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The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer
- Thread starter kayenano
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Chapter 297: All Routes Lead To Doom
Cheese.
Of course it would be cheese.
All around me, the berry fields gave way to a far stranger sight. But that didn't mean it was any less colourful. On the contrary, a rainbow lay scattered amidst the neatly lined soil.
And all of it was cheese.
Replacing the bountiful fruits which even Coppelia and Apple now politely declined, I saw wheels of orange mimolette, white chèvre, the bright red wax of gouda and things which were so green that I expected eyes to begin peeking back at me.
They were all half-buried, their shiny ends sticking out like pumpkins partially revealed in the dirt.
A farm stretching all the way to a quaint cottage monopolising a hill.
And what was being grown was cheese.
Lots and lots of cheese. All except the absolute worst one.
… Why, I didn't see a speck of gorgonzola moulding in the dirt!
Ahead of me, a cottage promising the only prophet mad enough to attempt to grow cheese loomed. I expected little. After all, if this individual was at all halfway decent at his craft, then my dissatisfaction would have been predicted and averted.
"7.5/10," I said with my hand clasped around my nose. "Ghastly. But not quite ghastly enough. To pepper his own land with cheese is a fine statement of lunacy. But to quietly do away with the most overpowering variety is more than half-hearted. It's simply shoddy."
Beside me, my loyal handmaiden merely giggled.
In a damning indictment of the cheese farm, not even Coppelia with her keen nose was succumbing to the waft of dairy melting beneath the sunlight. She was content to skip merrily along.
"Are we rating how bad it smells? In that case, it's only a 2/10 for me."
"Now that's just silly. Why, for me, it only feels like I've accidentally wandered past my father's wine cellar. But for you, surely the odour must be debilitating?"
"It's not that bad. Compared to the towns of humans, even mouldy brie is fine. Probably because that's what you find under people's beds."
I had nothing to offer but a hum of agreement. It was a powerful point.
"I'm not certain how you survive," I said, shuddering on her behalf. "Given that brigands and nobility infect every road, the whiff must be permanently overbearing."
"Eh, you get used to it. Plus it's balanced out by the nice stuff. Like flowers."
"I've only ever seen you eating flowers, not appreciating them."
"It's because I eat them that I appreciate them."
She offered a curious glimpse towards a wedge of camembert melting into a puddle, then stopped to rescue a lone poppy from the coming ooze. A moment later, the flower promptly found itself safe and secure inside her mouth.
"I recommend it," she said while loudly chewing. "You really appreciate the subtle intricacies this way."
"Coppelia. You're eating something plucked from the side of the road."
"Yeah. And this one's nice. The soil has just the right amount of moisture content. There's also a hint of nutmeg somewhere. Want some?"
She offered me the remaining stem.
I leaned away as Apple took the offered fare in my stead. Sadly, even his valour wasn't enough. No matter where I turned, the sheer pungency threatened to overwhelm me.
Eventually, it went even beyond that.
As Apple trotted up the hill towards the cottage, I was met by a sight more gruesome than any amount of gruyère left to rot in the fields. One only partially to do with the wooden sign waiting for me.
I raised an eyebrow.
Not at the warning marked entirely in bold lettering. That mattered as much to me as the protests of my kitchen staff who insisted shortcakes didn't need inspecting at midnight.
Rather, I was more concerned with the perilous mountain of cheese stacked atop a long picnic table.
Everything which had ever once been curdled awaited my wrinkled nose.
Wheels of cheese derived from every variety lay piled like books after a late night session of studying, with equally as little regard to stability. As the faintest breeze swept across the hilltop, the topmost pillars trembled. A giant block of emmental teetered, an inch away from earning a new hole courtesy of the man sat beneath it at the table.
A shame. It would have improved his appearance drastically.
Here was the king of the hermits.
Wrinkled and unkempt, he wore bedraggled robes which may have once boasted colour, yet were now down to the last sinews. The hat of wizardry upon his brow was so frayed that it looked more likely to be swept away by the wind than shield against it, and the beard he boasted was as dishevelled as a wild hedgerow.
I almost failed to see any of it.
Because what my eyes were truly drawn to was the book he was absorbed in.
Calculating Advanced Calculus, 3rd Edition.
It was … horrifying.
I covered my mouth with both hands. And then my head as I instinctively sought to defend myself against a title so dull it could only be used as a weapon by my tutors.
He paid no heed to my arrival, instead choosing to indulge in his book.
Clearly the actions of a mad man. And also just the one I was looking for … proved a moment later as a hummingbird peeked out from within his beard.
Without breaking his stride, he turned a page, then leaned forwards slightly. The hummingbird began to chip away at the nearest wheel of cheese.
Coppelia turned to me with an excited smile.
"And that's where the holes in cheese come from~"
I was aghast.
I came here for information … and yet I immediately wanted to unlearn what I'd just seen!
"Is … Is this the Mad Prophet?" I asked, already groaning at the answer.
"Mmh! Never met him before, but he's reading the 3rd edition of Calculating Advanced Calculus. That's at least two editions out of date. And if that doesn't scream bonkers, I don't know what does."
I turned to regard the hermit once again.
He'd deemed that the birds in his beard had consumed enough dairy and was now shooing them back in with cat noises.
For a moment, I simply closed my eyes in regret … before slowly dismounting from Apple.
To seek the assistance of a man whose madness meant a picnic table without so much as a sheet of linen to be mocked was appalling. But it could be worse. He could have been inside his cottage. And given the odour emanating from inside, that may very well have signalled the end of my personal history.
Thus, I walked over to the picnic table, all the while offering a stoic smile beneath my wrinkled nose.
"Salutations," I said, pausing just out of toppling range from a stack of cheddar. "My apologies for disturbing your ... well, I don't know what this is. But I come in search of the Mad Prophet."
The man scratched his beard in response.
Just his beard. Not even his chin.
Then, he turned a page.
"Do you have an appointment?" he said, his tone disinterested.
"Yes."
"Really? Because I'm certain I haven't accepted any new appointments for a good year now."
"Everybody has an appointment with me. I simply choose whether or not to accept them. Something I hoped you would already know."
"A common misconception. There's much I know, but little regarding how my own day will unfold. I can read the roads one must take or best avoid. But to do so for myself would be beyond lunacy. Greater sages than I have found themselves accidentally swan diving off a cliff while attempting to weave their own path."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Is that not your calling? I was under the impression you were the Mad Prophet."
The man sighed, all the while making a show of slowly turning a page he hadn't read.
"I am the Mad Prophet. But I'm not actually mad."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a trade name. Despite the rumours I admittedly helped to spread, I am not actually mad."
"You are surrounded by cheese."
"Because I'm an avid cheesemonger. Everybody is allowed a hobby. I assure you that my faculties are quite well intact. More so given the amount of patience required to craft such a wide spectrum of cheese. A truly mad man would consume the whey halfway through."
A hummingbird again peeked out from his beard, offering a curious chirp before retreating back inside.
I didn't need to say a word.
"I'm conditioning my beard," he explained while not explaining at all.
"... With avian wildlife?"
"Excellent for volume control. The flittering unravels the natural coarseness of my hair. A clear beard is a clear mind. And I need one as serene as the deepest spring lake in order to politely repel those who continue to ignore my sign. I am not taking new appointments. If you wish for a reading regarding your marriage prospects, then please see the Crazed Seer. I'm told she's marketing that as her specialty now. Three decades too late, of course."
The man chuckled into his book, a look of quiet satisfaction upon his face.
All I could do was blink.
"Excuse me? You … You can offer insight into marriage prospects?"
The Mad Prophet spared a glance at me, his posture straightening by half a degree.
"Insight? … No, girl. Palm readers and bar room con artists offer insight. I discern the roads leading from your heart, studying and traversing them one after another until I find the one which leads to your destiny. For destiny, you see, is a sly creature and is often missed. I prevent that."
Poof.
Suddenly, a parchment as long as my mother's favoured gown when she wanted to trip as many nobles as possible appeared beside me. It fell to the ground, then rolled endlessly into the distance.
A moment later, it vanished with a sweep of a hand.
"That is why," said the Mad Prophet, as he calmly turned another page. "I have a very long appointment list. And I do not do drop-in sessions."
Clink.
The sound of a fistful of gold crowns slapped down on the table.
At once, the Mad Prophet's eyes looked past the edges of his book.
Then, he slowly closed it to a cough.
"–Fortunately, my provolone has matured ahead of expectation and I find myself with a morsel of free time. Should you desire, I can spare a few moments out of generosity."
I nodded at once.
All of a sudden, every thought of a missing dragon went from my head.
This … This was clearly far more important!!
"So you can determine the details of my future marriage partner?"
"I can indeed … and with 99.4% accuracy. A far better percentage than my competitors can boast, no matter how much gold they spend on inventing new slogans. It doesn't take a prophet to know that only failure will greet their wild expenditure. But myself? … Word of mouth is all I require. For like all others before you, I will divine exactly when and where you shall meet your fated one."
I could only gasp.
If … If this cheese hermit could determine my future in matters of romance, then that alone would make this entire expedition more than worthwhile!
"There is, of course, a few disclaimers," said the man as he reached over to scoop up my coins. I cupped the gold at once. "99.4% is not 100%. I am also merely a guide. How you approach your destined love and any consequences to follow is entirely not to do with me. I accept no responsibility for any issues in causality that results in purposefully seeking out your prospective marriage partner. Do you understand?"
"I do."
The man clapped his hands and smiled, the book he was reading tossed to the wayside.
"Wonderful. Then I shall decipher the twisting roads of romance which lie ahead of you. And judging by the way your hand is still covering the gold crowns, I shall receive payment afterwards. That is fine. My readings may be 99.4% accurate, but my customer satisfaction rate is 100%."
A moment later … the Mad Prophet closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath.
"Now be still," he said, stretching out his palm. "I shall reach out to determine where you must wander in order to meet your destined match."
"Thank you, but that's not what I need."
The man opened one eye, his brow raised in puzzlement.
"Excuse me?"
"Please tell me the roads I must take to avoid all threats of marriage."
"Uh …"
I nodded fervently, my fists tightly clenched against my chest.
"I wish to avoid all routes to doom. It is no exaggeration to say that there is no greater threat to my quality of life than marriage. If possible, please write me a concise list of dates and times that any prospective candidates will find themselves within 500 metres of me so I can either barricade myself or have them waylaid."
"You, um, came here to ask me how to avoid marriage?"
"No, I came here for matters related to a missing dragon. But that can wait. Please assist me in avoiding personal calamity and I shall ensure you are rewarded beyond your wildest prophecies."
As was only appropriate, the man could only blink, stunned by my entirely vague offer of riches.
"... A dragon, you say?"
"Yes, a dragon."
"Are you certain?"
"Unfortunately, I am. But it doesn't matter. As I said, the dragon can wait. Now, about my–"
The man practically hopped out of his chair.
Suddenly, a tower of gouda came toppling down, sending several other cheese towers down with it.
"Well, why didn't you say so!" he said, his demeanour changing at once. "As it so happens, I was just waiting for someone like you–in fact, I believe I know the very dragon you're referring to!"
I let out a tiny groan.
Here I was, sensing the opportunity to finally see myself to safety, and I was met with enthusiasm regarding something entirely unnecessary instead!
"Yes, well, I'd be all too delighted to discuss this missing dragon debacle. But first, I'd like to see to my personal marriage reading. This is a matter of grave importance."
The Mad Prophet nodded, barely listening as he swept towards his cottage.
"Of course. I will endeavour to provide every answer you desire. Rest assured, this meeting was fated in the stars. It's not every day that matters of a missing dragon reaches my ears. Bad for business all around. When dragons go missing, so too does a hefty dose of magic. But I see that help has already arrived!"
To my dismay, he rattled the door to his home until it eventually buckled.
Creaking as it swung open, I was assailed by the odour of cheese so pungent that it was surely in its final stages before it became something that a hero would have to be called upon to slay.
"I can provide my most accurate readings in my study," he said as he gestured inside. "My premium service, all charges waived, of course."
I allowed my regret a moment to stew.
And then–I crept over to the cottage. I was already in Ouzelia, conversing with a mad man and surrounded by cheese. What could possibly be worse at this point?
"Hmm?"
The answer, as it turned out … was a hole.
Displaying the most avant-garde design I'd yet seen for a commoner's dwelling, I came to a stop as my foot failed to find ground. I briefly stumbled before my years of training at the mercy of my ballet tutors and possibly Coppelia's hand tugged me back.
There, in place of much of the doorway, was a hole where several floorboards had been removed. Leaning forwards, I spied what appeared to be a cellar. One filled to the brim with ageing cheese.
I turned my exasperation towards the man responsible for this breach in construction standards.
"Excuse me, but why is there a hole in your doorway? … What if I'd accidentally fallen in? I'd never wash the odour away! I must say, even for Ouzelia, this is an unacceptable health hazard!"
"Oh, right. My apologies, I got so used to the hole that I forgot to mention it."
Despite his response, the Mad Prophet wasn't actually looking at me.
Instead, he was whistling off to the side as his hand tugged on a piece of string. One dangling beside the door he was now stepping away from.
I pursed my lips.
And then–I slowly looked up.
Ah.
There it was at last.
An upright piano.
Excellent. I was becoming anxious.
And maple as well?
Hardly my first choice. But then again, neither was a Zelronto.
The underside wasn't varnished. That was simply poor workmanship. Dire quality all around.
And that especially included the noise it made as it fell.
Of course it would be cheese.
All around me, the berry fields gave way to a far stranger sight. But that didn't mean it was any less colourful. On the contrary, a rainbow lay scattered amidst the neatly lined soil.
And all of it was cheese.
Replacing the bountiful fruits which even Coppelia and Apple now politely declined, I saw wheels of orange mimolette, white chèvre, the bright red wax of gouda and things which were so green that I expected eyes to begin peeking back at me.
They were all half-buried, their shiny ends sticking out like pumpkins partially revealed in the dirt.
A farm stretching all the way to a quaint cottage monopolising a hill.
And what was being grown was cheese.
Lots and lots of cheese. All except the absolute worst one.
… Why, I didn't see a speck of gorgonzola moulding in the dirt!
Ahead of me, a cottage promising the only prophet mad enough to attempt to grow cheese loomed. I expected little. After all, if this individual was at all halfway decent at his craft, then my dissatisfaction would have been predicted and averted.
"7.5/10," I said with my hand clasped around my nose. "Ghastly. But not quite ghastly enough. To pepper his own land with cheese is a fine statement of lunacy. But to quietly do away with the most overpowering variety is more than half-hearted. It's simply shoddy."
Beside me, my loyal handmaiden merely giggled.
In a damning indictment of the cheese farm, not even Coppelia with her keen nose was succumbing to the waft of dairy melting beneath the sunlight. She was content to skip merrily along.
"Are we rating how bad it smells? In that case, it's only a 2/10 for me."
"Now that's just silly. Why, for me, it only feels like I've accidentally wandered past my father's wine cellar. But for you, surely the odour must be debilitating?"
"It's not that bad. Compared to the towns of humans, even mouldy brie is fine. Probably because that's what you find under people's beds."
I had nothing to offer but a hum of agreement. It was a powerful point.
"I'm not certain how you survive," I said, shuddering on her behalf. "Given that brigands and nobility infect every road, the whiff must be permanently overbearing."
"Eh, you get used to it. Plus it's balanced out by the nice stuff. Like flowers."
"I've only ever seen you eating flowers, not appreciating them."
"It's because I eat them that I appreciate them."
She offered a curious glimpse towards a wedge of camembert melting into a puddle, then stopped to rescue a lone poppy from the coming ooze. A moment later, the flower promptly found itself safe and secure inside her mouth.
"I recommend it," she said while loudly chewing. "You really appreciate the subtle intricacies this way."
"Coppelia. You're eating something plucked from the side of the road."
"Yeah. And this one's nice. The soil has just the right amount of moisture content. There's also a hint of nutmeg somewhere. Want some?"
She offered me the remaining stem.
I leaned away as Apple took the offered fare in my stead. Sadly, even his valour wasn't enough. No matter where I turned, the sheer pungency threatened to overwhelm me.
Eventually, it went even beyond that.
As Apple trotted up the hill towards the cottage, I was met by a sight more gruesome than any amount of gruyère left to rot in the fields. One only partially to do with the wooden sign waiting for me.
MEETINGS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.
IF YOU ARE SURPRISED BY THIS MESSAGE,
IT MEANS YOU HAVE NO APPOINTMENT.
IF YOU ARE SURPRISED BY THIS MESSAGE,
IT MEANS YOU HAVE NO APPOINTMENT.
I raised an eyebrow.
Not at the warning marked entirely in bold lettering. That mattered as much to me as the protests of my kitchen staff who insisted shortcakes didn't need inspecting at midnight.
Rather, I was more concerned with the perilous mountain of cheese stacked atop a long picnic table.
Everything which had ever once been curdled awaited my wrinkled nose.
Wheels of cheese derived from every variety lay piled like books after a late night session of studying, with equally as little regard to stability. As the faintest breeze swept across the hilltop, the topmost pillars trembled. A giant block of emmental teetered, an inch away from earning a new hole courtesy of the man sat beneath it at the table.
A shame. It would have improved his appearance drastically.
Here was the king of the hermits.
Wrinkled and unkempt, he wore bedraggled robes which may have once boasted colour, yet were now down to the last sinews. The hat of wizardry upon his brow was so frayed that it looked more likely to be swept away by the wind than shield against it, and the beard he boasted was as dishevelled as a wild hedgerow.
I almost failed to see any of it.
Because what my eyes were truly drawn to was the book he was absorbed in.
Calculating Advanced Calculus, 3rd Edition.
It was … horrifying.
I covered my mouth with both hands. And then my head as I instinctively sought to defend myself against a title so dull it could only be used as a weapon by my tutors.
He paid no heed to my arrival, instead choosing to indulge in his book.
Clearly the actions of a mad man. And also just the one I was looking for … proved a moment later as a hummingbird peeked out from within his beard.
Without breaking his stride, he turned a page, then leaned forwards slightly. The hummingbird began to chip away at the nearest wheel of cheese.
Coppelia turned to me with an excited smile.
"And that's where the holes in cheese come from~"
I was aghast.
I came here for information … and yet I immediately wanted to unlearn what I'd just seen!
"Is … Is this the Mad Prophet?" I asked, already groaning at the answer.
"Mmh! Never met him before, but he's reading the 3rd edition of Calculating Advanced Calculus. That's at least two editions out of date. And if that doesn't scream bonkers, I don't know what does."
I turned to regard the hermit once again.
He'd deemed that the birds in his beard had consumed enough dairy and was now shooing them back in with cat noises.
For a moment, I simply closed my eyes in regret … before slowly dismounting from Apple.
To seek the assistance of a man whose madness meant a picnic table without so much as a sheet of linen to be mocked was appalling. But it could be worse. He could have been inside his cottage. And given the odour emanating from inside, that may very well have signalled the end of my personal history.
Thus, I walked over to the picnic table, all the while offering a stoic smile beneath my wrinkled nose.
"Salutations," I said, pausing just out of toppling range from a stack of cheddar. "My apologies for disturbing your ... well, I don't know what this is. But I come in search of the Mad Prophet."
The man scratched his beard in response.
Just his beard. Not even his chin.
Then, he turned a page.
"Do you have an appointment?" he said, his tone disinterested.
"Yes."
"Really? Because I'm certain I haven't accepted any new appointments for a good year now."
"Everybody has an appointment with me. I simply choose whether or not to accept them. Something I hoped you would already know."
"A common misconception. There's much I know, but little regarding how my own day will unfold. I can read the roads one must take or best avoid. But to do so for myself would be beyond lunacy. Greater sages than I have found themselves accidentally swan diving off a cliff while attempting to weave their own path."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Is that not your calling? I was under the impression you were the Mad Prophet."
The man sighed, all the while making a show of slowly turning a page he hadn't read.
"I am the Mad Prophet. But I'm not actually mad."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a trade name. Despite the rumours I admittedly helped to spread, I am not actually mad."
"You are surrounded by cheese."
"Because I'm an avid cheesemonger. Everybody is allowed a hobby. I assure you that my faculties are quite well intact. More so given the amount of patience required to craft such a wide spectrum of cheese. A truly mad man would consume the whey halfway through."
A hummingbird again peeked out from his beard, offering a curious chirp before retreating back inside.
I didn't need to say a word.
"I'm conditioning my beard," he explained while not explaining at all.
"... With avian wildlife?"
"Excellent for volume control. The flittering unravels the natural coarseness of my hair. A clear beard is a clear mind. And I need one as serene as the deepest spring lake in order to politely repel those who continue to ignore my sign. I am not taking new appointments. If you wish for a reading regarding your marriage prospects, then please see the Crazed Seer. I'm told she's marketing that as her specialty now. Three decades too late, of course."
The man chuckled into his book, a look of quiet satisfaction upon his face.
All I could do was blink.
"Excuse me? You … You can offer insight into marriage prospects?"
The Mad Prophet spared a glance at me, his posture straightening by half a degree.
"Insight? … No, girl. Palm readers and bar room con artists offer insight. I discern the roads leading from your heart, studying and traversing them one after another until I find the one which leads to your destiny. For destiny, you see, is a sly creature and is often missed. I prevent that."
Poof.
Suddenly, a parchment as long as my mother's favoured gown when she wanted to trip as many nobles as possible appeared beside me. It fell to the ground, then rolled endlessly into the distance.
A moment later, it vanished with a sweep of a hand.
"That is why," said the Mad Prophet, as he calmly turned another page. "I have a very long appointment list. And I do not do drop-in sessions."
Clink.
The sound of a fistful of gold crowns slapped down on the table.
At once, the Mad Prophet's eyes looked past the edges of his book.
Then, he slowly closed it to a cough.
"–Fortunately, my provolone has matured ahead of expectation and I find myself with a morsel of free time. Should you desire, I can spare a few moments out of generosity."
I nodded at once.
All of a sudden, every thought of a missing dragon went from my head.
This … This was clearly far more important!!
"So you can determine the details of my future marriage partner?"
"I can indeed … and with 99.4% accuracy. A far better percentage than my competitors can boast, no matter how much gold they spend on inventing new slogans. It doesn't take a prophet to know that only failure will greet their wild expenditure. But myself? … Word of mouth is all I require. For like all others before you, I will divine exactly when and where you shall meet your fated one."
I could only gasp.
If … If this cheese hermit could determine my future in matters of romance, then that alone would make this entire expedition more than worthwhile!
"There is, of course, a few disclaimers," said the man as he reached over to scoop up my coins. I cupped the gold at once. "99.4% is not 100%. I am also merely a guide. How you approach your destined love and any consequences to follow is entirely not to do with me. I accept no responsibility for any issues in causality that results in purposefully seeking out your prospective marriage partner. Do you understand?"
"I do."
The man clapped his hands and smiled, the book he was reading tossed to the wayside.
"Wonderful. Then I shall decipher the twisting roads of romance which lie ahead of you. And judging by the way your hand is still covering the gold crowns, I shall receive payment afterwards. That is fine. My readings may be 99.4% accurate, but my customer satisfaction rate is 100%."
A moment later … the Mad Prophet closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath.
"Now be still," he said, stretching out his palm. "I shall reach out to determine where you must wander in order to meet your destined match."
"Thank you, but that's not what I need."
The man opened one eye, his brow raised in puzzlement.
"Excuse me?"
"Please tell me the roads I must take to avoid all threats of marriage."
"Uh …"
I nodded fervently, my fists tightly clenched against my chest.
"I wish to avoid all routes to doom. It is no exaggeration to say that there is no greater threat to my quality of life than marriage. If possible, please write me a concise list of dates and times that any prospective candidates will find themselves within 500 metres of me so I can either barricade myself or have them waylaid."
"You, um, came here to ask me how to avoid marriage?"
"No, I came here for matters related to a missing dragon. But that can wait. Please assist me in avoiding personal calamity and I shall ensure you are rewarded beyond your wildest prophecies."
As was only appropriate, the man could only blink, stunned by my entirely vague offer of riches.
"... A dragon, you say?"
"Yes, a dragon."
"Are you certain?"
"Unfortunately, I am. But it doesn't matter. As I said, the dragon can wait. Now, about my–"
The man practically hopped out of his chair.
Suddenly, a tower of gouda came toppling down, sending several other cheese towers down with it.
"Well, why didn't you say so!" he said, his demeanour changing at once. "As it so happens, I was just waiting for someone like you–in fact, I believe I know the very dragon you're referring to!"
I let out a tiny groan.
Here I was, sensing the opportunity to finally see myself to safety, and I was met with enthusiasm regarding something entirely unnecessary instead!
"Yes, well, I'd be all too delighted to discuss this missing dragon debacle. But first, I'd like to see to my personal marriage reading. This is a matter of grave importance."
The Mad Prophet nodded, barely listening as he swept towards his cottage.
"Of course. I will endeavour to provide every answer you desire. Rest assured, this meeting was fated in the stars. It's not every day that matters of a missing dragon reaches my ears. Bad for business all around. When dragons go missing, so too does a hefty dose of magic. But I see that help has already arrived!"
To my dismay, he rattled the door to his home until it eventually buckled.
Creaking as it swung open, I was assailed by the odour of cheese so pungent that it was surely in its final stages before it became something that a hero would have to be called upon to slay.
"I can provide my most accurate readings in my study," he said as he gestured inside. "My premium service, all charges waived, of course."
I allowed my regret a moment to stew.
And then–I crept over to the cottage. I was already in Ouzelia, conversing with a mad man and surrounded by cheese. What could possibly be worse at this point?
"Hmm?"
The answer, as it turned out … was a hole.
Displaying the most avant-garde design I'd yet seen for a commoner's dwelling, I came to a stop as my foot failed to find ground. I briefly stumbled before my years of training at the mercy of my ballet tutors and possibly Coppelia's hand tugged me back.
There, in place of much of the doorway, was a hole where several floorboards had been removed. Leaning forwards, I spied what appeared to be a cellar. One filled to the brim with ageing cheese.
I turned my exasperation towards the man responsible for this breach in construction standards.
"Excuse me, but why is there a hole in your doorway? … What if I'd accidentally fallen in? I'd never wash the odour away! I must say, even for Ouzelia, this is an unacceptable health hazard!"
"Oh, right. My apologies, I got so used to the hole that I forgot to mention it."
Despite his response, the Mad Prophet wasn't actually looking at me.
Instead, he was whistling off to the side as his hand tugged on a piece of string. One dangling beside the door he was now stepping away from.
I pursed my lips.
And then–I slowly looked up.
Ah.
There it was at last.
An upright piano.
Excellent. I was becoming anxious.
And maple as well?
Hardly my first choice. But then again, neither was a Zelronto.
The underside wasn't varnished. That was simply poor workmanship. Dire quality all around.
And that especially included the noise it made as it fell.
Last edited:
- Location
- Argentina
"1.5/10. Pianos again? I am really disappointed. A giant wheel of rock cheese would have been more on theme. Also a SINGLE piano? Is this a joke?"
"I don't know pianos are a classic, maybe you are being too harsh?" Coppelia of course was defending her country, I couldn't fault her for it, I would do the same in her case.
"Coppelia this is a Mad Prophet, who just established their mania with cheese. This just isn't thematic enough! Also a mere hole? We just had me defeat and humiliate a Hero. Is this a comedy? Is that it? I am supposed to be able to defeat Heroes then comically fail to holes and pianos? I refuse! I am a princess! I am supposed to fall into the hand of handsome Adventurers as they rescue me from dragons and those Adventurers are supposed to say something wrong and get exiled to the castle dungeons! I... I suppose you could make the argument that in this country it would be Heroes instead of Adventurers but the rest should still be the same!"
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He totally for saw her future marriage prospects and decided to nope directly to another topic.
Chapter 298: Fortune Telling
It'd been sometime since I'd last seen a Zelronto piano.
That was during a private performance at the Royal Arc Theatre. I'd been informed that their famed red mahogany St. Liane was being serviced and that a Zelronto personally gifted by the main workshop in the Grand Duchy of Granholtz was available instead.
I requested that the pianist hum while miming playing the air.
Seeing the underside of the Zelronto as it dove towards me, I would make the same decision again.
Much like Granholtz as a whole, only the very surface was beholden to presentation. The thin layer of varnish failed to extend to where ordinary eyes wouldn't see.
A lack of quality which included the fine instrumentation within.
And that's why–
PWAAAAMMMMM!!
Lacking either notable warmth or brightness, both the sound it conjured as it was played or when it crashed on the exact spot where I'd stood just a hopping moment ago were without charm. An insult to an industry where my kingdom was utterly dominant.
No … there would be no saving grace for this piano.
Just as there was none for a Mad Prophet whose expression was illegally bereft of terror for having failed to turn my head into a squashed pumpkin.
Instead, he merely noted the splintered husk of the piano with an academic nod … before leaning down and scooping up the pieces, no different than were he gathering kindling in his arms.
"Darn, I might need to replace the floorboards," he said with a mild frown. "The edges are chipping where the gap is. Too many piano bits colliding with it. I can feel the grazes when I'm barefoot."
I threw up my arms in outrage.
"E-Excuse me?! What just happened?!"
"Hm? I dropped a piano on you."
"Yes! Yes you did! Why did you just drop a piano on me?! More importantly, why did you drop a Zelronto on me?! … If that'd struck, I'd have died from embarrassment!"
"Well, it's a good thing it didn't, then. But I'd expect nothing less from a heroine."
My mouth widened in horror. I'd rather accept another piano than such an insult.
"I am not a heroine!"
The man wore a puzzled expression as he looked up, his back cracking unhealthily.
"Really? But you just passed the standard heroine test. You dodged a hole and a falling object."
I gestured wildly at the mess of broken woodwork and scattered keys. One which could have been replaced by a falling pillow.
"This is how you test for heroines?! Why not just ask?!"
"Really now, that's far too important a thing to ask. What if you were mad? I can't have you sent off on a dragon related matter on my advice without the standard test. I've personal liability to consider. With that said, are you certain you're not a heroine? That was a fine dodge."
"I am very certain!"
The man glanced me over, then tossed a bundle of piano chunks to the side in a clearly practised motion.
"Is that so? How curious. But no matter. So long as you can evade a falling piano and a random hole, I've satisfied my individual accountability to the Sage's Association. I'm on my final warning, you see. I was apparently too lax with ensuring the standard heroine test in the past."
Words failed to match my exasperation.
I looked to my loyal handmaiden to voice my grief in my place. To my despair, her smile was so bright that they reflected off the varnished pieces of the broken piano.
"It's true," she said with a nod. "This is the standard test."
I placed my face in my palms.
A groan leaked between my fingers. And that was it.
After all, to voice actual words would mean extending this line of conversation. And that was another moment I wasn't home where not a whiff of madness awaited me. Only my bedroom, my orchard, and a 14 layer cake which had either been eaten or gained sentience through adversity.
"Yes, well, if you're quite satisfied with the destruction of a Zelronto, then I would very much appreciate some vital information regarding my marriage prospects."
I paused.
"… And maybe something about a dragon as well."
The man raised a curious eyebrow.
"Ma'am, if you don't want to be engaged, you can just say no."
Ugh.
Commoners.
They thought marriages was something as easily declined as a moules marinières served with the wrong shade of parsley. If it was, I wouldn't need to do more than permanently flick my wrist.
"If it was as simple as saying no, then it'd also be as simple as setting my constant stream of letters aflame. It is not. Yet if you can provide me with the names seeking my hand that I most need to be wary of, then I can plan efficiently for my survival."
For a moment, the man almost looked like he wanted to object.
He wisely chose to fling away a panel of maple scratched even before it was broken instead.
"Very well, then. A somewhat unorthodox request. But nothing beyond my talents. Even if my magic has waned like an overused brine today, I'm certain it can be managed."
"That does not fill me with optimism. I wasn't aware that magic could wane like the tides."
"Perhaps not magic wielded by common mages, which by and large remains constant. But my speciality is not in fireballs, but sagely wisdom. An issue given that Witschblume's one and only dragon is now missing, along with all that his presence offered."
He gave a shake of his head, a hummingbird chirping as its bearded nest was disturbed.
"It was a terrible thing," he said, as he shifted the bulk of the piano with a foot. "I could feel it in the air. The lessening of something sacred, as though the words of a great tale had suddenly become faded and lost. For mages like myself who deal solely in matters of the whimsical, it is nothing short of calamitous."
"Then I hope you know how your words can be found again."
"I certainly do. I've more than my scrying bowl, after all."
"... Are you referring to cheese?"
"Yes. But also my professional network. When everybody wants to know me, it means I know everybody. And in rare instances, it even comes in handy. I've reason to believe that Virudaax the Learned was abducted by one of my competitors. The Bewitching Oracle, to be exact."
I didn't bother hiding my groan.
"Are you telling me that one of … you stole a dragon?"
"The Bewitching Oracle is not one of us," he said indignantly. "As a mysterious newcomer, she plies her trade without a drop of respect for industrial guidelines. Due to her unfair market practices, she has destabilised the realm of sagely wisdom even before she began stealing dragons. Her bargain prices and fantastical predictions have gathered her a loyal following. One enough to drive the Misled Augur to poverty and the Deadpan Diviner into comedy."
He shuddered.
I understood the grief. Anyone with names such as these would make for both terrible paupers and jesters. Their only role would be to harass my nobility.
"I was told that I'd be dealing with dragon cultists. Is this fancifully named inconvenience also one?"
"It wouldn't surprise me if she was. All dispensers of sagely wisdom are dragon enthusiasts. To therefore monopolise one for herself is both shameless and impermissible."
"Yet I see that hoarding a dragon does not allow enough foresight to see the perils of inconveniencing me. I clearly need to offer some sagely wisdom of my own. Now, where do I find my missing dragon?"
The man duly pointed into the distance.
One where a horizon was conspicuously absent. All I saw instead was a thick wall of impassable mist, topped by a lone mountain peak wreathed in snow and ice.
"The Hazy Mountain," he said confidently.
I pursed my lips.
"Is that too a trade name and it's neither hazy nor a mountain?"
"No. It's called the Hazy Mountain because it's a hazy mountain."
"Very well. In that case, I want you to point somewhere else."
"Pointing somewhere else won't help."
"Try."
"My scrying bowl was clear on the matter. Too clear, I should add. And that is rarely a good thing. Just this morning, I saw within it a vision of calamity without obfuscation. Virudaax the Learned erupting like lava from the Hazy Mountain, now an avatar of ruin and rage. I saw nothing of the famed bookworm. Only flames in his wake and misfortune for all the world ahead."
I raised my arms in exasperation.
"And you were here reading while nibbling cheese?"
"I hardly see why not. If it was a true problem, someone would come along to help." He stared pointedly at me. "Such as you."
I jabbed my finger towards the man's nose.
"Then know this–although I will see to this dragon issue for my entirely own non-altruistic reasons, that does not excuse you from providing remuneration in kind. I will need you to provide an exhaustive list of dates, times, names and locations of all potential marriage prospects from now until forever. I intend to have all notions of my imprisonment nipped in the bud."
The man looked aghast.
"Such a list goes well beyond even the premium service level I provide!"
"And it's still less than what I deserve. If I'm to inadvertently secure your business against a rising, and some might say, deserving competitor, then I expect your finest and most comprehensive reading. Unless, of course, such detailed work is beyond you."
Every wrinkle the man possessed shone through his beard.
"An unnecessary provocation. But one I shall rise to nonetheless. Rest assured, I've more accreditations than I have recipes for fondue. I am utterly unmatched in my abilities. If an exhaustive list regarding marriage related encounters is what you desire, I will provide it down to the smallest detail."
I clapped my hands in delight.
To trade a hefty portion of my innocence by stepping foot in Ouzelia was a steep price. But one I would gladly pay to ensure my continued dignity from now on.
"Wonderful. Is there a magic mirror or an enchanted lake we should proceed towards, then?"
"If it was my ordinary premium service, I'd be leading you towards the silver bowl in my study. But since this is a highly bespoke service, I shall use only the finest apparatus available."
I nodded, waiting for him to declare just what his finest apparatus was.
Yet no sooner had he straightened his back to another crack did he bend down low again. This time, it wasn't to scoop up the bits of a broken piano which were still hogging up his doorway.
Instead … he picked up a fallen wheel of gouda.
I offered a polite smile.
"... Excuse me, but is this bespoke process so draining that you must prevent sudden malnourishment?"
"No. This is my scrying tool."
"I see." I gave a nod, then turned to the distant fog. "Thank you for your assistance. I will go rescue a dragon now. Good day to you."
"Wait! Don't go!"
"D-Do not approach me with that wheel of cheese! Remain at a distance!"
As I attempted to make my way back towards Apple, the bearded man practically hopped in front of me, the gouda hugged to his chest as wounded pride furiously bellowed in his eyes.
"I understand what this looks like, but–"
"Stop right there!" I interrupted, utterly aghast that I'd almost been convinced a man called the Mad Prophet wasn't, in fact, utterly insane. "I will not have premonitions of my own marriage be derived through the workings of cheese. How would that even work?! Who would my fated partner be? The shiniest gruyère?!"
"Well, if it is, you wouldn't have to search long. I just so happen to have–"
"No!"
I immediately stepped around the certified madman and placed my hands on Apple's saddle.
Then, just as I began to hoist myself up …
Clink.
The sound of a handful of coins being tossed onto the ground.
"I'll pay you," he declared.
"You want to pay me for my own reading?!"
"This is a matter of professional pride! I have worked all my life for this moment! For a challenge worthy of my research!"
"Research?! What were you researching?! How to send maidens running into the mountains without a vague quest pointing them there?!"
A burning sense of self-dignity filled the man's expression, like an old soldier guarding what all else had forgotten.
"Do not think for a moment that my hobby is a mere pastime," he said, strength filling his voice. "In cheese can be found the fundamentals of life. Liquids, proteins, fats … and most of all, soul."
"Apple, it's time to trot quickly."
"There is no need to escape! Cheese has all the constituent components required to serve as a first-class reagent to those with the ability and the creativity to use it! And I shall now prove it–"
The man held out the wheel of gouda, then sucked in a deep breath.
A moment later … a magic inscription flashed to life.
Not in the air. Not in the ground. But on his outstretched cheese.
I was absolutely horrified … so much so, that all I could do was stare in utter disbelief and morbid curiosity as the man closed his eyes. Sweat began to form at his brows, his cheeks twitching as the strands of magic left his fingertips, running across innumerable veins permeating the wheel of cheese.
They then escaped entirely, flowing like delicate weaves as they rose around my head in the form of a blinking constellation.
"I am the Mad Prophet," he said through gritted teeth. "And I do not casually boast a 100% customer satisfaction rate. Whether it is in matters of life and death or an unravelling of that most tangled matter of destined romance, I undertake all my requests with steadfast professionalism. Withhold your disbelief at my means, for that is reserved for my results."
Suddenly, the constellation expanded.
Almost seeming to darken the sky, the bright veins drowned out all other light. The man's cheeks hardened as he bit down, navigating the stars he'd sown in his mind.
"Ooooh~"
Coppelia immediately reached up, poking at the bright lights. I shooed her away.
"I see it now," said the Mad Prophet, his voice distant and toneless. "The threads which follow your footsteps. And those you've yet to traverse. Such a colourful display. A dance with neither beginning nor end … as is appropriate, for I see you are a princess whose heart is worth a kingdom. A magnificent sight."
I gawped … for even as he spoke, it was through the sight of the gouda melting in his hands.
It was a gruesome display … somewhat impressive, yes … but gruesome nonetheless!
"... H-Have you found anything?" I asked, as equally engrossed by the melting gouda as the magic. "What names do you see? What faces? Is there one my parents have conspired with to bind me in a bitter marriage marked by duty and boredom? Who dares to take my hand?"
The Mad Prophet fell silent.
His eyes seemed to pulse beneath his eyelids, as though searching for a needle amidst the darkness of all fate. A noise like rolling thunder filled the air, though no clouds loomed upon the horizon. Magic. It was the sound of magic, deep and ancient as the dragons over Ouzelia.
"I see it."
The man's eyes opened.
And just like that … it was over.
The constellations faded. The sunlight returned in full, washing away any hints that a wheel of cheese had contributed to the avoidance of a future filled with hardship. I leaned forwards at once.
"What … What was it you saw?"
I waited, all the while the Mad Prophet stared at me.
And then–
"Heh …"
"Excuse me? I didn't quite–"
"Heh … heheh … hahah …"
I blinked, as equally bewildered as I was horrified by the response.
"Haah … ahaha … hahahaha … ahahahah!!"
Falling upon his knees, the Mad Prophet hugged his stomach.
The next moment, bellowing laughter filled the air with all the raucousness of a busy tavern. He doubled over, forehead almost touching the ground as the laughter threatened to choke all the air from him.
Suddenly, it stopped. The hiccups of laughter subsided. He looked up at me.
"Bwahahahahahahaaahahah!!"
And then broke into a coughing fit as the laughter returned anew.
I was appalled.
"W-What did you see?!" I hurried forwards, reaching down to shake his shoulders. "I-I demand you tell me what you saw! Who am I to be married to?! Did I fend them off?! What happened?!"
"Ahaha … ahahaha … hahahaahahah … !!"
Impervious to the healing touch of my violent shaking, the man promptly fell to his side, hands clutching at his wounded stomach as he rocked to and fro, trying and failing to stop the laughter from flooding out like a broken sewer.
Coppelia kneeled down beside the fallen prophet.
"Wow~" she poked him to a fresh bout of laughter. "This is amazing! I think you made the Mad Prophet actually mad!"
I looked on in horror.
But not for long.
"... Come, Coppelia!" I swept around at once. "We've no time to waste!"
"Oooh, are we finally saving a dragon?"
"No." I hoisted myself upon Apple, then promptly urged him away from the laughing madman. "We are saving a dragon who will owe me enough riches to prevent … whatever this is."
Coppelia added a giggle to the backdrop of laughter.
And that was fine.
After all, when it came to marriage, only one type of laughter was available … and that was the amusement when I skillfully avoided it by amassing such an absurd amount of wealth that no dowry could compare!
Indeed, this was a welcome reminder that I had no time to tarry!
Fortunately, I was in a land where hoarded wealth was plenty and rescues by a princess came at a significant premium. And neither a mountain of indeterminate height nor whatever pests lived within could prevent my noble goal of ensuring my quality of life.
Thus … it was time to bankrupt a dragon!
That was during a private performance at the Royal Arc Theatre. I'd been informed that their famed red mahogany St. Liane was being serviced and that a Zelronto personally gifted by the main workshop in the Grand Duchy of Granholtz was available instead.
I requested that the pianist hum while miming playing the air.
Seeing the underside of the Zelronto as it dove towards me, I would make the same decision again.
Much like Granholtz as a whole, only the very surface was beholden to presentation. The thin layer of varnish failed to extend to where ordinary eyes wouldn't see.
A lack of quality which included the fine instrumentation within.
And that's why–
PWAAAAMMMMM!!
Lacking either notable warmth or brightness, both the sound it conjured as it was played or when it crashed on the exact spot where I'd stood just a hopping moment ago were without charm. An insult to an industry where my kingdom was utterly dominant.
No … there would be no saving grace for this piano.
Just as there was none for a Mad Prophet whose expression was illegally bereft of terror for having failed to turn my head into a squashed pumpkin.
Instead, he merely noted the splintered husk of the piano with an academic nod … before leaning down and scooping up the pieces, no different than were he gathering kindling in his arms.
"Darn, I might need to replace the floorboards," he said with a mild frown. "The edges are chipping where the gap is. Too many piano bits colliding with it. I can feel the grazes when I'm barefoot."
I threw up my arms in outrage.
"E-Excuse me?! What just happened?!"
"Hm? I dropped a piano on you."
"Yes! Yes you did! Why did you just drop a piano on me?! More importantly, why did you drop a Zelronto on me?! … If that'd struck, I'd have died from embarrassment!"
"Well, it's a good thing it didn't, then. But I'd expect nothing less from a heroine."
My mouth widened in horror. I'd rather accept another piano than such an insult.
"I am not a heroine!"
The man wore a puzzled expression as he looked up, his back cracking unhealthily.
"Really? But you just passed the standard heroine test. You dodged a hole and a falling object."
I gestured wildly at the mess of broken woodwork and scattered keys. One which could have been replaced by a falling pillow.
"This is how you test for heroines?! Why not just ask?!"
"Really now, that's far too important a thing to ask. What if you were mad? I can't have you sent off on a dragon related matter on my advice without the standard test. I've personal liability to consider. With that said, are you certain you're not a heroine? That was a fine dodge."
"I am very certain!"
The man glanced me over, then tossed a bundle of piano chunks to the side in a clearly practised motion.
"Is that so? How curious. But no matter. So long as you can evade a falling piano and a random hole, I've satisfied my individual accountability to the Sage's Association. I'm on my final warning, you see. I was apparently too lax with ensuring the standard heroine test in the past."
Words failed to match my exasperation.
I looked to my loyal handmaiden to voice my grief in my place. To my despair, her smile was so bright that they reflected off the varnished pieces of the broken piano.
"It's true," she said with a nod. "This is the standard test."
I placed my face in my palms.
A groan leaked between my fingers. And that was it.
After all, to voice actual words would mean extending this line of conversation. And that was another moment I wasn't home where not a whiff of madness awaited me. Only my bedroom, my orchard, and a 14 layer cake which had either been eaten or gained sentience through adversity.
"Yes, well, if you're quite satisfied with the destruction of a Zelronto, then I would very much appreciate some vital information regarding my marriage prospects."
I paused.
"… And maybe something about a dragon as well."
The man raised a curious eyebrow.
"Ma'am, if you don't want to be engaged, you can just say no."
Ugh.
Commoners.
They thought marriages was something as easily declined as a moules marinières served with the wrong shade of parsley. If it was, I wouldn't need to do more than permanently flick my wrist.
"If it was as simple as saying no, then it'd also be as simple as setting my constant stream of letters aflame. It is not. Yet if you can provide me with the names seeking my hand that I most need to be wary of, then I can plan efficiently for my survival."
For a moment, the man almost looked like he wanted to object.
He wisely chose to fling away a panel of maple scratched even before it was broken instead.
"Very well, then. A somewhat unorthodox request. But nothing beyond my talents. Even if my magic has waned like an overused brine today, I'm certain it can be managed."
"That does not fill me with optimism. I wasn't aware that magic could wane like the tides."
"Perhaps not magic wielded by common mages, which by and large remains constant. But my speciality is not in fireballs, but sagely wisdom. An issue given that Witschblume's one and only dragon is now missing, along with all that his presence offered."
He gave a shake of his head, a hummingbird chirping as its bearded nest was disturbed.
"It was a terrible thing," he said, as he shifted the bulk of the piano with a foot. "I could feel it in the air. The lessening of something sacred, as though the words of a great tale had suddenly become faded and lost. For mages like myself who deal solely in matters of the whimsical, it is nothing short of calamitous."
"Then I hope you know how your words can be found again."
"I certainly do. I've more than my scrying bowl, after all."
"... Are you referring to cheese?"
"Yes. But also my professional network. When everybody wants to know me, it means I know everybody. And in rare instances, it even comes in handy. I've reason to believe that Virudaax the Learned was abducted by one of my competitors. The Bewitching Oracle, to be exact."
I didn't bother hiding my groan.
"Are you telling me that one of … you stole a dragon?"
"The Bewitching Oracle is not one of us," he said indignantly. "As a mysterious newcomer, she plies her trade without a drop of respect for industrial guidelines. Due to her unfair market practices, she has destabilised the realm of sagely wisdom even before she began stealing dragons. Her bargain prices and fantastical predictions have gathered her a loyal following. One enough to drive the Misled Augur to poverty and the Deadpan Diviner into comedy."
He shuddered.
I understood the grief. Anyone with names such as these would make for both terrible paupers and jesters. Their only role would be to harass my nobility.
"I was told that I'd be dealing with dragon cultists. Is this fancifully named inconvenience also one?"
"It wouldn't surprise me if she was. All dispensers of sagely wisdom are dragon enthusiasts. To therefore monopolise one for herself is both shameless and impermissible."
"Yet I see that hoarding a dragon does not allow enough foresight to see the perils of inconveniencing me. I clearly need to offer some sagely wisdom of my own. Now, where do I find my missing dragon?"
The man duly pointed into the distance.
One where a horizon was conspicuously absent. All I saw instead was a thick wall of impassable mist, topped by a lone mountain peak wreathed in snow and ice.
"The Hazy Mountain," he said confidently.
I pursed my lips.
"Is that too a trade name and it's neither hazy nor a mountain?"
"No. It's called the Hazy Mountain because it's a hazy mountain."
"Very well. In that case, I want you to point somewhere else."
"Pointing somewhere else won't help."
"Try."
"My scrying bowl was clear on the matter. Too clear, I should add. And that is rarely a good thing. Just this morning, I saw within it a vision of calamity without obfuscation. Virudaax the Learned erupting like lava from the Hazy Mountain, now an avatar of ruin and rage. I saw nothing of the famed bookworm. Only flames in his wake and misfortune for all the world ahead."
I raised my arms in exasperation.
"And you were here reading while nibbling cheese?"
"I hardly see why not. If it was a true problem, someone would come along to help." He stared pointedly at me. "Such as you."
I jabbed my finger towards the man's nose.
"Then know this–although I will see to this dragon issue for my entirely own non-altruistic reasons, that does not excuse you from providing remuneration in kind. I will need you to provide an exhaustive list of dates, times, names and locations of all potential marriage prospects from now until forever. I intend to have all notions of my imprisonment nipped in the bud."
The man looked aghast.
"Such a list goes well beyond even the premium service level I provide!"
"And it's still less than what I deserve. If I'm to inadvertently secure your business against a rising, and some might say, deserving competitor, then I expect your finest and most comprehensive reading. Unless, of course, such detailed work is beyond you."
Every wrinkle the man possessed shone through his beard.
"An unnecessary provocation. But one I shall rise to nonetheless. Rest assured, I've more accreditations than I have recipes for fondue. I am utterly unmatched in my abilities. If an exhaustive list regarding marriage related encounters is what you desire, I will provide it down to the smallest detail."
I clapped my hands in delight.
To trade a hefty portion of my innocence by stepping foot in Ouzelia was a steep price. But one I would gladly pay to ensure my continued dignity from now on.
"Wonderful. Is there a magic mirror or an enchanted lake we should proceed towards, then?"
"If it was my ordinary premium service, I'd be leading you towards the silver bowl in my study. But since this is a highly bespoke service, I shall use only the finest apparatus available."
I nodded, waiting for him to declare just what his finest apparatus was.
Yet no sooner had he straightened his back to another crack did he bend down low again. This time, it wasn't to scoop up the bits of a broken piano which were still hogging up his doorway.
Instead … he picked up a fallen wheel of gouda.
I offered a polite smile.
"... Excuse me, but is this bespoke process so draining that you must prevent sudden malnourishment?"
"No. This is my scrying tool."
"I see." I gave a nod, then turned to the distant fog. "Thank you for your assistance. I will go rescue a dragon now. Good day to you."
"Wait! Don't go!"
"D-Do not approach me with that wheel of cheese! Remain at a distance!"
As I attempted to make my way back towards Apple, the bearded man practically hopped in front of me, the gouda hugged to his chest as wounded pride furiously bellowed in his eyes.
"I understand what this looks like, but–"
"Stop right there!" I interrupted, utterly aghast that I'd almost been convinced a man called the Mad Prophet wasn't, in fact, utterly insane. "I will not have premonitions of my own marriage be derived through the workings of cheese. How would that even work?! Who would my fated partner be? The shiniest gruyère?!"
"Well, if it is, you wouldn't have to search long. I just so happen to have–"
"No!"
I immediately stepped around the certified madman and placed my hands on Apple's saddle.
Then, just as I began to hoist myself up …
Clink.
The sound of a handful of coins being tossed onto the ground.
"I'll pay you," he declared.
"You want to pay me for my own reading?!"
"This is a matter of professional pride! I have worked all my life for this moment! For a challenge worthy of my research!"
"Research?! What were you researching?! How to send maidens running into the mountains without a vague quest pointing them there?!"
A burning sense of self-dignity filled the man's expression, like an old soldier guarding what all else had forgotten.
"Do not think for a moment that my hobby is a mere pastime," he said, strength filling his voice. "In cheese can be found the fundamentals of life. Liquids, proteins, fats … and most of all, soul."
"Apple, it's time to trot quickly."
"There is no need to escape! Cheese has all the constituent components required to serve as a first-class reagent to those with the ability and the creativity to use it! And I shall now prove it–"
The man held out the wheel of gouda, then sucked in a deep breath.
A moment later … a magic inscription flashed to life.
Not in the air. Not in the ground. But on his outstretched cheese.
I was absolutely horrified … so much so, that all I could do was stare in utter disbelief and morbid curiosity as the man closed his eyes. Sweat began to form at his brows, his cheeks twitching as the strands of magic left his fingertips, running across innumerable veins permeating the wheel of cheese.
They then escaped entirely, flowing like delicate weaves as they rose around my head in the form of a blinking constellation.
"I am the Mad Prophet," he said through gritted teeth. "And I do not casually boast a 100% customer satisfaction rate. Whether it is in matters of life and death or an unravelling of that most tangled matter of destined romance, I undertake all my requests with steadfast professionalism. Withhold your disbelief at my means, for that is reserved for my results."
Suddenly, the constellation expanded.
Almost seeming to darken the sky, the bright veins drowned out all other light. The man's cheeks hardened as he bit down, navigating the stars he'd sown in his mind.
"Ooooh~"
Coppelia immediately reached up, poking at the bright lights. I shooed her away.
"I see it now," said the Mad Prophet, his voice distant and toneless. "The threads which follow your footsteps. And those you've yet to traverse. Such a colourful display. A dance with neither beginning nor end … as is appropriate, for I see you are a princess whose heart is worth a kingdom. A magnificent sight."
I gawped … for even as he spoke, it was through the sight of the gouda melting in his hands.
It was a gruesome display … somewhat impressive, yes … but gruesome nonetheless!
"... H-Have you found anything?" I asked, as equally engrossed by the melting gouda as the magic. "What names do you see? What faces? Is there one my parents have conspired with to bind me in a bitter marriage marked by duty and boredom? Who dares to take my hand?"
The Mad Prophet fell silent.
His eyes seemed to pulse beneath his eyelids, as though searching for a needle amidst the darkness of all fate. A noise like rolling thunder filled the air, though no clouds loomed upon the horizon. Magic. It was the sound of magic, deep and ancient as the dragons over Ouzelia.
"I see it."
The man's eyes opened.
And just like that … it was over.
The constellations faded. The sunlight returned in full, washing away any hints that a wheel of cheese had contributed to the avoidance of a future filled with hardship. I leaned forwards at once.
"What … What was it you saw?"
I waited, all the while the Mad Prophet stared at me.
And then–
"Heh …"
"Excuse me? I didn't quite–"
"Heh … heheh … hahah …"
I blinked, as equally bewildered as I was horrified by the response.
"Haah … ahaha … hahahaha … ahahahah!!"
Falling upon his knees, the Mad Prophet hugged his stomach.
The next moment, bellowing laughter filled the air with all the raucousness of a busy tavern. He doubled over, forehead almost touching the ground as the laughter threatened to choke all the air from him.
Suddenly, it stopped. The hiccups of laughter subsided. He looked up at me.
"Bwahahahahahahaaahahah!!"
And then broke into a coughing fit as the laughter returned anew.
I was appalled.
"W-What did you see?!" I hurried forwards, reaching down to shake his shoulders. "I-I demand you tell me what you saw! Who am I to be married to?! Did I fend them off?! What happened?!"
"Ahaha … ahahaha … hahahaahahah … !!"
Impervious to the healing touch of my violent shaking, the man promptly fell to his side, hands clutching at his wounded stomach as he rocked to and fro, trying and failing to stop the laughter from flooding out like a broken sewer.
Coppelia kneeled down beside the fallen prophet.
"Wow~" she poked him to a fresh bout of laughter. "This is amazing! I think you made the Mad Prophet actually mad!"
I looked on in horror.
But not for long.
"... Come, Coppelia!" I swept around at once. "We've no time to waste!"
"Oooh, are we finally saving a dragon?"
"No." I hoisted myself upon Apple, then promptly urged him away from the laughing madman. "We are saving a dragon who will owe me enough riches to prevent … whatever this is."
Coppelia added a giggle to the backdrop of laughter.
And that was fine.
After all, when it came to marriage, only one type of laughter was available … and that was the amusement when I skillfully avoided it by amassing such an absurd amount of wealth that no dowry could compare!
Indeed, this was a welcome reminder that I had no time to tarry!
Fortunately, I was in a land where hoarded wealth was plenty and rescues by a princess came at a significant premium. And neither a mountain of indeterminate height nor whatever pests lived within could prevent my noble goal of ensuring my quality of life.
Thus … it was time to bankrupt a dragon!
- Location
- Argentina
Okay what's so funny? A Harem ending?
- Pronouns
- It
Its never a good sign when someone trying look into your future goes mad.
I think the only worse option is that they simply drop dead.
I think the only worse option is that they simply drop dead.
He just got the ratio wrong! He needed to use more cheddar, maybe the less vintage variety and more mild.
Listen, when a powerful and arrogant women who knows she is going to get tons of marriage offers asks you to divine them so she can avoid getting married, and your divination reveals she is in fact not going to get any at all, the only thing you can do to spare yourself is to pretend to go mad or actually go mad.
Chapter 299: Bonus Spree
My first dusk outside my kingdom.
It was so appalling I forgot it even as it happened.
Despite the unmatched achievement of having survived half a day in this land of oddballs, I saw little of the dipping sun now hailing my success.
Not because an ominously large mountain was looming overhead. Nor because a thick mist was fashionably billowing around me like my favoured dress as my servants fanned away in the shadows.
No … it was simply because I was busy looking at the ground.
As was Apple.
Trotting along at his usual, lackadaisical pace, he nonetheless could have defeated any knight's steed along this patchwork road of soil and broken stones. And the reason was holes.
Large, bottomless holes, scattered where the mist hid it.
Whereas ordinary horses would pull up their hooves at the thought of traversing such a terribly designed landscape, Apple merely offered his snorts and his indifference.
Navigating the deadly pits with the grace of a methodical cat burglar in the night, he treated each and every obstacle with the contempt it deserved.
… And what could I do but join him?
"Ohohoho." I lightly raised a hand to my lips. "Really now? … Is this truly the worst that Ouzelia can do?"
First the pianos. Now the bottomless pits.
Neither impressed me with their originality. And I was even less moved by their effectiveness.
Somewhere above me, Coppelia was efficiently doing away with both issues by avoiding the ground altogether. As the berry fields gave way to dense woodlands, she gracefully skipped from branch to branch, and in doing so demonstrated that this was less a natural talent and more a necessity for survival.
"Hmm … are you sure you want to ask that?"
I paused, my hand falling slightly from my lips.
"You're right, of course. Such lax traps laid out by our foes are unworthy of even modest laughter."
"Great! Because these aren't actually traps."
"The myriad of bottomless pits covered in mist and pockmarking the road are not traps?"
"Nope. These aren't pits. They're deer holes."
Hmm.
How strange. Even having regularly used my zoology lessons as an opportunity to learn the art of sleeping with my eyelids open, I felt this was not a term covered in any syllabus.
"I've never heard such a thing before. What is a deer hole?"
"A deer hole is a hole dug by a deer."
"Coppelia, deers do not dig … do they?"
"Ours do. It's hard to run from dragons no matter how fast you are, so our deers learned to dig holes instead. That's great! It means the big guy's probably nearby. These look freshly dug."
I nodded at the good news. And then returned straight to the deer.
"... What do deer do after they've dug a bottomless hole? How do they get out?"
"They don't."
"That seems like a remarkable design flaw."
"Escaping dragons is a step by step process. Not many think past step one. It's fine, though. Deers can just make sad noises and they'll eventually get rescued. Nobody can resist helping a deer. Look~"
She pointed at a pit which I'd most definitely seen. I noted the rope leading down.
And then I let out a shudder, grateful that no dragon chose to make its home in my kingdom.
If my deers started digging holes everywhere, court politics would be even more anarchic than it already was. I'd have nobility mysteriously falling down conveniently sized holes everyday instead of occasionally down a well. I couldn't imagine having to pretend to remember so many revolving names.
"It cannot be good to have your roads constantly littered with holes. How do you navigate this?"
"With shovels. We have neighbourhood watches filling them back up. It's like a national hobby, with speed records and everything. It's only in places like these where nobody bothers."
"Then perhaps if we're lucky, the culprit responsible for stealing a dragon will have fallen down one of these pits as a direct consequence."
"Hmm. I don't think falling down is enough. It's super hard to kidnap a dragon. Especially the big guy. Whoever this Bewitching Oracle is, she has to be really powerful. Or maybe just really good with words."
"To charm a dragon, do you mean?"
"Nah, to stop the Bewitching Postal Service from huffing. Ouzelia's witches are a bit different to others. Only a few boil toads and stuff. The rest deliver parcels and letters. Anybody who calls themselves the Bewitching Oracle is definitely not in their address book. And that's rough. They're super good. I bet if you hire a witch, you could send a letter from Ouzelia to Tirea in less than a day."
I hummed in thought.
"Is that so? … I wonder if perhaps I'm overdue to send another letter home. I haven't written one since Stermondt. My mother and father doubtless wonder if I'm well."
"In that case, you should definitely ask the big guy! He gets a heavy discount."
"I'll include it in the schedule. I intend to ask your dragon many things, including how best he feels to compensate me for this rescue … not limited, of course, to organising the hours of your flexible working schedule from this point onwards."
Coppelia's look of amusement shone through the mist.
"You'll need to tell me how it goes. I think I'll be covering my ears when he gives his reply."
"As long as he doesn't as well, then that's fine. You may have secured the matter of a certain mage's debt and late book to him, but your tasks in my kingdom are unfinished. The Royal Treasury is still waiting to be filled, my quality of life remains hopelessly insecure, and the new dessert menu in the Royal Villa is yet to be reviewed."
The branch beneath Coppelia shook as she twirled needlessly. Leaves cascaded down into the sea of mist.
"I can judge desserts," she said regarding the most important thing. "But you know, the big guy is a dragon, and dragons like their contracts. If he's in a cranky mood, he might not be okay with me professionally slacking, and he's usually in a cranky mood."
"Contracts are nothing more than words upon parchment. And if the sequel of The Ashen Maiden's Journey can be changed after my direct intervention, then so can any work agreement. Speaking of which, how does he remunerate you for your time?"
Coppelia raised her arms in joy.
"Free snacks on shift, discounts at the gift store, and all the coupons from the newsletters we receive!"
I was aghast.
Why, no wonder she was so enamoured with gold! She'd never seen what it looked like before exiting her library's walls!
"Coppelia! That … That is unacceptable! How could this so-called employer of yours shamelessly work you to the bone while never once offering you a single coin in acknowledgement?"
My loyal handmaiden offered a fixed smile, bravely accepting the indignity.
"Mmh~ it's true. Even when I shake this pouch, I barely hear any clinking."
She shook her pouch.
Even lacking her hearing, I had no difficulty discerning the telltale sound of coins happily jostling for room. For a moment, I almost considered asking where it came from if she'd yet to be reimbursed by either a dragon or my treasury.
And then I stopped considering. And all was fine again.
"Rest assured, I as a princess shall adhere to my responsibilities where a dragon fails. Once we reach the Royal Villa, I shall instruct the stewards to ensure you are fully compensated for your time, alongside a premium handmaiden stipend, travel expenses and assorted explosion bonuses."
"Eh? I get paid for explosions?"
"Of course. Each time you lift me away while the flames lick at my back is a picture worthy of a financial reward both sizable and undefined."
Coppelia began counting with her fingers.
After a moment, she also lifted up her foot and calculated while staring at her toes
"Coppelia, I have not been carried away that many times. " I thought for a moment. "... Indeed, we haven't!"
"I need to calculate for today as well. There's a lot of explosions in a dragon's breath."
"Really now. If this dragon has fire to breathe, he can use it upon his captors, not his rescuer. Just because I intend to strip him to the last coin until he's as poor as the day he hatched doesn't mean he has cause to breathe fire on me. Rest assured, there will be nothing other than overwhelming joy. Gratitude is a currency to be spent in large volumes, and I intend to accept all he has to offer."
A whistling tune was all I received.
Indeed, Coppelia didn't need to add anything else. Her faith in my negotiating powers spoke for itself.
"In that case, you might need to accept it with wobbly legs," she said, eyeing the snow-capped peak. "He's big, but the mountain is bigger. This looks like a bunch of climbing."
I smiled at the very notion.
"Ohohoho … climbing, me, how novel."
"I mean, I don't think the horse can carry you up this."
"Nonsense. Apple will surely carry me to the stars if I wish. But neither that nor trotting up a mountain needs to be tested today. Whatever mountain lair exists as your employer's prison, it'll doubtless have easy access for henchmen and the deliveries they carry. Otherwise service would just be too slow."
I nodded confidently, placing a hand to my chest.
"Indeed, the setting might be different, but a refusal to part with certain necessities is all too common for those who build their secret retreats. Once we've arrived at the mountain, I shall immediately locate the entrance. From there, we can proceed to subtly remove whatever shackles bind your dragon. Any subterfuge the captors hope to employ will be used against them."
Coppelia let out a thoughtful hum.
"You know, for someone who thinks dragons are their natural enemies, I feel like you're also a tiny bit nicer when speaking about them too. Just in the tone. Like 2%."
"Of course. Dragons may be my natural foe, but they are proud and ancient, just like the lines of royalty they abduct. It is a disgrace to imagine such a worthy adversary shackled like a caged beast. I've no doubt that if the situation was reversed, a dragon would rescue me from a similarly unfitting position."
Coppelia nodded.
A moment later, she came to a stop, a hand raised to her brow as she smiled into the distance.
"Hmmmmmm~ but what will happen to the big dragon celebration if we take away the dragon?"
"Excuse me?"
She pointed ahead.
I duly narrowed my eyes as a myriad of colours began to break free from the mist at the base of the mountain. Every instinct told me to turn away.
All I saw was the sign planted by the side of the road, its words failing to be hidden by the mist.
I pursed my lips.
And then, I turned to Coppelia.
"If I do not see a dragon caged, shackled and in need of rescue, I am going to issue an official diplomatic complaint."
It was so appalling I forgot it even as it happened.
Despite the unmatched achievement of having survived half a day in this land of oddballs, I saw little of the dipping sun now hailing my success.
Not because an ominously large mountain was looming overhead. Nor because a thick mist was fashionably billowing around me like my favoured dress as my servants fanned away in the shadows.
No … it was simply because I was busy looking at the ground.
As was Apple.
Trotting along at his usual, lackadaisical pace, he nonetheless could have defeated any knight's steed along this patchwork road of soil and broken stones. And the reason was holes.
Large, bottomless holes, scattered where the mist hid it.
Whereas ordinary horses would pull up their hooves at the thought of traversing such a terribly designed landscape, Apple merely offered his snorts and his indifference.
Navigating the deadly pits with the grace of a methodical cat burglar in the night, he treated each and every obstacle with the contempt it deserved.
… And what could I do but join him?
"Ohohoho." I lightly raised a hand to my lips. "Really now? … Is this truly the worst that Ouzelia can do?"
First the pianos. Now the bottomless pits.
Neither impressed me with their originality. And I was even less moved by their effectiveness.
Somewhere above me, Coppelia was efficiently doing away with both issues by avoiding the ground altogether. As the berry fields gave way to dense woodlands, she gracefully skipped from branch to branch, and in doing so demonstrated that this was less a natural talent and more a necessity for survival.
"Hmm … are you sure you want to ask that?"
I paused, my hand falling slightly from my lips.
"You're right, of course. Such lax traps laid out by our foes are unworthy of even modest laughter."
"Great! Because these aren't actually traps."
"The myriad of bottomless pits covered in mist and pockmarking the road are not traps?"
"Nope. These aren't pits. They're deer holes."
Hmm.
How strange. Even having regularly used my zoology lessons as an opportunity to learn the art of sleeping with my eyelids open, I felt this was not a term covered in any syllabus.
"I've never heard such a thing before. What is a deer hole?"
"A deer hole is a hole dug by a deer."
"Coppelia, deers do not dig … do they?"
"Ours do. It's hard to run from dragons no matter how fast you are, so our deers learned to dig holes instead. That's great! It means the big guy's probably nearby. These look freshly dug."
I nodded at the good news. And then returned straight to the deer.
"... What do deer do after they've dug a bottomless hole? How do they get out?"
"They don't."
"That seems like a remarkable design flaw."
"Escaping dragons is a step by step process. Not many think past step one. It's fine, though. Deers can just make sad noises and they'll eventually get rescued. Nobody can resist helping a deer. Look~"
She pointed at a pit which I'd most definitely seen. I noted the rope leading down.
And then I let out a shudder, grateful that no dragon chose to make its home in my kingdom.
If my deers started digging holes everywhere, court politics would be even more anarchic than it already was. I'd have nobility mysteriously falling down conveniently sized holes everyday instead of occasionally down a well. I couldn't imagine having to pretend to remember so many revolving names.
"It cannot be good to have your roads constantly littered with holes. How do you navigate this?"
"With shovels. We have neighbourhood watches filling them back up. It's like a national hobby, with speed records and everything. It's only in places like these where nobody bothers."
"Then perhaps if we're lucky, the culprit responsible for stealing a dragon will have fallen down one of these pits as a direct consequence."
"Hmm. I don't think falling down is enough. It's super hard to kidnap a dragon. Especially the big guy. Whoever this Bewitching Oracle is, she has to be really powerful. Or maybe just really good with words."
"To charm a dragon, do you mean?"
"Nah, to stop the Bewitching Postal Service from huffing. Ouzelia's witches are a bit different to others. Only a few boil toads and stuff. The rest deliver parcels and letters. Anybody who calls themselves the Bewitching Oracle is definitely not in their address book. And that's rough. They're super good. I bet if you hire a witch, you could send a letter from Ouzelia to Tirea in less than a day."
I hummed in thought.
"Is that so? … I wonder if perhaps I'm overdue to send another letter home. I haven't written one since Stermondt. My mother and father doubtless wonder if I'm well."
"In that case, you should definitely ask the big guy! He gets a heavy discount."
"I'll include it in the schedule. I intend to ask your dragon many things, including how best he feels to compensate me for this rescue … not limited, of course, to organising the hours of your flexible working schedule from this point onwards."
Coppelia's look of amusement shone through the mist.
"You'll need to tell me how it goes. I think I'll be covering my ears when he gives his reply."
"As long as he doesn't as well, then that's fine. You may have secured the matter of a certain mage's debt and late book to him, but your tasks in my kingdom are unfinished. The Royal Treasury is still waiting to be filled, my quality of life remains hopelessly insecure, and the new dessert menu in the Royal Villa is yet to be reviewed."
The branch beneath Coppelia shook as she twirled needlessly. Leaves cascaded down into the sea of mist.
"I can judge desserts," she said regarding the most important thing. "But you know, the big guy is a dragon, and dragons like their contracts. If he's in a cranky mood, he might not be okay with me professionally slacking, and he's usually in a cranky mood."
"Contracts are nothing more than words upon parchment. And if the sequel of The Ashen Maiden's Journey can be changed after my direct intervention, then so can any work agreement. Speaking of which, how does he remunerate you for your time?"
Coppelia raised her arms in joy.
"Free snacks on shift, discounts at the gift store, and all the coupons from the newsletters we receive!"
I was aghast.
Why, no wonder she was so enamoured with gold! She'd never seen what it looked like before exiting her library's walls!
"Coppelia! That … That is unacceptable! How could this so-called employer of yours shamelessly work you to the bone while never once offering you a single coin in acknowledgement?"
My loyal handmaiden offered a fixed smile, bravely accepting the indignity.
"Mmh~ it's true. Even when I shake this pouch, I barely hear any clinking."
She shook her pouch.
Even lacking her hearing, I had no difficulty discerning the telltale sound of coins happily jostling for room. For a moment, I almost considered asking where it came from if she'd yet to be reimbursed by either a dragon or my treasury.
And then I stopped considering. And all was fine again.
"Rest assured, I as a princess shall adhere to my responsibilities where a dragon fails. Once we reach the Royal Villa, I shall instruct the stewards to ensure you are fully compensated for your time, alongside a premium handmaiden stipend, travel expenses and assorted explosion bonuses."
"Eh? I get paid for explosions?"
"Of course. Each time you lift me away while the flames lick at my back is a picture worthy of a financial reward both sizable and undefined."
Coppelia began counting with her fingers.
After a moment, she also lifted up her foot and calculated while staring at her toes
"Coppelia, I have not been carried away that many times. " I thought for a moment. "... Indeed, we haven't!"
"I need to calculate for today as well. There's a lot of explosions in a dragon's breath."
"Really now. If this dragon has fire to breathe, he can use it upon his captors, not his rescuer. Just because I intend to strip him to the last coin until he's as poor as the day he hatched doesn't mean he has cause to breathe fire on me. Rest assured, there will be nothing other than overwhelming joy. Gratitude is a currency to be spent in large volumes, and I intend to accept all he has to offer."
A whistling tune was all I received.
Indeed, Coppelia didn't need to add anything else. Her faith in my negotiating powers spoke for itself.
"In that case, you might need to accept it with wobbly legs," she said, eyeing the snow-capped peak. "He's big, but the mountain is bigger. This looks like a bunch of climbing."
I smiled at the very notion.
"Ohohoho … climbing, me, how novel."
"I mean, I don't think the horse can carry you up this."
"Nonsense. Apple will surely carry me to the stars if I wish. But neither that nor trotting up a mountain needs to be tested today. Whatever mountain lair exists as your employer's prison, it'll doubtless have easy access for henchmen and the deliveries they carry. Otherwise service would just be too slow."
I nodded confidently, placing a hand to my chest.
"Indeed, the setting might be different, but a refusal to part with certain necessities is all too common for those who build their secret retreats. Once we've arrived at the mountain, I shall immediately locate the entrance. From there, we can proceed to subtly remove whatever shackles bind your dragon. Any subterfuge the captors hope to employ will be used against them."
Coppelia let out a thoughtful hum.
"You know, for someone who thinks dragons are their natural enemies, I feel like you're also a tiny bit nicer when speaking about them too. Just in the tone. Like 2%."
"Of course. Dragons may be my natural foe, but they are proud and ancient, just like the lines of royalty they abduct. It is a disgrace to imagine such a worthy adversary shackled like a caged beast. I've no doubt that if the situation was reversed, a dragon would rescue me from a similarly unfitting position."
Coppelia nodded.
A moment later, she came to a stop, a hand raised to her brow as she smiled into the distance.
"Hmmmmmm~ but what will happen to the big dragon celebration if we take away the dragon?"
"Excuse me?"
She pointed ahead.
I duly narrowed my eyes as a myriad of colours began to break free from the mist at the base of the mountain. Every instinct told me to turn away.
All I saw was the sign planted by the side of the road, its words failing to be hidden by the mist.
OUZELIA WONDER DRAGON FESTIVAL
Available this month only!
Celebrate all things dragons in this family friendly inaugural festival!
Hosted in partnership with the Bewitching Oracle Friendship Foundation, meet and befriend real dragons in this limited event featuring performances, games, prizes and special guest stars!
(All children must be kept grounded by an adult.)
Available this month only!
Celebrate all things dragons in this family friendly inaugural festival!
Hosted in partnership with the Bewitching Oracle Friendship Foundation, meet and befriend real dragons in this limited event featuring performances, games, prizes and special guest stars!
(All children must be kept grounded by an adult.)
I pursed my lips.
And then, I turned to Coppelia.
"If I do not see a dragon caged, shackled and in need of rescue, I am going to issue an official diplomatic complaint."
- Location
- Argentina
Dragons are natural loners so many people that they cannot kill, eat or slave is torture.
Dragons have always been misunderstood! They just want to loot, eat and sleep in peace.
- Location
- Argentina
And scratches in the right spot.
"Do they teach princesses how to tame dragons or something?" Coppelia asked.
"No, but there are cats in the palace." I said as I continued to scratch the very young dragon in just the right spot.
"Oh didn't take you for a cat owner."
"Don't be silly, I don't own the cats, they are just there to eat rodents, annoy visiting guests and do whatever they want."
"But isn't that basically owning the cats?"
"Some people calls it that, yes."
Last edited:
Chapter 300: A Princess’s Blessing
The receding mist gave way to a blare of sanguine light, burning into my eyes.
It wasn't enough.
Despite the best attempts of the sun, its valour was in vain. No matter how blinding it was, the odour of an open tavern and the sounds of debauchery cut through any haze.
Upon a field of trampled grass and upturned soil which proved slim pickings even with Apple's resourcefulness, merrymakers bumped into one another with the abandon of adventurers nursing their defeat to a cat in just too high a tree.
The layabouts of Ouzelia had gathered. And those hosting them were all too happy to take their custom.
"Dragon mead! It's happy hour for our very own house crafted dragon approved mead!"
"Fire breath pottery! Make your own dragon pottery! The workshop is now half price!"
"The dragon pond is refilled! All our top prizes are now available! Come scoop up your lucky number for a chance to win your own friendly dragon!"
Stretching before me, dozens of pavilions were staked within the mud.
Each boasted a different ritual to lure coins from hands.
Basins of water filled with little floating dragons, only to be fished up with paddles too fragile to hold them. A bucket shaped like a dragon's jaw, assaulted by balls tossed from afar by a hollering crowd. Bows and arrows so flimsy they could not pierce a marshmallow.
And most of all, endless stalls dedicated to safeguarding against the scourge of sobriety.
Nowhere did I hear the cry of a dragon in need … likely since it was currently indisposed.
Yes.
Amidst the fanfare and revelry, a dragon was also present.
Rising high to compete with the blackened frame of the looming mountain, it boasted a set of serrated fangs, a spiked tail, webbed wings, innumerable scales and two … yes, two sets of legs.
A dragon in every sense of the word.
With its jaw opened wide and neck elongated, it stood upon its hind legs, a great fireball ready to be unleashed upon those with the misfortune of failing to earn its favour.
Except despite its pose framed in anger, no bellowing roar or tide of scoring flames came.
Indeed, this dragon was special.
… Why, he was slightly crumpled.
Green and slightly wet, before me rose a parchment statue of what was either a legendary being of unparalleled might or a seaweed salad I'd thrown away and come back stronger. And as I craned my neck towards it, I had only one thought.
It was so … tacky!
Even Apple saw fit to snort at the sight! And for good reason!
This was no marble colossus destined to withstand the ages, but a stitched together impression of a dragon lacking any detail, its proportions skewed and its colour a single shade of pickle green.
Worst of all was the fact it actually possessed an expression.
An expression.
Something dragons lacking cheek muscles famously struggled to do. And so unable to vocalise its dissatisfaction through blistering flames, this dragon was forced to look simply confused instead.
I empathised.
This was a desecration of sculpting so complete that I was stunned every dragon in Ouzelia was not currently crying out in grief.
As it was, that task was for me alone.
"W-What is this … ?!"
I was aghast.
Why, I came here to rescue a dragon from its chains!
At most, I thought there'd be a slew of deathly traps and a string of slightly larger pianos in my path!
Instead, I was greeted by a field of drunken layabouts and an assault against good taste. I was practically reeling from the blow. If I knew it'd be this difficult, I'd have consigned the dragon to its fate.
"Ooooh~" Coppelia leaned forwards as she studied the towering parchment dragon. "The big guy is a lot smaller than when I last saw him!"
"Excuse me? Is this supposed to be your dragon?"
Coppelia poked a scale with a look of joy. It made a squishing sound.
"Yup, that's him," she said with a giggle. "He looks pretty rough, but I can feel the grumpiness coming through. He must have done an all nighter reading again. How do you want to rescue him?"
"From the looks of it, with fire. That'd be the only way to save his wounded pride. This is a tragedy."
"Yeah, I think it rained recently. That's awful. It's really hard to make statues out of parchment."
"That's because it should be left to marble. As well a sculptor who had ever once laid eyes upon a dragon. Why does he look so … confused?"
"Eh, it's not too different to how he usually is."
I pointed at the dragon's face.
"He has googly eyes, Coppelia."
"Yup. That's what happens when you read too many history books about humans and all the dumb ways they get themselves killed."
I gasped.
I knew it! My tutors were attempting to sabotage me all along!
"I see … then it seems his situation is worse than expected. Not only is he imprisoned, but his image at his lowest has now been captured for all to mock. For a proud dragon, such indignity must strike deeper into his soul than any chains could. We must strive to rescue him at once."
"Okie~"
Coppelia nodded, her concern for her employer hidden by her relaxed smile.
Indeed, nobody deserved to be tortured with such an ill-fitting statue, to say nothing of a loutish festival in which his image was being waylaid by the second.
As I peered around, I noted the array of dragon memorabilia on offer. All featured the same green dragon inscribed upon everything from the spilled mugs to the napkins which weren't being used.
It was as though he'd been reduced to a mascot.
A fate worse than death.
And that meant … my reward would be all the greater!
Ohohohoho!
Indeed, no matter how bright the colours or noisy the laughter, nothing could hide the veil of machinations in the air! I could smell it like the odour seeping from beneath every upturned table!
Thus, I turned in search for the nearest source of reliable information–
Someone behind a counter.
Choosing the nearest pavilion, I dismounted from Apple so he could forage for what sparse grass remained, then made my way to the bar. Past the raucous crowd making themselves a nuisance, I found a barmaid wearing a smile as bright as her uniform, efficiently filling up as many tankards as it'd take for the hoodlums to leave her alone.
"Salutations," I said as I approached. "I require assistance."
The barmaid offered a smile of relief. Seeing someone not drunk was a reminder of civilisation.
"No problem! Would you like something from the bar, or have you come to redeem your tickets?"
"Tickets?"
The woman gestured at the laden shelves behind her.
All the trinkets I had no intention of buying sparkled at me, from tableware to clay figurines.
"This bar doubles up as the ticket redemption counter, where you can exchange the tickets you win for taking part in the festival."
"My, I had no idea. In that case, I'd like to make a redemption."
"Great! How many tickets do you have?"
"None."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm not here to exchange tickets, but time. And right now, I believe I'm owed a dragon."
I pointed at the parchment statue.
"I'm told he looks like this one. Except bigger. His name is …"
"Virudaax the Cranky."
"Virudaax the Cranky. Have you such a dragon available?"
Suddenly, the barmaid gasped.
"H-How did you know?! Virudaax the … well, I was told his name is Viradaax the Learned, but he's our special guest star! Did someone tell you?"
"Yes. A man with a penchant for cheese. Although he didn't inform me why an ancient green dragon would be guest starring at a festival which cannot even afford a basic 100 foot marble statue of him."
The barmaid hummed.
"Well, I wouldn't know why such a dragon would offer his presence to us. But the Bewitching Oracle predicted that great fortune would befall all her followers who helped organise this festival. After all, if a dragon does grant us its favour, who knows what good things will happen?"
"Few do. And certainly not this oracle. Dragons do not offer favours on a whim."
"Hah. That might be true. But I think we've all got a good feeling about this. The Bewitching Oracle hasn't let us down before!"
I raised an eyebrow towards the blissful declaration. One which earned a raising of tankards in cheer.
"Is that so? … My, then I shall endeavour to assist her. Where might I find this dragon?"
"Ah! For that, you'll need to claim the festival grand prize."
The barmaid pointed to the very top of the shelves.
An envelope waited upon its own cushion.
"That's the grand ticket prize," she said. "Each time you participate in a qualifying event or purchase a dragon themed product, you receive tickets. The first dedicated festivalgoer to amass the required amount gets an audience with our special guest star dragon. Would you like to know more?"
"Thank you. But no. I've neither the time nor the need. I assume the dragon is in that mountain. All I need is for you to point at which approximate part of that mountain."
"Um, I'm afraid I wouldn't know … and I think trying to find the dragon that way probably isn't the best."
"Why? Is the climb plagued by badgers?"
"I suppose there are a lot, yes. But it's more that the mountain's been sealed off. Only the most loyal followers of the Bewitching Oracle are allowed inside. I think she's going through her reservation list. But if you win the grand ticket prize, you'll be personally and safely shown directly to the dragon."
I pursed my lips.
On one hand, amassing tickets was absurd.
On the other, Coppeia had rolled up her sleeves, nodding with more conviction than I'd ever seen.
"Out of curiosity, how many tickets will it require?"
"100,000."
"I see … and how many tickets are gained through ordinary activities?"
"Well, for most of our games, you gain 1 ticket for taking part and 2 tickets for winning."
"That's ridiculous," I said, utterly appalled. "How is anyone supposed to gain that many tickets in five minutes?"
"The best way is to make purchases from our stalls. 1 ticket is equivalent to 5 copper crowns."
I started counting with my fingers.
In that case, the amount I'd need to spend was … numbers.
"There's another way," said the barmaid, hoping and failing to quell my horror by pointing out a contraption on the edge of the counter. "This is the Dragon Wheel. When you spin it, a ball comes out. The size indicates the quality of the prize offered. But if a gold ball comes out, you're able to pick any prize you wish–including the grand ticket prize. Would you like to give it a spin? It's 1 silver crown per roll."
I was aghast. Not least because this thing looked so rustic Clarise would faint at just the sight of it!
"1 silver crown? That's the cost of another meal I'd never remember! What are the chances of winning?"
"I'm not really too sure, but I can promise that nobody's found the gold ball yet."
I nodded. And then immediately turned around.
"Very well, thank you for the–"
Only to find Coppelia hopping on the spot in front of me.
"Me, me, me! I want to try the Dragon Wheel!"
"Coppelia! There is no possibility of winning through whatever poor odds exists. Gambling is the realm of bar room drunkards. We cannot allow ourselves to fall prey to such a vice."
"No problem, I'm really lucky! You can't lose if you only win!"
Seeing the clear confidence in her eyes, I gave a small groan.
But then … Coppelia did possess remarkably unique talents. If she could defeat me at rock, paper, scissors through nothing but outrageous luck, then perhaps she could also abuse games of chance?
A moment later, I reluctantly dipped my hand into my bottomless pouch, before giving away a precious silver crown from our important personal funds.
"Thank you!" said the barmaid brightly, all the while a coin permanently disappeared into the abyss. "Please go ahead and spin the Dragon Wheel. Once it stops, a ball will appear."
Coppelia was already there, hand gripped against the wheel as she imbued it with all her will.
"Okay, here we go!"
"Wait."
I stopped Coppelia with a raise of my finger.
Indeed, I would not see my money simply vanish into the abyss. Each coin was a symbol of my hardship and toil, taken from the pouches of those who sought to bar my path.
To see a single one tossed to the wayside was an insult to every bead of sweat someone else initially exerted to earn it.
That's why … as Coppelia turned to me with a look of puzzlement, I promptly poked her in the cheek.
Ohohoho!
Indeed, here it was! The most powerful ability I had to offer!
[Princess Blessing]!
Usually reserved only for bestowing favour upon gallant knights who correctly knew the line between courtesy and too much conversation! Here was a technique honed through generations of my blood!
With a mere touch of my fingertip, I would ensure that any retainer I blessed could carve through any foe–even if it was misfortune itself!
"I have now offered my blessing. Go forward, and may you use it well in this important endeavour."
Coppelia puffed her cheek back out, then smiled while scrunching her fist in a show of confidence.
"Okay! Leave it to me!"
And then–
She spun the wheel.
Round and round it went, drawing forth a whirring sound as it rattled against the counter. A few drunkards looked up, their faces lighting up with mild curiosity as they joined the barmaid in watching what a clockwork doll imbued with a princess's blessing could achieve.
And the result …
Click.
Was a tiny wooden ball.
"Congratulations!" said the barmaid, a prize already in her palms. "You win a dragon themed napkin!"
Coppelia blinked at her spoils.
A completely ordinary napkin. The same as those being offered for free on the counter.
"Wooo!" She took it and held it like a trophy. "I won a thing!"
A polite smattering of applause met her satisfaction. None from myself.
After all–
I was too busy being outraged.
"E-Excuse me! I believe there's been an error!"
"There's been no error," said the barmaid kindly. "The smallest type of ball came out."
"You just said they came in different sizes!"
"Yes. However, since most of them are the small ones, this is also the most common prize.
I leaned forwards slightly. The barmaid leaned back.
"Out of curiosity, how many prizes larger than a napkin has been given out today?"
"I'm … well, I'm afraid I've been explicitly told that this isn't allowed to be said."
I pursed my lips.
Her silence was all the answer I needed.
Subterfuge.
Indeed, my [Princess Blessing] did not fail! … Or at the very least, it didn't fail to such an extent that a reward as paltry as a napkin would be earned! By bestowing my blessing, Coppelia had earned the right to reject a better prize!
"Oh well," said Coppelia, pretending not to care as she stuffed the napkin into her pouch. "That was still fun! All right, it's time for me to get 100,000–"
"I will spin the wheel as well!"
"Eehh?!"
I turned to the barmaid, whose hand already carried a napkin alongside her apologetic smile.
"Um … just to let you know, we don't do refunds."
"A refund won't be necessary. I will attain the gold ball."
She offered a pained look. It was nothing compared to the faces of those who would shortly see their ill-deeds revealed.
Indeed … I knew how this worked!
There was not a gold ball to be had in this contraption! … And I would prove it!
I prepared to spin the wheel with my multi-purpose gardening instrument. A delicate breeze which might inadvertently see it fully emptied and inspected. But not before I slapped a coin against the counter.
Unlike these charlatans, I was no robber.
Clink.
The moment I did … the wheel rattled pitifully. A single click sounded before it came to a stop.
And then–
Out came a small ball covered in a coat of golden glitter.
All conversation ceased.
Only silence abounded, its din overwhelming all the noises of the backdrop. But not for long.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
"Winner!" cried the barmaid, in her hand ringing a bell which hadn't existed moments before. "We have a winner! The festival gold ball has been found!"
A pavilion filled with eyes stared at me. Then they all widened alongside the tossing of alcohol.
"Wooooooooooooooooooo!!"
"The gold ball! Someone got the gold ball!"
"A-Amazing! What fantastic luck! I can't believe it's real!"
I stared in shock as the tiny thing twinkled out at me.
"O-Oho … ohohoho … ohohohohohoho!!"
A moment later, I smiled magnificently, barely covering my lips as I accepted the praise of the hollering crowd led by Coppelia's cheering.
I-Indeed … doubt was never allowed to fester in my heart!
Fortune doesn't favour the bold, but the princess! Why, I was a walking blessing! The fact that I didn't actually touch anything was irrelevant … right?
As the sounds of euphoria filled the air, I was alerted to a small cough by the barmaid.
"Now, I understand you've already expressed what you'd like, but I also need to point out the others for formality's sake. We do have a selection of other high-grade prizes as well!"
She gestured towards the things on the top shelf, each less appealing than the other. Porcelain and a scattering of jewellery shined with a false gloss, their lack of value betrayed by my studious eyes.
All except for one thing.
A bright red cover, embossed with a gold title.
A Court Lady's Indiscretion, Vol. 1.
My smile slowly faded as my mind turned to confusion instead.
"... Excuse me, but why is such a slovenly book I've never read deemed a high-grade prize? It can be found anywhere due to its overwhelming and well deserved popularity."
"Ah, this?" The barmaid turned to it, her smile lighting up with admiration. "This one is special for two reasons. The first is that it's a 1st edition. The second is that it's signed by the author."
My mouth widened.
Even more so as she carefully flipped the cover open without removing it from the shelf.
There upon the first page was a signature so rare I did not even know of its existence. It was something even royalty could not easily procure.
"Is ... Is it authentic?" I asked, my voice barely a gasp.
Suddenly, Coppelia leaned forwards just past my shoulder.
"Hmm. That matches what I know. I've only seen it once before. It's really rare, she never signs anything by demand, only on special occasions."
Then, Coppelia turned to me with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"But you know, a signature is just a scrawl of ink in a book that's already scrawls of ink. Meanwhile, a ticket straight to the big guy means a guided tour directly to the reason you're here. One who owns a library. I bet he could give you autographed books if you really want them. Even without that, it's pretty much a choice between doing things the easy way or the hard way. And the hard way definitely involves a mountain. Pretty clear cut choice, huh?"
I gave a slow nod, my shoulders falling.
"Of course. You are right. As much as I desire such a thing for purely novelty purposes in the knowledge that someone other than myself would like it, I came here for a reason, and I will not be distracted no matter how rare or unique the prize."
"Great! Let's go rescue the big guy!"
"Indeed, we will."
Thus, I offered the waiting barmaid a smile.
Moments later, I was leaving the counter with a book held in my arms.
"Regrets?" asked Coppelia between her bouts of laughter.
"None whatsoever. Come, let us climb a mountain."
It wasn't enough.
Despite the best attempts of the sun, its valour was in vain. No matter how blinding it was, the odour of an open tavern and the sounds of debauchery cut through any haze.
Upon a field of trampled grass and upturned soil which proved slim pickings even with Apple's resourcefulness, merrymakers bumped into one another with the abandon of adventurers nursing their defeat to a cat in just too high a tree.
The layabouts of Ouzelia had gathered. And those hosting them were all too happy to take their custom.
"Dragon mead! It's happy hour for our very own house crafted dragon approved mead!"
"Fire breath pottery! Make your own dragon pottery! The workshop is now half price!"
"The dragon pond is refilled! All our top prizes are now available! Come scoop up your lucky number for a chance to win your own friendly dragon!"
Stretching before me, dozens of pavilions were staked within the mud.
Each boasted a different ritual to lure coins from hands.
Basins of water filled with little floating dragons, only to be fished up with paddles too fragile to hold them. A bucket shaped like a dragon's jaw, assaulted by balls tossed from afar by a hollering crowd. Bows and arrows so flimsy they could not pierce a marshmallow.
And most of all, endless stalls dedicated to safeguarding against the scourge of sobriety.
Nowhere did I hear the cry of a dragon in need … likely since it was currently indisposed.
Yes.
Amidst the fanfare and revelry, a dragon was also present.
Rising high to compete with the blackened frame of the looming mountain, it boasted a set of serrated fangs, a spiked tail, webbed wings, innumerable scales and two … yes, two sets of legs.
A dragon in every sense of the word.
With its jaw opened wide and neck elongated, it stood upon its hind legs, a great fireball ready to be unleashed upon those with the misfortune of failing to earn its favour.
Except despite its pose framed in anger, no bellowing roar or tide of scoring flames came.
Indeed, this dragon was special.
… Why, he was slightly crumpled.
Green and slightly wet, before me rose a parchment statue of what was either a legendary being of unparalleled might or a seaweed salad I'd thrown away and come back stronger. And as I craned my neck towards it, I had only one thought.
It was so … tacky!
Even Apple saw fit to snort at the sight! And for good reason!
This was no marble colossus destined to withstand the ages, but a stitched together impression of a dragon lacking any detail, its proportions skewed and its colour a single shade of pickle green.
Worst of all was the fact it actually possessed an expression.
An expression.
Something dragons lacking cheek muscles famously struggled to do. And so unable to vocalise its dissatisfaction through blistering flames, this dragon was forced to look simply confused instead.
I empathised.
This was a desecration of sculpting so complete that I was stunned every dragon in Ouzelia was not currently crying out in grief.
As it was, that task was for me alone.
"W-What is this … ?!"
I was aghast.
Why, I came here to rescue a dragon from its chains!
At most, I thought there'd be a slew of deathly traps and a string of slightly larger pianos in my path!
Instead, I was greeted by a field of drunken layabouts and an assault against good taste. I was practically reeling from the blow. If I knew it'd be this difficult, I'd have consigned the dragon to its fate.
"Ooooh~" Coppelia leaned forwards as she studied the towering parchment dragon. "The big guy is a lot smaller than when I last saw him!"
"Excuse me? Is this supposed to be your dragon?"
Coppelia poked a scale with a look of joy. It made a squishing sound.
"Yup, that's him," she said with a giggle. "He looks pretty rough, but I can feel the grumpiness coming through. He must have done an all nighter reading again. How do you want to rescue him?"
"From the looks of it, with fire. That'd be the only way to save his wounded pride. This is a tragedy."
"Yeah, I think it rained recently. That's awful. It's really hard to make statues out of parchment."
"That's because it should be left to marble. As well a sculptor who had ever once laid eyes upon a dragon. Why does he look so … confused?"
"Eh, it's not too different to how he usually is."
I pointed at the dragon's face.
"He has googly eyes, Coppelia."
"Yup. That's what happens when you read too many history books about humans and all the dumb ways they get themselves killed."
I gasped.
I knew it! My tutors were attempting to sabotage me all along!
"I see … then it seems his situation is worse than expected. Not only is he imprisoned, but his image at his lowest has now been captured for all to mock. For a proud dragon, such indignity must strike deeper into his soul than any chains could. We must strive to rescue him at once."
"Okie~"
Coppelia nodded, her concern for her employer hidden by her relaxed smile.
Indeed, nobody deserved to be tortured with such an ill-fitting statue, to say nothing of a loutish festival in which his image was being waylaid by the second.
As I peered around, I noted the array of dragon memorabilia on offer. All featured the same green dragon inscribed upon everything from the spilled mugs to the napkins which weren't being used.
It was as though he'd been reduced to a mascot.
A fate worse than death.
And that meant … my reward would be all the greater!
Ohohohoho!
Indeed, no matter how bright the colours or noisy the laughter, nothing could hide the veil of machinations in the air! I could smell it like the odour seeping from beneath every upturned table!
Thus, I turned in search for the nearest source of reliable information–
Someone behind a counter.
Choosing the nearest pavilion, I dismounted from Apple so he could forage for what sparse grass remained, then made my way to the bar. Past the raucous crowd making themselves a nuisance, I found a barmaid wearing a smile as bright as her uniform, efficiently filling up as many tankards as it'd take for the hoodlums to leave her alone.
"Salutations," I said as I approached. "I require assistance."
The barmaid offered a smile of relief. Seeing someone not drunk was a reminder of civilisation.
"No problem! Would you like something from the bar, or have you come to redeem your tickets?"
"Tickets?"
The woman gestured at the laden shelves behind her.
All the trinkets I had no intention of buying sparkled at me, from tableware to clay figurines.
"This bar doubles up as the ticket redemption counter, where you can exchange the tickets you win for taking part in the festival."
"My, I had no idea. In that case, I'd like to make a redemption."
"Great! How many tickets do you have?"
"None."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm not here to exchange tickets, but time. And right now, I believe I'm owed a dragon."
I pointed at the parchment statue.
"I'm told he looks like this one. Except bigger. His name is …"
"Virudaax the Cranky."
"Virudaax the Cranky. Have you such a dragon available?"
Suddenly, the barmaid gasped.
"H-How did you know?! Virudaax the … well, I was told his name is Viradaax the Learned, but he's our special guest star! Did someone tell you?"
"Yes. A man with a penchant for cheese. Although he didn't inform me why an ancient green dragon would be guest starring at a festival which cannot even afford a basic 100 foot marble statue of him."
The barmaid hummed.
"Well, I wouldn't know why such a dragon would offer his presence to us. But the Bewitching Oracle predicted that great fortune would befall all her followers who helped organise this festival. After all, if a dragon does grant us its favour, who knows what good things will happen?"
"Few do. And certainly not this oracle. Dragons do not offer favours on a whim."
"Hah. That might be true. But I think we've all got a good feeling about this. The Bewitching Oracle hasn't let us down before!"
I raised an eyebrow towards the blissful declaration. One which earned a raising of tankards in cheer.
"Is that so? … My, then I shall endeavour to assist her. Where might I find this dragon?"
"Ah! For that, you'll need to claim the festival grand prize."
The barmaid pointed to the very top of the shelves.
An envelope waited upon its own cushion.
"That's the grand ticket prize," she said. "Each time you participate in a qualifying event or purchase a dragon themed product, you receive tickets. The first dedicated festivalgoer to amass the required amount gets an audience with our special guest star dragon. Would you like to know more?"
"Thank you. But no. I've neither the time nor the need. I assume the dragon is in that mountain. All I need is for you to point at which approximate part of that mountain."
"Um, I'm afraid I wouldn't know … and I think trying to find the dragon that way probably isn't the best."
"Why? Is the climb plagued by badgers?"
"I suppose there are a lot, yes. But it's more that the mountain's been sealed off. Only the most loyal followers of the Bewitching Oracle are allowed inside. I think she's going through her reservation list. But if you win the grand ticket prize, you'll be personally and safely shown directly to the dragon."
I pursed my lips.
On one hand, amassing tickets was absurd.
On the other, Coppeia had rolled up her sleeves, nodding with more conviction than I'd ever seen.
"Out of curiosity, how many tickets will it require?"
"100,000."
"I see … and how many tickets are gained through ordinary activities?"
"Well, for most of our games, you gain 1 ticket for taking part and 2 tickets for winning."
"That's ridiculous," I said, utterly appalled. "How is anyone supposed to gain that many tickets in five minutes?"
"The best way is to make purchases from our stalls. 1 ticket is equivalent to 5 copper crowns."
I started counting with my fingers.
In that case, the amount I'd need to spend was … numbers.
"There's another way," said the barmaid, hoping and failing to quell my horror by pointing out a contraption on the edge of the counter. "This is the Dragon Wheel. When you spin it, a ball comes out. The size indicates the quality of the prize offered. But if a gold ball comes out, you're able to pick any prize you wish–including the grand ticket prize. Would you like to give it a spin? It's 1 silver crown per roll."
I was aghast. Not least because this thing looked so rustic Clarise would faint at just the sight of it!
"1 silver crown? That's the cost of another meal I'd never remember! What are the chances of winning?"
"I'm not really too sure, but I can promise that nobody's found the gold ball yet."
I nodded. And then immediately turned around.
"Very well, thank you for the–"
Only to find Coppelia hopping on the spot in front of me.
"Me, me, me! I want to try the Dragon Wheel!"
"Coppelia! There is no possibility of winning through whatever poor odds exists. Gambling is the realm of bar room drunkards. We cannot allow ourselves to fall prey to such a vice."
"No problem, I'm really lucky! You can't lose if you only win!"
Seeing the clear confidence in her eyes, I gave a small groan.
But then … Coppelia did possess remarkably unique talents. If she could defeat me at rock, paper, scissors through nothing but outrageous luck, then perhaps she could also abuse games of chance?
A moment later, I reluctantly dipped my hand into my bottomless pouch, before giving away a precious silver crown from our important personal funds.
"Thank you!" said the barmaid brightly, all the while a coin permanently disappeared into the abyss. "Please go ahead and spin the Dragon Wheel. Once it stops, a ball will appear."
Coppelia was already there, hand gripped against the wheel as she imbued it with all her will.
"Okay, here we go!"
"Wait."
I stopped Coppelia with a raise of my finger.
Indeed, I would not see my money simply vanish into the abyss. Each coin was a symbol of my hardship and toil, taken from the pouches of those who sought to bar my path.
To see a single one tossed to the wayside was an insult to every bead of sweat someone else initially exerted to earn it.
That's why … as Coppelia turned to me with a look of puzzlement, I promptly poked her in the cheek.
Ohohoho!
Indeed, here it was! The most powerful ability I had to offer!
[Princess Blessing]!
Usually reserved only for bestowing favour upon gallant knights who correctly knew the line between courtesy and too much conversation! Here was a technique honed through generations of my blood!
With a mere touch of my fingertip, I would ensure that any retainer I blessed could carve through any foe–even if it was misfortune itself!
"I have now offered my blessing. Go forward, and may you use it well in this important endeavour."
Coppelia puffed her cheek back out, then smiled while scrunching her fist in a show of confidence.
"Okay! Leave it to me!"
And then–
She spun the wheel.
Round and round it went, drawing forth a whirring sound as it rattled against the counter. A few drunkards looked up, their faces lighting up with mild curiosity as they joined the barmaid in watching what a clockwork doll imbued with a princess's blessing could achieve.
And the result …
Click.
Was a tiny wooden ball.
"Congratulations!" said the barmaid, a prize already in her palms. "You win a dragon themed napkin!"
Coppelia blinked at her spoils.
A completely ordinary napkin. The same as those being offered for free on the counter.
"Wooo!" She took it and held it like a trophy. "I won a thing!"
A polite smattering of applause met her satisfaction. None from myself.
After all–
I was too busy being outraged.
"E-Excuse me! I believe there's been an error!"
"There's been no error," said the barmaid kindly. "The smallest type of ball came out."
"You just said they came in different sizes!"
"Yes. However, since most of them are the small ones, this is also the most common prize.
I leaned forwards slightly. The barmaid leaned back.
"Out of curiosity, how many prizes larger than a napkin has been given out today?"
"I'm … well, I'm afraid I've been explicitly told that this isn't allowed to be said."
I pursed my lips.
Her silence was all the answer I needed.
Subterfuge.
Indeed, my [Princess Blessing] did not fail! … Or at the very least, it didn't fail to such an extent that a reward as paltry as a napkin would be earned! By bestowing my blessing, Coppelia had earned the right to reject a better prize!
"Oh well," said Coppelia, pretending not to care as she stuffed the napkin into her pouch. "That was still fun! All right, it's time for me to get 100,000–"
"I will spin the wheel as well!"
"Eehh?!"
I turned to the barmaid, whose hand already carried a napkin alongside her apologetic smile.
"Um … just to let you know, we don't do refunds."
"A refund won't be necessary. I will attain the gold ball."
She offered a pained look. It was nothing compared to the faces of those who would shortly see their ill-deeds revealed.
Indeed … I knew how this worked!
There was not a gold ball to be had in this contraption! … And I would prove it!
I prepared to spin the wheel with my multi-purpose gardening instrument. A delicate breeze which might inadvertently see it fully emptied and inspected. But not before I slapped a coin against the counter.
Unlike these charlatans, I was no robber.
Clink.
The moment I did … the wheel rattled pitifully. A single click sounded before it came to a stop.
And then–
Out came a small ball covered in a coat of golden glitter.
All conversation ceased.
Only silence abounded, its din overwhelming all the noises of the backdrop. But not for long.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
"Winner!" cried the barmaid, in her hand ringing a bell which hadn't existed moments before. "We have a winner! The festival gold ball has been found!"
A pavilion filled with eyes stared at me. Then they all widened alongside the tossing of alcohol.
"Wooooooooooooooooooo!!"
"The gold ball! Someone got the gold ball!"
"A-Amazing! What fantastic luck! I can't believe it's real!"
I stared in shock as the tiny thing twinkled out at me.
"O-Oho … ohohoho … ohohohohohoho!!"
A moment later, I smiled magnificently, barely covering my lips as I accepted the praise of the hollering crowd led by Coppelia's cheering.
I-Indeed … doubt was never allowed to fester in my heart!
Fortune doesn't favour the bold, but the princess! Why, I was a walking blessing! The fact that I didn't actually touch anything was irrelevant … right?
As the sounds of euphoria filled the air, I was alerted to a small cough by the barmaid.
"Now, I understand you've already expressed what you'd like, but I also need to point out the others for formality's sake. We do have a selection of other high-grade prizes as well!"
She gestured towards the things on the top shelf, each less appealing than the other. Porcelain and a scattering of jewellery shined with a false gloss, their lack of value betrayed by my studious eyes.
All except for one thing.
A bright red cover, embossed with a gold title.
A Court Lady's Indiscretion, Vol. 1.
My smile slowly faded as my mind turned to confusion instead.
"... Excuse me, but why is such a slovenly book I've never read deemed a high-grade prize? It can be found anywhere due to its overwhelming and well deserved popularity."
"Ah, this?" The barmaid turned to it, her smile lighting up with admiration. "This one is special for two reasons. The first is that it's a 1st edition. The second is that it's signed by the author."
My mouth widened.
Even more so as she carefully flipped the cover open without removing it from the shelf.
There upon the first page was a signature so rare I did not even know of its existence. It was something even royalty could not easily procure.
"Is ... Is it authentic?" I asked, my voice barely a gasp.
Suddenly, Coppelia leaned forwards just past my shoulder.
"Hmm. That matches what I know. I've only seen it once before. It's really rare, she never signs anything by demand, only on special occasions."
Then, Coppelia turned to me with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"But you know, a signature is just a scrawl of ink in a book that's already scrawls of ink. Meanwhile, a ticket straight to the big guy means a guided tour directly to the reason you're here. One who owns a library. I bet he could give you autographed books if you really want them. Even without that, it's pretty much a choice between doing things the easy way or the hard way. And the hard way definitely involves a mountain. Pretty clear cut choice, huh?"
I gave a slow nod, my shoulders falling.
"Of course. You are right. As much as I desire such a thing for purely novelty purposes in the knowledge that someone other than myself would like it, I came here for a reason, and I will not be distracted no matter how rare or unique the prize."
"Great! Let's go rescue the big guy!"
"Indeed, we will."
Thus, I offered the waiting barmaid a smile.
Moments later, I was leaving the counter with a book held in my arms.
"Regrets?" asked Coppelia between her bouts of laughter.
"None whatsoever. Come, let us climb a mountain."
- Location
- Somewhere else
300 chapters of adventure means that Juliette is due a nice gift as recompense for her hardships. (Actually several gifts as far she's concerned, but no one is counting for her.)
Book 8 Removal Reminder!!
Hi there!
This is a gentle reminder to new (?) readers that Book 8 of the Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer (this time featuring a certain Miss Racy Corset) will be stubbed on the 25th. Afterwards, a freshly edited eBook version will be made available on Kindle, KU and Audiobook (soon™).
Book 8 consists of chapters 249-286, with Book 9 beginning chapter 287 (The Hidden Library).
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!!
Last edited:
It feels like I started reading this last month, I remember saying congrats on 100.
You already have audiobooks.
You already have audiobooks.
Chapter 301: A Familiar Tale
I peeked over a boulder.
A resting butterfly fluttered its wings at me, before dancing away in search of the promised land which was my orchard.
I wished it well. And also that it'd take me along with it.
The bad news was that it must have failed to hear my plea.
The good news was that I could soon make my way back to enjoy the splendour of my blushing apple trees myself.
Here at the base of a mountain enshrouded by mist, there was more than the colourless crags and uneven slopes.
Not a lot more, yes … but enough to host a gathering of malcontents so suspicious that a smile from my etiquette tutor was benign in comparison.
A hive of activity greeted my eyes.
Figures garbed in scarlet robes went to and fro before a large iron door slotted into the mountainside. Braziers burned against the fading dusk, lighting up the sweat upon their faces as they lifted away sacks like hurried dockworkers before the last light.
Yet for all the telltale monotony of their robes, it was the myriad of cudgels at their hips which gave them away. Crass weapons held by those who'd never wielded an armament before.
These were not soldiers or mercenaries.
No … they were far more dangerous.
Dragon Cultists.
I nodded as they worked away, their backs audibly echoing amidst the tall crags.
And then–I smiled.
"Ohohoho … behold, Coppelia!"
"I'm beholding~"
"See where my unparalleled intuition for the abodes of our foes takes us! No matter where they seek to hide from my righteous gaze, not even a mountain enveloped in mist can cloud my perception!"
"Eh? But didn't we just follow the road? Look, you can see the festival from here~"
Coppelia pointed at the ribbons and flags in the distance. I lowered her hand.
"T-That's besides the point … rather, it's precisely because the two locations are so close that this is a noteworthy achievement! To place one's secret lair in so easily seen a location is a level of deception which would have lesser princesses lost and waiting for a dozen knights to break their ankles trying to rescue them!"
"But there's a sign saying 'The Bewitching Oracle's Home."
"Another level of subterfuge. To claim a mountain hovel as a home would see even the worst of drunken misfits hurrying away in embarrassment."
Indeed, hoodlums may be blind to their odour, but not to their squalor.
A problem, then.
It was clear these were not ordinary ruffians who'd stolen away Coppelia's dragon.
These were the fantasist variety, drunk on the wine of some ploy so far above them not even I could see it. Especially as I made no effort to.
My eyes were drawn to one thing only. And that was the fair fields of my kingdom.
… Right! It was time to save a dragon!
"Some foul deed is at work," I said as I already began brushing my hands of Ouzelia. "It's one thing to abduct a dragon, but to also have so many followers prepared means that whatever ambitions are at play, it's more than inappropriate curiosity which compels it. I shall raise my princess premium accordingly."
Coppelia giggled. As was appropriate. Since a kidnapped dragon was clearly unsuitable as an employer, then he may as well be a jester instead.
"I didn't know the princess premium was negotiable."
"Ohohoho … of course it is. I'm highly flexible regarding my dragon rescue rates. I offer 14 different levels of bankruptcy."
"Really? What's the difference between them?"
"There isn't any. I sit and hum while insinuating there are 13 worse options."
"Ooh~ the illusion of choice. I like that!"
"It isn't an illusion. He's free to pick any of the identically different compensation packages I'll be tabling while also tapping away at his shackles with ever decreasing speed."
I craned my neck as I looked up.
The mountain rose so high that only my magnanimity loomed taller. Coppelia joined me, hand to her brows as she squinted at the faraway peak.
"I think I see a hidden path," she said, rising to her tip-toes. "There's a narrow and uneven ledge which looks worn from all the people who have slipped and fallen off to their doom. We should be able to hop our way across. What do you think?"
"I think I'm a princess, not a gazelle."
"Ahaha~ it's not that bad. As long as you're not permanently drunk like most humans are while trying to relieve their tiny, insignificant existences, you can do it!"
"I've no doubt I can. Even so, I hardly see why we should hop into the waiting maze that a mountain lair shorn of inspiration will boast. There's a perfectly serviceable entrance right before us."
I pointed at the door slotted into the mountain just beneath us.
Coppelia reached her fist high into the sky.
"Yay! We're gonna [Ball Of Doom] through the front door!"
"We are most certainly not doing any such thing. For one thing, I do not acknowledge what a [Ball Of Doom] is. For another, I am a guest. And this means I would never cause a scene unless someone breathed in my direction first. Until that faux pas, I intend for us to be politely chaperoned towards your missing dragon."
A hum of puzzlement met my diligence to propriety.
"Eh? But isn't that for whoever has the grand ticket prize? The one you ignored so you can shamefully hide a scandalous bestseller behind all the history books?"
My mouth widened with indignation.
And then I said nothing … for a moment, at least.
"E-Excuse me! I do not hide my study material out of shame! I do so because they are so unworthy of time that I would not have the maids dusting them unnecessarily."
I gave a cough, subtly diverting attention while drowning out the ensuing giggle.
"Furthermore, if I don't require a ticket to wander the backstage of the Royal Arc Theatre while providing helpful last minute advice to change the entire script, I certainly don't need one to see a dragon."
Coppelia tilted her head slightly, finger to her cheek in thought.
"Hmmmmm … but these aren't normal goons blocking our way. You might not know this, but dragon cultists take themselves super seriously. Look, they've even got matching sandals."
"Yes, to unite in their distaste for fashion is a clear sign of their fervour. But that isn't a problem. It's a solution."
"Got it!~ And what's that?"
I placed my hand upon my chest and smiled.
"The most effective one there is. To reach their hearts in such a manner that I lift the spell of bewitchment cast upon them."
Indeed!
It was time to show my loyal handmaiden the truest side to me!
A princess whose words could move even the most enthralled of minds!
True, dragon cultists were a different brand of hoodlum. If they were so uncouth in their zealotry that a simple request for them to do everything I wished without question would go unanswered, then many a lesser princess would resort to tears instead.
A powerful weapon. But one I would not use to gain anything less than a unicorn.
Thus, I brushed down the dust that wasn't on me and skipped past the boulder.
Exuding a princess's regal aura, I disregarded both the plethora of wooden signs and the blinks as I proceeded to stroll through the gathering.
The cultists stopped where they worked, the confusion clear on their faces as they realised that colours other than a single shade of spilled wine existed to be worn. And possibly because Coppelia was waving as though from a carriage window.
Soon, a sizable group before the door were torn from their chatter.
High enough ranked to loiter, but not enough to be excused from wearing the same robes. Each offered a different shade of bewilderment as we approached, before the most senior of the doorstops was forced to display his badge of authority.
A frown.
"Stop." He held up his palm, then gestured behind me. "Did you read the signs?"
I waited for Coppelia to look behind on my behalf.
"No. Why? Were they important?"
"Very. They say no visitors, customers or festivalgoers. If you want the Bewitching Oracle, she's closed her reservations list. If you want the fireworks display, you need to go back the way you came. This area is staff only."
I clapped my hands in delight.
"Excellent. I was just looking for staff. My congratulations. I happen to be hiring for Ouzelia's newest and most prestigious cult."
Blank stares met my words.
I smiled.
"… Me."
Ohohohohohohohohoho!
Once again, my genius soared so high that not even a dragon could reach it!
Indeed, I may not know the way of this land … but I knew the way of hearts!
Here were fools already proven to be susceptible to whatever sweet promises were whispered to them! And who could offer more than a beautiful maiden whose very smile paralyses mermaids with joy and whose touch unparalyses them once the drooling becomes too severe?
Why, I had no need to waste my scowl!
Against those already bribed with nothing more than a charlatan's words, all I needed to earn their submission was to dangle something even finer!
Thus … a rare and limited opportunity to join an organisation both exclusive to Ouzelia and respectful of local customs!
The Cult Of Juliette!
A dignified group neither associated with the Juliette Fixes Everything Foundation, or in case anyone from my kingdom ever asked, myself in any way!
For a moment, the hoodlums stared wordlessly at me.
Understandable. I was clearly a stranger in a strange land. But while my disapproval of falling pianos was indecipherable to them, the warmth of my smile was not.
A moment later–
I heard a chorus of groans.
"Look here, ma'am," said the chief doorstop, his hand flinging to the air. "I have told you people already. We have a cult. We don't need another."
"Wha–"
My mouth widened in shock.
This … This was not the response I was expecting!
"We are the most devout followers of the Bewitching Oracle. And if you'd read any of the signs, you'd also know that no advertising and no poaching is allowed."
I was speechless.
Why … for news of the establishment of Ouzelia's most esteemed cult to be met with such disregard was beyond all notions of belief!
This was a historic opportunity! I was certainly never coming here again–this meant any followers I hired now would proudly and automatically become the chosen few!
"E-Excuse me! I am no poacher! I am a bringer of joy!"
Behind the doorstop, his colleagues were rolling their eyes.
I almost fainted on the spot.
"Every poacher is a bringer of joy. It's all words, no tangible benefits."
"No … No tangible benefits?" My hand went to my mouth. It was likely to permanently stay there, such was my horror. "... I have never been so insulted!"
The chief doorstop gave a tired sigh.
"Is that right? Well, I'm sorry, ma'am. But that's the way of it. Do you have any idea how competitive the market is? It's been oversaturated for years. You can't just expect to declare a new cult and immediately start headhunting from other groups."
"I most certainly can! And if you knew what benefits I provided, you would leap from the ship you're on well before the need to do it when it shortly capsizes!"
Indignant faces met my statement. They should be wreathed with joy instead.
"Do your benefits include health checks?"
"Excuse me? What do you mean by health checks?"
"Biannual health checks with a certified healer." The chief doorstop frowned. "What about a regular non-rota schedule? Consecutive and uninterrupted rest days? Bonuses in addition to and not in place of a competitive salary?"
My mouth further widened behind my hand. Soon I'd need both of them.
"A salary?! Which cult gives a salary?!"
"Ours. The Cult of the Bewitching Oracle."
"That is outrageous! Any cult leader giving more than threats of violence for not doing their bidding is against all norms! Something is clearly suspect!"
"If it is, I've yet to notice. But since the Bewitching Oracle gives two free advice sessions a year as well, I'm sure she'd tell me if something was wrong."
Hearty murmurs filled the air as all the doorstops nodded in shared joy.
Hoodlums. Happy.
I took a step back, horrified beyond measure.
This … This was no ordinary fortune teller!
To offer so much to nameless goons fated to be discarded once this dragon scheme came to fruition spoke of a willingness to sacrifice more than crowns, but time.
To think I'd underestimated the lengths those in Ouzelia were willing to go to.
Compared to abducting a dragon, organising working benefits for disposable followers spoke of a patience which none of my nobility were willing to display.
A dangerous adversary.
But one I would not allow to overshadow me in the art of persuasion. Particularly as I was being judged by so many–myself included.
"I see." I gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Then it seems I need to offer something better."
The miscreants before me shuffled with poorly veiled interest. No matter what they said, those who coveted once would covet again.
"We are devout followers of the Bewitching Oracle," repeated the chief doorstop, without explicitly telling me to leave. "You've nothing to offer which could draw us from the path we've been set upon."
"Oh? Yet I've something which few deserve and all desperately need. And I'm willing to offer it as a joining bonus."
Then, I raised out my arms, assuming my natural pose as a grounded angel.
"... My wisdom."
Silence.
Gone were the looks of clear expectation. Disbelief replaced it instead. I nodded. A far more appropriate response.
And then–
"Bwahahahhaaha!!"
"Ahaha … oho … that's a good one!"
"Ho, I almost feel like joining if that's the jokes you've got! That's good, really helps clearing my head!"
"Ahahahaha~"
"C-Coppelia?! Why are you laughing as well?!"
I waited as the chorus of laughter slowly died, joined unhelpfully by a handmaiden whose enthusiasm clearly needed tempering with a better sense of timing.
"This is no laughing matter," I said with a frown. "It is a serious proposition."
"Ma'am, please." The doorstop chuckled, his mood much improved. "The Bewitching Oracle is a certified sage. Her job is to give wisdom. Great wisdom, too. Twice a year to each of us as standard. Why should we listen to yours?"
I offered a smile in response.
The laughter ceased at once. After all, mine was more bewitching than anyone who hoped to steal the word for themselves.
"It sounds like you wish for a trial period." I gave a hum of consideration. "Very well, then. Never let it be said that I wasn't generous. My wisdom is this. You do not want to stand in front of that door."
Glances went to the entrance behind them. Looks of doubt returned towards me.
"Why's that, then?"
"I have come to rescue the dragon."
Whatever trails of laughter threatened to return finally died. The doubt turned to expressions of incredulity.
"... Say that again?"
"I'm aware you have a dragon captive against his will. And while I've little knowledge regarding what tragic ploy this ridiculous festival entails, know that any scheme at play is irrelevant. I have come to rescue the dragon."
The assembled hoodlums looked around. Some towards each other. Some towards those working around them. Some towards the door they were guarding.
All wore the same disbelief.
Eventually, the chief doorstop furrowed his brows, his hand clenched around his cudgel.
"Ma'am, what you just said is the opposite of wisdom."
"Is it now?"
"What?"
I clasped both hands against my chest and smiled.
"Here I am, a beautiful maiden with only my loyal handmaiden by my side, at the gate of a mountain lair filled with foes, mystery and hardship still waiting to be sprung. And here you are. The very first rung on the ladder. The first fish bone in a sole au beurre persillé à l'ail. The first doorstop only trusted to wield clubs more likely to strike your own heads than your foes. When the first alarm rings, it is your cry destined to sound it. You have overwhelming numbers, yet utterly no knowledge of who I am. Are you absolutely certain you wish to block my way?"
All at once, the faces paled around me.
Realisation came sharper than any blade they might have wielded as they counted the odds entirely weighted in their favour, against a backdrop still yet to be explored.
And then–
"Oh man. I got something in my eye. I'm squinting so hard. I can't see a thing."
"I'm just gonna lean down and tie the laces on my … on my sandals."
"What's this weird blot on my robes? Ugh, it's gonna take ages cleaning this."
"The sky looks so pretty. Wow. So blue."
Immediately, a wall of backs turned to me as eyes stared at the ground, at the sky and themselves, all the while a clear gap was left towards the open entrance.
Ohohohohoho!
And how right they were to!
I was no heroine, but how did they know otherwise? How utterly joyful it was to use Ouzelia's own unreasonableness against them!
Thus, I accepted the generosity.
"Wait."
All the way until a lone doorstop failed to understand the nature of this moment.
I was aggrieved. As were all those around him. An elbow was thrust into his waist by a desperate colleague. Still, he persisted, his gaze squarely upon me.
"You cannot be serious," I bemoaned. "Surely, you don't intend to stop me?"
"Uh, no, I don't."
"No? Then what is it?"
"Well, I was just hoping you could tell me more about this cult of yours."
A moment of silence passed.
And then–I clapped my hands in joy.
A resting butterfly fluttered its wings at me, before dancing away in search of the promised land which was my orchard.
I wished it well. And also that it'd take me along with it.
The bad news was that it must have failed to hear my plea.
The good news was that I could soon make my way back to enjoy the splendour of my blushing apple trees myself.
Here at the base of a mountain enshrouded by mist, there was more than the colourless crags and uneven slopes.
Not a lot more, yes … but enough to host a gathering of malcontents so suspicious that a smile from my etiquette tutor was benign in comparison.
A hive of activity greeted my eyes.
Figures garbed in scarlet robes went to and fro before a large iron door slotted into the mountainside. Braziers burned against the fading dusk, lighting up the sweat upon their faces as they lifted away sacks like hurried dockworkers before the last light.
Yet for all the telltale monotony of their robes, it was the myriad of cudgels at their hips which gave them away. Crass weapons held by those who'd never wielded an armament before.
These were not soldiers or mercenaries.
No … they were far more dangerous.
Dragon Cultists.
I nodded as they worked away, their backs audibly echoing amidst the tall crags.
And then–I smiled.
"Ohohoho … behold, Coppelia!"
"I'm beholding~"
"See where my unparalleled intuition for the abodes of our foes takes us! No matter where they seek to hide from my righteous gaze, not even a mountain enveloped in mist can cloud my perception!"
"Eh? But didn't we just follow the road? Look, you can see the festival from here~"
Coppelia pointed at the ribbons and flags in the distance. I lowered her hand.
"T-That's besides the point … rather, it's precisely because the two locations are so close that this is a noteworthy achievement! To place one's secret lair in so easily seen a location is a level of deception which would have lesser princesses lost and waiting for a dozen knights to break their ankles trying to rescue them!"
"But there's a sign saying 'The Bewitching Oracle's Home."
"Another level of subterfuge. To claim a mountain hovel as a home would see even the worst of drunken misfits hurrying away in embarrassment."
Indeed, hoodlums may be blind to their odour, but not to their squalor.
A problem, then.
It was clear these were not ordinary ruffians who'd stolen away Coppelia's dragon.
These were the fantasist variety, drunk on the wine of some ploy so far above them not even I could see it. Especially as I made no effort to.
My eyes were drawn to one thing only. And that was the fair fields of my kingdom.
… Right! It was time to save a dragon!
"Some foul deed is at work," I said as I already began brushing my hands of Ouzelia. "It's one thing to abduct a dragon, but to also have so many followers prepared means that whatever ambitions are at play, it's more than inappropriate curiosity which compels it. I shall raise my princess premium accordingly."
Coppelia giggled. As was appropriate. Since a kidnapped dragon was clearly unsuitable as an employer, then he may as well be a jester instead.
"I didn't know the princess premium was negotiable."
"Ohohoho … of course it is. I'm highly flexible regarding my dragon rescue rates. I offer 14 different levels of bankruptcy."
"Really? What's the difference between them?"
"There isn't any. I sit and hum while insinuating there are 13 worse options."
"Ooh~ the illusion of choice. I like that!"
"It isn't an illusion. He's free to pick any of the identically different compensation packages I'll be tabling while also tapping away at his shackles with ever decreasing speed."
I craned my neck as I looked up.
The mountain rose so high that only my magnanimity loomed taller. Coppelia joined me, hand to her brows as she squinted at the faraway peak.
"I think I see a hidden path," she said, rising to her tip-toes. "There's a narrow and uneven ledge which looks worn from all the people who have slipped and fallen off to their doom. We should be able to hop our way across. What do you think?"
"I think I'm a princess, not a gazelle."
"Ahaha~ it's not that bad. As long as you're not permanently drunk like most humans are while trying to relieve their tiny, insignificant existences, you can do it!"
"I've no doubt I can. Even so, I hardly see why we should hop into the waiting maze that a mountain lair shorn of inspiration will boast. There's a perfectly serviceable entrance right before us."
I pointed at the door slotted into the mountain just beneath us.
Coppelia reached her fist high into the sky.
"Yay! We're gonna [Ball Of Doom] through the front door!"
"We are most certainly not doing any such thing. For one thing, I do not acknowledge what a [Ball Of Doom] is. For another, I am a guest. And this means I would never cause a scene unless someone breathed in my direction first. Until that faux pas, I intend for us to be politely chaperoned towards your missing dragon."
A hum of puzzlement met my diligence to propriety.
"Eh? But isn't that for whoever has the grand ticket prize? The one you ignored so you can shamefully hide a scandalous bestseller behind all the history books?"
My mouth widened with indignation.
And then I said nothing … for a moment, at least.
"E-Excuse me! I do not hide my study material out of shame! I do so because they are so unworthy of time that I would not have the maids dusting them unnecessarily."
I gave a cough, subtly diverting attention while drowning out the ensuing giggle.
"Furthermore, if I don't require a ticket to wander the backstage of the Royal Arc Theatre while providing helpful last minute advice to change the entire script, I certainly don't need one to see a dragon."
Coppelia tilted her head slightly, finger to her cheek in thought.
"Hmmmmm … but these aren't normal goons blocking our way. You might not know this, but dragon cultists take themselves super seriously. Look, they've even got matching sandals."
"Yes, to unite in their distaste for fashion is a clear sign of their fervour. But that isn't a problem. It's a solution."
"Got it!~ And what's that?"
I placed my hand upon my chest and smiled.
"The most effective one there is. To reach their hearts in such a manner that I lift the spell of bewitchment cast upon them."
Indeed!
It was time to show my loyal handmaiden the truest side to me!
A princess whose words could move even the most enthralled of minds!
True, dragon cultists were a different brand of hoodlum. If they were so uncouth in their zealotry that a simple request for them to do everything I wished without question would go unanswered, then many a lesser princess would resort to tears instead.
A powerful weapon. But one I would not use to gain anything less than a unicorn.
Thus, I brushed down the dust that wasn't on me and skipped past the boulder.
Exuding a princess's regal aura, I disregarded both the plethora of wooden signs and the blinks as I proceeded to stroll through the gathering.
The cultists stopped where they worked, the confusion clear on their faces as they realised that colours other than a single shade of spilled wine existed to be worn. And possibly because Coppelia was waving as though from a carriage window.
Soon, a sizable group before the door were torn from their chatter.
High enough ranked to loiter, but not enough to be excused from wearing the same robes. Each offered a different shade of bewilderment as we approached, before the most senior of the doorstops was forced to display his badge of authority.
A frown.
"Stop." He held up his palm, then gestured behind me. "Did you read the signs?"
I waited for Coppelia to look behind on my behalf.
"No. Why? Were they important?"
"Very. They say no visitors, customers or festivalgoers. If you want the Bewitching Oracle, she's closed her reservations list. If you want the fireworks display, you need to go back the way you came. This area is staff only."
I clapped my hands in delight.
"Excellent. I was just looking for staff. My congratulations. I happen to be hiring for Ouzelia's newest and most prestigious cult."
Blank stares met my words.
I smiled.
"… Me."
Ohohohohohohohohoho!
Once again, my genius soared so high that not even a dragon could reach it!
Indeed, I may not know the way of this land … but I knew the way of hearts!
Here were fools already proven to be susceptible to whatever sweet promises were whispered to them! And who could offer more than a beautiful maiden whose very smile paralyses mermaids with joy and whose touch unparalyses them once the drooling becomes too severe?
Why, I had no need to waste my scowl!
Against those already bribed with nothing more than a charlatan's words, all I needed to earn their submission was to dangle something even finer!
Thus … a rare and limited opportunity to join an organisation both exclusive to Ouzelia and respectful of local customs!
The Cult Of Juliette!
A dignified group neither associated with the Juliette Fixes Everything Foundation, or in case anyone from my kingdom ever asked, myself in any way!
For a moment, the hoodlums stared wordlessly at me.
Understandable. I was clearly a stranger in a strange land. But while my disapproval of falling pianos was indecipherable to them, the warmth of my smile was not.
A moment later–
I heard a chorus of groans.
"Look here, ma'am," said the chief doorstop, his hand flinging to the air. "I have told you people already. We have a cult. We don't need another."
"Wha–"
My mouth widened in shock.
This … This was not the response I was expecting!
"We are the most devout followers of the Bewitching Oracle. And if you'd read any of the signs, you'd also know that no advertising and no poaching is allowed."
I was speechless.
Why … for news of the establishment of Ouzelia's most esteemed cult to be met with such disregard was beyond all notions of belief!
This was a historic opportunity! I was certainly never coming here again–this meant any followers I hired now would proudly and automatically become the chosen few!
"E-Excuse me! I am no poacher! I am a bringer of joy!"
Behind the doorstop, his colleagues were rolling their eyes.
I almost fainted on the spot.
"Every poacher is a bringer of joy. It's all words, no tangible benefits."
"No … No tangible benefits?" My hand went to my mouth. It was likely to permanently stay there, such was my horror. "... I have never been so insulted!"
The chief doorstop gave a tired sigh.
"Is that right? Well, I'm sorry, ma'am. But that's the way of it. Do you have any idea how competitive the market is? It's been oversaturated for years. You can't just expect to declare a new cult and immediately start headhunting from other groups."
"I most certainly can! And if you knew what benefits I provided, you would leap from the ship you're on well before the need to do it when it shortly capsizes!"
Indignant faces met my statement. They should be wreathed with joy instead.
"Do your benefits include health checks?"
"Excuse me? What do you mean by health checks?"
"Biannual health checks with a certified healer." The chief doorstop frowned. "What about a regular non-rota schedule? Consecutive and uninterrupted rest days? Bonuses in addition to and not in place of a competitive salary?"
My mouth further widened behind my hand. Soon I'd need both of them.
"A salary?! Which cult gives a salary?!"
"Ours. The Cult of the Bewitching Oracle."
"That is outrageous! Any cult leader giving more than threats of violence for not doing their bidding is against all norms! Something is clearly suspect!"
"If it is, I've yet to notice. But since the Bewitching Oracle gives two free advice sessions a year as well, I'm sure she'd tell me if something was wrong."
Hearty murmurs filled the air as all the doorstops nodded in shared joy.
Hoodlums. Happy.
I took a step back, horrified beyond measure.
This … This was no ordinary fortune teller!
To offer so much to nameless goons fated to be discarded once this dragon scheme came to fruition spoke of a willingness to sacrifice more than crowns, but time.
To think I'd underestimated the lengths those in Ouzelia were willing to go to.
Compared to abducting a dragon, organising working benefits for disposable followers spoke of a patience which none of my nobility were willing to display.
A dangerous adversary.
But one I would not allow to overshadow me in the art of persuasion. Particularly as I was being judged by so many–myself included.
"I see." I gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Then it seems I need to offer something better."
The miscreants before me shuffled with poorly veiled interest. No matter what they said, those who coveted once would covet again.
"We are devout followers of the Bewitching Oracle," repeated the chief doorstop, without explicitly telling me to leave. "You've nothing to offer which could draw us from the path we've been set upon."
"Oh? Yet I've something which few deserve and all desperately need. And I'm willing to offer it as a joining bonus."
Then, I raised out my arms, assuming my natural pose as a grounded angel.
"... My wisdom."
Silence.
Gone were the looks of clear expectation. Disbelief replaced it instead. I nodded. A far more appropriate response.
And then–
"Bwahahahhaaha!!"
"Ahaha … oho … that's a good one!"
"Ho, I almost feel like joining if that's the jokes you've got! That's good, really helps clearing my head!"
"Ahahahaha~"
"C-Coppelia?! Why are you laughing as well?!"
I waited as the chorus of laughter slowly died, joined unhelpfully by a handmaiden whose enthusiasm clearly needed tempering with a better sense of timing.
"This is no laughing matter," I said with a frown. "It is a serious proposition."
"Ma'am, please." The doorstop chuckled, his mood much improved. "The Bewitching Oracle is a certified sage. Her job is to give wisdom. Great wisdom, too. Twice a year to each of us as standard. Why should we listen to yours?"
I offered a smile in response.
The laughter ceased at once. After all, mine was more bewitching than anyone who hoped to steal the word for themselves.
"It sounds like you wish for a trial period." I gave a hum of consideration. "Very well, then. Never let it be said that I wasn't generous. My wisdom is this. You do not want to stand in front of that door."
Glances went to the entrance behind them. Looks of doubt returned towards me.
"Why's that, then?"
"I have come to rescue the dragon."
Whatever trails of laughter threatened to return finally died. The doubt turned to expressions of incredulity.
"... Say that again?"
"I'm aware you have a dragon captive against his will. And while I've little knowledge regarding what tragic ploy this ridiculous festival entails, know that any scheme at play is irrelevant. I have come to rescue the dragon."
The assembled hoodlums looked around. Some towards each other. Some towards those working around them. Some towards the door they were guarding.
All wore the same disbelief.
Eventually, the chief doorstop furrowed his brows, his hand clenched around his cudgel.
"Ma'am, what you just said is the opposite of wisdom."
"Is it now?"
"What?"
I clasped both hands against my chest and smiled.
"Here I am, a beautiful maiden with only my loyal handmaiden by my side, at the gate of a mountain lair filled with foes, mystery and hardship still waiting to be sprung. And here you are. The very first rung on the ladder. The first fish bone in a sole au beurre persillé à l'ail. The first doorstop only trusted to wield clubs more likely to strike your own heads than your foes. When the first alarm rings, it is your cry destined to sound it. You have overwhelming numbers, yet utterly no knowledge of who I am. Are you absolutely certain you wish to block my way?"
All at once, the faces paled around me.
Realisation came sharper than any blade they might have wielded as they counted the odds entirely weighted in their favour, against a backdrop still yet to be explored.
And then–
"Oh man. I got something in my eye. I'm squinting so hard. I can't see a thing."
"I'm just gonna lean down and tie the laces on my … on my sandals."
"What's this weird blot on my robes? Ugh, it's gonna take ages cleaning this."
"The sky looks so pretty. Wow. So blue."
Immediately, a wall of backs turned to me as eyes stared at the ground, at the sky and themselves, all the while a clear gap was left towards the open entrance.
Ohohohohoho!
And how right they were to!
I was no heroine, but how did they know otherwise? How utterly joyful it was to use Ouzelia's own unreasonableness against them!
Thus, I accepted the generosity.
"Wait."
All the way until a lone doorstop failed to understand the nature of this moment.
I was aggrieved. As were all those around him. An elbow was thrust into his waist by a desperate colleague. Still, he persisted, his gaze squarely upon me.
"You cannot be serious," I bemoaned. "Surely, you don't intend to stop me?"
"Uh, no, I don't."
"No? Then what is it?"
"Well, I was just hoping you could tell me more about this cult of yours."
A moment of silence passed.
And then–I clapped my hands in joy.
- Location
- Argentina
Well evidently her charm works better in women.
Chapter 302: Eye Opener
The directions from my inaugural follower were simple.
Walk straight ahead.
And yet as I paused scarcely a few paces within a hollowed out cavern fit enough to host a whole family of dragons or a modest buffet at the Royal Villa, all I saw before me were obstacles.
Not because they blocked my path.
But rather because they impeded my eyes.
Brass chandeliers so worn they absorbed the light of their candles. Carpets so faded that all I saw was the poorly chiselled stone underneath. And a string of tables clearly meant for a kitchen and not a dining hall.
Here, there, and everywhere, I saw less a hovel and more an emporium specialising in all the gifts intended as insults.
The woollen tablecloth was particularly notable. To suggest that those at the table were so barbaric that a literal rug was needed to absorb the dribbling food stains was a taunt as fine as it was appropriate.
Drunken attendees shuffled around the tables laden with covered plates.
Few bothered with embarrassment as hands darted beneath the metal cloches, drawing forth slivers of cold meats, shrivelled fruits and boiled disappointment.
A lack of shame which echoed up and down this cavern.
With wine glasses in hand, men and women boasted cheeks as scarlet as their robes. Yet despite the monotony of the colour, not every garment was equal.
I noted the differences with a glance.
A hint of embroidery. A double-sewn cuff. A belt of leather.
Small bits of decoration hoping to highlight one's lack of importance from the next.
Naturally, I knew none of them. Yet while I recognised no faces, I was all too familiar with the grating laughter. The boastful chatter. The glint of coins exchanging hands.
And most of all, the stench of ambition drawn from a well all here hoped to climb from–mostly upon the heads of each other.
I gasped at once.
These … These were not ordinary hoodlums.
They were nobility.
There could be no mistake. Whether it was my own or those halfway across the continent, all nobility wore a smile excavated from the same barrel of tar.
This … This was more than a simple dragon conspiracy.
I'd stumbled upon something with implications so far beyond what I should involve myself in that I could see the ocean levels rising from the tears of my diplomats!
A plot beyond the schemes of the dispossessed, but this land's aristocracy!
And that … that was wonderful.
Why … here I thought I'd need to contend with an adversary with a minimum of guile! Yet anyone who made an error so grave as to entrust opening a peanut shell to nobility meant my presence was utterly surplus!
Even without me, they were destined to sabotage themselves!
"Oho … ohohoho! C-Coppelia! Do you see what I see?!"
Beside me, my loyal handmaiden looked up from a large buffet plate she'd requisitioned in the past five seconds. A few of those present wrinkled their noses at her lack of discretion.
I beamed with pride.
My, barely a day upon her return and she was already ruffling the feathers of her land's nobility! I was an excellent tutor!
"Mmh?" Coppelia quickened the pace of her chewing, then loudly swallowed. A tut was directed her way. I was almost moved to tears. "What do you see? Because if it's seasoning, you need to tell me where."
I eyed the spread of … things gathered on her plate.
Whether they used to be alive or were currently wishing for their end, I had no idea. And given the way Coppelia was now ignoring her food, neither did she.
I shuddered.
"My apologies, I see no seasoning. But I see something even better. Your land's nobility."
Coppelia blinked.
Then, she gazed at the gathered assembly of miscreants.
"Eeehh … I dunno … I'm with the goblins on this one."
"Whatever you're thinking is not what I'm suggesting. No, what I'm saying is that you may rest at ease. The fears you hold regarding the wellbeing of your dragon will not come to pass. After all, anything involving even a smidgeon of the gentry is doomed to failure like a crème caramel without the caramel."
Coppelia nodded, all the while nibbling on a macaron from her own pouch.
"Oh. You're right. I feel a lot better now."
I smiled brightly.
Indeed! I cared not how insistent Roland was that burned coffee paste was the same colour and had its own unique flavour profile. It was dire. And so was whatever dreadful scheme this was.
"This is a rare smidgeon of luck," I said with a nod. "We can now proceed with a skip in our steps … provided that it leaves enough room to skip over the holes in the ground. Sadly, I must still take your homeland into account."
"We're not that bad." Coppelia paused. "... Actually, nevermind."
"Exactly. To be felled by a piano now would be an embarrassment my kingdom could never recover from. With that in mind, I suggest we proceed to whatever trials and tribulations await us with both caution and disdain. But mostly disdain."
"Okie~"
Coppelia gave a lazy smile.
It wasn't quite the frown I wanted … but disdain came in many forms. And against the litany of trapped corridors, bottomless pits and toppling cheese the schemers of Ouzelia would toss at me, casual disregard was also appropriate.
Thus, I wasted no time in leading the way.
Paying little attention to the affront against intrigue around me, I strolled past the gathering of schemers. A tiny whiff of home as I ignored all the dealings in the shadows of my father's court.
Except this time, it wasn't the kitchens which awaited my excursion from my bedroom.
It was a discreet wooden door waiting at the end of the cavern.
Dull enough to be mistaken for a servants' entrance, I'd scoffed at enough brochures to know about the cost-saving ploys of mountain lairs. Where a vault door into the depths was unaffordable, simple trickery was used instead.
A surprise, then.
This one came with an additional level of deception.
A plaque to the side, its shininess clashing horrifically against the unvarnished door.
I rubbed my eyes.
Strangely, the words failed to change.
I peered around the door, searching for another sign pointing to where the corridors bristling with magic, arrows and acid pits could be found. There wasn't any.
"... Coppelia, why does this door suggest we've already reached our destination?"
"I think because we have. Gosh. We barely made it."
My loyal handmaiden giggled. I felt nothing but grief.
"0/10," I declared without hesitation. "The worst trap I've ever seen. Whoever invented this desperately needs a stroll through Clarise's observatory. Perhaps an exploding tile could trigger a flashback to a childhood where creativity still existed."
Coppelia leaned forwards, squinting as she peered through a keyhole.
"Hmmmm … I'm not sure I can give this one a rating."
"True, it's certainly passed the point of ineligibility. This is an insult to what's found even in brochures. Such a door needs to come at the climax of a weary and bloody excursion when all thoughts of caution are disregarded by the lure of an ending. Which amateur puts this right at the beginning?"
Coppelia leaned back. She tapped her heel against the ground, then peered high into the ceiling.
"Actually, I think this might just be a door."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't think it's trapped. There's no lesions for any falling objects or parting surfaces. I'm not getting any magic from the door itself and there's definitely something wider than a trapped corridor beyond. A big room with someone inside."
Demonstrating a subtlety to match my own, Coppelia flicked at the door.
Nothing exploded.
"... Congratulations!" she said with a beam. "I think this might be it! Your journey in Ouzelia is almost over~"
I shook my head at once.
"This can't be it, Coppelia. This is never it."
"True, there's probably something that will eat you with tiny little teeth on the other side. But you're also due some luck. Ouzelia is about give and take"
"In that case, I only expect to be given a catapulted fruit slime. Little else can match the quality of such a low-grade trap."
Thus–with all the lack of regard it deserved, I stepped back only slightly as Coppelia prodded the door open.
Creaaak.
Not even a semblance of resistance.
Despite the presence of a keyhole, it wasn't even locked. I waited as the door swung open, hoping against hope. And yet despite the noise Coppelia was generously adding to by closing and opening the door again, no rush of guards came to greet us.
All I saw instead was the sight of an altogether different cavern.
The roughly hewn walls still remained, but this one came elevated with matching tiles, fluted pillars, a stone altar and even the faint rays of dusk seeping through cracks in the wall like light through a stained window.
It was almost akin to a temple. One where the greatest feature was the ability to wash the masses which came to seek wisdom here.
A shallow pool made up the centre of the room.
However, despite being wide enough to host the drunkards in the main cavern, it was instead occupied by a single user.
A woman sitting upon the top of the steps leading into the basin.
I knew at once she was as comely a maiden as my knights could stop to harass.
Long lashes, soft features, kind eyes and a demure expression to match her robes. Hers were even simpler than her followers. They were brown like the pilgrims which clogged up the street outside Reitzlake Cathedral, but devoid of the mud which also caked them.
For a moment, she did nothing, instead allowing her bare feet to soak within the waters. Then, as she twisted a braid of scarlet hair, she finally looked up and smiled.
"Welcome to my meeting room," said the Bewitching Oracle, her voice light and sociable, as though she were inviting us to a table in a tavern. "Please come inside. Would you like to take a seat?"
She gestured at the stone steps beside her.
I ignored the invitation as I slowly stepped inside, waiting instead for the click to hail the coming volley of acid arrows. Still, nothing came.
"Are you the Bewitching Oracle?" I queried while expertly poking the tiles before me.
"I am, indeed."
"The leader of this cult?"
"Yes."
"The one who stole a dragon?"
"So it is said."
I nodded. And then I prodded at a potted fern on a stand. Coppelia's diligence went even further as she picked up a small vase and studied its value.
"Why isn't anything exploding?" I asked, daring to tempt fate. "And for what reason are you here and not at the end of a long and winding maze?"
"Well, I suppose the answer to both is practicality."
"You've a bespoke trap?"
"No. This isn't a trap."
"I don't understand."
"This is neither a trap nor a maze. I think it'd be rather tiresome if it took an odyssey just to meet with me. I pride myself on being personable, so there's no need to go through any needless trials. My door is just a short walk from the entrance outside."
She offered a smile bereft of deceit.
I retreated a step, more appalled than by any amount of nobility she had gathered.
"Surely … Surely you jest?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you claiming that not only is none of the decorations set to explode, but that this is the full extent of your mountain? A mountain. Why have a mountain if not to make financially extravagant use of the space?"
"Because mountains are cozy. And also very hard to dig through."
I was stunned.
Why … I expected little and received less … but this?
"Outrageous. What sort of bottom-tier, throwaway side distraction are you to not even possess a falling piano? Do you know where you are?"
"Yes. My inner sanctum. Also my meeting room. Falling pianos are very dangerous. I wouldn't want any needless injuries while I'm working."
"Where are your guards? Your private army of hirelings?"
"I don't have any."
"I saw goons outside wielding cudgels."
"Those are not weapons. They are tools to help grind the incense powder I use for my candles. Everyone likes to help, so everyone receives one."
I threw up my arms in exasperation.
"You have a responsibility! If you're going to form a cult and steal a dragon you need to follow through with every part! This half-heartedness is a disgrace! Do you have any notion of how much I've been inconvenienced to be here?"
The scarlet haired maiden gave a smile.
"Responsibility is rarely a thing monopolised by one," she said with a hint of amusement. "For we are all entangled by the vines of this world. The dew sings while the songbird withers. Nothing taken is given, and nothing given is taken."
I jabbed my finger towards her.
"Do not reply with vague words while pretending they make sense! And that last bit is literally just the same sentence repeated in reverse! … Where is the dragon?! I have a very busy schedule, and every item on the agenda is to return home!"
The Bewitching Oracle laughed. A tinkling sound which rang as much within this sanctum as it did within my very head.
"I'm sorry," she said, her tone laced with appalling over-familiarity. "It's hard to break from my role. But I hope to now finally see that chance come true. I've been waiting for you. And I believe we've much to offer each other. So please, take a seat. I highly advise it."
"I shall remain standing. I don't intend to stay, not least for unsolicited advice."
"Ah? But mine is excellent. And I've so much to offer for a princess from afar."
My response was lost to Coppelia's audible hum.
No longer busying herself by valuing the items to be used as initial compensation for my time, she was instead studying the smiling maiden as she would a new breed of hoodlum.
"Yup~ something about her isn't right."
"Well, that much is obvious. To not even have a single corrosive geyser hiding at the bottom of this water basin is obscene. At what point does she intend to douse us with a spray of acid?"
Coppelia leaned forwards slightly. Her eyes squinted slightly.
"Actually, I don't think she can."
Without offering an explanation, she promptly lifted up a silver vase. She thought about it for a moment, then put it down and picked up a brass one instead.
And just like that–she casually lobbed it towards the sitting woman.
Pwish.
Only to see it pass through and into the basin.
An illusion.
"Ooooh~ that's a really unique one!" said Coppelia with a nod of appreciation. "Not a trace of magic whatsoever! And not even because it's being hidden!"
I regarded the smiling visage with curiosity.
"How odd. She appears exceptionally lifelike. I can even smell the incense from her."
"Yeah. That's because this illusion is special. It doesn't actually exist."
"I fail to understand. Isn't that the nature of illusions?"
"No, what I mean is that this illusion really doesn't exist. I think it's being projected directly into our heads. That's why she's so real."
I had nothing but bewilderment. And also slight concern. My head was sacred. Answers to questions that my tutors claimed were wrong were held in there, such was the amount of layers in my mind.
"Directly into our heads? Who can even do that?"
Pwip. Pwip. Pwip.
A moment later, the sound of falling liquid answered.
I turned to see a wet pool already on the floor … and then the dribbling which caused it.
Descending from the ceiling, the great frame of a bulbous horror floated down.
An amalgamation of nightmare and shadows.
A dozen tendrils crawled like the hair of a medusa, surrounding a giant lidless eye as scarlet as the hair of the woman who had now vanished into the abyss.
For that is where this creature had come from.
As its grotesque tongue flopped beyond twin rows of countless fangs, its pulsing iris jerked a thousand times in a single moment. I sensed with a shiver as every inch of us was appraised, before the horror broke into a twisted impression of a smile.
Bwam.
The door to the sanctum slammed shut to an invisible hand.
I hummed for a moment.
And then–I nodded in satisfaction.
"Very well. I withdraw my criticisms."
Walk straight ahead.
And yet as I paused scarcely a few paces within a hollowed out cavern fit enough to host a whole family of dragons or a modest buffet at the Royal Villa, all I saw before me were obstacles.
Not because they blocked my path.
But rather because they impeded my eyes.
Brass chandeliers so worn they absorbed the light of their candles. Carpets so faded that all I saw was the poorly chiselled stone underneath. And a string of tables clearly meant for a kitchen and not a dining hall.
Here, there, and everywhere, I saw less a hovel and more an emporium specialising in all the gifts intended as insults.
The woollen tablecloth was particularly notable. To suggest that those at the table were so barbaric that a literal rug was needed to absorb the dribbling food stains was a taunt as fine as it was appropriate.
Drunken attendees shuffled around the tables laden with covered plates.
Few bothered with embarrassment as hands darted beneath the metal cloches, drawing forth slivers of cold meats, shrivelled fruits and boiled disappointment.
A lack of shame which echoed up and down this cavern.
With wine glasses in hand, men and women boasted cheeks as scarlet as their robes. Yet despite the monotony of the colour, not every garment was equal.
I noted the differences with a glance.
A hint of embroidery. A double-sewn cuff. A belt of leather.
Small bits of decoration hoping to highlight one's lack of importance from the next.
Naturally, I knew none of them. Yet while I recognised no faces, I was all too familiar with the grating laughter. The boastful chatter. The glint of coins exchanging hands.
And most of all, the stench of ambition drawn from a well all here hoped to climb from–mostly upon the heads of each other.
I gasped at once.
These … These were not ordinary hoodlums.
They were nobility.
There could be no mistake. Whether it was my own or those halfway across the continent, all nobility wore a smile excavated from the same barrel of tar.
This … This was more than a simple dragon conspiracy.
I'd stumbled upon something with implications so far beyond what I should involve myself in that I could see the ocean levels rising from the tears of my diplomats!
A plot beyond the schemes of the dispossessed, but this land's aristocracy!
And that … that was wonderful.
Why … here I thought I'd need to contend with an adversary with a minimum of guile! Yet anyone who made an error so grave as to entrust opening a peanut shell to nobility meant my presence was utterly surplus!
Even without me, they were destined to sabotage themselves!
"Oho … ohohoho! C-Coppelia! Do you see what I see?!"
Beside me, my loyal handmaiden looked up from a large buffet plate she'd requisitioned in the past five seconds. A few of those present wrinkled their noses at her lack of discretion.
I beamed with pride.
My, barely a day upon her return and she was already ruffling the feathers of her land's nobility! I was an excellent tutor!
"Mmh?" Coppelia quickened the pace of her chewing, then loudly swallowed. A tut was directed her way. I was almost moved to tears. "What do you see? Because if it's seasoning, you need to tell me where."
I eyed the spread of … things gathered on her plate.
Whether they used to be alive or were currently wishing for their end, I had no idea. And given the way Coppelia was now ignoring her food, neither did she.
I shuddered.
"My apologies, I see no seasoning. But I see something even better. Your land's nobility."
Coppelia blinked.
Then, she gazed at the gathered assembly of miscreants.
"Eeehh … I dunno … I'm with the goblins on this one."
"Whatever you're thinking is not what I'm suggesting. No, what I'm saying is that you may rest at ease. The fears you hold regarding the wellbeing of your dragon will not come to pass. After all, anything involving even a smidgeon of the gentry is doomed to failure like a crème caramel without the caramel."
Coppelia nodded, all the while nibbling on a macaron from her own pouch.
"Oh. You're right. I feel a lot better now."
I smiled brightly.
Indeed! I cared not how insistent Roland was that burned coffee paste was the same colour and had its own unique flavour profile. It was dire. And so was whatever dreadful scheme this was.
"This is a rare smidgeon of luck," I said with a nod. "We can now proceed with a skip in our steps … provided that it leaves enough room to skip over the holes in the ground. Sadly, I must still take your homeland into account."
"We're not that bad." Coppelia paused. "... Actually, nevermind."
"Exactly. To be felled by a piano now would be an embarrassment my kingdom could never recover from. With that in mind, I suggest we proceed to whatever trials and tribulations await us with both caution and disdain. But mostly disdain."
"Okie~"
Coppelia gave a lazy smile.
It wasn't quite the frown I wanted … but disdain came in many forms. And against the litany of trapped corridors, bottomless pits and toppling cheese the schemers of Ouzelia would toss at me, casual disregard was also appropriate.
Thus, I wasted no time in leading the way.
Paying little attention to the affront against intrigue around me, I strolled past the gathering of schemers. A tiny whiff of home as I ignored all the dealings in the shadows of my father's court.
Except this time, it wasn't the kitchens which awaited my excursion from my bedroom.
It was a discreet wooden door waiting at the end of the cavern.
Dull enough to be mistaken for a servants' entrance, I'd scoffed at enough brochures to know about the cost-saving ploys of mountain lairs. Where a vault door into the depths was unaffordable, simple trickery was used instead.
A surprise, then.
This one came with an additional level of deception.
A plaque to the side, its shininess clashing horrifically against the unvarnished door.
Inner Sanctum
The Bewitching Oracle
The Bewitching Oracle
I rubbed my eyes.
Strangely, the words failed to change.
I peered around the door, searching for another sign pointing to where the corridors bristling with magic, arrows and acid pits could be found. There wasn't any.
"... Coppelia, why does this door suggest we've already reached our destination?"
"I think because we have. Gosh. We barely made it."
My loyal handmaiden giggled. I felt nothing but grief.
"0/10," I declared without hesitation. "The worst trap I've ever seen. Whoever invented this desperately needs a stroll through Clarise's observatory. Perhaps an exploding tile could trigger a flashback to a childhood where creativity still existed."
Coppelia leaned forwards, squinting as she peered through a keyhole.
"Hmmmm … I'm not sure I can give this one a rating."
"True, it's certainly passed the point of ineligibility. This is an insult to what's found even in brochures. Such a door needs to come at the climax of a weary and bloody excursion when all thoughts of caution are disregarded by the lure of an ending. Which amateur puts this right at the beginning?"
Coppelia leaned back. She tapped her heel against the ground, then peered high into the ceiling.
"Actually, I think this might just be a door."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't think it's trapped. There's no lesions for any falling objects or parting surfaces. I'm not getting any magic from the door itself and there's definitely something wider than a trapped corridor beyond. A big room with someone inside."
Demonstrating a subtlety to match my own, Coppelia flicked at the door.
Nothing exploded.
"... Congratulations!" she said with a beam. "I think this might be it! Your journey in Ouzelia is almost over~"
I shook my head at once.
"This can't be it, Coppelia. This is never it."
"True, there's probably something that will eat you with tiny little teeth on the other side. But you're also due some luck. Ouzelia is about give and take"
"In that case, I only expect to be given a catapulted fruit slime. Little else can match the quality of such a low-grade trap."
Thus–with all the lack of regard it deserved, I stepped back only slightly as Coppelia prodded the door open.
Creaaak.
Not even a semblance of resistance.
Despite the presence of a keyhole, it wasn't even locked. I waited as the door swung open, hoping against hope. And yet despite the noise Coppelia was generously adding to by closing and opening the door again, no rush of guards came to greet us.
All I saw instead was the sight of an altogether different cavern.
The roughly hewn walls still remained, but this one came elevated with matching tiles, fluted pillars, a stone altar and even the faint rays of dusk seeping through cracks in the wall like light through a stained window.
It was almost akin to a temple. One where the greatest feature was the ability to wash the masses which came to seek wisdom here.
A shallow pool made up the centre of the room.
However, despite being wide enough to host the drunkards in the main cavern, it was instead occupied by a single user.
A woman sitting upon the top of the steps leading into the basin.
I knew at once she was as comely a maiden as my knights could stop to harass.
Long lashes, soft features, kind eyes and a demure expression to match her robes. Hers were even simpler than her followers. They were brown like the pilgrims which clogged up the street outside Reitzlake Cathedral, but devoid of the mud which also caked them.
For a moment, she did nothing, instead allowing her bare feet to soak within the waters. Then, as she twisted a braid of scarlet hair, she finally looked up and smiled.
"Welcome to my meeting room," said the Bewitching Oracle, her voice light and sociable, as though she were inviting us to a table in a tavern. "Please come inside. Would you like to take a seat?"
She gestured at the stone steps beside her.
I ignored the invitation as I slowly stepped inside, waiting instead for the click to hail the coming volley of acid arrows. Still, nothing came.
"Are you the Bewitching Oracle?" I queried while expertly poking the tiles before me.
"I am, indeed."
"The leader of this cult?"
"Yes."
"The one who stole a dragon?"
"So it is said."
I nodded. And then I prodded at a potted fern on a stand. Coppelia's diligence went even further as she picked up a small vase and studied its value.
"Why isn't anything exploding?" I asked, daring to tempt fate. "And for what reason are you here and not at the end of a long and winding maze?"
"Well, I suppose the answer to both is practicality."
"You've a bespoke trap?"
"No. This isn't a trap."
"I don't understand."
"This is neither a trap nor a maze. I think it'd be rather tiresome if it took an odyssey just to meet with me. I pride myself on being personable, so there's no need to go through any needless trials. My door is just a short walk from the entrance outside."
She offered a smile bereft of deceit.
I retreated a step, more appalled than by any amount of nobility she had gathered.
"Surely … Surely you jest?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you claiming that not only is none of the decorations set to explode, but that this is the full extent of your mountain? A mountain. Why have a mountain if not to make financially extravagant use of the space?"
"Because mountains are cozy. And also very hard to dig through."
I was stunned.
Why … I expected little and received less … but this?
"Outrageous. What sort of bottom-tier, throwaway side distraction are you to not even possess a falling piano? Do you know where you are?"
"Yes. My inner sanctum. Also my meeting room. Falling pianos are very dangerous. I wouldn't want any needless injuries while I'm working."
"Where are your guards? Your private army of hirelings?"
"I don't have any."
"I saw goons outside wielding cudgels."
"Those are not weapons. They are tools to help grind the incense powder I use for my candles. Everyone likes to help, so everyone receives one."
I threw up my arms in exasperation.
"You have a responsibility! If you're going to form a cult and steal a dragon you need to follow through with every part! This half-heartedness is a disgrace! Do you have any notion of how much I've been inconvenienced to be here?"
The scarlet haired maiden gave a smile.
"Responsibility is rarely a thing monopolised by one," she said with a hint of amusement. "For we are all entangled by the vines of this world. The dew sings while the songbird withers. Nothing taken is given, and nothing given is taken."
I jabbed my finger towards her.
"Do not reply with vague words while pretending they make sense! And that last bit is literally just the same sentence repeated in reverse! … Where is the dragon?! I have a very busy schedule, and every item on the agenda is to return home!"
The Bewitching Oracle laughed. A tinkling sound which rang as much within this sanctum as it did within my very head.
"I'm sorry," she said, her tone laced with appalling over-familiarity. "It's hard to break from my role. But I hope to now finally see that chance come true. I've been waiting for you. And I believe we've much to offer each other. So please, take a seat. I highly advise it."
"I shall remain standing. I don't intend to stay, not least for unsolicited advice."
"Ah? But mine is excellent. And I've so much to offer for a princess from afar."
My response was lost to Coppelia's audible hum.
No longer busying herself by valuing the items to be used as initial compensation for my time, she was instead studying the smiling maiden as she would a new breed of hoodlum.
"Yup~ something about her isn't right."
"Well, that much is obvious. To not even have a single corrosive geyser hiding at the bottom of this water basin is obscene. At what point does she intend to douse us with a spray of acid?"
Coppelia leaned forwards slightly. Her eyes squinted slightly.
"Actually, I don't think she can."
Without offering an explanation, she promptly lifted up a silver vase. She thought about it for a moment, then put it down and picked up a brass one instead.
And just like that–she casually lobbed it towards the sitting woman.
Pwish.
Only to see it pass through and into the basin.
An illusion.
"Ooooh~ that's a really unique one!" said Coppelia with a nod of appreciation. "Not a trace of magic whatsoever! And not even because it's being hidden!"
I regarded the smiling visage with curiosity.
"How odd. She appears exceptionally lifelike. I can even smell the incense from her."
"Yeah. That's because this illusion is special. It doesn't actually exist."
"I fail to understand. Isn't that the nature of illusions?"
"No, what I mean is that this illusion really doesn't exist. I think it's being projected directly into our heads. That's why she's so real."
I had nothing but bewilderment. And also slight concern. My head was sacred. Answers to questions that my tutors claimed were wrong were held in there, such was the amount of layers in my mind.
"Directly into our heads? Who can even do that?"
Pwip. Pwip. Pwip.
A moment later, the sound of falling liquid answered.
I turned to see a wet pool already on the floor … and then the dribbling which caused it.
Descending from the ceiling, the great frame of a bulbous horror floated down.
An amalgamation of nightmare and shadows.
A dozen tendrils crawled like the hair of a medusa, surrounding a giant lidless eye as scarlet as the hair of the woman who had now vanished into the abyss.
For that is where this creature had come from.
As its grotesque tongue flopped beyond twin rows of countless fangs, its pulsing iris jerked a thousand times in a single moment. I sensed with a shiver as every inch of us was appraised, before the horror broke into a twisted impression of a smile.
Bwam.
The door to the sanctum slammed shut to an invisible hand.
I hummed for a moment.
And then–I nodded in satisfaction.
"Very well. I withdraw my criticisms."