The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Orcs.

A rare sight in my forests. But not in my taverns.

Despite portraying themselves as the welcome wanderers of the continent, they could rarely be found wandering.

After all, that implied they didn’t have a destination.

Orcs knew precisely where they wished to be. And that was anywhere quiet could be found so they could shatter it. Usually with an entire travelling troupe.

Despite it being centuries since their warbands last cut a swathe of fire and steel across the continent, the orcs continued to revel in the glory of triumph. For more than being pioneers in the art of war, they were also the inventors of everything that came after the thrill of battle, the joy of bloodshed and the satisfaction of plunder.

Singing.

Lots and lots of singing.

These days, there were far more bards than there were gladiators amongst orcs.

Pillaging from their audiences instead of treasuries, they threatened in ways that fists could never quite achieve.

Unlike the proud warriors that made up a rapidly diminishing percentage of their warbands, orcish bards had little idea of when to leave the stage. And that was despite the booing, the bottles and the royal edict declaring that loitering with a stringed instrument was a crime.

It all often went ignored.

Indeed, long before dancing mice ever disturbed my sleep, it was the scratching of an instrument outside the Royal Villa’s gates.

For what all bards lacked in talent, they gained in gall.

And there, idly lounging upon a branch, was the most talentless of them all.

Broad shouldered, with his hair falling in a warrior’s topknot and the hint of a scar upon his jaw, he could have been brandishing a battleaxe towards me.

Instead, it was a lute.

Pliiiiing.

All I could do was groan.

“Coppelia.”

“Mmh~?”

“I want you to mark this moment down.”

“Sure! What am I marking it as?”

“The absolute lowest point of my life.”

Indeed, here was what existed beneath the bottom of the barrel.

The final indignity that hoodlums could offer.

To be waylaid by a penniless bard was something so insulting I couldn’t even muster a look of grief. At least bandits were professional robbers. Bards only solicited for crowns until everyone grew tired of ignoring them.

… Something that would be a problem given the garish colours of his tunic, the loudness of his feathered cap and the flash of his white teeth.

“You needn’t be so regretful, Your Highness,” he said with a carefree smile. “It’s difficult to glean the worth of an admirer through ink alone. It’s only understandable that you ignored my letters.”

“I haven’t ignored your letters. I’ve burned them. Along with everyone else’s. I have utterly no idea who you are other than a hoodlum with a lute.”

“Well, then you already know all there is to know about me. Except that unlike most hoodlums with a lute, I’m not here to beg, but to give. So allow me to offer a proper introduction. I am–”

“Stop.” I crossed my arms. “I said I had no idea who you are. I didn’t say I wanted that corrected.”

“Your lips, perhaps. Your eyes, however, tell a different story.”

“Yes, they’re melting in agony in solidarity with my ears.”

“Well, then allow me to help reshape the ending. It’s the least that I, Braug the Balladeer, can do to liven a princess’s day.”

Pliiiiiiiing.

He strummed once again, the notes lingering as though echoing between the leaves.

I was stunned.

With just a single stroke, he could perfectly emulate the sound of a thousand wounded cats. A useful talent at my mandatory tea parties. But not one I needed to employ right now.

“You can liven my day by retelling the treason of Graknar the Skull Crusher against my ancestors elsewhere. There’s certainly no lack of opportunity. If it’s a sponsorship you desire, I must decline.”

“My retelling is enough to gather more crowds than I can appease. Especially given the tasteful changes I make regarding your family’s role in that affair. Rest assured, I’d never write to a princess, let alone shower her with charisma simply for a sponsorship.”

I pointed at the arrow stuck to the ground.

“Little is charismatic about this. Or is an arrow what you use when soliciting payment?”

“Indeed, it is. For what you think is an arrow is actually my most popular act.”

Pliiiing.

The lute glowed like a wizard’s staff.

A moment later, the arrow burst into a thousand bubbles, drawing an oooh from Coppelia.

I offered a groan instead.

Bards.

Like jesters with even less tactfulness. And so I offered the finest jab of my finger.

“The answer is no,” I declared, already sensing where this was heading. “In the scandalous notion that your letters are anything similar to all the others, then I shall offer my rejection here and now. I am being hounded by barons, lords, dukes and their least favourite sons. I most certainly do not need to be hounded by penniless bards as well.”

The orc blinked in puzzlement.

“Hounded? For what reason, may I ask?”

“A reason those in your profession know well. I am a beautiful princess. That means I’m being constantly harassed for my hand in marriage.”

“Goodness, that’s awful. It is, of course, a common tale, although that does not mean I enjoy seeing it. You are a princess as fair as the dawn and pure as the moonlight. But beauty does not strip you of your thoughts or wishes. To be married against your will is a needless cruelty.”

“Well … yes, it is. A shame there’s not enough tales of unhappy princesses for this to be known.”

“Indeed, it’s often that the sons of nobility are the saviours of these stories. A fanciful motion, of course. Marriage is a cage ill-fitting the dignity all princesses deserve, yourself most of all.”

“Quite so. My duty is to spread joy, not to be imprisoned like a lone dove.”

“As things should be. Know, therefore, that although my letters scarcely deserve your time, I would never be so bold as to suggest I’d be worthy of seeking your hand. You are far too beautiful and I am too impoverished to dare entertain such thoughts. I am not in the habit of burning myself, even to touch the stars.”

“Your obvious flattery will get you nowhere. With that said, I am now willing to hear out your request. Speak now. What is it you wanted?”

The bard brightened up at once.

“Ah, well, in that case, I just so happen to have another letter I was planning to deliver myself.”

“Fine.” I flicked my wrist. “Please present it to me.”

With a strum of his lute, a letter exited the orc’s sleeves and floated down into my hands.

I read the first line.

OFFER OF CONDITIONAL MARRIAGE

I ripped it apart at once.

“H-How dare you!!” I said, as Apple snorted on my behalf. “Didn’t you just say you were too impoverished to seek my hand?!”

“I did indeed. And I spoke the truth. It would be absurd for an orc of my standing to hope to marry a princess. Which is why this offer is conditional.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means there’s absolutely no hope of this marriage coming to pass. As you can see from the bits of my handwriting lying on the ground, I’d have to become the duke of a prominent House in the Summer Kingdoms, a famed merchant captain in the Principalities, plus a warlord of a roaming band of mercenaries for hire. An unlikely series of events for someone with more dreams than copper crowns to my name.”

“Then why would I possibly even consider such a thing?!”

“Because it would solve all your problems.”

With a confidence he had utterly no right to display, the bard flashed his least charming smile.

“As one who often plays in the taverns close to the Royal Villa, rumors have long reached my ears of Your Highness’s reluctance to engage in propositions of marriage. Humble as I am, I wish to do my part to help. So long as this contract exists, you won’t need to fear the approaches of others.”

“The fact you’ve even drawn up such a contract is a problem! Why, if word gets out that such a thing exists, it won’t just be nobility I’ll have to reject! I’ll have every pauper wasting my time!”

“And yet not every pauper is Braug the Balladeer. And a good thing too. There’s only so much room for audacity. And I believe I’ve hoarded it all. But when faced with a princess in need, what can I do but offer myself as a matter of convenience?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Indeed, I barely leave my gates before the first hoodlum waylays me. Is convenience why you happen to be lying in wait? Or might you have a plan to simply kidnap me when I obviously decline?”

The bard chuckled.

“I’m afraid this is as bold as it gets. No, I’m just someone who happens to have a lot of time and a lot of optimism. But both these things are needed if I hope to convince you of my worth.”

The bard finally sat up.

Then, he hopped down from the tree, his soles barely making a sound as he landed.

The bow he offered was no less dramatic.

“In truth, I am little more than a common rogue, the likes of which someone like you has no reason to even grant a whiff of time. But I will say this … compared to those who seek your wealth, your name and your power, what I wish is for you to remain undiminished. A kindness and beauty unmarred by the darkness of the world, who I have admired for so long. And so while I hold no true hope that you would ever consider my letters, I at least [Beseech] you to humour me with a conversation, so that perhaps in time, we may bridge the gap between our worlds.”

The bard strummed once again.

Except this time, the notes were no longer an affront to civilisation, but melodic and pure. The forest applauded as the notes bounced between the leaves, all the while a lute practically sparkled.

Indeed … just like the distinctive necklace that appeared as a result of hopping down.

Ignoring everything he said, I leaned forwards and frowned.

“Where did you get that?”

The bard blinked several times. He glanced down at his instrument.

“Excuse me?”

“The necklace. Where did you get that? The pendant is shaped as a swan upon two ripples. That is the sigil of the Royal House of Talincrest.”

“Is it? Goodness, I had no idea. I won this at Dragon’s Tail. I was assured it was a fake.”

“It is not.”

Narrowing my eyes, I studied the vagrant for the first time.

He was dressed flamboyantly, yes, but it was more than a bard’s loudness he bore. Beyond the bright colours and the soil doing their best to mute them, there was more.

The tunic bore a nine-pronged crown embossed into the hems. The boots were stamped with a royal artisan’s signature. And the cloth band tying his hair into a knot was unmistakably a woman’s handkerchief, chequered lilac and violet, edged with a star, and also a thing that could have been the personal token of at least a dozen competing maidens.

“... By any chance, do you present yourself as the brazen but otherwise affable bard to many princesses fleeing marriage before endearing yourself to them and their wealth?”

The bard scoffed at once. Very loudly. And theatrically.

“Your Highness, that is quite the assumption. I’m afraid if I was as shameless as that, I would be a far wealthier bard than I am. As it is, I’ve had my eyes set on you only. I can barely stand from my own nerves.”

“My, is that so? … Then I’m willing to consider your request.”

“Oh? That is, well, that is–”

“I just have one question.”

“Yes? What would that be?”

I leaned slightly closer.

“... What is my name?”

“Hm?”

I gave a warm smile.

A smile of a princess whose gentleness was known to every hedgehog who continually returned to experience it, and yet for some reason, the bard only took a step back.

“Uh, I don’t quite–”

“What. Is. My. Name?”

The bard paused, before filling the silence with a chuckle.

“That is quite the curious question. I admit I don’t quite know the meaning of this particular game, but I will humour you nonetheless. You are, of course, the most famed princess in all the kingdom, known for your kindness, beauty and wits. None could mistake you for anything else, Princess Clarise.”

My smile grew even warmer.

Indeed, Clarise truly was amazing. I hoped someday to match her.

I idly drew Starlight Grace.

The bard didn’t hesitate.

“[Hastening Crescendo].”

His smile vanishing along with all thoughts of apology, he strummed his instrument, then immediately sped off into the forest with magic playing at his heels.

I was impressed.

That was the finest melody he’d played so far.

I counted for 5 seconds, then began to twirl my sword towards his retreating figure.

“Coppelia … by any chance, do you know what creatures reside in these woods?”

My loyal handmaiden was too busy holding back her laughter to answer.

After a moment, she raised her arms and beamed.

“Man eating fire breathing death beetles!”