ice.
Everything in her vision was dyed in darkness.
And she saw.
The flow of magical energy filling this world. The light of magic dwelling within people's bodies. And the bottomless dark power sleeping within herself.
The Black Evil Eye.
An exceedingly rare talent that tripled the power of dark-attribute magic and allowed one to see another's magical energy.
But that power eroded the mind with each use.
She intuited that she must never let anyone know of this power.
The Remilia of the game possessed high magical power, but she did not have the Black Evil Eye. This was an irregularity caused by reincarnation.
If this power became known to the royal family or the church, she would certainly be regarded as dangerous.
So she hid it.
She resolved to conceal her talent and survive in this world with only her intellect and her skill at manipulating hearts.
"...The witch who rose from the commoners, is it."
She murmured with self-mockery.
In noble society, there were still those who called her that.
Originally, the Rosalian family had been nothing more than lower nobility governing a small barony. Through her shrewdness, it had grown into the largest marchland in the northeast.
Naturally, there were many who found that displeasing.
"But I don't care about any of that. I've come this far by my own methods."
She returned the necklace to her chest and turned her gaze to the garden bathed in moonlight.
The rose he
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