The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

“Thank you for waiting,” said the newly arrived receptionist. “I’ve convened with my colleagues regarding the overhead magical phenomenon. I’m in agreement with their assessment. The spell cannot be accurately identified.”

I leaned away from the herald of doom’s professional smile.

Standing before a door I was hoping would open directly towards my bedroom where I could be rid of all my ills, I was instead met by a statement only slightly less helpful to me than silence. 

Nearby, the other receptionists were proving far more useful. They were taking it in turns to smooth out Apple’s shaggy mane with magic. They failed. A worthy endeavour, but one far more challenging than any black hole in the sky.

Yes.

Even if nobody seemed to know what it was.

“Excuse me? Is that it?”

“No … I can also confirm with a 93% certainty this is unlikely to be an accident.”

I raised my palms in exasperation.

I didn’t know what to be more horrified about. That the nefariousness of a black hole choking my tulips could even possibly be measured at anything less than 200%, or that it could be the result of a mage trying to reverse the holes of a crumpet!

Why, if someone was going to bathe my kingdom in darkness, then let them at least be deliberate in their motives!

“... Is that it?”

I received a nod. I kept my palms duly raised, waiting for an answer to be deposited I could use.

An entire gaggle of mages hailing from this very tower … and all they could tell me was that they never learned about which spells not to cast!

… Well, no more!

The very moment I’d finished replacing the highly trained staff with my own bumbling lackeys, I’d ensure that this was the second thing they learned … right after they memorised their tax obligations!

“I apologise for the lack of more pertinent information. But although we’re unable to reference this particular spell, there exist some which produce similar effects, albeit on a smaller scale.”

Beside me, Coppelia ceased counting the coins in her palms. All the proceeds from her tourism sales, soon used to fund our next expedition into a patisserie.

“Ooh~ is there going to be an explosion?” she asked, looking up with renewed interest.

“There is a possibility of a sudden and violent discharge of arcane energy, yes.”

“Great! And how big would such a violent discharge be?” 

“That’s a bit difficult to say. But based on the not insignificant amounts of sunlight being absorbed, any detonation would likely result in the destruction of the Royal Institute.”

My hands covered my mouth.

I was aghast.

Why, there was no time to waste … I had to begin searching for viewing spots at once!

“Is … Is that so? Are you certain of this? Because I thought it was going to destroy the entire kingdom.”

“It may indeed do that as well. The spell is immensely volatile. It is all but certain to at least result in the surrounding countryside being irreparably cleared.”

My joy deflated at once. 

How was I supposed to enjoy a tower disintegrating display if it came at the cost of everything else around it too? I’d only just fixed the workers at the lumbermill. If the trees were removed, they’d merely use it as an excuse to slack again!

Still, I suppose I could hardly see it destroyed. It was built by the blood and sweat of my ancestors as they worked tirelessly to order everyone else around them. Those now within may have disgraced it, but the walls themselves were innocent.

Walls at imminent risk of being destroyed. 

And that meant something vitally important needed to be done.

“Very well … I see there’s no time to waste.” I furrowed my brows towards the receptionist, my voice suddenly terse as I spoke. “Please have your quill at the ready.”

“Excuse me?”

“In the event this fair realm meets its end before someone is able to carry me up the stairs in time, I wish for today’s events to be documented, so that future generations may look back and know the truth of history, unmarred by the ashes which cover the steps of where we stand. For posterity.”

The receptionist nodded.

In the blink of an eye, she conjured a scroll of parchment. The same acid, fire and water-proof type previously used to confirm my most recent night of sleeplessness. 

“Understood. Would you like me to transcribe your words?”

“Yes, please.”

She tensed her fingers, her quill almost scratching the surface in her readiness. 

I cleared my throat and prepared my final words. 

“Ahem … this was not my fault.”

The receptionist began scribbling.

A moment later, she slowly looked up. 

“...  Would you like to add more?”

“No.”

“I see.”

The receptionist returned her gaze to the facts as written by a key witness.

She said nothing else. 

Indeed, there was little else for her to say. 

Only silent words of relief remained in the knowledge that should the worst come to pass and my kingdom be lost to ash and the burrowing badgers now free of natural predators, it would have been noted in writing that I was not responsible.

Thus, I pointed at the blot in the sky.

“Very well. Now that’s been settled, please tell me how this stain can be removed. I take it that somewhere in the world, an adventurer once accidentally spied someone more useful fixing a similar calamity? Perhaps while lost in the upper branches of a tree?”

The receptionist hummed in thought. Her scroll vanished in a puff of smoke. The most useful spell yet.

“To my knowledge, a spell of this magnitude is rare. But it’s not unprecedented. I see no reason to believe it cannot be disrupted. In addition to the sunlight, the spell appears to be siphoning magic. As there’s a strong possibility it’s being actively maintained, it means it can also be broken. However, the process of doing so for spellwork of this calibre would typically require the assistance of several archmages as well as the expertise of specialist diviners, arcanists, dark–” 

I held up my palm.

“Ohohoho … no.”

“Excuse me?”

I offered a reassuring smile. One which even receptionists could hope to learn from.

After all, all I heard was that someone had overstepped their place and failed to withdraw their foot. 

This was hardly something which required a committee of mages to bore them to death, as uniquely powerful as that threat was. 

No, it required a boot capable of stepping on a toe. And mine just so happened to be designed to maximise the number of winces per minute during a soirée.

“Very well. I’ve heard enough. Merely point to me who’s responsible for this calamity, and my sole will do the rest.”

“I see! That’s wonderful. I’m uncertain if soles are a suitable tool for quashing magic. But the spellwork is most noticeable at the top of the tower. If any individual is responsible for maintaining it, I believe that’s where they might be found.”

The receptionist allowed a look of expectation to grace her face.

“Will you be climbing the tower?” she queried.

“Absolutely not.”

Ignoring the look of puzzlement, I cast my eyes upwards, craning my neck until I looked like Apple reaching for a drooping pear.

That was as much physical effort as I was willing to give.

Frankly, I had no idea how many floors this tower contained. And that was obliviousness I intended to cherish as much as the choux à la crèmes I pretended didn’t contain fat. 

Advancing floor by floor through unknown hordes while stumbling blindly sounded very much like the sort of thing moronic adventurers would do.

I was a princess. And although I’d be personally inventorying this tower’s valuables, that certainly didn’t mean I’d be personally climbing the stairs. 

For one thing, I had a loyal handmaiden whose shoulders–

“Ack, hack, uck, puwah …”

–whose shoulders drooped as she suddenly broke into a coughing fit … but that’s also fine!

After all, why should I need to use my legs when the mages didn’t?

“... Very well, I thank you for the information,” I said to the receptionist. “You may now assist me further. And by that I mean Coppelia’s shoulders.”

“Of course! How may I help?”

“If we’re to inspect the top of the tower, it’ll need to be done in a way that saves us all from the tedium of battling through a tower of faceless minions. Please begin the finger twirling.”

The receptionist blinked. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your finger.” I demonstrated with a twirl. “Please send us to wherever a highly fragile and complex spell can be assessed by my delicate poke attack.”

“My apologies, but if you’re referring to teleportation, I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple. Magic is temperamental, with movement spells being one of the most difficult to reliably achieve. To teleport oneself is already a difficult feat. To send two others to a location warded with a barrier designed to prevent forced intrusion requires an exceptional degree of magical proficiency, unbreakable concentration and precise calculation.”

I raised a brow.

“Did I hear a no?”

The receptionist opened her lips to speak. No words came out.

Instead … she merely furrowed her brows and scrunched up her fists, a look of determination breaking the permanent smile fixed upon her face. 

My, genuine emotion. She was beginning to slack.

“I can do it!” she declared.

“Oh?”

“… As a receptionist, it is my duty to assist our adventurers in any way possible. Although unorthodox, I will not shy away from any task. If you require access to the top of the tower, saving precious time and likely this kingdom as well, I will do all in my power to achieve. It’s the least I can do for a B-rank adventurer such as yourself.”

I winced from the sudden pain, hand to my sternum as I barely kept myself standing against the low blow.

“Uugh … e-excellent … in … in that case, you may begin at once.”

“Of course!”

Wasting little time, the receptionist closed her eyes.

Magic engulfed her like pale flames, the wisps of amber light dancing around her figure and flourishing upon her outstretched palms. Slowly, her hair seemed to shift colour, imbued with streaks of silver and jade as the strands rose as though lifted by a breeze … likely because they were.

“[Soothing Wind].”

“Kyaaaah … Mirabelle is casting a spell!”

“She always looks so cool! That’s our student president for you!”

A blush of severe embarrassment filled the receptionist’s cheeks even as she furrowed her brows in concentration. I recorded the sight to memory, remembering to latch onto it the next time she haunted my nightmares. 

And just in case I forgot, I could ask my loyal clockwork handmaiden to replicate it.

One whose arm I tugged as she attempted to quietly shuffle away.

“Coppelia, please, we needn’t make a highly complex and temperamental spell more difficult. There’s no need to separate now.”

“Eeeeh, I’m actually good.”

“Come here.” 

“I don’t know what teleporting does with my cogs. They’re sensitive. It might confuse them.”

“Nonsense. Anyone with the ability to hound me to the corners of my kingdom also has the ability to ensure a safe and pleasant trip. I’d certainly not entrust myself to any bumbling mage.”

“Oh, okay. It’s just that I’m kind of already seeing flashbacks and this hasn’t even happened yet. I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

“Then I hope the images you’re seeing are of the stateliness of our entrance. Rest assured, to be sent elsewhere by magic is a dull and seamless affair with barely a cog to be lost.”

As Coppelia made a mild groaning beside me, the receptionist peeked at me with a single shining eye.

“Oh? Have you experienced teleportation before?”

“I’ve experienced fae teleportation.”

“Fae teleportation?”

“Yes, otherwise known as forced abduction.”

“Goodness, I had no idea! How enviable … but in that case, I should mention that unlike the magic of the fae, ours is slightly more rudimentary. In fact, I just need you to do one thing in preparation.”

I pursed my lips, all the while ignoring the sudden feeling of unease forming in my stomach.

“... Yes? What is it?”

Pop.

A scroll of parchment floated down before my eyes.

“Please sign this waiver.”