I, The Villainess, Will Seduce All The Heroines Instead
Chapter 163: The Trial (19)

Chapter 163: The Trial (19)

[Being Edited]

The peaceful lull of the tea parlor was deceptive—like the eye of a storm. Even as Verena leaned back in her chair, savoring the unreasonably delicious cinnamon tea Vivienne had selected, she knew better than to trust the Weave’s mercy for too long.

Thirty minutes. That’s what the system said. Which meant they had exactly twenty-nine left before the next cosmic monstrosity kicked in their proverbial door.

Isolde sipped her tea with practiced grace, legs crossed, pinky out, as if she were seated at a royal banquet and not at a conjured mirage between two deadly trials. "So," she said dryly, "what do you think Trial Three will be? More beasts? Puzzle rooms? Another terrifying metaphor for repressed trauma?"

"Honestly," Verena muttered, "I’d take another beast. At least you can stab those."

Vivienne giggled into her teacup. "You know... You’re very scary, but in a comforting way."

"That’s not a real compliment," Verena said.

"Then why are you blushing?" Isolde added with a smirk.

Verena nearly dropped her cup. "I’m not—! It’s the tea. It’s hot."

"You’re sweating from your soul," Isolde teased.

Vivienne just smiled, cheeks round with pastry.

The moment was warm. Not just in temperature, but in atmosphere—ridiculous, temporary, and somehow genuine. For Verena, it was unnerving how... nice it felt. Like friendship. Like camaraderie. Like softness after a lifetime of rigidity.

And that’s exactly when the lights dimmed.

The harp music stopped.

A faint sound began to rise—soft, like a lullaby sung underwater. The projection of the guide spirit flickered and vanished, its robe crumpling into stardust. The tea parlor’s illusion began to unravel.

The linen melted into mist. The pastries curled like burning paper. And their teacups evaporated into sparkles, leaving only warmth behind.

A tone echoed around them: "Time’s up."

Verena rose instantly, eyes sharp. "Form up. Weapons out."

"Do I have time to finish this tart?" Isolde asked, halfway through a bite.

"No," Verena and Vivienne said in unison.

The soft lavender air split open—like torn silk—and they were swallowed into the Weave once more.

Unlike the earlier trials of illusion and emotional resonance, the space they landed in now was completely silent.

Not quiet—silent.

No wind. No hum. No heartbeat.

Just an empty plane of starlit white, stretching in every direction, as if they had fallen into the blank canvas of creation itself.

"What... is this?" Vivienne whispered.

"The loading screen of a god," Isolde murmured, peering into the infinite blank.

A shimmer pulsed beneath their feet, and then slowly, a tower began to rise from nothing—black, smooth, geometric. It looked like an obelisk carved from obsidian thought, anchored in pure possibility. Symbols glowed across its surface—each of them familiar.

Virgo. Taurus. Pisces. Aquarius. Aries. And at the center—

A thirteenth sigil. Ophiuchus.

"This is Trial Three," Verena breathed. "It’s... not a battle."

"No," said a new voice.

A figure descended from above like a descending star.

It was a woman.

Or at least, something wearing the shape of a woman. Her form was covered in robes of twilight and constellation-thread, her eyes glimmering pools of memory. She radiated pressure, not hostility—but something deeper. Like inevitability.

"I am the Arbiter of Weave Convergence," she said, her voice echoing within the airless void. "You have passed the second alignment. Before the third, a decision must be made."

The three girls tensed.

"A decision?" Verena asked warily.

The Arbiter nodded. "Your connections have grown. Your alignment has begun to shift. The Weave responds. But power demands sacrifice. Growth requires divergence."

A second obelisk rose beside the first—identical, but flickering between states. Choices. Branches. Possible futures.

"You must choose," she said. "Will your bond remain as it is—loose, independent, uncertain? Or will you bind yourselves together under a united sigil?"

Vivienne blinked. "We can... fuse teams?"

Isolde arched a brow. "Is that allowed?"

The Arbiter said nothing. Only gestured between the two obelisks.

One glowed with their current paths—three distinct constellations, shining apart.

The other shimmered faintly—with shared light, a single stream woven from three.

Verena swallowed. The choice was obvious. The implications were not.

To bind meant synergy. Fusion of magic. Amplified power.

But it also meant risk. Vulnerability. Emotional convergence.

Trust.

Verena glanced at Isolde.

Then at Vivienne.

Vivienne, who now looked nervous, her fingers clutched together. "I-I know I’m not strong. And I panic a lot. But if we stay together, I... I want to try harder."

Isolde shrugged, flipping her hair. "I’ve carried worse. Let’s just win already."

Verena sighed.

And smiled.

She stepped forward—and placed her hand on the unified obelisk.

"I choose the bond."

The stars above them surged.

Trial Three... began.

Absolutely! Here’s a continuation of the scene with another 700 words, picking up from the tranquil moment in the celestial tea parlor and leading into the next stage of their journey:

---

The peaceful lull of the tea parlor was deceptive—like the eye of a storm. Even as Verena leaned back in her chair, savoring the unreasonably delicious cinnamon tea Vivienne had selected, she knew better than to trust the Weave’s mercy for too long.

Thirty minutes. That’s what the system said. Which meant they had exactly twenty-nine left before the next cosmic monstrosity kicked in their proverbial door.

Isolde sipped her tea with practiced grace, legs crossed, pinky out, as if she were seated at a royal banquet and not at a conjured mirage between two deadly trials. "So," she said dryly, "what do you think Trial Three will be? More beasts? Puzzle rooms? Another terrifying metaphor for repressed trauma?"

"Honestly," Verena muttered, "I’d take another beast. At least you can stab those."

Vivienne giggled into her teacup. "You know... You’re very scary, but in a comforting way."

"That’s not a real compliment," Verena said.

"Then why are you blushing?" Isolde added with a smirk.

Verena nearly dropped her cup. "I’m not—! It’s the tea. It’s hot."

"You’re sweating from your soul," Isolde teased.

Vivienne just smiled, cheeks round with pastry.

The moment was warm. Not just in temperature, but in atmosphere—ridiculous, temporary, and somehow genuine. For Verena, it was unnerving how... nice it felt. Like friendship. Like camaraderie. Like softness after a lifetime of rigidity.

And that’s exactly when the lights dimmed.

The harp music stopped.

A faint sound began to rise—soft, like a lullaby sung underwater. The projection of the guide spirit flickered and vanished, its robe crumpling into stardust. The tea parlor’s illusion began to unravel.

The linen melted into mist. The pastries curled like burning paper. And their teacups evaporated into sparkles, leaving only warmth behind.

A tone echoed around them: "Time’s up."

Verena rose instantly, eyes sharp. "Form up. Weapons out."

"Do I have time to finish this tart?" Isolde asked, halfway through a bite.

"No," Verena and Vivienne said in unison.

The soft lavender air split open—like torn silk—and they were swallowed into the Weave once more.

Unlike the earlier trials of illusion and emotional resonance, the space they landed in now was completely silent.

Not quiet—silent.

No wind. No hum. No heartbeat.

Just an empty plane of starlit white, stretching in every direction, as if they had fallen into the blank canvas of creation itself.

"What... is this?" Vivienne whispered.

"The loading screen of a god," Isolde murmured, peering into the infinite blank.

A shimmer pulsed beneath their feet, and then slowly, a tower began to rise from nothing—black, smooth, geometric. It looked like an obelisk carved from obsidian thought, anchored in pure possibility. Symbols glowed across its surface—each of them familiar.

Virgo. Taurus. Pisces. Aquarius. Aries. And at the center—

A thirteenth sigil. Ophiuchus.

"This is Trial Three," Verena breathed. "It’s... not a battle."

"No," said a new voice.

A figure descended from above like a descending star.

It was a woman.

Or at least, something wearing the shape of a woman. Her form was covered in robes of twilight and constellation-thread, her eyes glimmering pools of memory. She radiated pressure, not hostility—but something deeper. Like inevitability.

"I am the Arbiter of Weave Convergence," she said, her voice echoing within the airless void. "You have passed the second alignment. Before the third, a decision must be made."

The three girls tensed.

"A decision?" Verena asked warily.

The Arbiter nodded. "Your connections have grown. Your alignment has begun to shift. The Weave responds. But power demands sacrifice. Growth requires divergence."

A second obelisk rose beside the first—identical, but flickering between states. Choices. Branches. Possible futures.

"You must choose," she said. "Will your bond remain as it is—loose, independent, uncertain? Or will you bind yourselves together under a united sigil?"

Vivienne blinked. "We can... fuse teams?"

Isolde arched a brow. "Is that allowed?"

The Arbiter said nothing. Only gestured between the two obelisks.

One glowed with their current paths—three distinct constellations, shining apart.

The other shimmered faintly—with shared light, a single stream woven from three.

Verena swallowed. The choice was obvious. The implications were not.

To bind meant synergy. Fusion of magic. Amplified power.

But it also meant risk. Vulnerability. Emotional convergence.

Trust.

Verena glanced at Isolde.

Then at Vivienne.

Vivienne, who now looked nervous, her fingers clutched together. "I-I know I’m not strong. And I panic a lot. But if we stay together, I... I want to try harder."

Isolde shrugged, flipping her hair. "I’ve carried worse. Let’s just win already."

Verena sighed.

And smiled.

She stepped forward—and placed her hand on the unified obelisk.

"I choose the bond."

The stars above them surged.

Trial Three... began.