The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

I blinked and peeked up from my spot on the ground.

A hole in the wall. 

How wonderful. 

This was exactly the thing I wanted. Perhaps with slightly less ‘hole’ and a bit more ‘wall’, yes … but who was I to decry those who worked to answer my unreasonable demands? If I wished for the wallpaper to be removed, then so be it! Let the entire wall and the servant’s quarter behind it go as well!

Of course, the scenery now was slightly different compared to any incidents which everybody was paid not to remember. For one thing, there were no crushed beds, weeping servants or strewn belongings waiting behind this particular hole. 

Only the dark sky and an orchestra of destruction.

All around me, dust and debris danced a well-rehearsed waltz. 

Their tune was the groan of broken shelves, the carpet wilted with puddles of flame, a desk now returned to the world as ash … and a hole now matched by the width of my mouth.

I stared, blinking through the black spots in my vision. 

For a moment, I wondered when colour would return. And then I realised that there was no colour. It was an abyss as featureless as a gâteau magique à la vanille without buttercream glaze. 

No horizon of clouds waited to soften the view. No glittering dragon came to steal me via a window now officially large enough to fit them. And no headmaster stood gloating, whose great crime of referring to me as a Lady Adventurer deserved far worse than any blinding light.

Just a hole.  

One occupying a wall my ancestors had painstakingly built with a point of their fingertips. A tangible part of my family’s precious history. And now it was somewhere upon the horizon, turned to pieces of rubble destined to return to the soil.

And that’s why–

“Oho … ohohoho …”

That’s why I leapt to my feet in joy!

H-How marvellous! The greatest danger to my life had been utterly erased!

Yes … the two smaller holes I’d made!

An undead lich clearly minded towards the destruction of my kingdom was one thing! But that failed to compare to my mother’s wrinkles breaking through her make-up like lava erupting through fissures in the ground! 

Why, that would have spelled doom for us all!

“Wondrously done!” I said, sweeping around to grace my saviour with a smile. “Know that you have done me … no, the kingdom … no, me again, a great service this day! Your name may be perpetually forgotten, but your contribution will not!”

Indeed, all evidence now pointed towards a new perpetrator for the ruckus. 

I was officially immune from scolding … at least for this!

“Haaah … haaah … hahh …”

The response from my heroine was ragged breathing. 

Marina Lainsfont was clutched at her knees. An incredibly unhealthy thing to do given the still dissipating light in her palms. 

Even so, she gave it as little heed as the flames burrowing into the carpet. 

She sucked in a deep breath. Then, she ignored the beads of sweat rolling off her chin and swept inside the chamber, orbs of golden magic once again at her palms. There was no word of acknowledgement, nor warning. Only her hurried footsteps as she went to the newly opened balcony.

And then–

She promptly stuck her head outside.

The updraft blasted away at the ends of her chestnut hair more than any delicate gardening technique could. Still, she fought back against the wind, narrowing her eyes as she peered in all directions. 

Marina waited … and watched. 

For a moment, she did nothing else than to impersonate a barn owl upon a branch, searching for any movement of rodents in the underbrush. The seconds passed, measured by a clock on the floor.

Then … her shoulders finally relaxed.

Marina turned, the light fading from her palms, but not her expression. That was newly invigorated, the fire coming alive in her smile just as much as it did a chamber still very much burning.

“Heh … heheh …” 

Raising her arms, she tilted her head back … and laughed.

“Heheheh ... ahaha … ahahahahah!”

Like a young maiden being gifted her first pony to block the roads with, our resident alchemist allowed her innocent joy to resound.

Coppelia, who like me had taken refuge at the base of a marble bust, blinked as she watched the young woman manically laughing.

“9/10,” she said, turning to me with a nod.

“9/10? … For what? The explosion?” 

“No. That was an 8/10. The 9/10 is for the crazed laughter.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re wrong on both counts. The explosion was a 7/10. A point needs to be docked for failing to disassemble the marble busts shielding us from perishing.” 

“Ehhh, shouldn’t she get more points for that?” 

“Not at all. The erasure of much of the furnishings is to be lauded. But if she wishes to alleviate the certain strain on her back to come, she needed to ensure everything was properly disposed of.” 

“Then, how do you rate the maddened laughter?” 

“–Aahhahaa … ahaahaha … haahahaah!” 

Offering me a constant reminder on what to judge, Marina planted her hands against her stomach, holding back the convulsing muscles as she sought to control her own mirth.

I was glad she was failing. Far better to let it out. 

A laugh which was whole bodied and full. Classical, almost nostalgic. The guffaw of a villain after sufficiently punting away the requisite number of puppies required to sit at a long table manned by figures in hooded cloaks holding their hands together in a rhombus. 

However–

“3/10.”

My tactless judgement came like a gavel against a block, cutting the laughter in two. Marina gave a click of her tongue, her brows furrowing towards me.

“I haven’t the slightest care how you view anything I do,” she said, very much caring. “But what I just achieved was outstanding. Did you see it? No, probably not. You were blinded by the succession of holy magic I weaved. And for a mage whose last time in a chapel involved flames, that is exemplary. Using spells against my natural discipline, I’ve just done away with a lich. A lich. That is an automatic score in perfection.”

I nodded in understanding while brushing away bits of everything from my attire.

Then, I re-evaluated my score.

“2/10.”

Marina stomped her foot on the ground, toys launching from the pram.

“Why is it now lower?!”

“It’s lower because you’ve just made the same mistake twice.”

“What mistake am I possibly making?! Yes, there are caveats. The codger still remains anchored until his phylactery is destroyed. But I have just laid waste to his corporeal defences. For now, I have won.”

“1/10. Pray it does not go any lower.”

“What am I doing that’s unsatisfactory?!”

“The gloating, of course. It’s highly inappropriate.”

Marina’s mouth widened in outrage.

“You’re saying it’s inappropriate? … You were the one espousing how to do it! And I assure you I’m using every inch of my diaphragm! You cannot cherry pick minor faults for not doing it to your exact liking! Or am I supposed to be sending my defeated foes mocking letters now instead?”

I blinked.

My, that was an excellent idea! 

I could send a letter to all those I’d sentenced to Soap Island! Perhaps a refresher detailing their every mistake would assist in their rehabilitation? They could channel the grief into extra productivity!

“An excellent suggestion. And one I’ll consider in due course. Yet for now, I’m afraid the issue is far more than a minor fault. Because when mocking your fallen opponents, you must do so responsibly.” 

“What does that even mean?” asked Marina, clutching at a vein throbbing in her temple.

“It means there’s a time and a place to gloat. And that’s never when standing beside the same hole you punted your defeated foe through while merrily turning your back. That’s simply begging for a poetic response. Do you think dramatically timed comeuppance only exists in Ouzelia? What if the lich stabs you through the heart? The humiliation would be worse than any death!”

Indeed, gloating was like eating a cake in the middle of the night. It must be done sustainably. To do otherwise was to find a shadow leering overhead. And suddenly that was the last midnight escapade.

Just as this woman now belatedly realised.

Marina opened her mouth. Yet any complaints she had were sent towards the dark sky instead. Swishing around, the light filled her hands once more as she waited and watched.

Several moments passed.

“No signs of magic,” she said, sending a look of derision towards me. “No traces of evil, no aura of the undead. I have–”

“[Disintegrating Burst].”

Ensuring her 0/10 score, an irate looking man reappeared with a swipe of his hand.

Marina turned at once. It was too slow. 

As were her defences.

Bwooomph!

A blast of crackling magic struck her squarely in the face, sending her figure flying into the opposing wall. The sound of a brutal crack filled the air, of which only half came from the newly made fissure in the stonework. A fresh bloom of debris was sent hurtling in all directions, shrouding the chamber once more in a smog to match anything from a cauldron.

I gasped at the motionless silhouette appearing amidst the swirling dust.

“You … You fiend!” I said to the man floating back into his chamber. “How is she supposed to learn if she’s dead?! At this rate, she’ll never be able to gloat properly!”

The headmaster scowled.

With a perpetually republished book in one hand and dark magic wreathed in the other, he settled atop one of the few spots not to be on fire. The glance he sent towards the woman now stuck in a wall was far less caring than the one he offered to his surroundings.

“My office.”

“Your former office. One that’s in the process of being refurbished. And I do not require your assistance. Really now, just because Coppelia can survive being thrown into walls doesn’t mean everyone else can!”

Coppelia immediately started patting herself down. 

After a moment, she turned to me with a face lit with excitement.

“Woooo! It wasn’t me this time!”

The man paused for only a moment, before gesturing melodramatically at the new skylight behind him. Grief and fury fought to occupy his expression.

“There’s supposed to be an alcove here! A … A bookshelf!”

“It’s still a work-in-progress, yes. But rest assured, as soon as every suggestion you once dulled this tower with has been tidied away, you’ll be receiving a full invoice for services rendered. Please note that if you wish for a list of removed items, this will cost extra.”

Magic flared as an orb grew between his palms, mirroring the abyss overhead.

“You wretched, impertinent child,” he said, the jovial candour as gone as his dress sense. “The damage you’ve committed is incalculable! My earliest drafts were kept here! The beginning of my life’s work!”

“Is that so? … My, I had no idea. You should have told me earlier. The mould must have been devastating.”

The man threw up his arms in outrage. The magic held within his palms was released, crashing through the ceiling to a deluge of fresh debris. 

I peered up at the newly created attic and nodded. 

Unnecessary, but who was I to decline enthusiastic help?

“Do you have any idea of the harm you’ve caused to academia?!” The man waved the book in his hand. “This here! It is the future! And you have just caused irreparable damage to its past! Even the first draft I wrote is a scholastic reference! Every page I’ve written is indispensable!”

“I see. My apologies, then. I didn't mean to see such a valued thing destroyed. With that said, I believe maids are nothing if not resilient. I’m certain they’ll find something else to use as sponges.”

The headmaster’s teeth gnashed before me, such was his rush to voice his complaints.

“This is a disgrace! To come merrily waltzing into my office and treat it as dwarves would an unspoiled bar is one thing, but to also lay waste to history is an outrage beyond measure! It is a sacrilege to all who strive to better knowledge! An affront against–”

I held up my finger, silencing the tirade.

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

“Ohohohohohohhohohohoho!!”

Ignoring the newly created orb of pulsing magic directed towards me, I allowed the sweet lullaby of my amusement to echo throughout a chamber now lacking in acoustics, but not atmosphere. 

After all, when it came to my laughter, nothing allowed it to resound more than the appalled expressions of those who most disappointed me.

“... Do you think this is amusing, child?”

I allowed my laughter to fade, before leaning in and smiling. My one act of charity. 

The headmaster paused at once, the magic stuttering in his palm.

“Indeed, I do … but I also think this is a travesty. You chose the wrong career path, Headmaster. For one who jests so well, a fool’s cap would have suited you better than a robe.”

Bones cracked from the strength of a fist curling up.

“I am a lich!” came the response, as outraged as it was aggrieved. “Have you not the slightest sense of the disparity in strength between us?! I was discovering the secrets to death before the first unwelcome thought of you even existed! This lack of respect is absurd! If you were one of my apprentices, I would have you peeling the eyes of newts for this impertinence!”

“... Oh? Perhaps you should ask to borrow those eyes. I see that while lichdom has preserved your bones, it hasn’t your sight.” 

“My sight is exemplary! I can see as far as the stars can reach!”

“And yet you fail to see who’s in front of you. If you did, you would know that I do not lay waste to history. I write it. And I’m afraid you fail to feature even as a footnote.”

The magic in the peasant’s hand didn’t die. But the wild outrage did.

It was replaced by a cold look of disregard. One far too late to shake the hints of wrinkles breaking through his feigned appearance.

“I am Alberic Terschel,” he said, as though to remind himself as much as his audience. “A mage far older than you can imagine, child–and I dare say you should learn to respect your elders.”

I gave it a moment’s thought, then nodded.

“Very well, far be it for anyone to claim I do not show my proper respects. Coppelia, please give me a number between 1 and 1,000,000.”

“0.5~!”

“0.5 it is, then. Out of respect for your long years of service to roaches everywhere, I shall include you in the annals of history. Rejoice, you shall be referred to as Peasant #0.5 somewhere in the official appendices, who amongst all peasants shall be noted for his poor colour coordination. May you strive hard in the future, so that one day you become a whole number.”

Suddenly, the peasant offered a hard smile.

“I see … then I suppose I’ll return the invitation. For in Observations Of The Grave, I have a work to redefine history. The finest necromancers, warlocks and blood mages the world over will study it when performing their first and last rituals. And you have just brazenly walked yourself into the final pages.” 

“What is brazen is not accepting the generous retirement package of obscurity and thanklessness the kingdom offers all its subjects. Instead, here you are, clinging like a barnacle on a net nobody wants to touch. A shame that for all your years, you did not learn the virtue of bowing out with dignity.”

The magic flared between his palms. As did the light in his eyes.

“For that, I’m afraid you’ll need to provide an example, Lady B-Rank Adventurer.”

Ughhh.

I clutched at my heart, struck by more damage than any spell he could cast.

“I do not know how you aided Miss Lainfont’s escape. But your grand entrance was wasted. Twice. Sadly for you both, as gruesomely impressive as it is to see magic strung together with the grace of a barbarian mashing mud, I’ve lived far too long to be defeated by connivery. I am, after all, functionally immortal.”

I took in a deep breath, valiantly recovering from the strike against my dignity.

And then–

I raised Starlight Grace, its blade shimmering against the flames gnawing away at the chamber.

“Functional is a very bold small print, Headmaster.”

Beside me, Coppelia twisted to the side, ready to bring forth a scythe of pure darkness. 

It would not be needed. 

After all, I was a princess, not the … disgraceful thing this man called me. To bludgeon oneself against an avatar of undeath was something highwaymen hoping to rob my grandmother as she hobbled along the road did. And while fighting a lich wasn’t nearly as dangerous, it was still deeply inappropriate.

No, to set my sword against bones was hardly something I intended. Not on a normal day. And certainly not when he himself had foolishly revealed his weakness.

Yes.

The tears of every sister of the Holy Church!

I would not strike him with my sword … but rather with what he feared most!

I would punt him straight into the arms of the Holy Church! … Repeatedly, if they sent him back!

Ohhohohohohohoho!

Why should I risk myself against the odour of a peasant when the Holy Church was all too happy to take them in? Given this man’s position, I was more than certain he had enough donations to spare for his own holy smiting!

Indeed, I could even deliver him straight to Reitzlake Cathedral! 

Why, I’m certain the bureaucrats masquerading as clerics would be all too happy for their litany of hidden holy artifacts they kept buried for just this one purpose to be revealed to our tax inspectors!

All the vaults of the Royal Institute of Mages and the Holy Church … revealed in a single sweep!

Oho … ohoho … ohohoohhoohoho!!

Genius. I … I was a genius!

This fool with the nerve to underestimate my unparalleled intellect! Did he truly think I’d pause only to consider how to destroy him? That he was the only rodent threatening my petunias?

Ohohohohoho! … Naïve! 

I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess of the Kingdom of Tirea!

At every moment, the strands of a thousand plots woven from the yarn of my mind sought ever to wrap themselves around the ankles of my foes, tripping them until they fell like dominoes upon each other’s backs! 

Ohohoho … why, if I could elicit a single day’s work from the Holy Church for my effort, then this was merely the most pedestrian of my schemes! 

A strike of two birds with one holy stone!

Given his face, I was all but certain the sisters would spill their burning holy tears over him without even asking!

Fwwwooooooooooooosssshh.

A problem, then.

Because when it came to melting this particular lich, there was a queue.

And Marina Lainsfont had reserved hers while rolled up as a caterpillar.

Suddenly, as though in answer to my internal laughter, the sound of fresh flames licked the air. And all eyes turned towards the solitary figure rising amidst them.

The dust had settled around Marina’s figure … only to be replaced by smoke instead.

It rose around her … on her, enshrouding her in a cloak more silken than any thread. The black threads twisted and turned, billowing to a wind that came not from the chasm in the wall. 

But it was the hair falling past her shoulders that came most alive.

Dishevelled. Torn. But filled with movement.

More than chestnut coloured the strands now. A shifting kaleidoscope painted the fluttering ends … blazing, dying, and born constantly anew. Golden as the missing sun. Copper as the last whisper of dusk. And scarlet as the flames which rose to adorn her cloak of shifting smoke.

She stood silhouetted as though before a smouldering hearth. 

Trickles of blood ran past her lips and down her cheeks, burning white where they ran. As they dripped from her chin, the blood boiled through the floorboards like acid in a cauldron.

Wordlessly, Marina began to walk towards us, her movement serene enough to glide upon a lake. 

With each step, she elevated herself upon invisible steps. But that didn’t stop the floorboards from breaking, nor the very air itself from wavering … melting like a horizon in a faraway desert. 

Only her eyes defied the heat. 

Silver as the surface of a frozen lake, they were cold and callous. Dishes of unmoving ice amidst a searing squall.

Then, she paused and raised her palm as though to catch a raindrop. 

Only symbols appeared, spelling a message none else could read. Marina clasped her hand, and like a book snapping to a close, the symbols vanished between the pages. As she released her fingers, it was to a dozen fluttering songbirds dribbling with embers.

The melody they sang was one of enmity, death and a crown of flames forming upon her brow.

“Heheh … heheheeh … haahhahaha.”

Her laughter resounded like the giggling of a mischievous child.

I turned to the lich at once, whose mouth was wide enough to inhale all the smoke.

“Everything she breaks, you are paying for.”