Chapter 9: 09: The Villainess is Triumphant

Ren swings his giant great sword with one hand, in massive arcs; it doesn’t matter that Ecclesia’s faster than him, or that one of his arms is in a cast. His eyes flickering gold, he advances: he gains and gains, until Ecclesia near the entrance to the hall.

It’s terrifying. It’s maddening. Ecclesia has never been so thoroughly outmatched before.

“Watch out!” Leonard shouts.

Blinking past the sweat that’s dripping into her eyes, she spots him in her periphery. His face is white. If Ecclesia didn’t know any better she’d say he looks worried for her.

If he is, then all the better. She can leverage his worry to frame him for her nefarious plans. She can use him—

Ren’s blade comes swishing to crush her head and she just barely manages to duck under it.

“Focus,” he says, in his mild tone.

“I am,” she says, with gritted teeth. Her mouth tastes of blood. Her whole body sparks with pain, her organs twisting- she's had enough, it's saying. Give up. 

She darts forward again, her blade flashing into his unprotected side—

Only for it to be parried by a blow that makes her stumble back one more, crucial step.

Ecclesia breathes. She has to find a way out of this. She can’t just—stand here and defend endlessly, she needs to figure out a way to win.

Ren’s next swing looks almost lazy. His movements are all like that: deliberate and slow, as if he has all the time in the world. It doesn’t follow the pace of any fight Ecclesia’s used to. It throws her off badly every time.

This time she fumbles her block. She’s tired; her arms are shaking. She feels like a tired, ten-year-old girl. Because of the deadly slowness of Ren’s movements, her own vision slows down, as--

Ren’s greatsword connects, its weight crushing her shoulder, and—

The gasps from the advisors, the frown on the king’s face, the fear on her father’s, and—

Dominion’s scared face, drained of color, and Leonard looking like his heart is breaking next to him—

--as Ecclesia goes flying, hits a pillar adorning the hall, and goes still.

She slumps in on herself.

Some villainess she is.

She remembers a small dark room, lit up by a small rectangle of light. Love Love Revolution!, it reads. 

She remembers looking at a picture of herself, Ecclesia: trembling fingers tracing the lines of the artwork, the shock of pink hair, the haughty red eyes. Her vision is blurred. Her mouth tastes like salt.

She remembers saying softly to herself, in this dark, lonely room: “I’m not going to be scared of anything, next time. I’ll knock down anyone who tries to stand in my way!”

What had been her name, back then? It’s on the tip of her tongue—the name of this sad, scared, lonely person—

“Lady Ecclesia,” a voice is saying. “Let us adjourn. We can consider this matter settled.”

Her vision comes back to her. It’s Calix. His silver hair, his gorgeous purple eyes. He had been the most popular route in Love Love Revolution.

She shakes her head. No, that’s not right. This wasn’t a game. Calix was an arrogant prince that bullied his younger brothers.

This is who she was now. The villainess Ecclesia. Unafraid and unapologetic.

“Like hell,” she says. She spits out a mouthful of blood, and uses her sword to push herself to her feet.

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Gasps echo throughout the hall. Her focus is on Ren: his tawny eyes flare for a moment when she drags herself back in front of him.

She raises her sword. Her arms still shake, but what of it?

If her arms give out she’ll just bite him to death. She’s not giving in so easily.

“We’re not done, pretty boy.”

This makes him blink. For a split second Ecclesia is assaulted by the spine-chilling possibility that this boy might be a prude -Leonard, Calix and Dominion had taught her that princes were never normal- when he says, in his quiet voice, “You’re very pretty yourself.”

What? No. Huh?

“You must be quite determined to defend the good name of Princes Leonard and Dominion, Lady Ecclesia,” says the washed-out sad man, from where he stands a little way away from the rest of the advisors. “Adult knights have lasted less than you have against Ren.”

“Nothing as grand as that, Depressed Slenderman!” Ecclesia grins, her canines showing. “I just can’t imagine losing. Come on, Prince Ren! Time for round two.”

He meets her next blow easily. Hit-parry, hit-parry, till she gets a feel for his maddening pace, the way that he cannot block perfectly if she aims towards his injured arm.

There is something liberating about admitting to herself that she doesn’t stand a chance. It lets her fight gloriously dirty, ducking into blind spots that she stopped herself from going to before. She cheats in the most dishonorable ways she can think of.

She fights like a true villainess.

She’s laughing by the time Ren, his brow furrowed at last, levers his sword to rest against Ecclesia’s neck. She’s on the ground, ostensibly having lost: but then she drops her eyes to her sword, perched delicately over the pulse on his wrist.

He frowns harder.

The moment stretches like taffy, the room suspended in disbelief. She chances a glance at Leonard, and is startled by how he’s looking at her: like he’d just watched her string up the stars and hang the moon itself.

Dominion is beside him. His eyes are very round, his lips parted in surprise.

She looks at Calix instead, embarrassed. At least Calix isn’t looking at her like she’s some kind of goddess. Calix looking at her like he’d like to wrestle for Ren’s sword and finish the job himself. He's biting his lip so hard it's gone white. Good. Ecclesia hopes he splits his lip and dies. 

“A draw,” says someone in wonder. “A ten-year-old girl fought Ren Faeth to a draw.”

 “She did indeed,” the king says warmly. “Truly a monumental occasion.”

A hand in front of her face. It’s Ren, his sword returned to his back.

“You are strong,” he says, in his soft voice.

She doesn’t say, if I didn’t cheat I wouldn’t have stood a chance. She doesn’t say, you hit me so hard I remembered my past life.

Instead she smiles, graciously, and allows him to pull her to her feet. “You’re not too bad yourself, Prince Ren.”

She wobbles a bit, then steadies as someone puts a warm, solid hand on her shoulder. She knows before looking up: it’s her father.

“Your mother’s going to be so proud,” is all he says.

Ecclesia ducks her head, overwhelmed. She can’t imagine.

“Now to decide what this all means,” the king says, clapping his hands cheerfully. “I believe it’s time to settle on a few things, including your engagement, Ecclesia.”

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