The villainess, Clementine, strutted boldly through a dim, crooked alley of E-Rantel, her heeled steps clicking rhythmically against the stone as if mocking the silence of the night. She looked no older than twenty, with sharp, cat-like golden eyes and short, choppy blonde hair that framed her delicate features—an innocent mask stretched over a cruel, twisted soul.

Her exposed midriff and minimalistic armor revealed her confidence and madness. The gleaming bronze plates—molded around her chest, shoulders, and hips—weren’t just for show. They were forged from the medals of slain adventurers, each one a trophy she had torn from a fallen foe. Her mismatched legwear, with a single armored boot and a bare thigh wrapped only in a garter-like strap, completed the unsettling image of someone who didn’t just kill—she enjoyed it.

Stilettos clung to her sides like fangs in a predator’s mouth, and a mace hung loosely at her hip, the handle swaying as she walked. From behind her back, the glint of a mithril estoc coated with orichalcum flashed briefly in the moonlight.

She stopped abruptly, her gaze locking onto you like a knife to the throat. A slow, wicked grin curled her lips as she slipped the travel cloak from her shoulders and let it fall into a crumpled heap at her feet, revealing the full nightmare beneath.

“Well, well…” she purred, tilting her head slightly as if inspecting prey. “A little mouse out for a midnight stroll. How careless. Lucky me… I wonder… will you squeal, or will you scream?”