The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Ophelia’s sword sang as it swept before her.

And what she found … was daylight.

Ignoring the sudden glare and disorientation, she continued the momentum of her strike, the blade flashing as it left a trailing arc in its wake.

Yet far from finding the face of a devil, what she struck was a falling leaf.

For a moment, she watched as it separated before her, perfectly divided across the stem. And then she blew away another leaf as it landed on her face. And then another.

She was surrounded by trees, after all.

Ophelia turned on her heel, her sword delicately poised to stab anyone about to cackle while explaining what this was and why she was now doomed.

Instead, all she received was a rush of warmth and colours, threatening to overwhelm her senses.

There was the sunlight peeking through a green canopy. The hum of songbirds on a branch. The scent of dew and bark. The haze of a slight mist. The glint of snowdrops in the grass.

A cute spell for a devil. But also wrongly named.

“... Really?” she said, deeply unimpressed. “You hit me with [Darkness] and blind me with sunlight? I know nothing’s sacred to you guys, but that’s the kind of cheap tactics a princess would do. Except she can get away with it because she’s pretty. For you, this is just false advertising.”

Ophelia poked the grass, determining from the softness this was probably no illusion.

But it also never hurt to check.

“[Helix Arc].”

With a single motion, Ophelia turned, sweeping her sword behind her.

The nearest tree answered with a groan as the blade passed through its trunk, the cut so clean it stood upright for several moments. Then the forest shuddered as it finally gave way, crashing down and sending a tremor through the ground.

Ophelia nodded as the songbirds burst into flight.

The way the tree came down was accurate. But the lack of druids trying to murder her wasn’t.

After all, she knew instinctively this was no ordinary forest.

It was an elven one. There was a gloss to everything that had no business looking glossy, which meant the aunties had murdered even the woodpeckers. That’s precisely why Ophelia would never invite the princess to meet her relatives. They might actually teach her a thing or two about gardening.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

Or perhaps just as likely, they’d point her to the only gardener they acknowledged.

Ophelia tilted her head slightly, listening to the familiar sound of nature being trimmed.

There was a rhythm to it, so uniform that even a marching drum was less precise, and yet it carried a serenity no melody could match.

It was the sound of enlightenment … and it came in the form of a sword snipping away at the grass.

She took a glance around her once more. At the familiar patterns of the snowdrops. At the leaves drifting at a time and season that was neither evening nor summer. She breathed in the crisp air, bright enough to tickle the back of her throat.

She then groaned, knowing exactly what was to come.

After all, this was no illusionary forest, nor a realm of the hells.

It was something far less welcoming.

A memory of a past day.

Ophelia twirled her sword as she turned towards the steady snipping, before following a trail known to few. For here, atop a mountain forever engulfed in drifting leaves, only the finest and most gifted of elven sword wielders were permitted to pass.

It was no cathedral, yet it remained hallowed ground nonetheless … and the one delivering the sermons was none other than him.

Stepping through a break in the trees, Ophelia arrived at a place she knew all too well.

Separated from the surrounding flora and fauna was a clearing in the shape of a perfect circle.

Not a single dandelion dared grow here. Instead, the grass lay pristinely trimmed, each blade cut to the same exact height, so immaculate that even a princess would pause. And it was maintained by the greatest elven swordmaster alive.

As Ophelia entered the clearing, she watched as he diligently snipped away.

Master Cassivar of the Waning Light.

The Leaf Dancer.

And also Ophelia’s sword instructor.

He was a sword singer. Or rather, he was the sword singer. Because while plenty of elves had once been called that fanciest of titles, few ever left the forest long enough to raise their reputation like he did.

Despite being old enough to now have wrinkles, age had neither dulled his movements nor the shine of his golden hair. Tied up in a ponytail, it flashed alongside his smile as he pretended to only notice Ophelia’s arrival.

His sword never stopped snipping.

“Ah, there you are, Ophelia! You’re just in time to make up for the decade of daily practice you’ve been ignoring. Come, the grass is feeling bold today. Let’s put these scoundrels in place, shall we?”

The Leaf Dancer offered a warm smile, showing not the slightest hint of admonishment over the fact she’d ignored all her morning training just like she promised she would.

Even so, his eyes made it clear that he expected Ophelia to resume where she’d last left off before departing the forest.

For all his chirpiness, he was also the most expectant of tutors.

As a fountain of experience tasked with ensuring the next generation of sword singers, he was a shining symbol for elves everywhere … other than the fact he never bothered wearing anything above the waist.

And that was when he was feeling particularly modest.

Despite the fact that his physique was absolutely nothing to look at, he constantly bared his chest to the heavens, relishing in whatever rain, snow or the birds had to offer.

Ophelia let out a sigh.

“I’m in my mind, aren’t I?”

“You are, yes,” said the Leaf Dancer cheerfully. “A truly terrifying notion. I believe it’s no exaggeration to say that literally everyone would prefer to fight a dragon than to stand where you are now.”

“Hey, if you’re a figment of my imagination, you can at least be nicer than the real version.”

“That’s impossible. Whether imagined or not, I’m the pinnacle of gentlemanliness. Which is why I can only apologise. I’d never willingly intrude on your evening while you’re busy trying to stab a devil.”

“In the face.”

“In the face, yes. The famed weak spot of every infernal denizen of the hells. Sadly, I’m afraid I’m in little position to assist you. As it’s well after nightfall in the real world, I’m likely fast asleep while wondering when my favourite pupil is going to visit me.”

“Oh, right.” Ophelia paused. “Well, now that we’re sort of here, I don’t suppose–”

“I don’t know the secret behind the Leaf Dancer’s magic card tricks, no. As you said, I’m only a figment of your imagination.”

Ophelia’s shoulders sagged.

She had to look at the shirtless old guy and couldn’t even pry some secrets out of him for it.

“... Indeed, I only know the things you do. Which, quite frankly, is far too much. I know, for example, what you ate for breakfast, how many vaults you robbed today, and also all about the plushie of the princess you’re making to–”

“[Emergency Sword Throw]!”

Without waiting for the words that nobody was allowed to hear, Ophelia threw her sword unerringly towards the Leaf Dancer.

He didn’t move to dodge or parry it.

Instead, he raised his free hand and caught the blade between his finger and thumb, all while continuing to snip away at the grass.

Ophelia rolled her eyes.

She hated the fact he could do stuff like that. It was really stupidly cool.

“Hm. Excellent technique.” The Leaf Dancer studied the sword with interest. “Another sign of your natural talent. I assume you have little experience with throwing away your weapon, after all. But it matches your forthright personality. You’ve always been one to strike as swift as the mongoose.”

He tossed her sword back.

Ophelia grabbed it. Not by the blade, but the hilt. She liked her fingers.

“... However, I’m afraid that I am no simple cobra,” said the Leaf Dancer, his grin as wry as any drunken elf in a bar. “I’m the slyest of them all. Should you wish to actually strike me, you’ll need to show a little more creativity.”

Ophelia raised a brow.

“Even if I struck you, the blade would just slide off.”

“Indeed, I move as the water does, graceful and flowing.”

“I was thinking more slimy. Like a fruit slime. But yeah.”

“All the more reason to try your best, then. A fruit slime might not hurt your shin, but it will hurt your soul. Almost as much as a devil, I might add. I see you’ve chosen the simplest of opponents as always.”

“Mmh. I like doing things the easy way.”

“Indeed, you do. But while I agree that the sword is the finest negotiating tool, remember that the greatest foe you shall ever meet is never the one before you, but the one inside you.”

Ophelia groaned.

She knew what saying typical mentor words like that meant.

“No,” she said at once. “I’m not doing this.”

“Oh? Doing what?”

“This. The fight scene where I beat you, learn something new about myself and find a way out. Fighting you is always a pain.”

The Leaf Dancer chuckled.

“My protégé, how you wound me. Do you truly think so poorly of the one who taught you the meaning of willpower? I’m a figment of your imagination, yes, and while it’s true that the devil likely summoned me to do his bidding, even a pale imitation of the Leaf Dancer is far beyond any infernal reach. I will not obey. Far from it, I will provide my assistance to secure your swift release from the shackles of his cowardly spell.”

Ophelia blinked.

“Oh. Really?”

“Really. Obviously, there are limits, but I can at least lend my advice.”

“Great! In that case, where’s the exit?”

“The exit is everywhere. You merely need to open your eyes.”

Ophelia pursed her lips.

Far from opening her eyes more than they already were, she simply narrowed them.

After all, whenever he gave advice that sounded somewhat cliché but also cryptic and meaningful, it was always followed by something to help realise it.

And for a sword singer, it was always the same thing.

“[Whispering Gale].”

Fwooosh.

Immediately, Ophelia rolled to the side as the Leaf Dancer swept his sword in a horizontal arc.

It was a strike that skimmed the very tips of the grass, evenly shaving them before carrying on into the trees where she’d stood only moments earlier.

She glanced back.

Just like her own strike, the base of the tree had been completely severed. And yet the cut was so fine that it remained perfectly aligned, as though nothing had happened at all.

Ophelia was exasperated.

After all, like any traditional teacher, the Leaf Dancer believed in rote learning.

That meant when it came to his sagely advice, it would continue until she grasped the full lesson.

Swooosh.

Faster than the cutting wind, the Leaf Dancer waltzed forward, needing no technique other than his natural grace and footwork. Skimming across the grass, he struck at where Ophelia had rolled, forcing her to leap back until she landed upon the boughs of the same tree he had sliced.

This time, he was far less subtle.

The branch practically exploded as the sword singer sent a slicing gale towards her, forcing Ophelia to dive straight at him.

She was met with an approving nod, followed by a turn and a swift cut aimed at her back as she passed. Twisting to meet the blade, she slid backwards until she found her balance, lowering her centre into a feline crouch. One palm touched down to anchor her while her sword and gaze remained lifted.

The Leaf Dancer didn’t wait.

He was already there, sword driving towards her as Ophelia pounced to meet it.

“Hey! What happened to not obeying a devil?”

“I spoke truly.” The Leaf Dancer smiled as he paid heed to Ophelia’s response. He slowed and raised his guard, brushing aside the incoming sword before nimbly tilting his head as it returned to shave the tip of his nose. “This is entirely of my own accord. My wisdom, as you know, always comes as a blade. About time, no? It’s certainly been a while.”

Ophelia ensured every inch of her expression was reflected in both of their blades.

“Use a chalkboard instead! This is why your students all leave!”

“And yet they always return, for to learn is to live, just as ignorance is to die.”

“Being stabbed is to die!” Ophelia lunged forwards as evidence. The Leaf Dancer bent his back as the sword flew above his face, not a single bone cracking despite his age. “Why do I get the training arc?! What am I supposed to do afterwards?! Ask the devil if I can take a break?!”

The Leaf Dancer wore an amused smile as he held his ground, his sword a finer defence than any shield as he met every strike sent his way.

In the brief spaces between her blows, he paused to snip a few errant blades of grass.

“You needn’t worry,” he said as he tried to murder his favourite student. “I’ve no plans for a training arc. This will only be a brief lesson. I’ve no wish to overstay in your mind, after all.”

Ophelia braced to block as the Leaf Dancer set aside his usual grace and raised his sword like an instructor’s ruler. The moment their blades met, a force rippled from the point of contact, threatening to buckle her knees.

Still, she held her instructor in place.

“So is this it? I need to beat you before I can go back to murdering a devil?”

“I’m afraid the devil’s mischief is unknown to me, but I would surmise there is something you need to beat. It is called [Darkness], after all.”

“A dumb name.”

“A name devoid of originality, yes, but not meaning.” The Leaf Dancer withdrew, then began circling Ophelia, one hand behind his back, now in the pose of a duellist fencer. The cobra in its favoured form. “This memory was chosen for a reason. Might you have any unresolved traumas you need facing?”

Ophelia wanted to throw her arms up in exasperation.

Instead, she slid in to break his high guard, swiping at his ankles. He answered with a nimble skip, his blade already bearing down in response. In one smooth motion, Ophelia brought her sword up behind her back to meet the strike as she returned to her feet.

“I am not dealing with a therapy session,” she said as she turned, tilting away from the blade already an inch from her face. “Who would I even be talking to? Myself? That’s not help. That’s just heading deeper into the asylum. Besides, I don’t need it. I’m the most normal elf in the world.”

The Leaf Dancer turned silent as he suddenly paused.

“Well–”

“Just so you know, you’re a product of my mind. You’re meant to agree.”

“Incorrect. I’m the spitting image of the Leaf Dancer, and he would raise his brow at the assertion that any of us are normal. Just like this.”

He duly raised his brow.

The way he could lift it at such a comical angle was probably the most impressive thing he did. But Ophelia knew not to allow herself to be distracted. Because to take her eyes off the blade of the Leaf Dancer was the last mistake any of his students made before they gave him a poor review.

After all–

Fwoosh.

He only used it as an opportunity to attack.

Becoming little more than a blur, he swept towards her while leaving afterimages behind him. Yet while that was enough to cause any other foe to surrender, Ophelia had seen faster.

And not just in the princess. But also herself.

Without any hesitation, she elegantly somersaulted on the spot, letting her blade hang in perfect poise as the Leaf Dancer rushed towards her. It was enough that he’d be forced to fling himself aside, for no matter how swift the Leaf Dancer of old was, the Ophelia of today was swifter still.

Or so she thought.

All of a sudden, his movements quickened beyond anything she had known, and with little in the way of technique, he simply swept past, his ponytail even slightly grazing Ophelia as she leapt.

“Okay,” she said, turning as she landed. “I’m 95% sure I never remembered you doing that.”

The Leaf Dancer’s smile came without a morsel of shame.

“Oh? Maybe I’ve improved. In that case, you need to imagine yourself a little bit better. It should be easy. It is your mind, after all.”

Ophelia tilted her head slightly.

She knew already that even as far as weird lessons inside her head went, this one was different. That was her victory right there. And if he was going to be borrowing from a princess’s playbook just to avoid being impaled, then all that told her was that cheating was life’s greatest answer.

That’s why–

“[Mirror Reflection].”

She’d definitely taunt the real Leaf Dancer for it later.

All at once, Ophelia the Snow Dancer became a blur of mirrored images.

Just as on that evening when she’d impressed a grandmother by whisking together ingredients in a mixing bowl, sewing a soft cushion, scribbling a letter, plucking a lyre and brewing a pot of peppermint tea, her sword became a tornado of motion as she hurled herself at the Leaf Dancer.

Again and again, he parried and slipped aside, striking back whenever he could, matching her speed with effortless precision. And so the Snow Dancer and the Leaf Dancer made the forest their ballroom, one displaying all she had learned, the other offering all he still had to teach.

They traded blows until at last a single bead of sweat slipped down Ophelia’s cheek. Yet while she’d earned the Leaf Dancer’s full attention, she’d yet to coax even a single drop from him in return.

Then … they came to a stop.

“Good,” said the Leaf Dancer with a genuine nod. “More than good. There is not a soul other than an absurd princess who could evade what you have demonstrated. But I’d expect nothing less from my most gifted student. So tell me … why haven’t you been able to strike me?”

Ophelia took a deep breath, then raised herself, wiping away the sweat.

“Your movements are wrong,” she said simply. “There were eight times you should have been struck.”

The Leaf Dancer chuckled.

“Indeed. I feel even more sprightly than usual, especially seeing how far you’ve grown. You’ve always overcome your opponents with the most important attribute of a swordswoman … determination. But that is precisely why it is not enough to defeat me. After all, striking with all your heart is a lesson you have already mastered.”

“Right. Because usually, that sort of thing is the last lesson. So what’s next? I know you’re trying to be helpful, but I’m kind of drawing a blank here.”

“It’s nothing complicated. To defeat me, you must master what you have never achieved. After all, is there not a technique capable of bringing me down, no matter how unnaturally swift I become?”

Ophelia groaned.

She would have preferred not to realise what her old master was talking about.

“The Thirteenfold Silent Aria Of The Moonless Heart,” she said.

“Indeed. A technique that can pierce any defence and breach any barrier, even one cast by a devil seeking to engulf you in darkness. None of my students have been able to master it. But if you can, you will surely break through and slay the devil with ease.”

“I mean, I’ve tried, but it’s stupidly hard.”

“Why is it hard?”

“No idea. I copy your technique exactly, but all I do is stab thirteen times like normal. Which is fine, since the result’s honestly indistinguishable from the real technique. But when it doesn’t work, it’s really embarrassing.”

The Leaf Dancer nodded.

Then, with a glint in his eyes, he shifted his weight and for the first time assumed the stance of a sword singer unveiled. The weight of it alone was enough to still the world, imaginary though it was. For in that moment, he became a danger even a dragon in the sky would climb higher to escape.

Often, even that wouldn’t save them.

“Well … perhaps I should show you once again?”

Ophelia instinctively assumed a stance of her own.

“It doesn’t matter how often you show me. I can remember it just fine.”

“Then why not emulate it? Master it? It is the greatest technique I have ever devised. You are a worthy inheritor of it.”

“Because it is your greatest technique. Not mine.”

Ophelia wore a look of indignation.

The guy wanted her to inherit his special technique like she was his second favourite niece, because the actual favourite one would just get pocket money instead. But why should she? She was a busy elf. If she wanted a special technique that could break past any barrier, poke a dragon from the sky and boil pasta, she’d make up her own.

And then–

“Oh,” she said, blinking.

The Leaf Dancer smiled.

“Yes, Ophelia. It is my greatest technique. Not yours. Should you wish to surpass your current limits and shine enough that even a princess might notice you, you must walk down your own path, using all that you have learned to shape the true nature of your swordsmanship.”

“Well, I definitely haven’t learned anything from the princess. I have no idea how she uses her sword. It’s like she’s purposefully lowering her guard just to draw you in. I can’t do that.”

“Indeed, but it isn’t her sword that draws you to her, is it? It is her light.”

Ophelia was tempted to admit that it was also her nice smelling hair.

She had a feeling that wasn’t appropriate.

“Yes, it’s definitely her glowing nature.”

“Which is why she will be the star that guides your sword. You are the Snow Dancer, but that doesn’t mean the snow cannot thaw. You found your name in winter. But you found your heart in spring.”

Ophelia groaned.

“You know, it’s really annoying you can talk like that constantly. Doesn’t it get mentally tiring having to sound like the wise old man in a tavern with a mysterious past?”

“Extremely. But then I have time to plan my words. My students visit me quite rarely, after all.”

The Leaf Dancer shifted his stance ever so slightly, the sword still ready in his grip.

“Now do it, Snow Dancer,” he said imposingly. “Strike me or else be struck down. Show me the worth of your heart. And perhaps should you succeed, it would be nice if you could pay me a visit.”

Ophelia sighed.

She wanted to do nothing less than to visit the forest again. But perhaps she could at least give her old master a box of cookies or something. Just the box. And maybe half of the cookies.

“Sure,” she said, raising her sword above her shoulder, the tip angled forward as she widened her stance and settled into her posture. “I’ll do that. But first, I have something to take care of.”

“Indeed, you do. Best of luck with your princess business. As for the devil, well, I’m much less concerned about that.”

He smiled as he waited. But not for long.

“... Shadows loom where breath stands still,” he began, his eyes kindling with a newly lit flame. “And silence roots the turning world …”

Ophelia closed her eyes, her grip tightening upon her sword.

In her mind, she saw only two things. The stupidly pretty smile of a princess. And how she’d defeated her [Yuleblade Dance] with a simple rejection.

But Ophelia was the Snow Dancer. And while the first dance had been refused, she would absolutely have her second.

That was why–

“... Winter thaws beneath the brightening stars, guided by a gentle breeze …”

The Leaf Dancer took a deep breath. As did Ophelia.

“VerdantLeaf Form, Hidden Stance … [Thirteenfold Silent Aria Of The Moonless Heart].”

“Snow Helix Form, Unclouded Stance … [Spring Waltz].”

Yes.

Ophelia could never be as fast or as weirdly unnatural in her sword techniques as the princess.

But she could allow her movements to become more beautiful. More regal. More delicate. More true.

Enough that just maybe, she could at least draw the eye of a princess, even if she wasn’t one herself. Or at least not yet.

There was still time, after all.

And she would enjoy every moment of it.

With a single breath, she pushed off her feet, just as the Leaf Dancer did. They rushed to meet, and in the barest instant that they crossed paths, he struck thirteen times.

Ophelia the Snow Dancer waltzed past them all, her blade trailing stardust as she swept by.

And as she did, all she saw was the satisfied smile of the sword singer.

Pwiiiish.

A heartbeat later, the world cracked around her like a mirror shattering.

Daylight was swept away, drowned beneath an engulfing tide of evening and moonlight. Ophelia carried her motion forward, rushing on with her sword pointed unerringly, still poised above her shoulder. For it had never been the Leaf Dancer her blade was meant for.

It was the face of a devil as his eyes widened.