The Villains Must Win

Still, part of Selis knew she was toying with fire. Playing games with high-ranking officers wasn't a risk; it was a career-ending, possibly life-ending gamble.

But so was doing nothing. So was waiting to be blamed for another tragedy she hadn't caused.

She couldn't just survive anymore.

She had to play.

And if that meant wearing a smile instead of armor—so be it.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to actually flirt with a man like Lucian without getting arrested or murdered.

That . . . might take more planning.

"Now to find a high-ranking officer in this shithole . . ." Selis muttered, her eyes scanning the empty outpost yard.

It was bleak, even by her already low expectations.

All she saw was a grumpy-looking commanding officer barking half-hearted orders at a trainee who seemed more interested in chasing pigeons.

Not exactly the picture of military excellence. Definitely not captain-level. And definitely not seducible—unless her plan involved dating a man who thought personal hygiene was optional.

She sighed.

"That'll take a while," she said to herself, leaning on the wooden railing as a cold wind picked up some dust and blew it straight into her face.

"Before I start thinking about romance and spy games, maybe I should figure out how the hell to get back to the capital first."

Because let's be honest—this place was a dead end.

No real information. No real connections. No high-ranking officers wandering around waiting to spill secrets over wine and flirtation.

Just more patrols, more suspicion, and a very real chance of being stabbed in the back during lunch break.

The capital, though?

Now that was where things happened. It was the heart of the vampire hunter network, the place where the real decisions were made.

It was where missions were forged, records were kept, and secrets were buried under ten layers of classified stamps.

And—more importantly—it was where the high-ranking officers lived.

Not the fake kind with chipped armor and overinflated egos, but the real players. The ones who actually knew something.

The ones she could possibly manipulate—carefully, subtly, and with minimal risk of ending up dead in an alley.

The only problem?

She wasn't exactly on the guest list.

Being reassigned to the outer district wasn't just a polite demotion—it was exile. HQ didn't want her poking around, not when she already labelled as suspicious, thanks to Salister.

They wanted her out of the way. Like a broken weapon too risky to toss but too inconvenient to keep near sharp things.

Still.

Selis had wormed her way out of worse.

"If I could fake a reason to be recalled . . . ," she murmured, rubbing her temple. "A mission request? A favor? A miracle?" She paused. "Maybe fake an emergency involving cursed artifacts? Those always get attention. Or a medical anomaly. If someone starts saying my blood's weird enough, HQ loves that kind of mess."

It was a gamble. But if she wanted to play the shortest route, she had to get back to the table.

And the capital was the table.

Besides, no one ever uncovered a grand conspiracy from the edge of nowhere. She needed noise. Movement. Access to files and fragile egos in expensive uniforms.

Also . . . she hated it here.

The food was terrible. The barracks smelled like regret. And she hadn't had a decent cup of coffee since her reassignment.

"Right," she said aloud, straightening her coat. "Step one: get out of this dump. Step two: charm my way into a position of minor influence. Step three: seduce someone into spilling all the secrets I'm not supposed to hear."

She paused.

"Step four: definitely don't die."

She gave herself a small nod, feeling the familiar edge of purpose return.

It wasn't the most honorable plan. But honor didn't get you answers. And if she wanted to survive—and maybe, just maybe, win—she had to play smarter.

The capital wouldn't know what hit it.

Selis's plan to return to the capital was, at first, ambitious. Then mildly clever. Then . . . increasingly desperate.

After being dumped in the middle of nowhere with nothing but suspicion and a rusty bunk bed, she realized she needed to manufacture a reason to be recalled. The higher-ups weren't just going to call her back out of nostalgia or pity. No, she had to get creative.

Attempt #1: "I'm Gravely Ill. Probably Dying."

Selis faked a cough. Then two coughs. Then a full-blown hacking fit in front of the camp medic.

"See?" she rasped dramatically, throwing in a swoon for effect. "Terminal cough. Very serious. Possibly cursed lungs."

The medic didn't even look up from his paperwork. "You swallowed a bug."

"Cursed bug," she muttered under her breath.

Diagnosis? Healthy as a mule.

Result?

Assigned to night patrol for being "dramatic."

Attempt #2: "There's a Haunted Artifact. It's Possessing Me!"

Next, she grabbed the ugliest broken trinket from the supply dump and tied it to her wrist with red string. Then she stormed into the commanding officer's office.

"This cursed relic is whispering to me," she said with wide eyes. "I think it's trying to open a blood portal."

The officer blinked at the rock. "That's part of a chipped plate."

"An ancient chipped plate," Selis added.

Later that evening, she found herself scrubbing latrines with holy water.

Result: "Maybe you should open a blood portal in the toilet while you're at it," someone muttered.

Attempt #3: "I Received a Vision From the Ancients"

Selis painted strange symbols all over her arms using burnt toast crumbs and toothpaste.

"I had a dream," she told the stationed chaplain. "The ancestors told me I must return to the capital. It's a divine mission."

The chaplain stared at her long and hard. Then whispered, "Are you high?"

Turned out toothpaste made her arm rashy, too. Bonus.

Attempt #4: "Lucian Needs Me"

Sure, she and Lucian had the chemistry of a wasp and a frying pan, but she figured name-dropping the most powerful vampire hunter might do something.

She marched into the comms room and tried to send a message:

URGENT. SELIS REQUESTED BY LUCIAN. PERSONAL AFFAIRS.

The officer manning the communications hub looked her up and down and just . . . laughed.

"Lucian sent you a request?"

"Yes," she said, expression dead serious. "It's . . . private."

"Yeah, I bet. Next!"