The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Only that red cloak and hood remained.

Stretched and hopelessly unsuited when paired with such wild fur, yes … but still whole. A notable point in its craftsmanship. But one which did little to reduce the werewolf’s horrific visage, for it looked all the world as though this hulking creature had simply eaten and taken the place of the girl which had stood here only moments ago.

A werewolf.

A single word to speak a tale as sad as it was frightful. 

There were many monsters in this world. And while none could come close to my mother when she found me hidden between two bookcases as I escaped the metre-long ruler of my etiquettes tutor, a werewolf surely came close.

Wealthy or poor. Handsome or unseemly. Me or everyone else. No matter one’s status or upbringing, the curse of lycanthropy ignored it all. 

A fate worse than death. 

To be struck by a werewolf was to suffer a wound more festering than any disease. Those who lived told no tales, save for the ones they made as they howled in the deep hours of the night.

And howl this one did.

“AAWWWWRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The werewolf lifted a chin high against the midnight sky, its cry shattering any semblance of peace. 

Owls, will-o-wisps, cyclops bats and at least one cockatrice fled into the sky, seeking refuge from a howl which laid waste to my kingdom’s noise control stipulations. A crime which neither a curse nor being in a secluded forest excused–something this werewolf knew quite well.

The howl suddenly stopped. 

Golden eyes blinked. And the werewolf hunched together, claws poking gingerly at one another as the girl who had stood there only moments ago now looked as sheepish as a poodle caught beside a broken porcelain vase. 

“Oh gosh, I am so sorry about this,” said the werewolf, her voice distinctly normal. “This happens sometimes. Stress related.”

I stared open-mouthed at the werewolf.

“Stress related?” I asked incredulously.

She nodded and rolled her shoulders inwards, doing her best to appear not monstrously sized.

“Some people break out into hives. I break out into fangs. Like an allergy.”

An allergy.

Why, I sometimes sneezed in the presence of suitors! It didn’t mean I grew fangs … at least not until I inquired about a way to achieve such a feat without needing to offer my very expensive blood!

Indeed … to bloom razor sharp teeth when stressed was not only alarming, but also somewhat useful! With such a horrifying trait, even the most tone-deaf of my suitors would see the incisors where they continually failed to notice my rolling eyeballs! I could do away with my marriage woes in an instant!

“... Excuse me, but how did you acquire such an allergy?”

“Ah, well, I was bitten by my grandma.”

“Your grandmother?”

“Yeah, long story short, if you ever come home to see Granny has bigger teeth than normal, don’t question it. Just reach straight for the axe.”

I gasped.

Why, what an appalling suggestion!

If I came home and saw Grandmother with fangs, I’d never reach for an axe! … That would never harm her! I’d need something bigger!

“I see … I must say, this is a rather unexpected consequence of being bitten by one’s undying relative. Out of curiosity, is sprouting canines uncomfortable?”

“Well, if you’re asking if it’s physically uncomfortable, I’d say no. Nothing feels out of place. All my teeth clamp together. See?”

The werewolf closed her jaws. Two sets of fangs like roughly hewn stone nevertheless perfectly interlocked, offering no gap for any stray princesses to escape from.

I nodded while leaning in. 

It wasn’t something I’d need to consider today, of course. But it was vital I expanded my menu of escape plans. Saving my family’s financial woes was all well and good, but it was more than the tears of relief from the servants and the remains of a 14 layer cake Father was struggling to finish which awaited me upon my return home.

It was a stack of marriage proposals, built up in the time I was unable to divert them into the fireplace.

“That. Was. So. Cool.” Coppelia’s mouth only now closed enough to form words. “... Can you do that again?”

“Um … do what again?”

Coppelia motioned her body jiggling. And then exploding. A bizarre pantomime which would have the audience of the Royal Arc Theatre applauding on their feet, such was the dullness of modern theatre.

“I can’t shapeshift again if that’s what you’re asking. At least not on demand. I’m not a druid, sorry!”

“Oh, okay. But what happens if you try?”

The werewolf paused and scrunched up her eyes. Her body shook for a moment. And then her stomach grumbled. As her eyes opened again, it was with a flush of embarrassment.

“That’s what happens,” she said with a note of apology.

Coppelia nodded rapidly, no less disappointed. Already, she was rudely leaning in to study the werewolf, blocking my view.

“But that’s still amazing! How does it feel? You know, being a popular monster of children’s fairy tales.”

“It’s okay,” said the werewolf simply. “It wasn’t my choice. But you live with what you get. And boy, am I happy I get to live. Because when it comes to werewolves, the other option is usually being eaten.”

“What about shoes and stuff? Do you need to replace them each time you transform?”

“Gosh, no. That’d be awful. I can’t afford that. But it’s not all random. When I know the full moon is coming up or I’m expecting a parcel I’ve been waiting ages for to turn up, I’ll make sure I’m barefoot and more or less naked first. My cloak’s pretty good for that.”

The werewolf wrapped her cloak around herself like a curtain. It was a surprisingly snug fit.

“It’s a bit inconvenient at times,” she admitted. “But the whole werewolf thing comes in handy, too. Like now. I’m pretty sure I’d have a hard time dealing with wargs if I couldn’t, you know, stick an arm through them. Of course, it does mean I need to stay like this for a while. But it’s fine. I’ll go back to normal after a day or two. Whatever a day is with that thing in the sky.”

Coppelia nodded, listening raptly to every word.

Then, she raised a finger and smiled.

“… Can I poke you?”

The werewolf blinked. I gasped on her behalf.

“Coppelia! You cannot make such a crass request! It is highly improper. She is not some plaything to be prodded and poked. Just because this girl has shapeshifted into the only fur I’ve yet to touch hardly means you can–”

“Oh, I don’t mind in the slightest! Please go ahead.”

“R-Really?” I said, turning to the werewolf with my finger raised. “Are you certain?”

“Sure! I recommend my tummy. It’s really smooth there.”

Coppelia and I blinked in unison.

A moment later–

“Oooooh~ she’s right! So buttery smooth!”

“S-Such a peculiar feeling … why, it’s akin to stroking the feathers of an ostrich!”

The werewolf wore a lazy expression, eyes closing and mouth twisting into the closest thing to a smile.

“Heheheh … that tickles …”

Eventually, my loyal handmaiden and I ceased invading the werewolf’s personal space. 

I gave a small cough, then adopted a serious expression as I brought proceedings back to order. There were questions which needed to be asked. And all of them to do with why Coppelia and I were stroking a werewolf instead of fleeing for our lives.

She doubtless knew this as well.

Hence, why the werewolf fully closed her eyes, keeping perfectly still as she waited … albeit with a notably taut expression I never knew werewolves were capable of displaying.

“Right! I’m ready,” she said brightly. “You may begin the stabbing.”

Coppelia and I looked at each other. I offered to volunteer the confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“The stabbing. I’ve seen enough adventurers wandering these woods to know what you guys are after. Especially the super serious ones with magical swords. To be honest, I think I’ve done a pretty good job keeping my head down, but I always knew it wouldn’t last. So … I’m ready to make a deal! Would you be okay with just chopping off a paw to show your guild? I can do with just the one I think.”

I raised my sword.

But only to point towards the tiny cabin on the hillside.

“Is that residence yours?”

“Hm?”

“The abode on the hill. Is it your lawful property?”

The werewolf opened a single eye. She gave a nod.

“Oh, that? Yep, that’s home sweet home.”

“And what is your occupation?”

“I sell wolf pelts and apples. Oh, and also warg paws I happen to find all the time just lying around.”

“I see. And do you have a hunting licence to operate in this forest? What about a trading permit? Residency deed? Do you report your income to the Royal Treasury and pay your lawfully due taxes?”

“I do! Half my time is spent on paperwork, it sucks!”

I gave a curt nod, then lowered the sword in my hand.

“Excellent. In that case, I see little reason to sever any limbs from you. Rest assured, there are many ways the Royal Treasury collects owed taxes while mockingly adhering to its own regulations. Selling off bits of citizens isn’t one of them.”

The werewolf blinked.

“Really? But I’m a werewolf.”

“A werewolf who isn’t yet lost to the grip of violence. I imagine that if you were, the tale from the foreman would have been remarkably more vivid. No, I’ve no interest in stabbing those who drown in debilitating bureaucracy while also defending woodcutters from wargs.”

“Oh.” The werewolf paused. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. Are you sure? It’s just that some werewolves like to eat people.”

“And some vampires like to rule the continent. Yet I happen to know one who only wishes to read books.”

“... Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I offered a curt nod. “Evil has many faces, Miss–”

“Jenny.”

“–Miss Penny. But all of them involve treason. I am in no haste to destroy those who aid this fair kingdom, for I have seen the nature of deceit in humans more than I have in any monster.”

Her only response was to blink at me.

“Are you doing the thing where you pretend you won’t stab me and then you’ll stab me?”

Coppelia gasped.

“She’s onto us,” she said, whispering to me very loudly.

“Coppelia, please.”

I fixed my calming smile onto a very anxious werewolf. She took a step back, her relief reminding her to wet her parched throat with a gulp.

“Now, if adventurers, guards and mages are an issue, I suggest you rectify this by identifying yourself to the local foreman at the earliest opportunity. Those loitering at the lumbermill must be informed they can resume work with only the threat of regular monsters beyond their ability to survive watching them. At the moment, they fear you more than their missing quotas. That is unacceptable.”

The werewolf gave an awkward laugh, fidgeted, and then scratched her head.

“Uh … you want me to reveal myself to woodcutters?”

“I hardly see why not. If you’ve been paying your taxes, then they have no room for complaint.”

“Oh, okay. It’s just that I feel like I know how this story ends. They’re not bad people. But they’re people. And most people are terrified of werewolves. Plus I’d feel awkward since I’ve sort of implied I’m definitely not a werewolf all this time and I’m actually pretty bad with conversations, sooooo …”

I raised a brow.

True. There was little room for optimism so far as werewolves were concerned. They were to children what receptionists were to me. 

But this was not her tale. It was mine. And I curated all my endings.

“Is that so? … Then, allow me to offer an alternative. Have you considered upgrading?”

“Upgrading?”

“To a better forest.”

The werewolf blinked.

“Uh … no? The magic in this forest actually prevents people from finding me, so it’s as good as it gets for me. Honestly, the woodcutters aren’t what worries me. It’s more the other guys I sort of don’t want to deal with. I’m not too keen on answering my door to werewolf hunters and mad alchemists after my bits of hair every morning.”

I offered the werewolf a smile.

A visible bead of sweat instantly appeared as the fatigue from her battle finally showed itself. 

“Oh? How fortunate then. Because there just so happens to exist an expansive forest where you needn’t hide like a robber in the night, where the grounds are private and neither werewolf hunters nor alchemists may trespass, and where conservation efforts would not only be deeply welcomed by its owners, but paid as a generous salary.”

“Um … I’m not sure if a forest like that exists. And if it does, it definitely sounds like a scam.”

In response, I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.

“Ohohoho … true, if something seems too good to be true, it most certainly is … and yet I also exist, evidence to the contrary. So tell me, what do you think of fire breathing man eating death beetles?”

The werewolf's golden eyes lit up at once.

“Fire breathing man eating death beetles? I love them! They’re so spicy. I can’t eat them in my regular form. But as a werewolf, they’re the perfect mix of crunchy shell and self-roasted flavour. There used to be a colony here, but, uh, I think I chased them all away.”

I clapped my hands in delight.

“In that case, I just happen to know a tidy little forest inhabited by ample carnivorous beetles waiting to be turned into a gourmet buffet, plus the odd louts requiring summary eviction. A vacancy for a new groundskeeper is available, with the requirements being that they pay taxes, possess claws and can occasionally howl to ensure nobility passing along the road are unable to sleep soundly during the night … would you like to know more?”

The werewolf blinked at me, her eyes wincing. 

And why not?

Even without the sun missing in the sky, my smile would still prove itself the brighter.