The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Marina Lainsfont's mini-arc. 2/4.

***

 

Marina held little respect for most modern practitioners of magic. 

Fashion pervaded all lifestyles, and the world of mages was no different. 

Substance over effect. This was the current trend. A need to override mediocrity with a veneer of flamboyancy. Why settle for a simple [Light] spell when a thousand conjured fireflies did the same job but worse?

Seeing the chamber around her, she couldn’t help but weep.

The trend had begun to spread. And she wasn’t certain if there was a cure. The headmaster’s abode was less an office and more a house of curios–most likely because that’s where every item had been pilfered from. If there was room for one podium with a cursed limb to grace it, there was room for another. 

The tower had its own dedicated vault for these things, of course. Two, in fact. One for the mages and one for the robbers, with the only difference being the aggressiveness of the magical items stored. 

The robbers had the gentler ones, to offer them a fighting chance at survival.

But there was a reason Marina had sought this chamber over the vault. Because as powerful as the artifacts those here hoarded to the detriment of magical research worldwide were, the greatest rarely came as ancient staves, enchanted skulls and talking teapots.

They came as books.

And the one she needed sat waiting for her upon a plain wooden desk.

Alberic Terschel’s Observations Of The Grave, definitive 13th edition.

Far from leaping in joy, Marina merely wrinkled her nose. 

She’d endured all the definitive editions prior to this one. The updates to the winding prose must have been extraordinary. She doubted if there were any changes to the content. The man’s theories on contemporary thaumaturgy left as much room to manoeuvre as a boulder lodged in the sand. 

Then again, perhaps he was saving the best for the 13th time. 

Withholding pertinent knowledge for the sake of that number was very much the sort of moronic thing those in magical academia did. And their audience would gobble it up like fruit slimes to a rotten melon rind. Self-defeating inefficiency. 

If there was a tagline for renowned mages, that would be it.

Case in point.

Instead of erasing her presence with a bolt of lightning, the author of the tome in question only regarded her with a charming smile to woo any talentless apprentice without a [True Sight] in their spellbook or a bucket of ice to pour down their back.

Marina had a much better spell at the ready.

“Headmaster Alberic,” she said evenly, raising a fireball in her palms.

The man leaned comfortably against his high back chair.

Dressed in a fine robe plied from whichever merchant was unfortunate enough to be struck by a [Beguiling Charm], he was less the picture of a decrepit old mage and more a dashing adventurer at the start of his journey. He spent more time studying the tips of Marina’s boots than her gathering flames.

She looked down, noticed the scuff marks, then purposefully wiped them against the carpet.

“Aha! And so my inkling was correct,” he said, jovially enunciating every word as though they were debating Magister Clement’s Lexicon Of Lava in a bar corner. “And not a moment too late, Miss Lainsfont. My quill has just about finished drying. Now, would you like to read my life’s definitive work here, or once you’ve squirrelled it away for the lotuses to nibble on first? Please note, however, that this is still technically a draft and I’ll not be accepting reviews. Unless they’re good.”

He pushed the book towards her.

Marina answered with a warm smile. But not quite as warm as the flames in her hands.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she said simply.

“Well, I hardly see why that should come as a surprise. My name is on the plaque. Perhaps not very, well, legible owing to the dents. But it’s still there.”

“The dents are a mystery, yes. But you being awake is a bigger one. Isn’t it normal for the elderly to view their sleep with greater priority?”

Headmaster Alberic offered a small chuckle.

A welcoming demeanour. A dashing smile. Cleanly shaven. Dark eyes. And a mop of carefully crafted bed hair as luscious as an elven prince’s. Here was a man with all his years of magical learning and calamity to conduct ahead of him. 

Except he’d already done that. 

Decades ago. 

But what was a mage, if they couldn’t at least cast a modest glamour upon themselves? 

Age could not be slowed. But limbs could be hastened and smiles turned shining. Especially if the spellcaster was one who was exceptionally knowledgeable in matters of the human physique. Or so his own waffling foreword claimed.

“Sleep is a resource for the young,” he said, waving his hand at nothing at all. “To nurture minds and heal tired souls. Those of us who have passed that point no longer require nurturing. No, Miss Lainsfont. We require focus.”

Marina was unimpressed. Not least with herself. 

She had a task to do. And unlike those she was forced to work with to the detriment of her migraines, she at least tried to view her endeavours with the minimal professionalism.

… But this man?

Well, she could spare a reminder of how uninspiring he was. 

“Focus,” she repeated after him, juggling her fireball slightly to better allow her rolling eyes to be seen. “I suppose that’s famously the hallmark of someone who finishes a book at the 13th attempt.”

Headmaster Alberic clicked his fingers. Marina tensed at once, more than aware of what a mage’s fingers could do. 

“Precisely. Others would have left their life’s work in the gutters, to wither away and drown amidst the sheer avalanche of new titles competing with mine each month. But I opted to persevere.”

The headmaster gestured once more towards his book, tapping at the embossed cover. Marina had no doubt he’d painstakingly etched the letters himself. That was likely all the changes in this edition.

“You opted to ram it into enough bookshelves that someone accidentally bought it,” she corrected him.

“Yourself included, I hope?”

“I read it. I didn’t buy it.”

“And what did you think?”

“Superlative. I’ve yet to experience finer kindling.”

Headmaster Alberic’s smile continued unabated, even as he curled a beard that was no longer there.

“For a work six decades in the making, I’d expect no less. Few nights went by where I didn’t toil. And with each new release, I was galvanised to do another. Some believed I craved consistency. But I craved perfection. And I dare say I’ve now achieved it.”

The fireball in her palms wavered from the force of Marina’s snort.

“And is that the opinion of your peers as well?”

For a brief moment, the headmaster’s dark eyes flashed with a hint of colour and age.

“My peers? Miss Lainsfont, to burgle my chamber is one thing. But to insult me is quite another. My peers are those who have already passed before us, gone to rest after having charted the stars, mapped the field of theoretical invocation and crafted the spell for self-slicing bread. The … apprentices who remain, wearing their master’s robes, barely qualify to peer review a cookbook.”

“Is that because a cookbook is the most accurate thing you’ve written?” 

Silence.

Headmaster Alberic’s fingers drummed against the cover of his book. A moment later, he sat up and offered a smile so devoid of mirth that no amount of magic could hide it.

“Ah, but how delightful it is to see the years haven’t changed you, Miss Lainsfont. Now where are my manners? I welcome you to the Royal Institute of Mages. How well you’ve grown since your last visit. Have you come to tour the grounds again? Review our classes? Our crafting workshops, perhaps?”

“No.”

Marina looked pointedly at the book on his desk. 

She was not being curt for the sake of it. Allow this man to waffle and before long, she’d need a glamour to hide the wrinkles, too.

“A shame,” replied Headmaster Alberic, offering a hint of regret in his tone. “Our facilities would offer your talents a greater pathway to success than … well, whatever it is you’re currently doing.”

“Drudgery can be found anywhere. It’s not exclusive to just under your tutelage.”

“True. And how very dull your work must be if my little book is all Lotus House desires. But I suppose clandestine organisations can’t be initiating coups all the time. There’d be no kingdoms left to topple. Frankly, it all sounds a bit of a chore. You’d do better working at your father’s establishment. By all accounts, it isn’t terrible.”

Marina’s nose wrinkled. And only a fraction of it was due to the musk from the centuries old carpet.

“Bar work was never for me,” she said quietly. “But I see from this meeting it’s never too late to regret. Your glamour can instil remorse where words from the wise have failed.”

Headmaster Alberic gave a generous chuckle.

“Ah. And there is that famed Lainsfont impertinence which first drew you to my eye. Why, I’m almost inclined to offer you another scholarship. It’s not too late, you know? Since your overconfidence in your own mediocre abilities hasn’t left, neither has my offer.”

Marina would have snorted again if she wasn’t afraid the strength of it would extinguish her flames.

For one thing, she very much doubted if he was in any position to offer a scholarships. Not while a death knight guarded his door and the tower’s guardians seemed to want to add his head to an appropriate mantle of matching fossils.

“I’ll decline.”

“Without a moment’s hesitation?”

“My reasons haven’t changed. They’ve only been added to. If I wish to endure mental torture, I’d flick to a random page in your newest edition.”

Headmaster Alberic raised his brow. All of a sudden, his dark eyes took on an unusual hue as they not only peered at Marina, but almost past her as well.

“... Like mother, like daughter, I see. She was also highly confident. Too much so. I would have hoped that you of all people would understand the folly of pride.”

Marina’s mouth opened, yet no words came out. Of all the disparagements she was ready to swipe aside, that had not been one of them.

The man took the pause in his stride. He quietly considered her for a moment, then gave a curt nod.

“My condolences for the tragedy, by the way.”

She pursed her lips.

“There was no tragedy.”

“Of course,” replied the headmaster evenly. He leaned back against his chair once again. “Now, I wish to add that we are exceptionally overbooked. Direct entry is a treasure rarer than–well, no, everything in this room is worth more. But pick a sum of crowns. That’s how much wealthy families in Granholtz and the Dunes are tossing my way each day and night to send their bumbling firstborn into my arms. You’d do well to reconsider.”

Marina sucked in a shallow breath, then hardened her expression.

There was time to be distracted later. Not now.

“I’ve much to reconsider. But not any proposal by a man whose door is being tested by golems. I see your influence holds less weight than before. Did you fumble while casting away a grey hair and strike a gargoyle instead?”

Headmaster Alberic gave an indifferent shrug.

“Maybe your masters would know. They seem well informed. If not, I’m willing to trade an answer for an answer. A mystery for a mystery. Is there a reason they wish for Observation Of The Grave’s latest edition before it’s finalised? True, the copy that’ll be made available will be somewhat redacted, but for the common mind, it is already a deeply valuable learning tool filled with all my latest observations.” 

Marina had no answer for that. Nobody did.

Why Lotus House wanted this man’s musings in written form, not even the most generous of mages could comprehend. And she was not one of them. 

But in the end, she was here for her own reasons. And none of them included wasting time with this man well on his way to joining his peers in the ground.

Thus, she raised her flaming palms instead. The headmaster barely looked at them.

“It is better to pretend to ask for the book before outright robbing it. If you want, perhaps a borrow agreement can be discussed. I’m certain Lotus House will be able to afford it. My price happens to be exceptionally low. A book of corresponding value, of course. Plus obliviousness for a few days. Rest assured, I do not sit here waiting merely for your benefit. I am exceptionally busy and have no need for distractions. And that would include you.”

Marina scoffed.

“Nothing will be lost from the absence of your 14th definitive edition.”

“Then you needn’t concern yourself. The 13th is my very last. And a fine number for it to end on. So please return with a suitable offer to table. As generous as I am, I will not part with my book for free. I suggest you listen to your elders once in your life on this occasion.”

He leisurely sat with his hands clasped atop his lap as he offered an unhurried smile, patiently waiting for Marina to leave.

She didn’t.

After all–

There was a time to listen to her elders. But there was also a time to set their faces on fire.

She only needed to ensure it was their actual face … and not the mirror image she was speaking with.

Marina swept around, only now sensing the magic at her back.

“A failing grade,” said Headmaster Alberic, the spell releasing from his fingertip. “[Focus Detonation].”