The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Thomas Lainsfont didn’t know whether to be amused or impressed.

Beside him, Cedric Halls was grappling with the reins of his horse with the drama of a sailor wielding every rope on a ship by himself. Even after all this time, the guildmaster of Rolstein was still considerably more versed with riding in a cart tugged by a horse than the horse itself. 

He could only feel sorry for the steed. 

A highland palfrey which could make a gallop over hills and stone seem as easy as trotting across a meadow. Fortunately for the horse, it was only the rider which would prove a test tonight.

A winding, but smooth lane of dirt stretched out before them. One they could now finally see. 

Although the sun had set, the moon that’d taken its place was just as welcome. 

Thomas didn’t know what had happened over the past hour. But he was glad to see that it likely wouldn’t involve him returning to the fold at its deepest end. He hadn’t ridden out to deal with unknown horrors bleaching the sky with darkness. 

No, this time, he was out for a wholly different reason.

To have a long overdue conversation with his daughter.

And that’s why the sight of what could only be described as a godlike entity of terror rupturing the sky, only to be struck down by lights and the elements didn’t concern him. 

After all, his task was much worse.

“Well, good news,” said Cedric, giving up on finding a comfortable grip and craning his neck upwards instead. “The cosmic horror has left. That means whoever it was here to swipe, it wasn’t us this time.”

Thomas merely nodded … at first. 

If this was his bar, he could nod away all night and never need to offer anything but a grunt. But Cedric expected his grim barkeepers to be sociable. Even one who was now far away from his counter. 

“You never know. Bodkins isn’t here. He might have accidentally stepped on the wrong porridge again. Good chance he’s now lodged in the abyss until he’s made amends.”

Cedric gave a generous chuckle.

“He’ll be out before long, then. When it comes to food, that halfling can make amends like a fountain spitting gold. That’s what I miss most. The way he can just snap his fingers and have a buffet of three course dinners pop out like rabbits from a warren. I’m still convinced he isn’t actually a ranger. Just a conjurer in disguise.”

“He was a conjurer. Just of arrows and decent meals.”

“Remember what it was like before he joined?”

Thomas gave his old friend a raised eyebrow.

“I do. It was just like this. And I’m still not sure that was a hare you caught for us.”

“It was either a hare or a venomous hag spider. Either way, it was good enough that even the horse needed two sniffs before it turned away. That’s a compliment in my books.”

The horse in question soldiered on, nonplussed by the standards of its rider.

A professional steed much like the one Thomas rode as well. He could only smile. Both reminded him of Apple. Albeit theirs were much faster … even if their speed was currently being wasted.

“I thought you’d be used to riding by now, what with all the important meetings the guild has you running.”

Cedric’s chuckle turned into a snort.

“Meetings? With who? The receptionists? You don’t know how it is on the other side. As adventurers, we went from town to town, merrily under the same banner of camaraderie. But guildmasters? They build fences just to keep each other out. Politics, Thomas. The great snake of history. I envy you for not having to deal with it.”

“Then your bars are more civil places than mine. If you knew what some of the ox herders had to say about the lamb shearers, you’d never visit again.” 

“I might not have a choice. My reputation with Rolstein’s bars only goes one way, and it’s not up.”

“Rolstein has at least two places to drink. Can’t you at least keep your poor impression to one of them?”

“Yet again, you underestimate my ability to be a nuisance. Power, you see, has done nothing but–”

“Wait.”

Suddenly, Thomas tugged at the reins of his horse. 

Cedric did the same, his blithe demeanour changing as he reached for the lute at his back. Gone was the lackadaisical guildmaster of a countryside branch as instead a C-rank adventurer made himself known.

He didn’t say a word, waiting as he knew he should for Thomas.

“... Do you hear that? From the woods. A woman’s groan.”

Cedric answered by retrieving the lute.

A moment later, the strings lit like sinews of magic as he plucked a single string.

“[Echoing Life].”

The instrument shimmered like a pond as a pulse of magic swept from it in all directions, so faint it disturbed the surrounding woodlands no more than a ticklish breeze. 

In the distance, Thomas heard the reply as twigs cracked and leaves rustled. 

“A lot of movement,” said Cedric, his expression rapt as his focus clung to the fading magic. “But all small. Critters and mammals. Likely a deer and her fawns. If there’s a woman in distress, she’s not making a fuss about it. For good or for bad.”

Cedric cast him a querying look.

“... Want to check which one it is?”

Thomas had no immediate response. A thing growing more common as he became older. 

He furrowed his brows as he considered the voice he’d just heard. Despite the wild things he’d experienced in his youth, it was the subtler things now in his prime which caused him to pause.

It couldn’t be … could it?

“We’re nearing the Royal Institute,” said Cedric, eyeing the darkness where the return of the moonlight was all but unnoticed. “Or what’s left of it. Regardless, if there are mages to help us locate Marina, I’m sure they can also see if anybody is lost on their very doorstep. Without Bodkins or Liriane, I’d wager we’d find ourselves stumbling into an adder pit before we found anyone by ourselves.”

Thomas was halfway to agreeing.

He was an adventurer, former or otherwise. But he was also human. 

Lacking the eyes of elves and the surefootedness of halflings, he did not relish hacking his way through a forest at night. And as versatile as Cedric’s lute was, it was unwise to call all the creatures of the dark with only a single sword there to strike the worst of them.

But Thomas didn’t make it to the heights of retirement by doubting the tug that pulled at his every decision on the road. He’d always worked on his intuition. And a lifetime of falling on the right side of the coin told him to always obey–all the way until he dropped from the precipice.

He hoped now wasn’t that time.

“We’ll try your lute again in the woods,” he said as he dismounted his horse. “If someone’s in distress, we may not have the luxury of doubling back.”

Cedric nodded as he tried to elegantly dismount. Thomas would pretend he did.

“Can’t leap into the fire if we don’t hop into the frying pan first, huh? I’m surprised we weren’t called the Sautéed Hogs by the end of it.”

Thomas gave his horse a gentle pat, pointing to keep to the spot. There’d be no tying their steeds here. New adventurers learned quickly that a runaway horse was better than an eaten one.

Then, he made for the first of the boughs.

“There’s still time yet,” he said, clapping Cedric’s shoulder on the way. “For two of them, at least.”

He felt the genial smile on his back. Just as he also felt the usual trepidation.

Thomas didn’t fault him. They were two old hands. And the darkness was always filled with new dangers.

Even so, this wasn’t the bleak sands of the Dunes or the labyrinthine caverns littering Lissoine’s coast. It was a forest of oaks and scattered moonlight. And so as his knees brushed aside foliage, so too did the closest thing to a mage in their party.

“[Echoing Life].”

Once again, a faint hum of magic swept out, drawing forth hints of movement all around. And once again, nothing was drawn to their attention.

Thomas’s legs paid little heed to the rising doubt from his old friend. The pull was on him. A path he followed between the trees like a ranger following clear tracks in the mud. His hands swept aside dipping branches as he made his way through. A dim light shone before his steps as Cedric did his best to mimic a mage’s [Light Sphere].

And after enough wandering that even his old friend’s doubt began to rise, he paused once more.

Voices.

Like a distant rain so far away that not even clouds could be seen. 

But it was there. 

Thomas might not be able to see in the dark. But upon such a quiet night, it was more than his ears which identified a presence nearby. It was his overwhelming intuition for trouble. 

He held up his palm. Cedric paused at once, his feet stumbling.

The next moment, he turned to look behind his shoulder. He indicated to Cedric to wait, then motioned for him to watch. He received a nod in response, as natural as all the other times they had repeated this gesture, this formation. Cedric at the rear, bardic magic at the ready. Liriane prowling in the shadows. Bodkins hidden amidst the bushes. And Thomas at the front, slowly placing himself before danger. 

Except now it was just half of the Golden Hogs. And all of the danger.

He could feel it like the prickling of an open hearth against his skin … and then he felt it as the groaning of the woods as an explosion occurred in the near distance. Rodents scattered in all directions as a plume of flames lit up the darkness. A mage had just hurled a fireball.

But which mage?

Despite the shuddering of the forest, he crept forwards silently, boots padding as he made his way across the grass with his hand around his hilt.

And then–

His breath caught in his throat.

He found it.

He found her.

Sitting up like a maiden after a fall, he took in the sight of Marina in the centre of a small clearing.

Fate had guided him like a will-o-wisp.

For a moment, he wondered if a forest hag had taken his senses instead. But if one had, then they had done a poor job. 

Marina was much the same as he remembered. 

Older, yes. But also the same. 

The same rosy cheeks. The same soft nose. The same wide eyes. But not the same hair. Most of it was still like his. The colour of chestnut. 

The rest of it was … pink. Or amber. Or scarlet. 

That was different. And interesting.

But also perfectly normal for a mage. And also a young woman. Marina was always concerned for her appearance. Hopelessly so. Whatever the rumours which now encircled her, he saw this as proof of her ordinariness. She was no sorceress draped in black and blood. Not yet.

And above all else … that very nearly made Thomas’s shoulders relax.

Very nearly … because his daughter was also not alone.

A girl was leaning against a tree. 

The shadows didn't seem to engulf her, but rather seemed drawn towards her. Thomas could only blink. But it wasn’t the bizarre set of garments matched by the differentiating colours of her eyes which made him tense. 

There was no sword by her side. No aura of magic radiating from her person. But he could feel something else.

A shiver up his spine.

Because if he’d learned anything from his rise to A-rank, it was that the worst foes did not come with a fang. It came with a smile. And this one wore it like black ivy wore a coat of poison.

That fireball had been for her.

Thomas didn’t need to understand more. He silently drew his sword, all his discipline stretched to the limits to not give away his position, his advantage.

 “The Witch of Calamity. 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.”

A moment later … Thomas was forced to close his eyes as he held back a groan.

A single sentence. That was it. And he had just experienced a decade’s worth of fatherly trauma rolled into one.

The Witch Of Calamity. 

He knew little other than what most others did. That was a title reserved for a witch heralded as the most powerful amongst those reclusive sorceresses of legend. 

And he knew that Marina was no witch. Not unless her mother was. And that was a conversation not even he’d have been drunk enough to forget.

For a moment, he could only look on in rising bewilderment as he listened to the conversation. There was talk of debts. And a House he had no knowledge of. But it didn’t matter. 

He could feel it like an omen in the wind. 

This girl was foreboding. And here she was, speaking to the one he’d been searching for all this time. Yet while smoke rose from Marina’s hands, none of it was present on the girl.

Thomas knew at once he would only be allowed one strike.

Gripping his hilt, he came to a decision.

It was a poor decision. But one that’d served him well, even if his sword tutor had never quite meant for him to take his most famous of lines to such extremes.

Strike true. And never need to strike again.

With a short breath–he threw his sword.   

It shone as it spun. And even as the world’s weightiest arrow, it drove into the shadows with the pace of a thrown spear. Not even a gasp met the weapon as it passed Marina’s side and made its way straight towards the heart of the leaning danger. 

Thomas only blinked once.

And then she was gone.

His sword struck the tree like a dart, cracking the trunk as bark and wood splintered in all directions. 

Of the girl, nothing could be seen. She had neither dissipated like an illusion nor shifted away like a mage. A trick even he’d never seen. And now all that was left was a sword hanging like an ornament on his wall–with only Marina to judge it.

Thomas’s eyes were on everything else.

As he stepped into the open, he offered half a frown towards his surroundings. After a long pause, he finally turned his attention to his daughter. She only wore a look of familiar horror as she ogled the thrown sword. Thomas didn’t know why. It was a new one. She shouldn’t recognise it.

“You threw your sword,” she said, sounding aghast as she turned her head. “Why do swordsmen do that? Don’t you need it?”

Thomas gave an apologetic shrug.

“Don’t need it if it hits whatever it needs to.”

“How did you know that abominable girl even needed to be hit by a sword?”

“You get a sense for who to throw swords at after a while. Haven’t been wrong yet.”

Thomas paused.

“I think.”

Marina let out a tired groan. Thomas wasn’t sure if that was more from immediately aggravating her sensibilities or the fact she now bothered to stand up. 

As she brushed the grass from her knees, blankness filled his mind. He’d had a script prepared. But whatever it was, it’d been replaced by the fact that he now knew he hadn’t shaved in weeks.

He decided to settle on the first thing which came to mind.

“There’s a vacancy going for a barmaid,” he said, assessing how much the ends of that pink hair would be a problem if dipped into ale. “If you remember how to scrub tables, I’m willing to consider you.”

Marina snorted.

“It’ll take more than avoiding every bar in Rolstein to make me forget that. I’m still trying to speed up the process. So I certainly hope you didn’t trek halfway across the kingdom just to ask if I felt like returning as a barmaid.”

“You haven’t said no.”

“Then no. I am overqualified.”

“Hilda would disagree,” he said, somewhat wounded. “She still keeps the pieces of the first glass you broke as a warning to new customers to behave.”

Marina looked like she almost wanted to return just to melt it. Particularly since it wasn’t really her fault customers didn't know that legs went under tables and not as far out as possible.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I’m not going back. I still have things to do. And I’m making more progress than I expected. Or wish, in some areas.”

She idly touched the ends of her hair. Thomas barely noticed it. 

It was strange in a way, how little relevance time or distance had. Here they were, far from any bar, and it was a conversation continued as though it had never ended. Except this time, there were no frying pans being tossed … yet.

He cleared his throat, even as he felt his shoulders tighten.

“I heard something about you being the Witch of Calamity. Is this true?”

Marina gave a small groan, no different than a girl who’d been tattled on. Her hair glowed very slightly.

“... No,” she said, eyes sidewards.

Thomas raised a brow.

The chestnut portion of hair and the inability to tell lies. The two traits Marina had inherited in full. 

Before he knew it, he’d crossed his arms, his expression scolding as he looked down not at a wanted fugitive, but his errant daughter. One he had allowed to run wild for far too long.

“Marina, I have heard extremely concerning things. I understand you feel strongly about your research. Your goals. But you have a bounty on your head. You turned the wheat fields of Rolstein into a blighted wasteland. And now I hear you share the same title as a legendary mage of destruction. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?

His daughter’s response was to purse her lips.

As she continued to look away, her fingertips fidgeted against one another. Answers and excuses flickered behind her eyes. And then her cheeks pouted like a daughter wishing to merely escape to her room until the next dawn, all in the obvious hope that he’d decide it was better to pretend to have forgotten. 

Except this was no squabble with the boys and girls across the street. And she was no defiant girl in the kitchen with mud on her dress.

She was a mage.

And that’s why–

“[Arcane Teleport]!”

She was faster than he’d anticipated. 

Even before her arms were stretched out, the magic had already enveloped her. 

She was not the beginner whose powers burned hot or cold when she’d left to pursue her alchemy shop. Now it was just hot. Scorchingly so. Because even as Thomas stepped forwards to tackle her, he could only raise his arms to shield his face as a lash of magic swept between them like a curtain.

Snap.

The next moment … she’d given her reply to his job offer.

Embers fell in the place of her figure. 

And Thomas did what he only could.

He took in a deep breath … before giving a small grunt as a hand firmly clapped him against the back.

“Well,” said Cedric with a cheerful smile. “I’d say that went even better than expected.”

Thomas had no response to that.

It was true, after all.

“... Mages,” he said with a sigh.

“Mages.” Cedric nodded. “If I have children, I’m going to teach them to be bandits. Less trouble.”

A wiser choice than Thomas made. 

For a moment, he stood perfectly still, wondering which of his poor decisions he needed to regret the most.

Then–he turned to make his way back to his horse. Cedric heartily chuckled as he followed, exactly as he always did. As a bard, he knew the way of this tale.

“So, the Witch of Calamity, huh? … I think that counts as a new one.”

“New enough.”

“Reckon we need Bodkins and Liriane for this?”

Thomas considered it, leaves and grass rustling against his steps.

He wasn’t in a mind to involve all his former companions. But they had a way with words he lacked. Everyone did.

“For their wisdom. But not their arrows or claws.”

“Of course.”

“Do you know where they are now?”

“My information is out of date. But last I heard, Bodkins was everywhere there was coin to be made and Liriane was doing something regarding Elven Conspiracy #205815. I think she was looking for the Snow Dancer. If we find Liriane, maybe we’ll get the sword saint along with her. That’ll be something.”

The Snow Dancer. 

Thomas had never met her personally. But it wasn’t an elven sword saint he needed, talented as she doubtless was. It was someone who could use words in lieu of swords. 

For a moment, he considered asking if anyone at the guild might be able to assist. 

Perhaps someone both learned in the way of history, and tactful in working how poorly it usually went for those who burned the pages.

Then … the most unlikely of thoughts came to mind.

A princess who by all accounts had already crossed paths with her. 

Not even Cedric knew the details of what had occurred. But given the girl’s background, perhaps she’d be able to glean a sense of Marina’s mind. Even instil a drop of sense in her. A calming voice amidst the fiery storm.

Thomas’s shoulders relaxed as he recalled her strength of purpose. A princess whose tasks were doubtless as trying as his own.

After all, they walked the same footsteps.

He knew little of how she was faring or where she was. But if he could be reassured by anything, it was the knowledge that wherever she now found herself, it was a less tumultuous place for her presence.

… Well, as long as that was not a bar.