The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

In the middle of a busy marketplace, the foundations of a bonfire had been readied.

It was a familiar scene up and down the Kingdom of Tirea, where throughout every village and town, preparations were underway to pay tribute to summer’s bounty and the passing of another year.

Although every celebration paled in comparison to the grandeur of the royal capital’s Summer Solstice Festival, the amount of joy derived was no less.

This even applied in places which didn’t have an official name yet.

On Soap Island, public consultations were currently underway to decide what to call the port which made its home there.

A problem given the diversity of all involved in the process.

Those from nearby Trierport favoured a name in keeping with the naming conventions of the rest of the kingdom. The witches wished to keep it nameless in order to elevate its mystique. The goblins wanted to call it Goblin Invasion Staging Ground 1 in order to deliberately horrify the other kingdoms nearby.

There was little need for them to be afraid, of course–so long as the goblins were still laughing.

But while its many residents, visitors and workers were arguing over the future name of the kingdom’s latest asset, the port itself continued to grow at a pace matched only by the ability of the island to churn out building material.

A task the miners were more than happy to meet.

Being originally volcanic in nature, there was no lack of stone to satisfy the needs of the Masonry Guild. The port had once been a pirate haven, yet little of its past identity could now be seen.

Blocks of dark grey basalt had slowly eaten away at the wooden shanty houses, turning what was once the home of lawlessness into a modern town of paved streets and well-chiselled stone.

In fact, there was only one obvious indication that this was once a pirate haven.

A statue with an eyepatch, a twirly moustache and a pointy goatee.

All of which somebody had clearly drawn … and not particularly well.

Marina raised an eyebrow.

She shifted her bag of ingredients to one arm, lifted her free hand and pointed.

“[Fireball].”

Nothing but a flicker of a spark answered her … and also the indignant expression upon the petrified form of Headmaster Alberic Terschel.

She adjusted her bag of ingredients once again, then continued on her way.

To most on this island, the grumpy statue was another curiosity that made up its odd character.

But to Marina, it was her daily ritual.

She used the headmaster to see if her magic was the same as yesterday, but also as a reminder that however frustrated she might feel, somebody had it worse.

It rarely worked.

Marina was conflicted.

Except this time it wasn’t a choice between skipping the horwick root or charging her customers more and losing business which consumed her thoughts. It was the loss of what she’d known since the first day she could defend herself against a fruit slime.

Magic. And all that came with it.

Mages were uncommon. In human predominant kingdoms, approximately 10% of the population was attuned to magic in some way, while less than 1% were genuine spellcasters able to use it in their daily lives.

Of that percentage, only a few would go on to become mages able to handle themselves in battle. And only one was able to effectively use it along with a cauldron to its full potential.

It was a loss for the world of magecraft and alchemy.

Even so, Marina found herself missing the small things. Her knees and elbows now creaked under the weight of having to move and hold things more than her muscles were ever used to.

But it was worth it.

After all, the alternative was outright calamity and the degradation of her soul. A point the witches of the Hexenkreis Clan were keen to remind her of as they occasionally poked and prodded her to see if the burning rage simmering within her decided to retaliate.

Which it did. Often in the form of a bar of soap.

Yes.

Soap.

It was her rehabilitation, punishment and humiliation rolled into several different shapes and sizes, although most often as a rounded oblong prism.

Marina was to craft soap.

An utter waste of her alchemical talents … and yet it wasn’t due to indignation that she was discontent.

Or at least it wasn’t only that.

It was also the knowledge that she could do it better with magic.

With the vague promise of release dependent on her crafting talents, it didn’t take long for her to imagine a suitable spell formula, even if the truth was that soap was only a minor part of the equation.

Marina was still the Witch of Calamity, and it was unlikely she’d be allowed to wander so long as the curse of calamity was kept at bay by the whims of the Summer Queen.

Sadly, if there was anything less reliable than the balms sold by her competitors, it was the fae.

Although she was relieved to have survived, she also wished there was another way.

… Until then, however, she was to craft soap.

Lots and lots of soap.

A quota had been placed on her. Just as it had on others.

“Right. That was your last warning, Background Tree. We told you what would happen if you tried building a raft again. It’s off to the soap mines with you.”

“Wait, stop! I don’t want to go back! Stop, please, noooooooo.”

Marina stepped to the side as a man with muddied hair was dragged away by a pair of guards, parts of a makeshift escape boat practically hugged to his chest.

That would be his 17th escape attempt since Marina had arrived.

Another victim of … her charity, given the less than kind words he often spoke when he assumed none of the guards were listening.

A common feature given the others she’d encountered in this small port. But that didn’t mean all who came to this island at that girl’s pleasure bore ill-will for it.

On the contrary … some were positively beaming.

Every. Single. Day.

“Oh, Miss Lainsfont! Good afternoon! Would you happen to have a moment of time? I was hoping you could critique my latest work. It’s not quite finished yet, but if there’s anything which you feel can be improved upon, I would be very grateful to know!”

Marina sighed.

A moment later, she reluctantly turned around.

What she saw made her immediately wish she didn’t need eyeballs anymore.

An enormous portrait was being held up, completely shielding the person behind it.

However, even if the size had been smaller, nothing could have distracted from the face of an adventurer who very few seemed to know was actually Princess Juliette Contzen.

The painter was one of them.

She peeked around the frame of the portrait.

An exceptionally pretty girl with blonde hair and soft grey eyes.

It was clear from her appearance and manner of speech alone that she was nobility. But in case Marina had any doubts, the girl had practically been the first to greet her upon arrival, somehow already aware that she had known the princess.

There was no roundtable of slander, though.

Instead, the girl had co-opted her as an accuracy checker of the many portraits she scattered throughout the island presumably just to break her ankles.

“What do you think?” asked Baroness Arisa Sandholt, her long eyelashes fluttering with worry. “… As I said, it’s still a work in progress. If there’s anything you feel can be improved–”

“It’s fine.”

“Truly? There’s nothing–”

“No. It’s fine. Completely accurate.”

Indeed, Marina could spot nothing awry about the portrait.

The gentle and not at all cackling smile? Normal. The glow of light instead of the seeping aura of villainy? Normal. The angelic wings extending beyond the portrait? Normal.

“My, thank you so much! I was thinking about perhaps presenting this to Princess Florella, and if possible, to Princess Juliette as well! I’m hoping she’ll like it.”

“I’m certain she will, yes. Excuse me, but I have places to be now.”

“Oh, of course! My apologies for taking up your time. May I ask if you’ll be at the sermon later?”

“No, I won’t be.”

Baroness Arisa nodded, clearly withholding her pleas.

Even so, she’d said them before and would receive the same answers if she said them again.

… No, the girl would wait until Marina was more tired.

A lot more tired.

After all, she’d need to be utterly incapacitated before she agreed from a delirious lack of sleep to take part in the most bizarre offshoot of the Holy Church she had ever heard of.

As Marina made her way to the exit of the marketplace, a new wooden sign caught her eye.

Soap Island Chapel

Visiting Hours: Midday-Dusk

To deposit a donation outside of working hours, please leave it on the doorstep.

Small and diminutive, it matched the chapel it was marking.

In what had likely once been a bar, this holy establishment was one of the few buildings near the docks to have retained its wooden aesthetic. That lent it a quaintness and warmth lacking in the stonework around it.

An ordinary chapel on an otherwise unique island.

However … the sister within was anything but normal.

Marina had only seen her a handful of times.

A young woman with mousy brown hair and a sister’s habit tending to her flock. She was so unassuming that even with her holy garments, she was easy to miss.

Yet come the evening, her regular services were suspended to instead lure as many people as she could into what rumours horrifyingly called … The Cult of Juliette.

Marina shivered, then quickly hurried away.

She didn’t know how. She didn’t know why.

All she knew was that somehow, this sister was convinced that the princess was the vengeful avatar of Lady Sophista, Goddess of Justice.

As a result, Sister Rieze was all too willing to offer a path to salvation for anyone who sought something more rigorous than the usual absolvement the Holy Church provided.

However, although Marina had yet to meet anyone who’d taken up the offer of a sermon, there was at least one group who were already willing to show deference to the princess's name.

Except that since it was goblins, that made the whole thing hopelessly suspicious.

Rather than wrinkling their noses, the local goblins were more than happy to occasionally praise her in a way that suggested she was less their benefactor and more their overlord.

That probably explained the castle … fortress … thing.

Passing beneath the shadow of the Citadel of Woe, Marina could spot where the bulk of the goblins were, to such an extent that it was a wonder how so few of them were ever seen in the port.

They made their home in the same thing they were building. A towering menace of spikes, battlements and ominously lit windows. While the basalt had been taken up by the port, the blacker emberstone was used exclusively for the fortress.

It was a sight to worry anyone not accustomed to the strangeness of the island. Except that most people who came here had to be strange in the first place.

That was truest for the other group of inhabitants.

Witches.

“Good afternoon, Marina!”

“Hello, Marina! You look even more shining today! Did you change your hair?”

“Oh, Marina! Would you like to collect some herbs from my garden? I grew them just today.”

“I’ll be visiting the bar later, so save a seat for me, Marina!”

They were so … nice.

It was almost unbearable.

Perhaps it was because she was the one carrying the curse that they were so polite towards her. Yet gratitude born of obligation was not sincerity, and she could feel nothing but warmth.

There were no ulterior motives. No tactics to get shop discounts.

Instead, they appeared to be exceptionally friendly.

Which was well for everyone.

Because for all their oddities, they were also quite powerful.

Unlike the port or the fortress, the witches had relocated more than they’d built their village.

The teapot homes had made their return, now with a beach instead of a forest.

Even so, that didn’t stop them from simply growing one. Amidst the rocky landscape, the sprouts of trees had begun to take form, earning the delight of the 1st princess who hoped to add them as decoration throughout the port.

In truth, the princess should look past the trees and more towards the herbs growing in the gardens, many of which had combined with the minerals in the soil to unexpected effect.

It was, admittedly, a point of interest.

Although Marina was cursed to make soap, the quality of them couldn’t be denied. The feeling of grease which plagued her upon waking up had significantly lessened, allowing at least some of the compliments about her to feel genuine.

There were also her popular ointments as well–many of which sold out by midday.

After all, Witch of Calamity or not, crowns were still needed, especially since of all the things to relocate, her father’s bar wasn’t one of them.

That had to be built from the ground up, even if magic did accelerate the process.

The Wandering Princess

Marina grimaced as she always did when passing beneath the sign.

Within the common room of her new home, patrons had already gathered inside, half of which were from the witchly village and half from the port. It was a sign of quality that despite the glut of bars, many still came to enjoy the worst named bar that the entire world had to offer.

Still, Marina couldn’t allow that to outshine her obligations.

She represented her family business, after all.

With her shopkeeper’s smile, she made her way past the guests, nodding as they greeted her, before hurrying upstairs with the quick padding of a child returning from the weekly chapel schooling.

There was no flopping on the bed for her today, though.

She had to meet her day’s soap quota. And she needed to make balms for the alchemy menu. One building, two businesses.

Entering her alchemy workshop, she was instantly met by a pungency made significantly weaker by the industrial grade chimney built for her use. A far cry from the kitchen she was used to, continually filled with fumes.

With professional ventilation, it took a lot for any dangerously coloured smoke to fill the room before she could fan it away.

Most often, it was a spoiled reagent, a secondary contamination, or …

Fwoosh.

… the logs beneath the cauldron suddenly bursting into flames, despite the fact she nor anybody else had done anything to kindle them.

Marina tensed at once.

If there was anything she’d learned, it was that there was no such thing as a good surprise when it came to magic. Her bag of ingredients fell as she raised her hands. An act out of instinct more than logic. As she was now, she could barely defend herself against a single mouse.

She could do even less against such a distinct feeling of power.

A presence was in the flames.

Her magic might be muted, but not her ability to sense it.

Even so, there was something comforting about it. The flames sang rather than crackled. And though the light possessed warmth, there was little heat.

It was almost as if it wasn’t burning … but lighting the way.

Marina could sense a heavenly property in the flames. A promise of magic. Her magic.

She was mesmerised by the beauty of it. Enough that even as the weight of something wrong anchored her legs in place, some other part of her moved. Instinct told her not to approach, not to look, and yet without directing herself, her hand reached out and–

“Ma-ri-na~♫”

… And nothing.

She blinked.

Then, as a cloud was suddenly lifted from her mind, she turned around to see the only thing more comforting than any magic she could cast.

“Boooooo~ you didn’t say ‘I’m home!’,” gently scolded her mother, pretending to pout in a way that made her father lose every argument by default. “We had an agreement. I’d allow you to stay in this wonderful house, eat breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert everyday and take as many baths as you like for free, but in return, you need to say ‘I’m home!’ when you come through the door.”

Marina sighed.

“I’m not a child anymore. And there are customers when I go through the door.”

“Great, then they can welcome you back too. Our customers are basically family too, right?”

“Yes, so long as they can get their drinks cheaper than in The Winking Sprite.”

“Gasp. Your father will be so shocked if he heard you say the name of our closest business rivals.”

“Father is the one who mentions them the most.”

“Well, then you don’t need to help him remember. Now aren’t you forgetting something?”

Marina bit her bottom lip.

But only for a moment.

“... I’m home.”

Her mother gave a bright smile.

She slowly retreated from the doorway, all the while her sing-song voice continued.

“I’m cooking stew tonight. It’ll make a nice smell. Although it might be later than usual. There’s a large group of goblins booked to arrive soon. I figured I should warn you in case you wanted to make anything. Their noses are quite sensitive.”

Marina nodded as her mother finally vanished, before only her footsteps sounded.

As she skipped down to the bar, she knew her father had likely made his reappearance from the kitchen. She could hear the clamour as orders came thick and fast.

Thus, she returned to the flames beneath her cauldron.

Golden and shining, they waited for her to approach.

She went to the corner, picked up a bucket of cold water prepared at all times, then duly extinguished the flames.

There would be time for what the world wanted from her later.

But right now … she had to help out in the bar.