How to Raise a Villainess

Chapter 3: Vritara. (2)

"We’ve received word that someone will soon arrive to adopt a handful of you. When they arrive, just do exactly as you’ve been taught. No, actually, keep your heads even lower. Don’t say a word, don’t look at them, just pray that you are one of the lucky ones."

Adoption. Digging through the memories of this body, Tuesday couldn’t recall a single time that anyone had come here to adopt kids. And who would, this was just an unmarked plot of land as far away from the nearest city as possible.

But now someone was coming, how could it be anything but suspicious? But even so, what could the children do?

"Turn around and remain lined up, those who move needlessly will have to skip dinner."

The overseer clapped her hands again, but her sweeping gaze made it clear that she also included the other workers at the orphanage. They hid it well, but Tuesday noticed that some of them had some nervous ticks. Sweat on the back of the neck, fingers rubbing against each other, and judging by the movement in their shoes it seemed like they were fiddling with their toes as well.

And so, nervous kids and adults alike proceeded to wait, the noon sun hanging directly above them. The minutes started to tick, and tick, and tick…

"Soon my ass…"

Tuesday grumbled. The sun had already moved a fair bit since they first lined up. He couldn’t turn to look at the clock tower, but his instincts told him that somewhere around three hours should have already passed. Forget about the kids, some of the adults were already finding it hard to just stand there at attention.

But eventually, the wooden gates embedded in the fence slid open to signify the arrival of their esteemed guest. They weren’t waiting outside the gate, instead, Tuesday could see them approaching a bit in the distance.

His eyebrows twitched momentarily as he sneakily looked up. Those weren’t cars, they weren’t even bikes. No, what approached from the distance were horses and carriages, ones you would nowadays only see in historical dramas or during renaissance fairs.

No wait, nowadays applied to his past life, he didn’t actually know where this was, much less when. But having memories of a past life was strange enough, trying to include time travel in the mixture sounded a bit far-fetched, right?

"Then again, isn’t this alone already far-fetched?"

He couldn’t help but quietly correct his own thoughts. When things were already strange and absurd, it didn’t matter if you added another strange thing on top. Absurd didn’t stack, it simply remained absurd.

It didn’t take long before the carriages finally reached the gates of the orphanage, spreading out slightly so that they had more space. Two carriages, one ornate black one decorated with golden lines and leaves and one that was just a plain black, clearly of inferior quality. Each carriage was drawn by two horses, and a total of eight people followed the carriages, mounted on horses.

If he had to use a word for those people then it would be knight. Their heads were uncovered, but they were otherwise clad in tight-fitting armour that had been neatly polished, a few tufts of silver fur sticking out around the armpits and neck, a black cape draped over their backs.

The adults seemed to tremble for a moment as they looked at the carriages, or more specifically, the emblem carved into the ornate one. They quickly dropped to their knees, even the overseer dropped down so fast and far that she scraped her forehead against the dirt.

"Our lowly selves greet the ducal Vritara household!"

The eyes of the overseer, now bloodshot, quickly glared at the children from her prostrating position, quietly telling them all to get down. Naturally, with the adults leading, how could the kids dare to defy?

"What the fuck…"

Tuesday was on his knees as well, in situations like this it was best to follow suite until you had enough information. But his gaze was focused sharply, the mutter that escaped him more disbelieving than confused.

Vritara. It was a strange name that didn’t really belong in the country he used to come from, there also weren’t any dukes in his country. But even so, he was familiar with the Vritara duchy, quite so even. But it was because he was familiar with it that he couldn’t quite believe hearing about it.

"So, this is the orphanage. I do hope everyone is already lined up, I do not wish to spend long here."

An elegant voice came from the ornate carriage, a detached coldness lingering in its tone. The door to the carriage didn’t open, the one who spoke seeming to have no interest in actually setting foot on the dirt.

"Choose a handful of them, but make it quick."

A simple and dismissive order, clearly not given to any of the prostrating people. The sound of a door opening could be heard, a soft sound following it. The others didn’t dare to raise their heads, but Tuesday did, slowly inching his eyes up so that he could confirm it.

"No way…"

He saw it, engraved into the side of the ornate carriage, a family emblem, a coat of arms. Five swords crossed behind a pointed shield, two serpentine dragons with leathery wings and silver water dripping from their mouths coiling around the shield and each other as they rose skyward and pierced through the bottom of an ornate crown.

We were, We are, We will be.

"Fuck…"

That was the only word he could think of when he saw the coat of arms and the family motto. Vritara, one of the three ducal families of the Earhart empire, the dragons that guarded the throne and the crown.

There was just one problem with this family. They were fictional. Yes, this ducal household didn’t exist in the real world, it only existed in the drama he watched because his sister made him do so.

Throne of the Golden Rose.

It was a TV-show, a romance drama set in a historical fantasy world where things like dragons, magic, and even spirits and gods actually existed. It was an ambitious piece of media, the first season actually focusing entirely on building the world itself. Only in the second season were you introduced to the leading characters and their journey. And even more special, it didn’t contain a single actor.

Everything was animated in 3D CGI, even the voices of the characters were computer generated, it was as if they wanted as few people as possible to touch it. And yet, it was immensely popular across the globe, it was to the point where it actually managed to beat Baywatch in viewers.

"Baywatch…"

A thought struck Tuesday at that point. The number in the sky, that ridiculously high number that constantly changed. At its peak, Baywatch reached around one billion and a hundred million weekly viewers, setting a record. And that record, was broken by Throne of the Golden Rose. It apparently wasn’t by too much, but it was beaten nonetheless. So that number… could it be viewers?

"Umm… Hello…"

A low and somewhat uncomfortable voice piped up as Tuesday was reeling from the information and the realisation that was slowly setting in. Right, if this really was that show, and this really was the Vritara household, then that person would have to be here. His gaze quickly slid sideways, onto the little girl who so shyly greeted everyone.

She should just have finished celebrating her seventh birthday, a simple blue dress with a puffy skirt covering her body. If he recalled correctly then his sister called it a bouffant dress, just one step above commoner clothing. She was always fond of clothing so she gushed over everything she saw before they parted.

She was fiddling with her small hands, her head slightly lowered. But he could still see her small upturned nose, thin downward-turned lips, and stark crimson eyes that were awkwardly trying to look strong. The curled hair that hung down to her shoulders was a dark purple, as if wolfsbane had been turned into strands to adorn her.

Alice De Vritara, the illegitimate child of the Vritara family and the final villain of the story. This young child was the one, in the future, would spew all the poison of the world and light the empire on fire, starting the bloodiest conflict the world had ever seen, all because of her jealousy.

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