An Unwritten Story [Villainous Power Couple, LitRPG]

Four days later,

Kaelen stood before Vionette, his posture carved from discipline as if he were made of stone.

He wore his newly gifted royal knight armor, the crest of Crimvane gleaming across his chest where Blackmoor’s emblem once rested. Beneath the steel, a fitted black shirt and long dark trousers muted the shine, grounding the ceremonial grandeur with soldierly simplicity.

Vionette sat upon her chair in her usual black dress, her sword leaning against the right side of her chair.

“First of all, I’m sorry that we didn’t have a proper Crown Knighting Ceremony for your appointment as a royal knight, let alone as The Queen’s Blade,” Vionette said gently. “You know, we’re out of time because of the war.”

Even though she had elevated him to Royal Knight Commander with a few simple words, for a commoner like Kaelen, becoming a royal knight alone was often the greatest honor one could hope to attain. It was a title forged from legends and sharpened by expectations.

“Please do not trouble yourself with it, Your Majesty. I am already more than honored by this opportunity.”

His eyes did not stray, his face did not break, and his body did not flinch. He stood like a banner planted firmly against a storm.

“Dude, I already told you to relax,” Noa’s voice cut through the formal tension from the side.

He was sprawling lazily across a chaise lounge in Vionette’s office, his legs stretched out as he sketched new sword designs, page after page, for his dream weapon.

“Don’t take it so seriously.” He glanced up at Kaelen.

Kaelen’s eyes flicked toward Noa, then back to Vionette, silently seeking confirmation that the princess would not object to this breach of protocol. Vionette suppressed a sigh and shook her head.

“He’s right, Kaelen. Just relax and take a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the chair across from her desk. “And deliver your report.”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.” Knowing refusal was not an option, he approached the chair, his armor plates whispering softly against one another.

“Also, stop calling me ‘Your Majesty.’ Just ‘Princess Vionette’ or ‘Lady Vionette’ is enough.” She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with casual elegance.

“…”

“Whatever. What’s the report?”

Kaelen straightened his back even further—if that were even physically possible—and began.

“We have searched throughout the kingdom and uncovered five locations with cases similar to Blackmoor’s. And…” He paused, narrowing his eyes as if the memory left a bitter taste on his tongue. “All of them were situated around the Highfen Dukedom. One hideout toward Blackmoor’s side, two toward Therion, and another two near the capital borders.”

“Highfen, huh?” Vionette narrowed her eyes slightly.

I see… someone changed sides.

[Probability is high.]

Her system panel flickered into view before her.

“Highfen? Is that another dukedom?” Noa asked, his curiosity pulling him away from his sketchbook for a moment.

“Yes. There are four dukedoms in Crimvane: Blackmoor, Highfen, Caldris, and Therion.” She looked past the window behind her, where the horizon shimmered like a blade’s edge beneath the morning sun. “Speaking of which, the dukes should’ve arrived for the meeting by now. We should get moving too.”

“Let’s go then.”

Noa pushed himself up from the chaise lounge, stretching lazily after setting his notebook down. The drawings could wait—ideas were constantly taking new shape in his mind after all.

***

The silence inside the council chamber grew heavier by the second.

At the center of the room stood a long, polished wooden table lined with high-backed chairs. On the first four seats, the four dukes sat in restrained authority, while the remaining seats completed the arrangement like pieces on a chessboard awaiting a decisive play.

Duke Gemsh Caldris, looking barely twenty-five, with neatly styled blonde hair and green eyes like a forest at dawn, sat to the right. His noble attire was immaculate, each fold precise, exuding a calm assurance like a young predator sitting among older lions.

Opposite him, Duke Carvan Therion’s imposing frame filled his chair, his broad shoulders stretching the expensive fabric across his chest. His dark eyes scanned the room with the keen observation of a seasoned dealer, rings glinting like tiny stars against the muted gloom.

Next to Carvan sat Duke Korneas Highfen. Slim and noticeably older than the others, with cream-colored hair slicked back and cold, dark eyes, he was a man of cold minimalism and precision.

Beside Gemsh sat Valric, his composure that of a scholar who had already read the final chapter of a book and chose not to spoil the ending.

Next to him sat Lucien. Though this was his first time attending such an elite gathering, Lucien held his head high with his usual pride—a pride now amplified by his official title as the Royal Envoy.

The doors finally opened, slicing through the tense silence. Rose entered first, stepping gracefully to the side to hold the door open.

All eyes snapped toward the entrance, and the dukes instinctively rose from their seats out of formal respect.

However, the first figure to step into the room was not their ruler. It was a young man with pitch-black hair and striking black sclera framing vivid purple irises—eyes like a dark eclipse swallowing daylight.

Who is that?

Where is Her Majesty?

It’s him again…

Only Valric and Lucien recognized the black-clad youth—the princess’s partner, the very man who nearly destroyed Blackmoor single-handedly.

Noa walked forward and, without a shred of hesitation or asking for permission, took the seat at the far end of the table. He leaned far back, interlacing his hands behind his head, before finally noticing the bewildered glares from the dukes.

Noa tilted his head in genuine confusion.

Then Vionette entered, her silver-white hair flowing like liquid light around her shoulders, her half-lidded blood-red eyes sweeping over every face present. The entire chamber bowed in synchronized respect…

…Except for Noa Ravel, of course.

Kaelen followed close behind and took his seat opposite Lucien, his expression carved from stone as always. Rose closed the doors behind them and took her place at Vionette’s side as the princess sat in the seat directly opposite Noa.

Their gazes met across the long table. If the dukes were chess pieces, then the two of them were the players.

“Well then,” Vionette said smoothly, resting her hands atop the polished wood. “Let’s begin the meeting.”

Everyone took their seats, their faces a mix of confusion and curiosity. Valric and Lucien were the only ones who didn’t betray uncertainty—they knew what was coming, and that was enough.

“First, let’s hear if any of you have any concerns before we dig into the main topic.” She raised a hand slightly, granting them permission to speak.

Duke Carvan stood up immediately.

“Your Majesty, may I?” he asked, respect threaded with underlying caution.

“Go ahead.”

He turned toward Valric, gesturing with a hand. “Valric, this is an important meeting with Her Majesty. I understand that young people need to learn by watching, but—” he shifted his gaze to Lucien “—bringing your son to a meeting like this is going to damage the reputation of Crimvane.”

Lucien didn’t wait for his father to defend him. “Don’t worry, Duke Carvan. I’m not here as a son right now.” A smirk spread across his face, both mocking and proud. “I’m here as the Royal Envoy.”

Even after walking along the brink of death, Lucien’s pride had not withered; it had merely shifted direction. And it didn’t bother Noa or Vionette in the slightest—arrogance was a language they spoke fluently, so long as one had the power to back it up.

“…The Royal Envoy?” Carvan’s gaze snapped back to Vionette, along with the others.

“Yeah, he’s the Royal Envoy,” Noa answered instead, pointing a thumb at Lucien. Then he flicked his hand toward Kaelen. “And that guy over there is the new commander of the royal knights—The Queen’s Blade.”

Heads turned instantly—not toward Kaelen, but toward Noa.

“And… who are you?” Gemsh asked, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.

Noa opened his mouth, ready to—

“No. Nope. Not this time.” Vionette reached across, cutting him off with a gesture. “You’ve been having way too much fun using that title to flex on people lately. It’s getting old.”

Though… it feels good whenever he calls himself my partner.

“First, Carvan, sit back down.” She sighed, a subtle flush hidden beneath her cheeks. “I’ll break down the details for you.”

Carvan’s jaw tightened with a silent demand for explanations, but he obeyed, lowering himself back into his seat with restraint.

“First, as for him, that is my partner, Noa Ravel.” Turning her gaze toward Lucien, she continued, “I appointed Lucien to the position of Royal Envoy, which has sat vacant since the fall. And lastly—” she gestured toward Kaelen “—that is the new Royal Knight Commander.”

Kaelen and Lucien bowed in unison.

What is going on? Valric’s son was made the Royal Envoy? And who is that blue-haired knight that suddenly appeared out of nowhere? Carvan was utterly baffled—though notably not about Noa.

Because—

***

A Moment Prior,

“As a fellow duke, I’ll offer the three of you a solid piece of advice,” Valric began, looking at the other three dukes. “If you do not wish to see your entire dukedom reduced to ash, do not attempt to anger the young man in black.”

The three dukes stared back at him with varying degrees of skepticism, assuming he was merely leveraging fear to secure his own political standing.

***

At the time, they had dismissed it as cheap intimidation. But the reports sent by their spies in Blackmoor had told a terrifyingly different story.

The upheaval in Blackmoor a few days ago… the person who punched Valric… was it him? Now even Carvan put the pieces together.

‘The young man in black.’ So it was him, Gemsh concluded, analyzing Noa with sharpened interest.

What is this woman thinking? Korneas thought, his brows knotting tightly. Taking a commoner as her partner, promoting that arrogant Lucien, and naming a new Queen’s Blade out of thin air. Is this ambition… or desperation?

Doubt hung in the room like a blade suspended by a fraying thread.

Vionette understood their reaction better than anyone. To Vionette, belief would never be forged through hollow declarations, and no combination of words would be enough to silence the doubts gathering in that chamber.

She had fully anticipated this pushback against her unusual moves from the moment she chose to leave the capital in search of Noa.

How was she going to resolve it? The answer had always been the impending war.

That was the reason she had provoked the conflict with Aurelyth back in Eryndor—to mark the beginning of Crimvane’s rise and offer proof enough to transform their skepticism into ‘faith’.

There were countless risks woven into that decision. Betrayal was always on the table; Eryndor could have sided with Aurelyth instead, or Cassian might have struck her down. Launching a war in Crimvane’s current state was a gamble most would deem reckless, if not outright suicidal.

But she didn’t care.

If there were too many strings, she would simply sever them. If there weren’t enough to construct what she desired, she would weave new ones into place. And if anyone refused to dance according to her script, she would bend them until they did.

Every variable, no matter how dangerous, could be broken or reshaped so long as she had the one person who did not rest in her palm like a puppet, but stood at her side as an equal—her partner.

“I won’t waste time with long speeches,” she said, drawing the letter from Eryndor and placing it flat on the center of the table.

Every duke—as well as Lucien and Kaelen—stared at the official seal as their eyes widened, cold sweat breaking out across their brows. Well… except that one person held a different expression.

“We are going to war.”