I Will Became The Most Powerful Villainess

Chapter Four: The Knight’s Oath

Rain had not stopped since the night of the banquet.

It drummed against the glass windows of the Rosenthal manor like an army of whispering ghosts, a relentless lullaby of storm and silence. Outside, the gardens lay half-drowned in silver mist, roses heavy with water, thorns glistening like swords. Inside, the atmosphere was no less charged. The echoes of the grand event had not yet faded, and the scent of candlewax and old secrets still clung to the halls.

Kim Wan—still cloaked in the identity of Evelyne Rosenthal—stood at the edge of her study’s balcony, watching the storm. Her fingers curled loosely around the railing. Her obsidian dress fluttered like a shadow against the rain’s silver streaks.

She was not thinking about Rael.

Not entirely.

She was thinking of the knight who had not approached her that night. The man who had lingered in the shadows of her past, his golden armor dimmed beneath chandeliers, eyes filled not with hatred or love—but warning.

Leonhart Vale.

The man who once vowed to protect her.

The man who had watched her execution in the novel’s final act without raising a sword.

A soft knock on the door broke the silence.

Clara stepped in, carrying a folded letter on a silver tray. "This arrived, Your Grace. By hawk."

Kim turned slowly. The seal was unfamiliar—white wax, stamped with the insignia of a sword over an oak tree. She broke it and unfolded the letter.

Meet me in the forest chapel by dusk.

—L. Vale.

She folded the letter without expression. “Prepare my cloak.”

“Your Grace, the woods are dangerous in the rain—”

“All the more reason not to delay.”

The forest surrounding the estate was ancient, wild, and near forgotten. Overgrown paths twisted between gnarled trees, and the underbrush whispered in voices older than the empire itself. Clara had begged her not to go alone, but Kim needed no chaperone tonight. This meeting had waited too long.

By the time she reached the chapel, dusk had already fallen. The stone building was small and ruined, half-swallowed by ivy and moss, its stained glass shattered, its pews overgrown. A relic from a time before faith had turned to politics.

Leonhart stood inside, waiting.

He had not changed. His blond hair was slightly longer now, tied back in a simple leather cord. His armor had been replaced with a dark riding coat, but the symbol of his knighthood still gleamed faintly on the brooch at his throat. His sword hung at his side. He had not come unarmed.

She stepped into the doorway. “You summoned me, Sir Leonhart.”

He turned, his gaze sharp. “You came.”

“I was curious.” She walked forward slowly, the soft crunch of leaves beneath her boots the only sound between them. “To see which version of you I’d meet tonight.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re not the Evelyne I knew.”

“No,” she said. “And you’re not the knight I remember.”

They stared at each other across the shattered altar. Then, as if the weight of unsaid words could no longer bear the silence, he spoke:

“Why return? Why now?”

She tilted her head. “I could ask the same. You were always first to condemn me. Now you seek me out in secret?”

He stepped closer. “Because I want to know who you are.”

“I told you,” she said. “I’m Evelyne Rosenthal. The villainess of your story.”

“No.” He moved even closer. “The Evelyne I knew—she was cruel, yes, but she bled. She suffered. She tried. You...”

He reached out, hesitated, and let his hand fall. “You look at me like I’m a stranger.”

“I am not her,” she said simply. “Not anymore.”

Silence stretched between them again, the chapel breathing with rain and memory.

Finally, she asked, “Why did you come to the banquet?”

“To see if it was true.”

“If what was true?”

“That you had changed.”

“And have I?”

He stared at her for a long time. “You’re not colder. You’re stronger. That’s more dangerous.”

She laughed, soft and bitter. “Should I apologize for surviving?”

He shook his head. “No. But you must know… there are people who want you dead. Who are watching. The Empress won’t tolerate your rise. Lira—she’s protected by more than just royal favor. If you step too far out of line—”

“Then I’ll be killed?” she finished for him. “Again?”

His mouth tightened.

“You watched them execute me once,” she said, voice low. “Tell me, Leonhart. Did you feel anything?”

He looked away.

“I couldn’t save you,” he said quietly.

“No,” she replied. “You chose not to.”

He took a breath, then dropped to one knee.

She stared.

“I failed you once,” he said. “I won’t again.”

Her heart skipped.

“You swore an oath to the empire,” she said. “To Lira. To justice.”

“I’m swearing a new one.” He drew his sword and planted it in the earth before her. “To the truth. To the woman who faced death and returned with fire in her soul.”

Lightning flashed outside.

“I don’t need a knight,” she whispered.

He looked up. “Then consider me your sword.”

A long pause.

Then, slowly, she extended her hand.

“Rise, then, Leonhart Vale. And remember—my path is one of thorns.”

He stood.

“I don’t mind the blood,” he said.

They stood in silence once more as the rain fell harder, drumming against broken stone and shattered stained glass.

And in that ruined chapel, amid the ashes of the past, a new alliance was forged—not from love, but from purpose.

The villainess had claimed her first knight.

And her garden of obsession was beginning to bloom.