The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

My mandatory tea parties were becoming more varied.

A blessing and a curse. They were often so dull that even the maids were in danger of dozing off. Yet as much as I wished for the occasional fruit slime to emerge from the depths of my parfait, that didn’t extend to bored ruffians wielding a troll’s club.

Yes.

Those most famed of weapons.

More expensive than the shiny armour the gulls were eyeing, they were logs of the finest mahogany, enchanted with magic few archmages even knew existed.

Although their appearances scarcely differed from the thick branches they were chiselled from, that didn’t suggest they weren’t refined. On the contrary, they boasted a sheen more polished than any cabinet the mahogany could have formed instead.

Normally, that is.

Because this man wasn’t a troll.

He was a simple wayfarer. And unlike the clubs wielded by actual trolls, his hadn’t been afforded the meticulous care they usually demanded.

Indeed, there was a reason the fabric covering it was so stained.

Instead of a glossy varnish, it was scarred with more scratches than a curtain after five minutes with a chihuahua. Grime, mud, dried blood and what was most certainly moss covered it, settling into the grain where a scrub had never once reached.

Seeing my look of horror, the Vagrant’s crimson eyes gleamed in satisfaction.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” He lifted the club, resting the head into his palm. “For a piece of wood, it’s more effective than any weapon a swordsmith could craft. Trolls might enjoy their luxuries, but don’t let that fool you into thinking they aren’t practical. There are few problems that a large blunt object can’t fix.”

I slowly leaned away.

“… Excuse me, but do you ride horses?”

The man blinked.

“Well, of course. It’s not like I’m likely to wander the continent for worthy foes on foot.”

“I see … and where is your horse now?”

“He’s stabled outside the city along with all the rest. Why do you ask?”

“I ask because I need to inform the stablemasters immediately. I assumed that my own horse was the only one capable of nibbling through a troll’s club. But seeing that yours is clearly related, this is disastrous. I cannot have two Apples roaming around consuming the countryside. There will be nothing left of the summer harvest to celebrate.”

“My horse didn’t nibble on my club. Poppy is well behaved.”

“Well, I suggest you have a conversation with Poppy. I cannot think of anything other than a gluttonous steed which can cause so much damage. Why is it so scratched? Is that fungus growing on it?”

The man glanced at the tip, then shrugged.

“Could be. There’s been a lot on it. I’ve never bothered cleaning.”

“You’ve never bothered cleaning.” I was appalled. “Why not? That is, or once was, a weapon cared for by a troll. Why would you not clean it?”

“It’s a deliberate choice. A weapon that’s shown signs of use is far more impressive than one freshly taken out of the cupboard. It also doesn’t have any enchantments to keep it spotless like my armour does.”

“Well, you should go back to the troll you pilfered this from and ask for a better one. You won’t need to look far. There are trolls hogging the market district. I’m certain they’ll be keen to know why somebody who’s not a fellow troll has one of their clubs.”

The man gave a chuckle.

“The trolls already know who I am. They asked if I was happy with my purchase. I’m told they don’t sell many clubs.”

I was stunned.

“They sell their clubs?”

“Trolls will sell anything, provided you have the crowns. They asked for a high price, of course, but I was more than satisfied to pay for it.”

“… Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you pay for it? Is that also what you did with your armour?”

“No, my armour was won over the years by right of spoils. I have pried each piece from the bodies of the fallen and the gritted teeth of those pleading upon their knees.”

“In that case, why not claim the troll club by right of spoils as well? You said you were searching the entire continent for worthy foes. Why not go to Troll Country and fight trolls? They are incredibly worthy. And also easy to find.”

The man paused.

“I could defeat a troll if I wished,” he claimed. “But–”

“Ohohohohohohoho!! … Do you hear this, Coppelia?! The Vagrant who has defeated every foe and beast is suddenly a proponent of peace whenever he sees a troll! Here is the darkness who everybody should fear … except those he selectively ignores!”

“Mmh~ I think he needs to have his name amended to include an asterisk.”

“The name you gave me is wrong,” snapped the Vagrant* at once. “There are practical reasons for not earning the ire of trolls. They are stubborn and relentless. I could defeat one with ease. But there is no joy or merit in defeating them when they all come at once.”

“Says who? … Defeating an entire horde of trolls would be an extremely impressive display! Why, you would be saving the coin purses of innocents everywhere! If you did that, I would acknowledge you on the spot! I would even gladly forgive you for this entire debacle!”

“Trolls do not fight only with clubs. If I defeat a troll, they will repossess my house.”

“Well, be thankful if they do. It’ll allow you to call yourself a vagrant with more authenticity.”

The man offered no response.

None was needed.

Clearly, he took issue with his vagrancy being called into question. Each time a passerby stopped in expectation of him posing, doing something exciting or announcing his name for the tournament, he shooed them away with his elbow.

A moment later, he simply shrugged.

“I’ve several issues with how you refer to me. But I can’t fault you given my first impressions. I might not be a vagrant, but I too have an eye for opportunity, even if it’s not crowns I wish to extract from you.”

“My answer is the same. No. I am not going to humour your ridiculous request. I do not brawl. I certainly do not brawl in the middle of the street like a common drunkard.”

“It isn’t a brawl I seek. It’s a contest of wills. A duel to shame any that could occur in the pits.”

“Denied. There’s a very clear no-violence policy. It exists throughout the kingdom and at all times, but doubly so while I’m eating cake. I hope you understand.”

“I do.”

The man offered a nod.

His crimson eyes began to glow … and then to my horror, so did the ground.

Fwoooosh.

“–Hiieeee?!”

I hopped away from my chair, escaping as a circle of flames erupted from around the man’s feet.

The table wasn’t so lucky. Half of it immediately splintered and exploded. The other half was only preserved courtesy of Coppelia reaching for the remaining cakes and anchoring them down.

Somewhere, I heard the sound of a clipboard being jotted on.

And then everywhere else, the inevitable stampede.

All at once, the music, the boasts and the laughter came to a stop, replaced by mild carnage as panic filled the air. Feet thundered away from the unnatural flames as they rose past the man’s waist, as though a ring of oil had been set alight.

“... Deny it all you wish,” said the Vagrant*, his voice between amusement and misplaced confidence as he gripped his club tellingly. “But for warriors such as us, there can be no such thing as two ships passing silently in the night. We are dragons in a world where no sky is large enough. I can see the flames burning within your soul. Just as you can now see mine.”

For a moment, he simply stood still, uncaring of the world as all sought to flee from him. His gaze knew only what stood before him.

As he should.

Because right now, all I had to offer was my wide-open mouth as I watched the old town square empty of merchants, entertainers, gladiators and all the taxes they brought.

I threw up my arms in outrage.

“H-How dare you! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“As I said, I am–”

“I do not care what you said! This is a public space! There is a festival happening! It is the single most profitable time for this kingdom! You do not stroll in and decide to ignore everything around you just so you can live out your fantasies of harassing innocent maidens! Even for a hoodlum, it is beyond uncouth! Why, just look at this mess … are you going to pay for this?!”

Far from cowering as he should, the Vagrant* merely offered a nod.

“Ah, there are the flames. As expected of an adventurer, it requires prodding before you accept the earnestness of my wishes. You are not the first. You will not be the last.”

“Excuse me?! Are you saying you regularly cause public disturbances wherever you go?!”

“I am the Wanderer for a reason. I am not ashamed to say that it is because I have been barred from more than a few city gates, although it is rare I cause an entire square to empty. A new record. I wonder if I can break it once more.”

Fwoooooooooosh.

All of a sudden, the flames swelled and tightened around him. Smoke bled upwards from his armour, as though the fire was no longer around his feet, but burning from within.

It earned a scribble from the audience still sitting down.

“Hmm … uniquely concerned about money,” said Lady Celisse, looking not at the hoodlum but at me. “A sign of financial prudence perhaps ... but also the possibility that one’s accounts may not be in order.”

“E-Excuse me?! Was that about me?! Why is my financial prudence important?!”

“It’s an important consideration. I would not wish you to unnecessarily risk yourself. I have a duty of care when assigning quests.”

“Your duty should be noting everything the Vagrant* is doing! … Why, he’s just incinerated the walnut cake I was saving!”

“I can do even greater,” he said, sounding far more proud than he should. “There is something about you. It draws upon the warrior’s spirit within me like I have never known.”

“That’s because you have no idea how to act before a beautiful maiden! I understand you wish to impress me, but this is inexcusable!”

“I wish only for us not to waste another moment. If you wish to see me stopped, then the answer is simple. Do as you’re supposed to. Let us cast aside what came before and crown a new tale for all to see. Preferably before the guards arrive. It would be a shame if they had to intervene.”

He assumed a warrior’s stance.

Displaying a grace his armour and club would not suggest, his heel slid backwards, leaving smoke across the melting tiles. The flames around him only increased in fervour.

Indeed, they were just like those by Sir Oddwell in my orchard.

Except that whereas he merely postured to impress me, this ruffian was intent on violence alone. As he lifted his club high above him, a violet hue gathered around its shape.

“Victory or defeat, adventurer,” he called out above the flickering flames. “But know that there is no escape. We were destined to meet here. And so I offer all that I am before the heavens and the hells, so that they might wager upon our–”

Pwish.

He paused, then looked down at his chest.

There, marked by the faintest trail of smoke, was where I’d flicked a splash of water from the fountain using Starlight Grace.

After a moment, he looked up again.

“… Really? Was that necessary?”

Apparently unimpressed, his flames burned with a hue to match the golden shafts of sunlight blooming between chimneys and steepled rooftops.

Yet just as dusk took its bow, so too would this hoodlum.

Indeed, it was clear that this was no ordinary troublemaker here to ruin a festival. Even if I punted him away, he would doubtless find me again, such was the utter lack of charm he displayed.

A problem.

… But not for me!

Ohohohohoho!

I nodded as I began to whisk at the fountain water, causing frothy bubbles to form on the surface.

The sight was enough for the Vagrant* to pause in sheer confusion, his eyes at odds with whatever his warrior’s instincts were telling him.

He should have listened to them instead.

“… I see you’re intent on inconveniencing me,” I said as I increased the swirling motion. “And while that’s not a unique problem, doing so while I’m at a tea table is inexcusable. It is not a duel you need. It is a lesson in basic etiquette.”

In moments, the sound of rushing water filled the air as a whirlpool formed at the tip of my sword.

It crashed against the edge of the fountain, yet not a single drop was allowed to spill over. Instead, the water gathered in rivulets and ribbons along the length of my blade, like flour coating a whisk.

“What … What is that?”

The Vagrant* lowered his club as he stared.

His shoulders slouched as all thought left his stance. Somewhere behind his helmet, I could practically see a mouth stretching wide. The worst breach of etiquette yet.

Thus, I offered the exact same smile Madame Levasseur wore.

The response came at once.

Rightfully suspecting that what followed would be either a ruler slapping against a chalkboard or the only scowl that impressed Grandmother, the hoodlum abandoned conversation entirely.

Instead, his club promised grime and blood as he suddenly leapt.

Fortunately for him, all lessons in manners began with presentation. And as Coppelia knew whenever I fixed her collar, I was all too happy to offer hands-on assistance.

“My, it appears you’re eager to learn,” I said as I raised my sword, a perfectly safe and normal vortex of water surrounding the shining blade. “But you needn’t worry. This lesson will be comprehensive. So listen well, for wisdom comes after the rain, leaving truth as dew in the dawn …”

My smile softened as I brought Starlight Grace before the Vagrant*.

His eyes widened behind his helmet.

“Gardening Form, 12th Stance … [Summer Sprinkling]!”

Ohohohohohohoho!

Here it was!

A finely honed technique used specifically to ensure adequate moisture coverage of my orchard throughout the unrelenting heat of the summer season!

By lightly swirling my watering bucket, I could coat my multi-purpose gardening instrument in just enough water to flick towards the corners and hard to reach spots, thus ensuring uniformity in both colour and health!

… But this time, I wasn’t merely trying to ensure my orchard was kept happy.

No, because for a vagrant* so disappointing he deserved an asterisk in his name, I needed to use the power of water to thoroughly clean the years of grime that had accumulated in body and spirit.

But mostly his club.

I aimed–and then I flicked.

PWOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH.

The Vagrant* gave a gurgling cry as a concentrated beam of frothy water fresh from the cleanest wells beneath Reitzlake slammed into him.

The club he raised to defend himself flew from his hands and struck his helmet.

Sent hurtling backwards into a stall he would also need to pay for, he vanished into a fine mist, followed by a dazzling rainbow that traced a line from my sword to his fallen form.

Now shorn of his helmet, the man let out a groan, followed by spluttering as the flames of a warrior’s spirit were wholly quenched.

And then–

“Ahahahaha … ahaha … ahahahaha~”

I let out a groan.

Glancing behind me, I saw Coppelia rolling on the floor, arms around her tummy as she rolled from side to side. Something I thought I’d finally excused myself from witnessing.

Even so, it was nothing compared to the sight of an elven lady’s wide eyes as she gazed at the sparkling rainbow, then the fallen figure, then me, then finally her clipboard where she began to scribble. Very fast.

There’d be more for her to note.

I wasn’t done, after all.

I reached for a fork, then poked a slice of carrot cake that Coppelia had needlessly rescued.

A moment later, I made my way over to the figure gargling on frothy water. Without his helmet, the sight was far less impressive. He was a man with a face so plain he could and should have been lost amidst the revelry of the crowd, with sodden brown hair, sunken eyes and cheeks damp but free of mud.

I leaned over him, my face blocking out the sun.

“W-Wait,” he coughed out, palm rising futilely. “Mercy, I–”

“No.”

His eyes widened.

And then–

I poked the cake into his mouth.

He blinked at me, momentarily frozen as dessert robbed him of any reply.

I pointed scoldingly at him.

“If you are bored, find a new hobby. That means less violence, more cake. Understood?”

The man looked up in horror.

Then, he began to chew the cake.