Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 222: Convince Me

Contessa adjusted her blank steel mask as she moved like a wraith through the outer perimeter of the military camp erected atop the ruins of Rainhold.

There was no moon in the night sky and she'd swapped out her usual white Chosen cloak for a darker one that helped her blend in more with the darkness.

She'd been trained especially for this, and she'd chosen the appropriate cloak. One dark but not dark enough to actually stand out in the darkness. That was one of the mistakes a lot of rookies make. And she was no rookie.

Her mind went back to her purpose here tonight. After years in service, she'd become one of the few who had earned the Pope's full confidence. And tonight, she was betraying that trust.

If this was her own plan. She'd be more worried. But she had someone she trusted more than herself. And he's dent here.

The sounds of approaching footsteps drifted to her, and she ducked behind a few supply crates stacked nearby, crouching as they passed by.

It was a pair of soldiers, laughing quietly among themselves. "I still can't believe it." One of them said. "There's no kid that has never once dreamed of being a Chosen. And now, we get to be one."

"We're not Chosen." The other soldier chuckled. "We're soldiers with Resonance magic."

"Same difference." His friend chuckled. "But I'm still looking forward to the upcoming training sessions. We get to blow stuff up too."

Their voice faded away as they moved past, and Contessa grinned behind her mask.

If only the Pope could see this. His precious Kingdom of Elnoria nurturing a new army of Chosen, thousands strong, all outside his grasp.

He'd go ballistic. He might even die of shock. Maybe that would be worth it. Maybe she'd tell him… just to watch the panic flood his face.

No. Not yet.

She pulled herself back up and continued her stalking, slipping between the tents and the short, half collapsed walls around them. There were just too many things to hide behind.

She stepped past a tent with a sleeping soldier, and stopped. Just ahead was a group of soldiers huddled around one of the many small campfires, their armor unfastened and their voices low but eager.

She frowned slightly, moving to slip around them, when their words floated up to her.

"Look. I'm telling you, the king's not just planning defense anymore." One whispered, passing a skin of water. "He's going to attack the Church itself head-on. Mark my words."

Another scoffed. "Strike how? Even if we have the numbers, they've still got the Synod. And the Pope? That man doesn't die. He was born before my grandfather and the old man's long dead while the Pope's still kicking."

"The Pope will definitely die." The third said grimly. "Look around. Sometimes, quantity is a form of quality when it comes to war. You don't train thousands of resonance users in secret unless you plan to use them. Soon."

Contessa smirked behind her mask. Soon, she thought.

The soldier was right. But the Pope would not be easy to kill. That wouldn't matter though, because the Chained Man wanted him dead. The question is who would he use to kill the Pope?

The Stolen? The fiancee? Vesper Rosefield? At this point, it didn't matter. The Chained Man's will shall be done.

With a last glance at the gathering, she continued on her way, slipping around them.

After a few minutes, heading towards where the concentrations of guards grew increasingly higher, she finally found it.

The largest tent in the camp. Well-guarded. Unlike the others, this one had a pair of Chosen stationed outside, pretending to be ordinary soldiers.

Contessa noted the way they scanned their surroundings, not like footmen, but like predators.

King Mikael's personal detail. The group of Chosen he'd been cultivating under the nose of the Pope for decades.

Contessa took a moment to wonder just how blind the Pope could be. Instead of wisdom, all he'd gotten from being alive for so long had been arrogance.

With a quiet scoff, she crouched and reached for her pouch, pulling out a tiny polished stone. One that specifically made noise. A flick of her thumb sent it arcing into the darkness behind one of the guards.

Clink.

The guard turned instinctively. That was all she needed.

A silent roll behind him, a quick slit in the tent wall with her dagger, and she was through.

She slipped through the tear like a passing breeze, emerging into the tent and rising, only to freeze as a blade pressed to her throat.

"You're not very subtle, are you?" A cold voice said softly.

Contessa blinked.

King Mikael himself was holding the dagger, calm and shirtless. His hand didn't tremble and he didn't even look surprised.

"I expected the Pope would send a dog." He said.

Contessa raised her hands slowly. "I'm not here to bite."

"You're here to report." Mikael said flatly, increasing pressure on the knife. "You've seen what's happening in this camp. You'll run back to your master and bleat about betrayal."

"I'm here to help you." She said calmly.

"Convince me." His eyes narrowed. "And maybe I'll spare you."

"The Pope doesn't know what's happening here." She began. "Not yet. I didn't tell him."

"Is that supposed to impress me?"

"No. But this will." She reached slowly into her pocket, withdrawing a sealed scroll, and tossed it onto the table beside him. "I intercepted that message. It was meant for the Synod."

Mikael narrowed his eyes. He picked up the scroll, broke the wax, and read. His face darkened. "This was from Atticus."

"Of course it was." Contessa said. "One of the Pope's pets. But I delayed it. Because I want to work with you. Not against you."

"Why?" Mikael growled.

"Because I want the plague gone. And I know who can do it."

She stepped forward slowly, letting the name drop like a coin into silence. "The Blood Chosen."

Mikael's eyes flashed. "You know where he is?"

"I do."

There was a long pause.

Then, slowly, Mikael lowered his knife.

"You have my attention." He said. "Don't waste it."