The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Marina’s head hurt. 

A small part of her appreciated that. 

After all, it meant she could experience pain. Like a normal person. Someone whose shoulders and arms didn’t light up like a forest fire. The fact that Marina could feel a stinging numbness like she’d consumed a bottle of wine kept on the lowest shelf was therefore nothing but good news. 

The bigger part of her, however, was simply wondering why it was so dark. 

And then she realised it was because she hadn’t opened her eyes yet.

For a moment, she merely lay where she was, cradling the back of her head against a soft patch of grass. 

The scent of nostalgia wafted over her. Spring daisies, wild grass and dandelions. All the things she’d tugged, snipped and burned on the way to creating her first stomach ache in a bottle. The most vile concoction she’d ever made, unsurpassed by anything she’d made since.

She wanted to drink it, just to erode the throbbing pain in her head.

Marina opened her eyes.

A canopy of leaves awaited her high above. That was new.

For a moment, she narrowed her eyes, focusing on a single leaf as she sought to anchor her senses back into the world. She failed. The leaves became a blur, indistinguishable from the night which sat above it.

Night.

But not the night.

That had been swept away. 

First by a light so blinding it’d struck through her eyelids and set her unconsciousness wincing. And then by the sight of a lich’s tome being delivered via insanity to an angry black blot, cajoled by a girl’s cackling laughter and the gale force winds she could employ.

What she’d seen in her brief moment of lucidness, she had no idea. Only that it wasn’t the clockwork doll’s farming tool whacking against her head that was the cause of her headache.

It was everything.

Marina blinked like a goldfish. 

Once, twice … and then again and again, carousing the memories towards her with each flap of her eyelids. Each image was as painful as a page from Halabriza’s Modern Codex Of Shadowmancy. 

That was her fault. She should know by now that anything with the word ‘modern’ in the title was already out of date. Other mages swore by older texts. But older texts also boasted dust seeping between every page. And that meant each time she delved through an ancient tome unlocking the mysteries of magic, her reward was first and foremost a rash on her skin.

This was a problem.

She was going to need to pour through books so old that the dust had its own dust. And few of them about the workings of magic. She needed to pore over history books, archival documents … even fairy tales. 

Because despite her best wishes, Marina was most certainly not normal. 

And this was before she realised she could set things on fire.

The Witch of Calamity.

A rumour. A story. A legend. 

A being whose name speckled history not with blots of ink, but scorches where the pages were burned.

‘How’ … she did not know. 

‘Why’ … she knew even less.

But none of this surprised her.

Not in the slightest.

It was making her head spin with enough pain that she could end the world several times over, yes. But it wasn’t a shock. After all, discovering she was the Witch of Calamity after suffering a nosebleed was precisely the sort of hair pulling thing which only happened to her. 

All those years of searching for her missing catalyst. And it had been her all along.

Tomorrow, she might consider that a convenience. 

Today, it was simply disgusting. 

Frankly, Marina wanted nothing more than to dismiss every word which came from that old codger’s decrepit lips. But this was no idle boast about his robes he’d made. It was an observation gleaned from decades of research. And then reinforced by a [Meteor] casually tossed upon his head.

Just like that.

It had come so easily to her. Like a spell she had cast over and over again.

She recalled the untempered fury. The blood boiling in her veins. The smoke clouding her vision.

She remembered it all. And none of it was pleasant. 

The flames had been worn like a crown … no, like a corset … no … like a shoe that was slightly too small. 

Her only wish was to expel it … to hurl it, dragging it across every surface until it melted or she did. 

Magic more visceral, more wild than she had ever experienced hadn’t just coursed through her. It clashed like competing concoctions in a cauldron. And she of all people knew what that resulted in.

Volatility beyond her control.

And so for a single moment, she saw the image of a ridiculous pair of meddlers smacking their noses from one disaster to another and didn’t feel the need to include a moon falling upon them in her mind.

Marina, for just the briefest of moments, was just the slightest bit grateful.

Her eyes blinked until the leaves became vivid. Leaves she had no recollection of falling beneath. Yet here she was, lying in an unknown forest. The smallest question on her mind.

Marina touched her cheek. 

The heat lingered in her memory and in her skin. Had it always been so warm? … Probably. Her pores were always prone to blotchiness. Some called it rosy. She called it sweaty and gross. And now it was just the slightest bit more balmy to the touch.

Thus, she let out a groan.

Just the thing she didn’t need. More sweat. Along with the headache drumming like a second heartbeat. She clenched her fists around the tuft of grass, threatening to lift the roots from the soil. And then she sucked in a deep breath. Calm found her. The pain lessened. 

And then she saw the luminous ends of her hair.

“Ughhhh …”

She despaired as she lifted the strands up.

Not only was it luminous, it was also polychromatic. 

Shades of pink, scarlet and amber grew and dimmed against her fingertips like a confused rhododendron. And so she knew what her first action was to be having awakened to her legendary powers of death and ruination.

She would walk into a shop and buy a pair of scissors. 

But before that–

“I hope you don’t harbour thoughts of discarding it. The colours are enviable.”

She would click her tongue over the fact that no matter what flames she had awoken to, none would be enough to burn away the only source of grief worse than an adventurer and a librarian.

“Tch.”

Marina didn’t bother sitting up. 

She turned her face instead, before immediately wishing she’d turned it to the other direction.

This time, that absurd girl was sitting on a rotting log. The way she crossed her legs and dangled her chin upon the back of her hand was no different to a vixen in a bar. That she could make herself look scandalous no matter her seating arrangement was the only acknowledgement Marina would provide.

She patted the rotting log beside her.

“Would you like a seat?” asked the Dealer, her mismatched eyes of scarlet and gold both glimmering with the promise of a weary conversation. “It’s uncomfortable and coarse.”

Marina let out a sigh.

“I’m tired,” she said, blowing away the grass tickling her lips. “Go away.”

The Dealer offered what she thought to be a bewitching smile. A caterpillar paused as it crested the rotting log, then slowly began crawling back down. 

“And leave you to dispose of your luminous hair? The world would mourn such a thing.”

“Let the world grieve, then. I do not want luminous hair. This is embarrassing.”

“How tactless. To speak like one whose public appearance has been blessed by the hand of normality. Look at me. Do you see how I’m dressed? A uniform forged in the mind of a deviant. I look shameful. Harlots gently cough in my presence before sliding away. That is embarrassment.”

Marina raised an eyebrow.

Then, she studied the bizarre attire the girl wore. It was simultaneously overwhelming and not enough. It was more impressive that she could avoid the common cold than the spells occasionally thrown at her. 

Still, Marina had long stopped being appalled by it. Not because she was used to the debaucherous appearance. But rather, because the girl’s personality was far worse. But she’d never stopped to consider that it was a uniform forced upon her. 

As far as she knew, nobody else in Lotus House was required to wear anything even remotely as scandalous.

The smallest inkling of sympathy flicked at her.

“I see … and who made it for you, then?”

“I did.”

“[Fireball].”

The Dealer was promptly replaced by an explosion of bark and embers as the rotting log was laid to rest. 

Marina didn’t bother checking for ashes. She simply turned her head to face the other side. 

“The length I have to go through to make an impression is terrible,” said the Dealer, casually bumping her back against a tree as if she’d always been there. “Treasure the gifts you are given, for when next you wish for it, it will come for a price. And I dare not guess how much magical hair costs.”

Marina forced herself to sit up. It was hard to aim while lying down.

“You can guess while explaining where you’ve been. I distinctly recall teleporting both of us into the tower. At your request.”

The Dealer raised her hands in a show of innocence.

“I lost my way. And soon I fear I’ll lose anywhere to return to. Your luminous hair may help you rise to become a bigger misfit than myself. I fear for my hard earned place within Her Radiance’s shadow.”

“Nobody wants that place. It has you all over it.”

“Things can change. All it takes is an epiphany. And a witchly awakening caused by a lich.”

Marina wasn’t impressed. But then again, she never was with this girl.

“You’ve been watching. And not helping.”

“How crass. I’ve done more than act needlessly beguiling this time. I intervened.”

Deliberately doing away with added context just to be irritating, she leaned down to pluck at a dandelion. 

Marina thought about all the ways she could incinerate her without giving the spell away.

Fwoosh.

A thought answered by a tiny sprout of flame in her palm, with none of the triggers normally required. 

Caught by surprise, Marina watched as it flashed to life like a hearthfire set ablaze by a dragon’s sneeze. It danced so merrily it practically sang. And the melody was one of destruction.

She swiftly extinguished it with the closing of her palm. 

The Dealer paid the theatrics little mind. She likely wouldn’t have been perturbed even if a [Meteor] had been tossed on her. After all, a hole in the ground was simply a day in the life for her.

“The Witch of Calamity,” she said, blowing the seeds away. “My congratulations. You have now assumed a title so fashionable it will send half of the world’s mages mewing in envy and the other half sulking as they seek their own. What nefarious deeds will you commit to cement your name to the title, I wonder?”

Marina rolled her eyes.

“I will use it to learn how you appear like a rash on a perfectly non-dusty day.”

“You don’t need to use your powers of calamity for that. I hide just out of arm’s reach, script in hand while constantly peeking around the corner as I wait for the most opportune moment to maximise my appearance time.”

If that was a joke, it failed to reach her audience. There was an 80% chance that was true.

“... You’re in a good mood, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m in an excellent mood.”

“I see. Did you toss a cat up a tree?”

“Of course not. That would be villainous. And I am currently a heroine.”

The Dealer spun around, skirt flaring to the sight of her garter belts. Her scarlet lips twisted into a smile so dubious that the caterpillar no longer crawled. It started curling up into a cocoon.

Then, she clasped her hands against her chest.

“You were destined for the type of meeting which would cause even me to pale. As you can imagine, that would be a terrible thing. So I used one of my lifelines to whisk you away like sadness on a sunny day.”

Marina furrowed her brows at everyone’s least favourite enigma … even if she was the reason no cackling laughter was being aimed at her right now.

A lifeline. 

An acknowledgement she had finite powers, at least. Whatever they were. And now it included translocating others. That was immeasurably more difficult than moving oneself. Yet none of the effects of any teleportation spell she knew about was giving way as arcane residue in the air.

“I am only here because you asked me to be. With no notice and little assistance. If you hope for my joy, it is very limited.”    

“I always hope for your joy. Ensuring company morale is one of my tasks. And I take it very seriously. Hence, I have ensured your debts can no longer trouble you.”

Marina leered away slightly in suspicion, exactly as she treated the wandering merchants at her door.

“... What do you mean?”

“I mean what I mean. The copper crowns you owe a herbalist for the shipment of adder tails and blackroot he left by your door. The silver crowns you owe the Red Knight for failing to create a poison powerful enough to upset his stomach. And the gold crowns you owe a hidden library for a book you failed to return by its due date. They have now been made good.”

Suddenly, Marina was unsure what to say. 

Mostly because she was still waiting to be told what the catch was, and why it was worse than being chased even to the Kingdom Beneath The Sea by all of the above.

“... Is that so?” she said dismissively. “I thought Lotus House didn’t do charity.”

“Of course not. Nor do we do salaries, holidays, benefits or snacks on shift. This is our main selling point, after all.”

Every so often, Marina wondered whether offering her hand to feed this hound was worth it.

Hearing things like this only forced her not to wonder at all.

“But this isn’t any of those things,” added the Dealer with that same, indecipherable smile … as she held a single unspoiled page from a lich’s tome between her fingers. “It’s a payout. And the House never reneges on its obligations.”

Marina’s response came in the form of a small sneeze. The pollen was tickling her nose. 

A moment later, the page was gone. The last evidence of the headmaster’s work locked away in whatever bag of tricks this abominable girl carried on her, to be used in another scheme on another day.

She did not care one whit about that. Nor for her debts.

“It’s not coins I’m after. It’s knowledge. Now more than ever.”

The Dealer leaned forwards slightly, a glimmer of amusement in her mismatched eyes.

“... I did tell you that you would find what you’re looking for in that tower. The clearing of your debt was a bonus round. Are you unsatisfied with your prize?”

Marina held up the ends of her hair. Her pink, glowing hair. 

Her expression spoke louder than any complaint. This was no prize. It was something she found because she had to fight a lich. Even for an unequal accordance, it was weighted too far towards her grief. 

No … Marina was due what she was owed. And this time, she would ensure she had an answer.

A problem.

She no longer knew which question to ask. 

It was true she now had what she wanted. A means to an end. Even if that means was herself. 

But there was more than witchly flames in her grasp. There was something else. Something suited to helping her unearth the truth of a night where the ashes had long been brushed aside and a house rebuilt from the inferno which gutted it. 

An aptitude for thaumaturgy. 

And that was a coincidence too far.

A hundred fresh queries coalesced as one jumbled heap in her mind.

Why did she share the Witch of Calamity’s blood? Was her mother a witch? Her entire maternal line? Why was she not told? Did she know? Did anyone know? What did this mean for her now? Was she going to spontaneously explode? And what products did she need for this glowing hair to wash out?

They all rolled into silence, stuck between her throat and her headache.

But in the end, there was only one thing she truly wanted to know–

Swoosh.

… Why there was a sword spinning through the air.