The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Coppelia and I watched and waited.

The sound of heavy footsteps resounded in the darkened corridor like the slow waltz of the reaper. It was no scythe coming towards us. But what I saw was no less lethal. 

A greatsword with its edges serrated as much to maim as it was to butcher. 

As it rested against a pauldron, it shone with a pale gleam. A stark message in the dark. A bloody promise written in enchanted steel to any who befell it. 

Even so, it wasn’t this grim weapon which parched any throat to look upon it.

It was the eyes. 

Burning like dying embers, they stood out more than the crimson gaze of any warg in the night. And it was from these that the corridor came to life. As the eyes flashed like a newly fed hearth, the braziers lining the corridor lit like a row of candles. 

A pale, eerie light revealed the corridor and all its unseemly cracks … and yet none of the rodents chittering within sought to flee.

No, they only did so when the towering figure passed by, seeking instead the corners where the eyes could not find them, and where that monstrous weapon could not reach them.

The figure adorned in full armour approached.

Black steel, rare and princely, smooth and ornate, decorated with etchings of silvery moonlight in defiance of the dark. I saw words scribbled like vows upon celestial armour, pale but clear. But this was no follower of the heavens which I saw striding towards me. 

It was one of death. 

No … not quite that.

Undeath.

For those that died reeked only of their own decay. 

This one did not. 

An aura of blight and corrosion followed the armoured figure’s wake, dyeing the ground with a trail of sickness and shadow. As the footsteps came to a stop, I took in the stench pervading the stale air, before noting every facet of this newly spawned obstacle. 

It did the same with us.

Immediately, gauntlets gripped around the hilt of the greatsword as it shifted upon its rest. Yet whatever it thought of us, it was far kinder than what we thought of it.

A champion of evil. An avatar of the dark powers. A scourge against the righteous.

A death knight.

The eyes glimmered, the flames quietly shimmering while assessing my widened mouth.

“My greetings to you both,” came a voice both curt and amicable behind the helmet. “I am Sir Galbert the Unredeemed, Bane of Heroes and Knight of–” 

“Wait.” I held up my hand. “Do it again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do it again. From the beginning. But properly this time.”

The flaming eyes blinked.

“... My apologies, but I’m not quite certain I understand?”

“Clearly so, or else you would have made your entrance correctly the first time. Return to the start of the corridor. Your entrance was a 6/10. A score which seasoned actors would return home with to see their lives and careers freshly invigorated. But to both me and you, it is not enough.”

I gestured vaguely towards the death knight.

“No matter how you’re lighting the braziers, stop. Allow the darkness to create your image for you. Don’t draw your sword only to rest it upon yourself like a carpet being delivered. Bring it trailing behind you, carving the floor menacingly as you walk–and at a much slower pace. If your audience is not in a rush, then neither are you. Your eyes should not be alight, but rather, flicker to life at the last moment, your face as you stand before me partially revealed with the barest of ambient lighting.” 

The death knight listened without interruption.

After allowing a moment to ensure I’d finished speaking, he gave a small cough.

“... My lady, I’m afraid my eyes cannot be extinguished, for they burn with the cruelty of a thousand butchers fed by the torment of a thousand innocents.”

“Well, I hardly see the issue. I’m not asking you to extinguish them. Only cover them. I see you possess a full suite of limbs. You only need one hand to drag a sword behind you. Use the other to shield your eyes as you walk.” 

“I feel that’s a rather undignified image to impose upon myself.”

“It is so long as I’m waiting, yes. There’s nothing to fear. It’s a straight line, you won’t bump into a wall. Now please return with my amendments completed. I cannot abide half-measures, especially when the correct process is clearly not out of reach.”

The death knight merely continued gazing at me with his eyes of shimmering embers.

And then–he obligingly turned around.

Returning to his starting position with more professionalism than any of the actors at the Royal Arc Theatre ever demonstrated, the death knight proved that, evil or not, he was still a knight. Just because he’d died didn’t mean his adherence to the whims of princesses had died with him.

A moment later–

Clink. Clink. Clink. Swhiiinkk.

All the darkness returned as the braziers were snuffed out. 

In their place, the sound of deliberately paced footsteps approached in the gloom, joined by the tears of the floor as it was scarred by a weapon sharp enough to cleave the ground. The footsteps soon came to a stop before me, revealing a set of flaming eyes like candles in the dark.

They blinked in mild disorientation as they found me.

“My greetings to you both,” said a voice for the first time. “I am Sir Galbert the–”

“Too much. Retreat half a step so only the barest silhouette of your armour and height is revealed.”

The death knight slowly retreated half a step.

“I am Sir Galbert the Unredeemed, Bane of Heroes and–”

“Too high. Lower your register. It should be more rattling. More menacing. A cloud should fill your mind as though you’ve only just risen from the grave.”

“I am Sir Galbert the Unredeemed,” came a hoarse voice. “Bane of Heroes, Dark Champion and Captain of the Sorrowful Thorns.”

The death knight paused, clearly waiting for my appraisal. 

I turned to Coppelia. She responded with a nod and a thumbs up. I was inclined to agree.

“Very well. I raise your score to a 6.5/10.”

The death knight stiffened slightly. The smallest hint of indignation. 

That was good. Nobody should accept anything less than a 10/10. Always strive to be better, even if my ratings were arbitrary and based on the position of my socks on any given day.

“I offer my gratitude,” said the death knight instead, his codes of conduct striking deeper than any blade could. “And also an apology for the unsatisfactory performance. If I may, I’d like to state that my role here is not strictly performative. I am to guard against those wishing to enter, and to prevent those wishing to leave. I see you’re now both.”

“Then I suggest you see elsewhere. These dungeons are an unfitting place for those who boast such fine armour as yourself. Whoever your master, you should take your service elsewhere.”

The death knight shook his head.

“I serve no master, but a mistress. And mine is One of Many Names.”

“So the jailer has a jailer. How quaint.”

“Some may see it that way. Yet others wear their bindings with pride, knowing that loyalty is a small shackle for the gifts bestowed in return.” 

“And what are these gifts, exactly, aside from the fleeing mice?”

The death knight promptly raised his sword, swinging it above his head before plunging it into the ground before him. A crater appeared as tiles sprung in every direction, impaling the wall as easily as my face did my pillow.

“This is my gift,” said the death knight simply. “Second to the gift of undeath, but a finer prize than any I could have earned over a thousand meandering quests in my life.”

“Then it’s clear your quests were at the level of layabouts seeking to rescue cats from trees. Frankly, you should have stuck with that. Your services as a death knight are not required here. This kingdom possesses a very fragile ecosystem which doesn’t need random death knights stomping about making things less than ideally worse. Is it necessary you’re here?”

The death knight gave a non-committal shrug.

“I go where my mistress commands. And she is loath to allow her knights to abandon their task. At least not without appropriate payment. What would you offer for my departure?”

“Certainly not my blood. Mine is more precious than any number of crowns.”

“Then you’ll be glad to know that her price is not so steep. She is no devil. Not yet, at least. The sum she demands for my time is both reasonable and open to negotiation–as the mage who summoned me can vouch. My cost was an exceptional bargain.”

My mouth widened.

“Are you saying you are currently being subcontracted?”

“Yes,” he said simply. 

“Can you do that? What of your own code of honour?” 

“My honour resides only in serving my mistress. And to that I offer my sword to those who promise her the highest price. There is a reason why I’ve not immediately sought to obey my summoner’s instructions to eliminate all intruders. You are in a position to pay. The sword by your side alone will suffice. Or perhaps also the clockwork doll.”

“Oi!” Coppelia wore a rare look of genuine outrage. “What is this ‘perhaps’?! Are you saying I’m worth less than a sword?”

“It is an exceptional sword.”

“I am an exceptional Coppelia! Look at me! I’m made of 100% steel and cuteness! Don’t you see how amazing I am?!”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend. Your craftsman is doubtless exquisite. Yet at risking of sounding tactless, my concerns regarding whether my mistress’s valuables would be at risk lowers your worth. I cannot help but note that your eyes have been assessing my armour in much the way a cutpurse eyes a coin pouch.” 

“Thinking isn't a crime,” said Coppelia without an ounce of shame.“Unless it’s thinking that a sword is worth more than me. Who the heck looks at a sword and thinks that?!”

Coppelia immediately turned to me with a look of expectation. 

I obliged her with a warm smile, glad for the chance to quell her concerns.

“Ohohoho … really now, there’s little need to fear. Loyalty is beyond any number …  Thus, I value you, my sword and Apple all equally.” 

“Eh?! I’m the same as the horse?!”

Coppelia’s mouth opened wide, doubtless stunned by the compliment. 

“There you have it,” I said towards the death knight. “I must decline your offer. None of my sword, my handmaiden or my horse are currently for sale.”

“It needn't only be what you have on hand. My mistress is open to negotiation.”

“Then she’ll need to offer something worth even a single crown. As much as bribery is a typical running expense, I see nothing which is cheaper than simply being removed.”

The death knight's expression could not be seen. And yet I could almost sense the brow being raised, whether or not it existed behind that helmet.

“That would be a terrible cost, my lady. My armour is runic black steel, earned and bought with blood. It is better if you do not add yours to it. I am, after all, a death knight.”

The figure almost seemed to rise, filling the breadth of the corridor. As the greatsword was pulled slightly from the ground, the crack it made almost seemed to groan in pain.

In response, I did what any princess could do.

I raised my hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.

“Ohohoho … A fine jester, perhaps. But a poor knight.”

“That is an unfortunate insult.”

“No, that’s the truth. For any knight who even once brushed elbows with the codes of chivalry would know me for what I am.”

“I know you to be an intruder, my lady. I apologise if all other distinctions are beyond me. But I see from your dress at least you are no common burglar. Still, I would have at least hoped you were a smarter burglar.”

“And I would have hoped that even in death, the vows you once made would be remembered. This is neither your dungeon nor your home you defend. Fortunately, I offer something finer than crowns–the gift of remembrance. Stand aside so that a glimmer of chivalry may return, and you may yet see yourself on the road to redemption.”

The death knight chuckled, his hollow voice ringing almost in his helmet.

“That road is long closed to me,” he said. “Yet be that as it may, I have not forsaken chivalry as I have my life. For one thing, I find it refreshing how often those who I show courtesy to show it in response. It is a small light in this dark world, that even in the dungeons beneath the earth, mutual respect and civility can still be found.”

I wrinkled my nose.

“Is that so? … And yet I only appear to meet knaves.”

“I do too, of course. In the end, courtesy is only a bonus. That is why I’m always pre–”

“[Coppelia Punch]!”

On cue, Coppelia sent a winding cross to make Florella beam with pride. She stepped forward, her knuckles formed of cuteness and steel striking the death knight squarely upon his visor. 

A visor which promptly left his torso, taking the head along with it. 

Clang … clang … clang …

The helmet rolled several times, the burning eyes adopting a shade of fatigue as it eventually came to a rest.

“As I was saying,” said the head as it faced the ceiling. “I am always prepared.”

The headless knight remained standing.

Far from toppling over into a mess to be picked over, it remained like a sentry, its gauntlets noticeably gripping around the hilt of its weapon.

Coppelia turned to me.

“Hmm … you think I shouldn’t have done that?”

“Coppelia!” I said, almost too appalled to speak. “That was awful!”

“... Should have gone for the knees, huh?”

“Always! Low blows only! Remember that for next time.”

Coppelia nodded, all the while a headless knight raised its greatsword high overhead.