The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

A young woman slowly raised her arms. And magic answered her call.

“Ahahahaah … ahahahahahaahahah!”

Magic which streaked like ribbons in a carnival.

If the carnival was on fire.

And so was its main attraction.

Little of the shopkeeper found cackling beneath a well in Rolstein could be seen here. But it was not the silver of her eyes, the gradient of colours lighting her hair, or even the respectable laughter bellowing like a trumpet which separated her from the middling schemer I knew.

It was the flames which engulfed her, topped by a crown burning like a halo of retribution.

And the one who feared it most wore a smile cold enough to dampen it.

“Ah, how fate spins a cruel die,” said the headmaster, each word purposefully measured, as though spelling out every letter.  “... This is a most inconvenient face to land upon.”

He narrowed his eyes. 

The pages of a tome flickered and glowed in one hand. Deathly magic pooled in the other, warped and black as sin. It was not for me. But for the doom dancing as a rising crescendo of laughter.

Even so, his deliberate smile never abated. Nor his overdone need for drama.

“Harken, adventurers, to the past made present,” he said, gesturing helpfully towards the woman on fire we’d all clearly missed. “To a story so old it has passed from the history books and entered the realm of bedside tales. Now it has been dragged from the nightmares of children and born anew. I suggest you turn your sword away from me. For you have greater problems now.”

I winced, arm raised to shield my eyes as burning flecks of furnishing swirled around the chamber. 

Each ember was carried like pieces of a bonfire upon a summer wind. A fiery maelstrom. And at its centre was a woman whose fervour was matched only by a very excited Coppelia.

“Wooooooooooooo!” She wildly clapped while hopping on the spot. “This. Is. Amazing!”

The headmaster let out a snort, snapping his attention towards her.

“This is no time for mirth, clockwork doll.”

“This is the best time! I never get to see an evil transformation like this! It’s just like what you read about in the forbidden books I’m not allowed to talk about! Everyone at the library is going to be so jealous!”

“Foolishness. This is not forbidden magic you see. It is something far, far worse. It is doom made manifest. A power so dark even villains hope to keep it hidden.”

Coppelia raised her arms in the air and twirled.

“Best day ever!”

A click of a tongue answered her joy.

“There is no day. There is no night. Not for one who can usher both away and leave only a carpet of flames in its wake.”

“The end of the world! Let’s goooooooo~!”

“Your blaséness is both highly bizarre and misplaced. I have nothing to fear. But though my bones cannot melt, your cogs will. After all these years, she has finally chosen to reappear. The herald of the end. The wielder of the first flame. The torchbearer of misfortune and woe. She is the messenger of disaster. The blackened page of history.”

The headmaster turned towards the laughing woman again, all the while Coppelia nodded heartily.

And this time, his smile faded. 

“... Yes, the Witch of Calamity.”

“Aahhaha … ahaah … ahahahahahaahahah!”

The moment the words were spoken, they echoed amidst the burning chamber like her laughter. 

The Witch Of Calamity.

A name dredged from a time long in the past.

A legendary mage of unbridled power, whose control over flames wrought devastation only ancient dragons could compare. Even as the centuries passed and history turned to myth, the memory still remained, if not as blackened cities and fallen armies, than as a whisper of an ill-wind. 

Few mages had ever reached those heights, and fewer yet the infamy.

I did not wish to believe it. 

Yet as I watched that crown of flames bristling upon Marina Lainsfont’s brow, I saw it also in the corner of my mind. I saw wreaths of scarlet within peeling mosaics deep beneath castles of stone, hidden away as though shielding the surface from the glare of its image.

And I knew they were one and the same.

Few dared to wear a coronet in my kingdom. All paled against the gold and silver worn by my mother and father. Yet hers shone with the arrogance of a pretender who knew no bounds and no loss. A crown worn by those whose names were etched upon faded walls. 

“... Truly?” I said, my hand covering my mouth. “Are you certain?”

The headmaster nodded. The magic continually built upon his palm. An orb of visceral darkness as dismissed as his presence. 

For now.

“There is no mistake. A fact I already regret. As joyful as I’d ordinarily be to engage in a philosophical debate with a figure of historical destruction, this is a complication I do not require.”

A complication, he called it.

And yet what I saw was an unmitigated disaster.

Marina Lainsfont. Previously famed as a mage of scandalous attire. And now she sought to thoroughly burn away that reputation with an altogether different image. One of fire and calamity enough to erase any memory of her garments.

My mind was a whirlpool of unanswered questions.

And the only answer I received was laughter.

“Ahahaha … ahaah … ahahahahaha!”

Seeing the flames burgeoning before me … it was all I could do but tightly clench my fingers around the hilt of my fabled sword. 

One which in times past was said to have met the Witch of Calamity’s magic and remained unbending.

Yet even as I found comfort in its familiar weight, I knew that this was no story before me. No plaque filled with triumphs written and rewritten, until eventually even the gloss seeped into the words.

It was flames as real as the power coursing through the laughter.

And I knew that the light from my sword was not enough to rescue me from the impending darkness.

Marina Lainsfont had stepped into the abyss. And she had returned all the stronger. 

It did not take a diviner, nor the warnings of a lich to understand what was to come. I saw within those billowing flames a stark vision of the future, blacker than the still night sky.

My hand quivered around my mouth.

A 6 hour … no, a 7 hour long ultimate power speech.

I was horrified.

There was only so long I could stare at the back of my own eyelids in boredom! I had things to do! Important things! Things so important nobody bothered writing them down for fear of wasting my time reading them!

Yet seeing her wreathed in unholy flames … I knew that nothing would stop a speech so dull that the world would be begging for her to end it before she was finished! 

Why, she’d be known as the Witch of Mercy by the end of it!

“This … This is worse than I ever imagined,” I said, my fragile voice barely sifting past my palm. “How did this come to be? In all my encounters with her, her strength was in her ability to flee, not … this!” 

The headmaster let out a small chortle, finding amusement in the torturous rant to come.

“The usual answer … blood.” 

I blinked, seeing a light in the tunnel.

“Are you telling me she’s a vampire now? … Because if so, I can bring her to the same happy place I also intended on bringing you!”

“I do not know what this … happy place you’re referring to is. And frankly, I don’t wish to know. But no, she is not a vampire. She is very much still human. Or as human as those who wield the blood of the first witches can be.”

“The first witches? Who are these hags? Why have I never heard of them?”

“You’d have no reason to. Only mages and scholars have need to seek out their history. It is not one that is taught as a matter of need. Well, except to royalty, I suppose.”

My mouth gradually widened even further.

W-Which history lesson was it that I’d missed?! If … If I knew any of this would be pertinent, I’d have at least passively listened by sleeping through them! 

“O-Ohohoho … I, I see … and what does possessing this highly suspect blood entail?”

“This.” The headmaster almost looked bored as he gazed ahead, the darkness partially warping his palm. “Magic run wild. Uncontrolled. Temperamental. Like mother, like daughter. They are both descended from a long line of mages gifted for their lack of composure. A fact I believe she herself is blissfully unaware of.”

I batted away some of the embers threatening my hair.

“How is one possibly unaware their ancestor is the Witch of Calamity? It’s not status, yes, but it at least elevates her above the next town alchemist.”

“She would not be the only one oblivious. Given the nature of diaspora, I imagine that many can trace their roots back to the Witch of Calamity. Or more accurately, a clan of witches few now know the name of. It is from them that the most gifted may see their powers of birthright emerge. An event which has not been recorded for centuries.” 

I pursed my lips.

Hereditary powers of destruction. How quaint. Her form as a rolled up caterpillar was an omen all along.

“... Quite the regret,” added the headmaster, revealing no hint of regret in the slightest. “The flame she wields is truly spectacular. Too spectacular. I shall need to see it extinguished. As do you.” 

Fwooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooosh.

The temperature in the chamber rose. Only the chasm in the wall took away from the primordial flames. 

It was the most useful thing here. All the more so given the look I received. One worthy of a lich who’d spent his entire life politicking to climb a tower only to meet my boot punting him from the top of it.

“Miss Lainsfont is one thing. You are another. Rest assured, I treat all miscreants with equal disdain. Your place at the front of the queue is secure. Any reborn avatars of calamity will have to wait.”

“It is almost impressive how obtusely offensive you can be.”

“You do yourself a disservice. Your very presence is an offence.”

The headmaster narrowed his eyes at me.

“I am beyond you. As is Miss Lainsfont here. So I shall make you an offer that your continual disregard for my position scarcely deserves. All it requires is you seizing your destiny as a famed adventurer and using your sword to assist in quelling Miss Lainsfont’s flames.”

I was appalled.

“H-How dare you claim my destiny is as a famed adventurer!”

“... What?”

“I mean, how dare you think I would assist an undead abomination!”

The man appeared momentarily confused. He dismissed it with a shake of his head.

“If assistance isn’t palatable to you, we can change the wording. A temporary truce. Mutual assistance. Or simply prioritising a greater foe. It is simple prudence for you to help me subdue the Witch of Calamity, if only to avoid facing two legendary spellcasters beyond your means to defeat. So here is my offer–wave your stick in the correct direction. In return, I will allow you the satisfaction of claiming her defeat.”

“Excuse me? … What did you say?”

Sensing his cue, the man allowed his lips to curl into an imitation of a cordial smile.

“You may inform your guild you bested the Witch of Calamity. The accolades will be your pathway to renown. You shall have fame unending. Merely raise your sword against a wicked foe you’re already professionally inclined to defeat. As proof of her demise, you can have your pick of magical artifacts from my personal vault. More importantly, you can have your life. I’ll permit you to exit this chamber. I’ll even not insist you do so via the hole in the wall. Once safely away, you can appropriately plan my defeat with better resources and preparation. My [Suggestion] is that you accept my offer.”

Suddenly, his words rang, echoing in my head like a thousand pans spilled by a new kitchen hire.

My reaction was much the same.

“Oho …”

The headmaster’s expression immediately fell. 

“Could you please not–”

“Ohohoho … ohoho … ohohohohohhoho!!” 

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

A pick of magical artifacts, he says! 

As if I could be moved by crumbs when I had an entire tower to requisition! 

Here was a lich whose calling was a jester, and yet he also thought himself a troll! My, what a marvellously colourful identity this vagrant possessed! And fame? I could only walk my kingdom under a hood of subterfuge and deception!

Suddenly, I wiped a tear from my eye.

It was no laughing matter of course. That he could induce wild laughter in everyone to look upon him was proof of the power he wielded.

Thus, I swiftly collected myself.

“Oho … ohoho … ahem … thank you. But after careful consideration, I decline.” 

“This is no laughing matter!” blasted the response, every shade of indignation mixing onto the lich’s conjured face. “My offer is the best you can hope for!”

I offered a polite smile.

“Is that so? … My, how generous. In that case, allow me to make an offer of my own.”

Watched by a bewildered lich, I strolled over to a fallen bookcase. 

With a sweep of the debris, I regally perched myself upon the edge. And pretending it wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing in the world, I crossed one leg over the other, before vaguely flicking my wrist towards the direction of our two all-powerful mages.

“I shall sit here and do nothing while you two destroy each other. You may now begin.”

A look of utter gall met me. It was his finest expression yet.

“You intend to just sit and watch?!”

“No, I intend to sit and watch while making needless comments from the sidelines.”

A pair of arms were raised to the sky. I barely cared to notice.

All I saw was a master of undeath and a master of flames. Two problems with one solution. And that was to search for a crate of rotten fruit for the theatrics ahead.

“That is highly against form! Are you not an adventurer?! You … You are not allowed to sit and watch!”

“True, to do more than lunge headfirst into the most moronic mode of death imaginable is certainly something forbidden in the guild code. I suppose you’re entitled to write a complaint. I’d be all too happy to deliver it myself. Perhaps I'll even be demoted for this clear breach in etiquette.”

The headmaster bit his lips, the dark magic in his grip as morbid as the expression he wore. 

For a moment, that ball of gathered death seemed very much like it was aimed towards me.

Instead … he practically hoisted himself towards the direction of a woman whose laughter had already subsided. The comedy was over. And all that remained was the drama. 

I had high hopes. 

A lich or a witch. It made no difference to me. Both were unwelcome. But rarely did I see a chance for two blemishes to scrub at one another–beginning with that twisting, shuddering ball of dark energy raised upon a palm like an offering to the heavens.

“Your gambit is as obvious as it’s poorly thought out,” he said through clenched teeth. “But know that you’ll find no purchase should you intend to strike me once I’m done.”

“An outrageous accusation,” I replied while making the neck severing gesture to Coppelia. “As if we would ever stoop to such a low petty ploy. To strike a victor in their moment of triumph and vulnerability is something only those devoid of honour would do. We are above that.”

Swooooooooooooooosh.

A sudden gale swept into the chamber, dousing the flames not upon Marina Lainsfont’s figure. The black orb jerked, its form collapsing, holding, changing, growing all in the span of a single second. It pulsed like a beating heart. And for a moment, it seemed that even the flames upon our newly made Witch of Calamity were commanded towards it.

The headmaster’s false skin grew clammy. 

The outline of a thin cheek bone was revealed as every morsel of concentration was poured into his spell. A darkness much smaller, but no less precarious than that which waited high above.

He still had enough to gloat, of course. That was essential.

“I’m afraid I must decline your attempt on my back. Any hope you have that Miss Lainsfont can breach my wards is fruitless. I’ve already humoured her magic. And while I see she’s improved, I’ve no intention of repeating a lesson once taught. What I will do, however, is offer a new one.” 

The headmaster’s eyes narrowed. 

What were already two dark specks became even bleaker. A pair as hollow as his soul, where all he saw was the woman now conspicuously silent, her face impassive as though in a dream.

“It’s a shame you never accepted my offer of tutelage. As I predicted, you would have made an excellent student. Be that as it may, you may take this as my final lesson … when in doubt, destroy everything.”

The magic stopped pulsing upon his hand. The pages of his tome fell silent.

And then–

“[Gravecaller’s Embrace].”

The sphere was released. 

Magic so sinister it warped the air around it as it went, drawing both light and colour into its mass. Nothing escaped it. Not the smoke. Not the flames. And not Marina Lainsfont as she stood still, her silver eyes giving way to a single blink as she watched the headmaster’s dark spell hurtling towards her.

As it came, she raised her palm to respond.

And what she did–

Poomph.

Was bat it away.

A jaw dropped open as a literal sphere of doom was casually sent past Marina’s shoulder like a cold entrée. It shot into the wall behind her, melting … no, absorbing the stonework as it passed through, its destructive force unable to acknowledge the collision as it went in search of a mountain to crumble instead.

Marina’s lips curled into a smile.  

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she said, her voice musing. “I will take that lesson to your grave.”

And then she pointed. 

Not at the failed lich before her. But towards the ceiling.

The headmaster did not hesitate. 

His slack jaw snapping to a close, he raised his arms outward. Yet there was no dark magic being offered in response. Only a twinkling of violet as recognisable to me as Marina Lainsfont’s own when she sought an ignominious escape.

“[Great Arcane Tele–”

“[True Silence].”

He found only the remains of his wilted carpet instead.

Arms windmilled as he sent himself toppling over his own motionless feet. His mouth opened, but no yelp was released. Shock filled the headmaster’s face as he crashed to the floor, then again as his hands reached for his throat, cajoling a spell which failed to come.

That shock soon became fear.

An expression gradually made clearer by the light filling up the chamber.

All of a sudden, a familiar sensation tickled my skin. 

It was the unremitting warmth rushing past the curtains as they were cruelly swept aside in the mornings. Burning. Blinding. Sweltering … and as unwanted as the smiles of my mother’s maids as they hid their treason behind a level of job security even my finger of dismissal couldn’t penetrate.

The smile directed towards me was much the same.

Except this time, it wasn’t the sunlight which greeted me through the curtains.

“[Meteor].”

It was the sun itself.