I, The Villainess, Will Seduce All The Heroines Instead
Chapter 152: The Trial (11)

Chapter 152: The Trial (11)

[Final edit Chapter. The novel will return to normal.]

The next chamber of Trial Two greeted them with an eerie calm. Unlike the chaotic battlefield of the last room, this one was unnervingly pristine—an endless, white expanse stretching far into the horizon, like they’d stepped into a minimalist’s fever dream. No doors. No monsters. Just... space.

"Well, this is either a trap or someone’s sad attempt at interior design," Verena muttered, tapping her foot.

Suddenly, a chime echoed from above, followed by a glowing sigil forming in the sky. Words began to shimmer into existence like subtitles for a divine prank.

[TRIAL TWO – STAGE TWO: RECOGNITION]

Face what you deny. Unmask what you fear. Only through honesty may the door appear.

"Oh no," Verena groaned. "It’s the therapy session."

Isolde groaned louder. "Can’t we go back to slaying monsters?"

Vivienne tilted her head. "Maybe we just have to tell the truth?"

And just like that, three glowing pedestals rose from the floor. Each had a mirror attached to it—except these weren’t normal mirrors. No, of course not. This was Irasios. The mirrors shimmered with arcane light, and instead of their reflections, each one showed a shadowy silhouette cloaked in mist.

"Let me guess," Verena said dryly. "This is where our deep-rooted trauma plays charades."

As if to confirm her suspicions, her mirror flickered to life. Her reflection stepped forward—only it wasn’t quite her. It looked sharper. Crueler. Unsmiling and cold.

"I am who you were meant to become," the reflection said with a voice that echoed like steel. "Before you let guilt ruin you."

"Oh, great," Verena muttered. "It’s the internalized perfectionism arc."

Isolde’s mirror flared next, showing a version of her dressed not in elegant battlewear, but a plain gown—docile, quiet, expressionless.

"You could have been safe," her reflection whispered. "You could have been loved—if you just stopped fighting."

Isolde recoiled. "Hell. No."

Vivienne, meanwhile, was still staring at her mirror, which hadn’t changed at all. Just her reflection... blinking. Slowly.

"Um..." she said awkwardly. "Mine looks normal?"

The mirror-version of Vivienne smiled.

"Of course I do," it whispered sweetly. "I don’t exist unless someone else decides I’m worth remembering."

Verena’s face twitched. "What kind of trial is this?! Emotional damage with a side of gaslighting?"

The only way forward, they realized, was to confront the mirror selves. Accept them. Challenge them. Hug them? Punch them?

Vivienne stepped forward first.

"Okay," she said, voice trembling. "I do want to be remembered. I want to matter! And I don’t care if I’m forgetful or weird or soft—because I’m trying!"

Her mirror-self gave her a gentle smile. Then faded into light.

One down.

Verena looked at hers. "You may be stronger. Sharper. Perfect. But I chose people. I chose being kind."

The mirror cracked.

Isolde narrowed her eyes at her mirror. "Being soft never saved me. But being strong? That did."

Her reflection bowed before shattering.

A final chime rang. A door appeared.

They didn’t speak as they stepped through it, but something unspoken lingered in the silence—acknowledgment, respect... and perhaps, the start of actual teamwork.

The door that emerged shimmered like a heat haze, pulsating with a soft glow that beckoned them forward. As Verena stepped through first, the world beyond it unfolded in vibrant color—lush greenery, golden sunlight piercing through thick foliage, and the distant sound of birdsong echoing across a jungle clearing.

"Well, this is... unsettlingly peaceful," Verena muttered, hand twitching toward her weapon on instinct.

Isolde squinted up at the canopy. "Either this is a break room, or we’re about to be eaten by some magical jaguar the size of a carriage."

Vivienne gasped softly. "It’s beautiful..."

And it was. Too beautiful. The way the sunlight danced in perfect beams, the way the leaves rustled with suspicious synchronicity—Verena’s instincts screamed illusion. But there were no enemies in sight. No enemies at all. Just a cobblestone path ahead, curving deeper into the jungle.

[STAGE THREE: NAVIGATION]

A forest forged of memory and falsehood. Only the truthful path will lead you forward. Lies will lead you astray.

"Oh fantastic," Verena said. "It’s a maze made of gaslighting."

A fork in the road greeted them immediately—two identical paths, both equally suspicious, lined with trees whispering things just out of earshot.

"We pick the wrong one, we get lost. Forever," Isolde deduced.

Vivienne stepped up nervously. "Maybe... my affinity can help."

She closed her eyes, and a faint shimmer of Dreamtide Magic spilled from her fingers like a silvery mist, spreading across the two paths. Verena watched as the fog shifted—one path seemed to ripple with distorted echoes, while the other stayed eerily still.

"That one," Vivienne said, pointing left. "That one’s tied to genuine memory. I think. The other one feels... fake. Like a dream pretending to be real."

"Spoken like someone who’s done this before," Verena nodded approvingly. "Lead the way, Dream Girl."

As they ventured down the correct path, the forest subtly changed—less symmetrical, more real. Twigs cracked underfoot, humidity clung to their skin, and birds scattered as they passed. But soon, the path shifted again—this time to a series of bridges suspended high over a ravine, the wind howling with unnatural strength.

"Trial’s really throwing the whole kitchen sink at us now," Isolde grumbled, tying back her hair. "Let’s not fall to our deaths, yeah?"

They moved carefully, but halfway through the second bridge, something shimmered in the air—an illusion again. A version of Verena appeared at the end of the rope bridge, looking distraught.

"Don’t go forward!" the illusion cried. "It’s a trap! You’ll all fall!"

Verena didn’t even blink. "Nice try."

With a decisive gesture, she flung a burst of force magic at the fake, and the illusion shattered like glass.

They kept walking.

By the time they reached the clearing beyond the final bridge, the path ended at a stone pedestal, atop which sat a familiar crest: the emblem of Irasios Academy.

A new chime echoed above them.

[STAGE THREE COMPLETE.]

One final stage remains. Prepare yourselves.

"Oh, we’re so getting a nap after this," Verena muttered, wiping sweat off her brow.

"And a foot rub," Isolde added.

Vivienne blinked. "I can do both—"

"Metaphorical foot rub," Verena clarified quickly.

The final door appeared—tall, ornate, and ominous.

Here came the finale.

The final door loomed like a cathedral gate—towering, gilded in gold filigree, and carved with constellations that shimmered like starlight. Each zodiac was etched into the frame, with the thirteenth constellation—Ophiuchus—at the very top, as if presiding over the others. It pulsed faintly.

"That’s definitely not foreboding at all," Verena said dryly.

Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Anyone else feel like we’re about to walk into a boss fight sponsored by cosmic trauma?"

Vivienne, for once, looked unusually focused. "I think this is where the trials get personal. The Trial of Reflection... it’s supposed to test your inner self, right?"

Verena groaned. "Great. Emotional damage and combat. My favorite combo."

With no other path forward, they stepped through.

The world spun—quite literally. The ground beneath them vanished, the sky turned to swirling stardust, and their bodies became weightless for a heartbeat. Then they landed, not with a crash, but a soft thud. They were no longer in the jungle, nor in any place recognizable. Instead, they stood in a floating plane of broken mirrors and fractured platforms, drifting through a starlit void.

Each step echoed like it was hitting glass. The air was cold, crystalline, and oddly nostalgic.

[FINAL TRIAL: REFLECTION]

Face the parts of yourself you refuse to confront. Only through acknowledgment will you ascend.

"...Oh no," Verena muttered. "They’re doing this."

Without warning, the space before them shimmered, and three forms emerged—identical replicas of Verena, Isolde, and Vivienne. But darker. Worn. Each bore twisted expressions and wore shadows like armor.

"Evil doppelgängers?" Isolde hissed, summoning her blade. "I hate this cliché."

"Not evil," Vivienne said quietly. "Just... the parts we hate."

Her double stepped forward—eyes swollen from crying, voice shaky. "Why do you pretend to be helpful? You know you’re just dead weight. They’ll toss you aside once this is over."

Vivienne visibly flinched, but didn’t back away.

Isolde’s reflection scoffed. "Hiding behind sarcasm, are we? You act invincible because you’re terrified to matter. Easier to be powerful and distant than honest and loved."

"Okay, rude," Isolde spat, but her fingers twitched.

Then came Verena’s turn.

Her reflection stepped out—graceful, mocking, and uncannily confident. "You act like a leader, but we both know the truth. You’re just scared. Scared of being alone, scared of being forgotten. That’s why you cling to people. That’s why you perform."

Verena stiffened. That one hit a little too close.

"Is this part of the fight?" she asked, voice cracking.

"No," Vivienne whispered. "This is the fight."

And so it began—not with swords or spells, but with truths.

Vivienne, voice trembling, stepped toward her double. "Maybe I am afraid. Maybe I am useless sometimes. But they didn’t throw me away. I’m still here. I’m still trying."

Light rippled from her body—subtle, silvery Dreamtide waves washing over the void. Her double began to fade.

One down.

Isolde grunted. "Fine, let’s do this emotionally constipated nonsense."

And Verena?

She stared down her other self with clenched fists. "Yeah, I’m scared. I fake a lot of things. But I don’t fake what I care about. Not anymore."

Her reflection cracked. Then shattered.

Two down.

Only one remained. Isolde took a deep breath and looked at hers.

"Let’s end this."

Three lights flared in unison.

The path to ascension opened.

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