The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

The lich was ecstatic, his laughter triumphant before trailing off into a self-assured wheeze.

“... Ah, but you were so close,” he said towards the dimming light. “My accolades to the wielder of such an unseen weapon. Just a breath more, a prayer louder, and perhaps you would have been saved. Alas, for it is the need to breathe that separates the greatest from the great–and also the living from the dead.”

I removed the unfashionable spectacles, tossing them away into my bottomless pouch.

They were no longer needed.

Slowly, but surely, the silhouette of the sun faded as the lich’s spell widened once more.

Emerging from that wound in my sky was the very tip of a fingernail. The streaks of sunlight clamouring to return were denied, and all that remained was a darkness so visceral it was practically bleeding.

A scene of utter bleakness … and of all the things to make me groan, it was still second to Coppelia’s impersonation of a bunny as she hopped wildly while applauding.

“This is soooooo amazing~! Look! Look at it! Do you see it?!”

“Yes, Coppelia. I see it.”

“The very tip of a nail! And it belongs to a literal being of divinity! I can’t believe I get to experience this before we all turn to dust!”

My mouth widened at the suggestion.

“E-Excuse me! But we are not turning to dust!”

“You are turning to dust,” said the lich unhelpfully. “Struggle all you wish, adventurer. Your part is done. This is the end. Even should only Lady Umbra’s fingertip emerge, it is more than enough to claim a kingdom’s worth of the finest light available. The spark of life. She comes to invite you into the darkness. And in the spirit of clarity, I will confirm this means your departure from this world.”

He paused for a moment.

“... That is to say, she will kill you.”

I turned my disapproving finger towards the skull. It stopped swaying at once.

“Rejected. You may have an obsession with the grave, but I do not. My place is amidst the clouds. Literally and figuratively. I have a tower waiting for me, and the only darkness I intend to face is the alarming crevasse within my pillow.”

The lich chuckled.

I hardly saw why. It was no laughing matter. I once had to summon the maids just to pull me out.

“Perhaps you should plead to meet your demise there, then. Lady Umbra is unlikely to heed your words, but as her faithful servant, I’m willing to humour you on her behalf.”

“Thank you. But I’m more than capable of making my own opinions heard. Particularly to a mere lady.”

The lich’s eye sockets arched inwards in a frown.

“Lady Umbra is unlike any mere lady you’ve met. She will not deign to offer you any turn of her ear.”

“My, isn’t that well, then? … After all, I don’t intend to use words.”

I ignored the lich’s open jaw and looked up.

Usually, a wrinkled nose was enough to convey my deepest thoughts. But such was the gravity of the insult, not even my nose combined with my brows could deliver the chastisement this Goddess of Gaucherie managed to deserve.

Her entire presence was an outrage to decorum.

Specifically … the fact she wasn’t even pretending to be stark raving drunk!

Why, that was the very first step to gatecrashing!

Did she think she was the first lady to turn up uninvited? That was a road all nobility walked! 

Feigning drunkenness! Seducing the guards! Then sneakily following behind someone with an actual invitation when the guards asked if they could simply be bribed with coins instead! This was a process as old as the very first soirée!

She was instead barging through, fingernail first, and likely with a fist to follow for all I knew! 

… How was I supposed to overlook this?!

Protocol was the strand that separated nobility from commoners!

Even so, here was a lady flinging even that thinnest of lines away! An uninvited guest so devoid of grace she intruded without at least creating a scene at the door, bottle of Château de Malbreaux in one hand and a fistful of soggy napkins in the other!

The gall was beyond compare!

No … for such a vulgar breach of propriety, only the curtest of responses was fitting.

Thus, my hand gripped tightly around Starlight Grace, its dazzling light undaunted even against the renewed darkness. The lich’s mouth remained wide open at the sight, as was only appropriate.

It was several more moments before the first hint of a word came out.

“I cannot tell if you are desperate or foolish. But I suppose I should expect nothing else than to take comfort in the weight of a stick. Tell me, do you intend to stab the Goddess of Darkness?”

I shook my head ruefully.

“Were that only possible … no, I intend to do something far worse.”

“Excuse me? And what does that entail? Waving the sword menacingly at her, perhaps?”

“No, lich … I shall instil in her a regret deeper than the void from which she comes, to take with her into the depths of her nightmares. I shall offer a memento to nurse and to mourn as she cradles what once was. A memory of today’s sorrow, gnawing away at her soul for all the nights to come.”

A din of disbelief met me.

And also … the slightest hesitation.

I took a deep breath as I eyed the nail, still brazenly directed towards me. 

It was one thing to turn up uninvited, but to continue laying waste to first impressions by suggesting I was some curio in a shop basement to be pointed at was beyond tactless. If she desired my attention, she needed to curtsy so I could ignore her like everyone else. 

But until then–

I would need to have her ejected at the door.

And there was only one response guaranteed to usher a lady away where no public scorn could.

“... I will chip her nail.”

Silence.

All except for a lich’s creaking, widening jaw. 

And no wonder. To threaten a lady’s nail was the most terse act one could do. Goddess or not, none could do anything but recoil should one’s nail be harmed.

“You ... You cannot be serious?”

“I am deadly serious.”

The lich’s stare became grave.

“Young lady. That is no heaven-wrought sword you possess. Half the enchantments are only good for warding away coffee stains, not divine beings. You cannot harm Lady Umbra even if you spent a lifetime hacking and slashing at her. It doesn’t matter if it’s her palm or the very tip of her nail. She is a goddess of the celestial realms.” 

“And yet her nail isn’t in the celestial realms. It is in my kingdom.”

“That is irrelevant. A goddess whose powers are curtailed is still a goddess. To have her even acknowledge your existence like a flea to a dragon, you would need something beyond compare. A weapon or spell forged with the most powerful properties of every magic discipline available.” 

“... Much like yours, then?”

“Much like mine.” The lich dared to chuckle, even with his patron above him. “Certainly, if I wanted to, I could draw Lady Umbra’s wrath. But you are not a mage. And you are not me.”

“Clearly so, as I wouldn’t voice blasphemy so soon against a goddess I summoned. That is terrible for first impressions.”

“Her first impressions are what I offer. And I offer is all she can see. With you being the first. Perhaps the illumination spell on your sword will capture her attention now that the lighthouse has fallen silent.” 

I responded with a bright smile. Just in case my sword failed. 

“I certainly hope so. It shall make things easier. For I intend to offer more than my sword.”

Ignoring the lich’s disbelief, I swept past his swaying skeleton … and made my way over to the rubble where he had emerged.

“What are you doing?” he asked, bones creaking as he failed to twist around.

“This.”

I leaned down and scooped up the lich’s tome.

Observations Of The Grave.

The reaction was immediate. 

Hoarse laughter filled the air once again. A disservice to the stale cover and the weight of a foreword undoubtedly longer than the entirety of my own books. 

“I see desperation has multiple stages,” he scoffed. “Put down that book, girl. You will find no means to defeat Lady Umbra within those pages. It is not for the minds of adventurers, but scholars.”

“Is that so? Then I’d be well-suited to scoring it in the negatives. But do not worry, I’ve little intention of reading it. I fear for my palms should the ink smudge.”

“That would be a feat greater than harming Lady Umbra’s nail. The words are as permanent as the pages they’re written on. This is the definitive 13th edition of my work. And I would be a poor writer and a poorer mage if I allowed it to be damaged by anything the hands of an adventurer could do.”

I gave it a cursory flick. I regretted it at once. It had a musk even moths would turn their noses against.

“And what about the hands of a Witch of Calamity as well? Indeed, it seems quite impervious. Miss Lainsfont burned away your magic, stripping you as bare as a vulture. And yet the dullness of this cover remains unscathed.”

“The cover is deliberate! The design professional!”

“Then I congratulate you. As a book designed to help the others beside it sell, it is an undisputed work of marketing. Better writers will rush to buy it to place beside their works. Little wonder you assign more value upon it than yourself.”

“The insult!” cried the lich, rattling from his elbow. “My work dwarfs over my competitors!” 

“All that says is that it needs an editor.”

“It needs no editor! It is the finest piece of scholarly literature ever written! All I have worked for and all I will be remembered for is written within these pages, remaining long after the shadow of Lady Umbra has swept aside the crumbs of this kingdom! It is the complete reference to necromancy! The most forbidden of tomes in a genre filled with prohibited works! It can teach apprentices how to lay waste to empires! It can teach archmages how to raise those same empires! A thousand years from now, adventurers with more wit than yourself will be thrusting daggers into each other’s backs to claim it amidst all the gold and silver in a dragon king’s hoard! It is my eternal legacy! … Because of this book, I am immortal. Do you understand its value now?!”  

I offered a beautiful smile.

“Yes, I believe I do.”

The lich’s mouth opened, then paused as he suddenly stilled. The ire vanished, replaced by a silence which spoke more than any words. 

An unnecessary regret.

After all, he’d only told me what I already knew.

“... To cast such powerful spells on something you treasure is not strange,” I said, turning the unblemished book over in my hand. “But had you wanted to preserve it, it would be less strenuous and significantly more practical to simply scribe more copies. I imagine such a thing isn’t beyond you.”

“It is entirely beyond me,” he replied at once. “For it is better to make one book forever lasting than to see a thousand eventually left to rot and decay. This way, only the deserving may read it. Over one another’s corpses, if need be.”

“And how wonderful that is, for all that blood to continually gather like a vampire’s dream bath. I imagine you’ll find use for it. After all, what is a phylactery, if not a thoroughly unpleasant thing?”

The lich offered no response. 

That was fine. I wasn’t finished.

“There’s merit in making an item of value a phylactery,” I offered kindly. “Fewer would seek to harm it. But there are better choices. Fortunately, for all the weaknesses lichdom expels, pride is not one of them. I imagine more would have gone on to see their plans come to fruition had they simply made a common spoon as a phylactery instead of their life’s endeavour.”

A moment of silence passed, broken only by the breeze sweeping across the field.

Then–the lich chuckled.

“When we are reduced to our bones, pride is all we have. I would not throw it away for the world.” 

“No? Then that’s fine … I will throw it away for you. Coppelia, could you assist?”

“I’m ready!~”

I offered the book to my loyal handmaiden’s waiting hands. 

She immediately took it with a beaming smile, then raised it like a trophy.

“You cannot harm it,” said the lich at once, the gall mixing with the bewilderment in his voice. “Have you not heard a word I said? You cannot hope to even smudge it. I see no reason why you would throw it. That is a churlish act of no consequence.”

I smiled.

Then, I raised Starlight Grace … and began to swirl.

All at once, leaves were lifted all around me as I rotated the very tip of my sword.

“What … What are you doing?” he asked, eye sockets widening.

The answer came as a tiny puff of wind … and also my beautiful laughter.

“Ohhohohoohohohoho!!”

The lich was rendered speechless.

Indeed, what could the hands of a gentle maiden do? 

The spellwork enshrouding that tome was enough to repulse what its naturally dull cover could not. A truly remarkable thing. Especially to withstand the effects of witchfire.

A lich’s phylactery … drenched in every forbidden spell, ward and enchantment all the years of sneezing past piles of musky tomes had offered. And why not? It was the box which held his soul. It did not matter if his skeleton was vulnerable, so long as the secret to his immortality wasn’t.

Here was the true strength of a lich.

Not in the magic he wielded. But in the magic he could repel. And while I had no doubt my sword could pierce any defences, I would not subject Starlight Grace to life as an axe wielded by a woodcutter or a werewolf.

For whether it was a lich’s soul or a goddess’s fingernail, I must uphold my pride as a princess of the realm … just as Clarise had!

She had hurled a lance like a shooting star. And I would not shame my family by doing less.

Sadly, I had no lance available to me. 

Nor a mailbox. 

Nor a duck.

But what I did have … were two immortal problems, and one very brief solution.

“... Ohhohohohohohoho!!”

Thus, I allowed my laughter to ring out as clearly as the swishing of my blade.

Nature awoke as the swaying grass and the branches creaking in the distance. Leaves and twigs lifted from the ground, the colours illuminated as they danced amidst the gathering breeze.

Soon, the colours were joined by a myriad of other shades. 

Yellow buttercups scooped from the grass. 

White dandelions as large as roses. 

And blue arcs of crackling energy, setting those same buttercups and dandelions alight as they became trails of flashing embers instead. Blackened rubble began to shift. Lashing sparks flashing to life amidst the swirling gust.

I nodded … all the while leaning slightly away.

Yes.

This was, indeed, an effective way of removing weeds. 

And the moment I could utilise my Mark III Prototype [Spring Breeze] without also removing the rest of my orchard, I would happily use it as often as … absolutely never. 

Because as much as I took pride in this most delicate of gardening techniques, a very … very small part of me couldn’t help but wonder if it didn’t look just mildly sinister.

“Wooosh~”

A moment later–the ball of primordial energy was joined by a book casually tossed into the mix. 

“What are you doing … ?” asked the lich, his bones rattling as loud as his disbelief. “What is … how are …”

I offered a pleasant smile, soothing away all his concerns.

“I have a question, Headmaster.” 

“You have a question?! I … I have a question! What is this?! How are you … what am I seeing?!” 

“Merely an experiment in process. Specifically, to see what happens should two invincible objects collide. … Say, a lich’s phylactery and a goddess’s nail.”

The lich’s eye sockets were almost as wide as his mouth.

“You cannot be serious.”

“My, there’s no need to cast doubt on my sincerity. When it comes to my personal studies, I am always serious.”

“Stop!” The lich suddenly fought against the breeze, his bones snapping into place as the healing properties of my laugh revived him. Too little, too late. “Do not dare! It would be … It would be a–”

I placed my free hand to my ear.

“Hm? It would be a … what, Headmaster? I didn’t quite catch that. I’m quite poor at listening, you see, so you must speak clearly or else I shall never learn.” 

“Stop! You cannot send my phylactery into Lady Umbra!”

“There’s much I cannot do. Being poor, for example. But if it’s rescinding an invitation you had no right to offer, then that’s well within my jurisdiction.”

“Do not do this! You shall gain only the wrath of two beings beyond your comprehension! You will spell your doom, burning for an age and a half! This will achieve nothing!”

I offered a look of studious curiosity. 

My tutors would weep in joy had they seen it. This headmaster should be doing the same.

“Is that so? … I suppose there’s only one way to find out. Life is a learning lesson, after all. And nobody is exempt. Not even the undead.”

I pointed towards the Goddess of Darkness. 

The ball of swirling, crackling wind teetered alarmingly.

And then–

“[Spring breeze]!!” 

A lich’s soul was sent hurtling into the sky.

PWOOOOOOOOOOOOOMPH!!

And myself in the opposite direction.

“–Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!”

My feet promptly left the ground. 

The world became a single blur. And all memory of why I rarely used my Mark III Prototype [Spring Breeze] came rushing back at the same speed that I was sent hurtling back all the way into the familiar cushion that was Coppelia’s arms.

“Wheeeeeeeee~”

Her joy was all I heard as my vision became an indecipherable haze of circling stars in my eyes, not helped as she swung me around several times. 

Eventually, she slowed, put me down, then picked me up again as I immediately fell over. 

After waiting more moments, she allowed me to find my footing … helped by the fact I could actually see where the ground was.

In fact–

I could see everything.

Because as I peered up, arms balancing for dear life, it was to the sight of the darkness not only rescinding … but also crumbling.

As though the threads of a spell had been severed, the darkness was becoming undone. 

Streaks of sunlight pierced through. And what it revealed was the seamless black gloss upon a fingernail receding like the tide.

All except for a single blemish.

Unseen to all but the eyes of a princess, I saw a tiny scuff where the gloss didn’t shine. 

It lasted only a moment before it was painted over. 

The smallest of cosmetic imperfections, courtesy of a lich’s phylactery, a princess’s ire, and the rejection by a mortal realm she did not belong. The fingernail drew away as if to avoid a window being slammed shut … for it was more than a lich’s soul which had been destroyed.

It was the magic which bound it.

The blackened horizon began to fully disintegrate, mirroring the destruction of the phylactery. A scattering of pages drifted down, first covered in miasma, then in flames as they were caught by streaks of sunlight. 

The black words of a lich’s most prized work, burning against the vengeful day.

But as for the lich in question–

“Stop … stop! Stop, I say! … Curses, no!"

I turned to see him untangled from his own bones.

Hands to his head, here was a model of the saddest skeleton to be studied in anatomy lessons. 

Then, he swiftly turned to me with his fists clenched. 

“You … do you have any idea how long it will take to replicate this? Any of this?”

“I do not. And neither will you. You have no phylactery. And now no more schemes.”

The lich raised his hands in response.

To my immense disappointment, magic swirled in each.

“This is not the end,” he said, somehow ignoring Coppelia’s scythe twirling excitedly in a way which spelled it very much was. “The loss of my phylactery does not mean the loss of my magic. And I’ve still two more spells remaining to me.”

I smiled in delight.

“Excellent. You may use one for conjuring the key for the tower’s vaults, and the other for conjuring the cart to help me loot … I mean, loot … yes, loot the priceless artifacts within.”

I could almost see the lips pursing in indignation.

The next moment–

“[Charming Façade].”

I actually could.

Not quite earning Coppelia’s scythe just yet, wisps of colourful smoke enveloped the lich’s figure. And what appeared was the flesh and face of a headmaster whose likeability only plummeted as a result.

After all–

He was once again naked.

I was utterly appalled.

“H-How dare you!” I said, raising Starlight Grace at once. “Did you truly just use one of your last drops of magic to attack my eyes?! Why couldn’t you have disintegrated me instead?!”

The headmaster chuckled.

Utterly blind to his predicament and to his defacement of public decency, he merely allowed a jovial smile to sit upon his newly stitched face.

“There’s still time,” he replied, as the remaining magic swirled around his other hand. “Especially for a lich. But not while my phylactery is destroyed, when escape is unlikely and where I find myself already in range of both a sharpened stick and a farming instrument.”

Coppelia looked aghast.

She immediately stopped playing with her scythe, instead nudging it inches from the man’s rapidly dropping smile.

“Hey! Does something this cool look like a pitchfork? … Because if so, I can farm your head!”

The man swallowed a gulp as he leaned slightly back.

Then, he forced that smile to return.

“I’d prefer not. I have little intention for my last moments to be as a mottled skeleton, nor as a headless one. I am Alberic Terschel. Headmaster of the Royal Institute of Mages. My goal has ever been to defy the great enemy that is time. I will not be defeated here. For there are more ways than a phylactery to achieve immortality.”

The magic flared in his hand. But just like his glamour, it wasn’t aimed towards us.

“[Petrify].”

It was towards himself.

The stone spread instantly, beginning from his feet. More than enough time for him to adopt a ridiculous pose, one hand on his hip, the other reaching out as though clasping an object in his hand. 

His eyes glanced towards us, his smile fixed as he attempted to speak while moving his lips as little as possible. 

“I want an orb in my hand,” he declared, utterly unconcerned with the grey hue seizing him. “Something impressive. And large. Do not cheapen out on hiring an excellent sculptor, or it will ruin the effect. And use stone from Lissoine. It is higher quality and longer lasting.”

The stone spread all the way up. And still his only concern was the appearance of the statue to come. A final testament to his madness. But also his unyielding desire to fulfil his own purpose. 

And that I could respect.

Thus, I offered the headmaster a nod … ensuring he saw as I opened my palm out to Coppelia. She duly opened up her pouch and offered me a paintbrush.

“Don’t you dare!” he snapped at once, his curated face breaking into a look of outrage. “I swear, I will bring darkness down upon you more than any goddess ever could! I will utterly–” 

Whatever his final vow was, it was never revealed.

The stone took his face, enshrining his look of grief. 

I promptly poked him with the tip of my sword. 

Nothing happened. And so I went to work on my kingdom’s newest asset.

A flourish here. A circle there. A curly dash somewhere else.

And then–

I looked upon a statue of a headmaster, now complete with a pirate’s eyepatch, an extra twirly moustache and also a pointy goatee. 

Coppelia leaned in to study the masterwork.

“Hmm … 8/10.”

I was indignant.

“8/10? What are you judging? His expression of grief? … Because that’s a 7/10 at most.”

“Nope~ I’m judging the random squiggles. Mine were better.” 

“E-Excuse me! My random squiggles are clearly more refined!”

Clap clap clap clap clap.

“... Why, even my audience agrees!”

I turned around at the sound of generous applause. And then I felt Starlight Grace’s weight drop like an anchor in my hand, as even my fabled sword shared in my overwhelming and sudden dismay. 

A lich. A goddess. A witch. A devil.

All of these things I’d seen away. 

And yet in all that time, the true darkness had only become stronger.

A row of guild receptionists, each applauding with the fervency of an entire crowd.

… And to my horror, all of them wore that same smile.