The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Chapter 315: A Familiar Scent
I peeked around me.

To my left, a golden shoreline tickled by the ocean.

To my right, rolling hills dotted with swaying woodlands.

To my front, Apple chewing the grass beside the dirt road.

And behind, a shimmering gate still bristling with magic.

Golden leaves ringed its shape. Yet unlike how it appeared only moments ago from the other side, nothing could be gleaned from its surface. It was a foggy window, showing only a glimpse of the horrors found in the realm beyond.

One which Coppelia was seemingly trapped in.

Puzzled, I waited a moment for my loyal handmaiden to appear.

I waited another moment, idly tapping my foot while I considered the disparate state of Apple's mane.

Coppelia failed to skip through.

I waved before the gate. Nothing answered. And so I found myself alone, caught between a glimmering coast and the thick woodlands which climbed all the way up to the horizon. Only the sound of waves in the distance welcomed me.

As a result, I did the only thing I could.

I swallowed a deep breath, then kneeled down and dropped to my side.

Then … I rolled.

Arms tightly tucked together, I rolled to my left. And then I rolled to my right. I rolled again and again, repeating this motion until finally, I allowed my regal posture to relax.

After a moment, I nodded.

There was no doubt in my mind.

This … was my kingdom!

Ohohohohoho!

The scent of the wild grass sorely in need of trimming! The softness of the earth one step away from being mud! The cracks and holes in the road in dire need of repairs!

It … It was wonderful!

Indeed, I recognised this lack of upkeep! This flagrant disregard for appearance!

Here was a stunningly ordinary corner of my kingdom, each invasive bramble growing into the road proof of my nobility's inability to maintain their own hovels, let alone public infrastructure!

It was so beautiful!

"Heheheheh …"

No royal welcome awaited me but the grass.

But that would do for now.

I rolled to and fro like the dignified princess I was. A rare satisfaction overtook me as I basked in the coarseness of anywhere beyond the Royal Villa's walls.

Then, with a smile upon my face, I flopped upon my stomach and lazily splayed my arms out, revelling in the calming sensation of a land without earthquakes, dragons and falling pianos.

"Aaaand I'm here~!" said Coppelia, skipping through the gate with little fanfare. "Sorry to keep you waiting! The big guy was being needy."

"Hm?" I gently rose from the grass while rubbing my eyes. "... Oh, Coppelia? Where are we?"

"Eh? What do you mean? We've come back to your kingdom!"

"My, truly? … Oh, I remember now. Goodness, I think I must have fallen asleep."

"You just woke up? How did you even fall asleep?"

"As a princess, my constitution is naturally weak."

Coppelia briefly turned behind her, studying the gate in puzzlement.

"Really? But this was a spell cast by a dragon. This [Nether Gate] was so stable there's more side effects just walking through a normal door."

"Dragon or not, there is little chance that I could traverse the perils of a magical gate and do anything but appropriately fall into slumber."

"Ahahaha~ I guess you're right. I keep forgetting you're squishier than me."

Phoomph.

All of a sudden, the spell behind Coppelia's back ceased.

Scarcely a moment after coming through, the gate closed to the sound of a door slamming shut.

The ends of my hair lifted as the magic which had paved our way swirled in the air as leaves of gold, before all sight of it faded like an unfortunate dream.

Helped, of course, by my mind diligently working to forget it.

Ouzelia had come and gone. And aside from my giant bathhouse to go with my soap export empire, I was certainly not better for it.

"Mmh, definitely your kingdom!" said Coppelia, smiling brightly as she began to perform her morning stretches. "My nose is already trying to block itself."

"Please, that's patently unfair. Other kingdoms have worse peasants."

"Yeah. But other kingdoms don't have as many cows. You have a lot of cows."

"W-Well, of course! This is a land of natural, undiminished beauty, as agreed by our renowned livestock grazing in abundance … and also wherever they want, despite my guards constantly shooing them away from the direction of my bedroom."

Coppelia giggled, never knowing the grief of being told that while farmers needed to obey our trespassing laws, cows were somehow exempt.

"It's better here, at least," she said with a needless twirl. "The nearest cow is at least several hills away. It's mostly the sea and all the gross things you people dump in it that I'm getting right now. In fact, it smells really familiar here."

I duly pointed to the golden shoreline. A thing of beauty as well as a cause for joy.

"Why, that's because it should do. My kingdom only has one coast. We're somewhere to the west. If we're lucky, then perhaps we might even find Trierport nearby."

"Oooh~! Does this mean visiting Soap Island?"

"This does not mean visiting Soap Island."

"Why not? Don't you want to see how miserable everybody is while they try to mine soap without any mining tools?"

"Naturally, I do." I placed my hand to my chest and gently smiled. "However, my presence is akin to a star in the night sky. And the sun has yet to fall on a single day's work for those on Soap Island. Even with Florella's expert supervision, it will doubtless take time before the first bar is ready for inspection. I shall not distract the new residents until they require the encouragement of my smile once again."

Coppelia nodded in understanding.

"... You want to go home first, huh?"

"My orchard, Coppelia!" I gestured wildly towards the overgrown grass. "I have been absent so long that for a moment, I was taken in by the common grass upon the roadside! This is terrible!"

A sympathetic smile met my suffering, even if the added giggle wasn't needed.

"In that case, are you going to show me your tower now?"

"Ohohoho … indeed, I am! This has been a successful, if fatiguing tour of my kingdom. Regardless, our contributions cannot be denied, nor our right to enjoy the fruits of our labours while the Royal Villa's three kitchens work in rivalry to feed us, all sabotaging each other in the hope of being fired last."

"Treachery strudels~!"

"Exactly." I nodded wholeheartedly, then smiled as I peered down the road … before doing the same in the other direction as well. "Now, I do recall the direction to the Royal Villa being …"

I peeked at Coppelia.

She pointed happily in the opposite direction I was facing.

"I can smell crêpes wafting from a town nearby~"

"Ohoho … an excellent suggestion. We should allow Apple to rest after his frightening ordeal at the claws of a dragon."

Apple looked up from the grass.

His ears flapped as he shooed away a bee seeking a nearby daisy. The greatest discomfort he'd shown so far, despite having been carried halfway across Ouzelia.

… Through the sky.

Regardless, I would not allow his stoic exterior to result in laxness on my part.

As his caretaker, it was my responsibility to ensure he was always well prepared for the harsh realities of the road. And that meant critical provisions.

"Very well, Coppelia! We proceed onwards … towards the nearest bakery!"

"Yay~"

Thus, I climbed atop Apple–and with only a little tug, he began to trot away.

The sound of hooves ignoring every bump immediately filled the air. A calming rhythm which refused to be shaken no matter which part of any kingdom that was traversed. But I expected nothing less.

Before long, it was all I heard along with the skipping of a clockwork doll beside me. A familiar cadence which lasted all the way until the rarest sight greeted us along the side of the road.

A wooden sign which didn't instil horror in me.


North – Wisenlait Gate

South – Marinsgarde


I clapped my hands in delight.

"My, how unexpected! We're near the border with the Kingdom of Lissoine!"

Coppelia nodded, appearing just as impressed as when she found a larger than average twig by the side of the road.

"Oooh ... is that a good thing?"

"Very much so. The Kingdom is Lissoine is a bastion of the arts. It is as famed for the Théâtre Botanique du Palais Royal as the culture which originates from it. And this means any bordering region benefits accordingly."

"... The bakeries here are going to only have things really hard to pronounce, huh?"

"Yes … and it will be wonderful."

Madeleine de Pomme Dorée avec Fraises Fondantes! Petits choux aux noisettes et crème d'abricot frais! Palmier au café avec beurre d'artichaut!

I smiled brightly at the thought … just as much as Coppelia's seemed to waver.

"Eh … will I be chased out for asking for a plain macaron?"

"No. But you should make an effort to ask for macaron aux amandes avec guimauves grillées if you can. The harder something is to say, the tastier it is."

"That can't be true."

"It is a fact. Effort encourages taste buds, after all."

Coppelia blinked at me.

She then tilted her head in thought, before raising both arms in cheer.

"Wooo! Effort encourages taste buds! I'm going to use that from now on!"

I pursed my lips, slightly concerned at what inadvertent life lesson I may have just taught.

Fortunately for our personal funds and the town's flour stores, it was more than just fine patisseries which awaited our impending visit.

"Marinsgarde," I said, the sight of its pretty windows having almost faded from my memories. "It is considered the most fashionable town of my kingdom outside of Reitzlake. The heart of culture. Many nobility aspire to waste away the days there, once their ambitions have failed them in the royal capital."

"Really? Isn't that a bad thing, then? You know, if the worst of them are all bunched up together."

"It would be–if that were permitted. Marinsgarde is a town of trade and a highly successful one, too. The penniless and the failed have no more right to reside there as the mud so often found in my other towns."

Indeed, the dragon had done us a courtesy.

I wasn't certain if it was deliberate. In fact, this was more or less the closest point between my kingdom and Ouzelia, here being the furthest north.

Regardless, I would accept every gift from a dragon which wasn't being swept through the air. Even if he'd offered to fly me back to my tower, I'd have chosen to walk instead.

Yet if I could have requested to be sent anywhere else in my kingdom, it would be here, where even bread took 12 syllables to say–mostly to reject it in favour of something more pleasing.

Thus, I smiled as I looked ahead.

Before I could offer a tug at Apple's reins, however, an unexpected sight came up from the road, courtesy of a rickety cart struggling with the many cracks.

A small figure approached. But this was no halfling here to assail our stomachs.

Dressed in little more than a bandit's forgotten laundry, he stood out sharply even given the distance. A stranger in a normal land. Yet despite the glare of the morning sunlight, the forest hue of his skin almost seemed to subdue it.

A goblin.

Hmm.

How rare.

And a merchant too, judging by the litany of wares spilling from atop his cart.

An unusual sight in my kingdom. Goblins kept to their forests and mountains, eschewing the company of humans as much as the mercantile decorum required to regularly trade with them.

How strange that I would see one trundling along the road.

Thus, I wore a pleasant smile.

Far be it for a princess to offer anything less, of course. The famed grouchiness of goblins mattered little to me. Especially from those who might provide a tidbit of information.

"Salutations," I said warmly to the passing trader. "It is a lovely day, isn't it?"

The goblin paused.

In his cart, a pile of houseware threatened to tumble. Nothing would be lost if it did. Mismatching plates, upturned bowls, ghastly cutlery and everything else required to fill up a dining room beyond use glinted hopefully at me.

I ignored it all. Just like the goblin ignored any notion of giving a reply.

My smile continued.

"... My apologies for taking your time, but I was hoping you might inform me just how far Marinsgarde is from here. I have somewhat lost my bearings, you see."

The goblin's dark eyes appraised me.

Then … he sniffed, nose wrinkling as his expression immediately broke into a frown.

And that was that.

The goblin lifted his cart and trundled onwards, leaving not a single word behind.

I stood in shock.

… H-How rude!!

"Why, I never … !"

Here I was, a princess offering a smile and a chance to provide the most cursory of assistance! There was a queue of knights, suitors and servants muddying the ground outside my bedroom tower, all seeking a chance to answer my every whim!

To earn my passing favour was the cherished desire of all!

"Pffft~"

Indeed, even Coppelia was stunned! Her laughter could barely exit her lips!

Still, I decided to ignore it all.

I had things to do. And rolling my eyes at the rudeness of goblins was not something I was going to spare any thought towards. If leaving behind highly unimpressed customers was how goblins wished to pursue trade, then I would leave them to it.

Thus, I lifted Apple's reins once again … all the way until I saw the second most rare sight of the day.

There, trundling up the road, was another goblin.

With a cart.

Filled with stuff.

I blinked at the sight, offering no greeting as both goblin and cart passed me by. Not a word was sent my way. Only the briefest wrinkle of a nose. An insult worse than the wares this one hoped to sell.

Because far from time replaying itself, this goblin had boasted different wares.

Not just tableware this time. But an actual table … all present, if not whole. Its legs had been seemingly sawn off in order to fit the thing into the small cart.

I watched the goblin trundling away.

And then–there came a third.

Once again, the goblin offered neither a word nor a glance as he lackadaisically passed me by, his cart filled with paintings and all their smudges. The only acknowledgement to my presence was a sneeze, a tiny groan escaping as he deliberately tilted his head away from me.

I pursed my lips.

And then I sat up as high as I could, raising my hand to block out the sun's glare while peering down the road.

One rude goblin was a rarity.

Two rude goblins was a coincidence.

Three rude goblins was a question mark.

… But an entire, unbroken line of goblins, each carrying a filled cart?

Why, that was Coppelia poking my delicate waist as my mouth dropped open.

"Wow~ this is amazing! I didn't know your kingdom was so welcoming. That sure is a lot of goblins, isn't it? And all of them are carrying away little pieces of furniture. Gosh, it's like they've just come back from loot central! Isn't that something? I wonder what that could possibly mean?"

Silence prevailed.

Coppelia waited at least a minute before waving her hand in front of me.

A moment afterwards–I threw up my arms in utter outrage.

"... I was gone for five minutes!"
 
Gone for 5 minutes and the goblins have taken over. Now imagine what state the kingdom would be in if not for our lovely Princess.
 
Chapter 316: Everything In Moderation
Apple snorted as he trotted along the road towards the town of Marinsgarde.

Bearing me at a leisurely pace, he mindfully allowed me enough time to do away with all the slightly damp blossoms which sought to cling to me.

Nature being what it was, even the white maples competed to offer a welcome.

The flowering buds drifted as a curtain of song and dew, orchestrated by the robins which hopped upon the branches.

It made for a splendid sight, matching the streets of the town which awaited.

Boasting the closest market to the Kingdom of Lissoine, Marinsgarde drew upon much of the haute couture which originated from our fashionable neighbour.

As a result, it was only fitting that I should visit.

Sadly, I was still masterfully incognito, and thus I lacked my favoured dress. A versatile gown sewn with 10,782 detachable rhinestones and the crystallised tears of those still plucking them off from my last request.

Still, no matter what I wore, no garment was as important as my smile.

My kingdom was home to many, yet even more still wished to reside in it. And so as a princess, I needed to remain presentable at all times, espousing the beauty and welcoming nature of this fair realm.

A problem, then.

Because despite my beauty and welcoming nature, not all were happy to be welcomed.

Sometimes, they were quite the opposite.

They were very grumpy.

And also extremely rude.

For example–

Goblins.

On and on they paused, wrinkling their noses before carrying on, ignoring the smile which had faded in favour of whatever appalled expression I was making instead.

When it came to charm, they were slightly more affable than a hole in a wall.

Famously grouchy no matter the season, they were known as much for their unsociability as their wish to remain out of sight and out of mind.

Until now.

Because far from doing … whatever it was goblins did, they were instead filling up my horizon like an unbroken queue of suitors at my door, each tugging a cart filled with pottery, tableware, paintings and even the nails which had failed to hold them down.

I tugged Apple to a halt.

And then—failing to see the end of the marching line, I lowered my face in my palms and sighed.

"... Coppelia?"

"Yes?"

Beside me, I peeked through my fingers to see my loyal handmaiden curiously eyeing the household wares which passed us by.

One of the goblins paused to allow her a better look. She nodded. He nodded. And then the goblin left, mutual respect in their wake.

I lifted my face, having seen nothing.

"... By any chance, are goblins looting my kingdom?"

"That depends on your definition of looting."

"How many definitions are there?"

"For goblins? Loads. You might think they don't do books, but they have an entire section in the library to themselves about looting. It's like a life philosophy."

"I see … and what definition of looting would this be, then?"

"The type where they'd probably admit it's just regular, ordinary looting. I'm pretty sure I just saw someone with a bathroom mat. And also the floorboard beneath it."

I let out a groan.

Of all the things I couldn't feign ignorance to, here was the second—just after Coppelia reaching into the bag of premium apples.

I shooed her hand away, then looked towards the unending line of carts.

I still didn't believe what I was seeing.

After all, there was brazenness. And then there was this.

One another another, they trundled by with the professionalism of caterpillars exiting an apple tree, their day of work complete before midday had even arrived. Whatever existed before no longer did. It was just an empty husk, the walls laid bare until not even the paint remained.

"It'sch impresshive, huh?" said Coppelia, an apple somehow in her mouth. She swallowed a gulp and beamed. "Goblin efficiency. You guys have a lot to learn. The moment goblins decide to build their own Soap Island, I think your dreams of a soap empire will already have fallen."

"And if that were to happen, I would acknowledge their contributions to hygiene gracefully. Looting bathrooms, however, does not count."

"Everyone has to start somewhere. And to be fair, this is a bigger start than I would've expected. I actually don't see this sort of wholesale looting too often. Isn't there a treaty and stuff?"

I nodded.

There was. Several of them, in fact.

After a thousand years of warring, skirmishing and banging on kitchen apparatus in the dead of night, a wide ranging and unprecedented series of accords had been hammered out between the goblin representatives and all major nations.

A feat of diplomacy, brinkmanship, compromise and almost all the alcohol which the continent could produce annually used up over the course of 3 days and nights. And what followed were tears, fists and peace.

A happy ending as storied as any to come from the realm of Ouzelia.

And now I saw it being idly shredded in front of me, one cart at a time.

"Yes, there are treaties," I said, my tone sombre and unfamiliar to my own ears. "Treaties of peace, reconciliation and respect which have stood longer than anyone could have dared hope. To disregard them so openly is not only an insult to those who worked and drank so hard. It is an act of blatant aggression."

I tightly clenched my fists around Apple's reins, my teeth gritting together.

"These goblins … why, they have no idea what looting in moderation means!"

"Eh?"

I nodded, the indignation rising with every moment I saw the works of my predecessors as wasted as the window frames now being taken back to a cave.

"Do you know what the exact terms of the treaties are, Coppelia?"

"Wasn't it an agreement where you acknowledge their territory and goblins don't loot you in return? And also something about not murdering each other. Too much."

"Indeed, it is. Naturally, both stipulations were broken the very night it was signed."

"Really? That wasn't mentioned in any of the history books I've read."

"It wouldn't be. Nor would the fact that the ink used for the signing wasn't ink, but simply sludge from a nearby bog. The unspoken agreement, however, remains true."

I furiously gestured towards the goblins laying waste to mutual understanding.

"... We turn a blind eye as they fully empty the occasional village and they ignore us when we strip and pillage their mines!"

"Ooooh~" Coppelia broke into light applause, impressed by the pragmatism of our peers. "Mutual backstabbing, I like it! I'm impressed. I didn't know goblins let you loot them."

"Of course they do. Why wouldn't they?"

"I mean, I figured if nothing else, you'd be too busy looting other humans. The goblins never mention anything about this while backchatting you."

"Nobody needs to mention anything. And that, Coppelia, is politics. A cordial state of affairs where everybody loots each other and then whistles while passing like ships in the night."

"Uwah~ I never knew politics could be so fun."

"Perhaps it is for goblins." I frowned at the scene. "Daylight robbery within full view of every farmer, trader and princess to share these roads. It is shameless. Lissoine is just over the horizon. What will the tourists think when they see goblins idly robbing my kingdom? … Why, they'd assume that my kingdom wasn't safe!"

Coppelia raised a hand, then began counting with her fingers.

She raised the other as well.

"Nobility. Pirates. Sisters. Liches. Women in racy underwear—"

"Exactly. It would give the wrong impression. Everything needs to be in moderation. Except snacks. Regardless, if my treasury officials cannot waltz into every mine, then goblins cannot burgle every house. That is the agreement."

Thus—I turned to the nearest culprit failing to understand the message.

"You there." I clicked my fingers at the passing goblin. He paused. Slowly. "Explain. What am I seeing here? Because it appears that my kingdom is being looted. This is entirely against protocol. How, exactly, am I supposed to feign ignorance?"

A wrinkled nose met me.

I wrinkled my nose back.

Then, after an exchange transcending all words, the goblin pointed behind him at the next goblin, before duly trundling off again.

I swallowed a short breath, then tugged on Apple's reins.

A moment later—

"You there." I clicked my fingers. "Explain. What am I seeing here? Because it—"

The goblin immediately pointed at the next goblin behind him.

I pursed my lips … then tugged on Apple's reins again.

A few short trots later—

"You there." I clicked my fingers. "Explain. What—"

The goblin pointed at the next goblin … who then pointed at the next goblin, who did the same with the next goblin behind him.

One by one, an unending queue of goblins pointed me towards someone else to answer my queries. A battle of will, attrition and resolve which I would lose no sooner than when the last star fell from the sky.

Until finally … 57 goblins later, I was greeted by a sight other than a pointing finger.

The forest.

Detouring away from the road was a newly created trail.

Far from being hidden by the brambles and shrubs, it'd been paved by enough carts that it was now smoother than the road it joined. Branches had been removed from the overlooking trees, preventing damage to any wares being hoisted away.

And all to thoroughly lay waste to any modicum of taste.

In clear view for all to see, goblins were amassed around a tomb entrance.

Stone pillars, faded walls, half a door and a crumbling roof were all guarded by a large statue fallen from its plinth. A lasting home for those who'd trodden on the requisite number of peasants, but not quite enough that this was anywhere near fashionable.

And now the crumbling stonework was joined by dozens of huts, scarcely more than open tarps hewn from the forest. Tables and chairs, most of them looted, littered this sunlit clearing, while a roaring campfire monopolised its centre, large enough that it was roasting an entire boar whole.

And off to the side ... a dozen wooden outhouses sat beside a stream.

I almost fainted on the spot.

"... H-How dare they!" I said, hands clasping around my mouth. "Even for goblins, this is beyond anything I could have imagined!"

Coppelia looked at me in confusion.

"Eh? You mean looting tombs?"

"What? No, of course not. I mean that." I pointed at the outhouses. "They have built … things to conduct their business!"

Coppelia nodded enthusiastically.

"Like I said, goblin efficiency. Impressive, huh?"

"Efficiency?" I was almost insulted on the goblins' behalf. "This is clearly more than that! I cannot imagine any way to set fire to decorum any faster! This … This is an infrastructure project! What's next? A rooftop bar to enjoy their spoils away from the rain?"

"Nope. Usually it's a market where they can fence their ill-gotten goods wholesale. In fact, I think they've already begun building it. Want to stick around? The bargains for early birds are usually really good."

"We're not sticking around," I said, ignoring the playful smile poking my eyes. "And neither are these goblins."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure they won't be here much longer."

"That is already too long. Looting tombs is something done overnight, discreetly and horribly as they perish to all the traps and carnivorous spiders waiting within. I see no mangled remains serving as a warning. This level of organisation is ridiculous."

I shook my head.

No, I refused to accept this.

Here in my kingdom, half the tombs belonged to my family. For them to be looted was ordinary, of course. They were filled with unnecessary amounts of treasure and riches.

But to purposefully dally in such a manner?

This wasn't just audaciousness. It was utter contempt.

"... Very well!" I said, tugging on Apple's reins. "We've seen more than enough. It's time to right a wrong precedent in the making."

"Okie~"

Emboldened by the blasé of my loyal handmaiden, I took in a deep breath, then held it in for as long as I could while Apple bore me forwards.

After all, no matter how poorly goblins thought of us, it was little compared to the waft of ill will as each and every pair of eyes looked up.

For a moment, all movement came to a halt.

The boar roasting above the firepit ceased to spin. The bowls of some hideous gruel, beverage or both stopped at cracked lips. The glint of coins or jewels too precious to be loaded onto carts vanished into shadow.

Only the knives continued to move, their wielders sharpening them against the fallen pieces of the tomb they sat upon.

Eyes as black as night appraised me as I entered the midst of their illegal camp.

And then—

The goblins wrinkled their noses, before utterly ignoring our presence.

Low, indistinct chatter filled the clearing. Voices of suspicion and wariness. Which was fine. This was my kingdom, and I didn't need the hospitality of tomb robbers.

Only their reparations and their exit.

Near the tomb's entrance, Apple trotted past piles of everything waiting to be tossed into the next cart. Not even a sack to hide the possessions. The hedgehogs which invaded my orchard were more subtle than this.

Especially when it came to the leader of these misfits.

Unlike those around him, he didn't wear rags pilfered from bottom-tier bandits.

He'd proven his credentials by robbing their leader instead.

His armour was almost whole. Leather made functional with bands of iron stripped from some soldier's beaten cuirass. He had no knife by his waist, but a falchion one step away from being a troll's club.

His greatest feature, however, was the white chef's hat he wore upon his head.

I raised a brow at that.

How quaint. Either a chieftain or a cook. And that meant he was the most important goblin here.

I tugged Apple to a halt.

"You." I clicked my fingers for the 58th​ time. "Explain in five words or fewer. Why are you looting a place for the departed? Furthermore, why are you looting it with all the eyes of the kingdom upon you? This is outrageous. You may as well place diversion signs outside, letting everyone know to give proper space for the robbery occurring."

The goblin deliberately stared at a twig in the ground, seemingly grossly intrigued.

When it was clear I wasn't leaving, he looked up and wrinkled his nose.

Then, like all the other goblins before him, he pointed.

Except this time, it wasn't to any goblin behind him.

Instead … he pointed upwards.

I looked up with the confusion this deserved, seeing only the sky peeking back at me.

Yet as I returned my frown towards the goblin, the reply halfway past my lips was stifled by the fact he was continuing to point. And I came to realise he wasn't gesturing towards the sky.

Instead … he was showing me the ring around his finger.

One which possessed a dullness matching the copper it was forged from.

My mouth opened wide.

And though no smile answered me, the wrinkling of a nose ceased to be.

"We ain't looters," said the goblin, the faintest hint of amusement in his gruff tone. "... We're adventurers."
 
Story checks out.

Only thing left is for a goblin receptionist to show up.

Fortunately, as probably the highest ranked adventurer locally available, Juliette can proceed to assert dominance.
 
Chapter 317: Professional Adventuring
Goblins.

Not even history recalls when the first stone was thrown. Only that when it was, it was followed by a thousand years of antagonism.

Sometimes this took the form of strongly worded letters, which goblins used as fashion accessories. What the goblins sent back was still never clear, except for the fact that none of them were good at drawing.

Other times, however, it was more than wasted words and crude illustrations which were exchanged.

It was arrows and swords more barbed than any insult.

Yet though war with goblins was a terrible thing, few soldiers were ever sent to experience it.

Goblins were as nomadic as the seasons, delving as deep as the dwarves and as far as the elves. They carved homes beneath mountains and deep into forests, and rarely did their defences suffer for it.

Thus, when it came time to pillage the goblins in response to a response which came at the heels of another response, it was not scores of knights who were sent to become lost in the bottomless swamps and trapped labyrinths which awaited.

It was mercenaries, hedge wizards, wayfarers … and adventurers.

Whether it was the promise of gold or the promise of acclaim, it took little for the adventurers of yesterday to stroll daringly into the abodes of goblins. And it took even less for goblins to do away with them accordingly.

But that was then. And this was now.

Now, to wander into their caverns was a faux pas met by wrinkled noses as much as poisoned arrows. A status quo which everybody enjoyed, particularly the goblins who relied on official trespassers for archery practice.

Even so, the history between goblins and the guild was as stained as the welcoming mat I saw being hoisted away. And although peace sown by mutual distrust now prevailed, the memories undoubtedly lingered.

That was why—

"Excuse me? … Could you please repeat that?"

I leaned forwards from atop Apple's back, hand shielding the non-existent breeze from my ear.

After all, I'd just heard something unfathomable.

Something so bizarre that the sight of a new maid who didn't end the day attempting to resign drew less questions from me. Especially since they were probably an assassin.

In response, the goblin before me nudged his white chef's hat slightly, moving it from perfectly straight to slightly off-balanced.

"We ain't looters," he repeated, his tone almost bored were it not for the tinge of humour glinting within his dark eyes. "We're adventurers."

He wagged his finger, still pointing upwards.

I scarcely saw it, blinded instead by the anvil of confusion my mind was being hammered against.

But eventually, the ring came into focus.

The dull copper failed to flash in the sunlight, but I caught it nonetheless. The only hint of jewellery not to be hidden away like acorns buried by rampaging squirrels out to rob another tree.

I defaulted to a beautiful smile.

It was as strained as yarn given to a cat, yes, but a beautiful smile nonetheless.

"My apologies, but it's been a tiring few weeks for me. Other than sleeping on my magical enchanted bed, I've had little chance to rest. I must have misheard. Again. Did you just say you were … adventurers?"

The goblin turned his hand around to study his ring, despite the fact it made no difference to the viewing angle.

"Yeah," he answered simply.

"I see."

I gave the goblin's words a moment of consideration.

And then I offered the only response I could.

A look of outrage so palpable that all around me nodded in satisfaction.

… Why, they should be quivering under the weight of their own shame instead!

This … This was the worst falsehood I'd heard since Coppelia claimed that the reason hazelnuts were missing from the croissants was because they'd been slowly absorbed by the pastry!

Goblins? As adventurers?

They were more likely to be tour guides instead!

Indeed, goblins viewed adventurers with nothing but the disdain they deserved! And for good reason! Someone had to clean up the mess which occurred all over their deadly traps! That was an experience which would sully any opinion!

For goblins to be adventurers was something which simply didn't happen … ever! It was a stamp on their pride greater than the boots which ruined the mud in their tunnels!

"H-How dare you offer such a flimsy defence!" I said, utterly appalled by the lack of effort. "You cannot just don a copper ring and call yourselves adventurers!"

"Why not? They loot. We loot."

I thought for a moment.

"Yes, true," I admitted. "And I have no argument against that. But even so, 'adventurer' as a profession is a protected term … somehow. Through all their weaving through politics, they've somehow captured the word for themselves. As a result, you first need to accidentally save enough cats to earn the approval of the guild."

I gestured towards the tomb. A goblin exiting with a shiny goblet in his arms paused.

He quietly tried stuffing it down his rags. I decided to allow him to keep it.

"... This means that until that first layer of bureaucracy is navigated, this is duplicity on top of looting! You cannot declare yourselves adventurers and burgle at will! Even they need a minimum of justification! This is robbery through misrepresentation!"

Far from paling at being outed, the goblin only wrinkled his nose.

"This ain't misrepresentation."

"No? Then what do you call this? Interest-free borrowing, perhaps?"

The goblin paused.

"Ye–"

"Pick a different answer."

"This is work." The goblin sniffled, as if the very concept was uncomfortable to him. He shrugged the peculiar sensation aside. "... This is a copper ring issued to me by the guild. And I'm officially an adventurer."

A pair of dark eyes glanced at the ring disgracing my own finger.

Even without the accompanying smirk, I could hear the laughter ringing as clear as the knives being sharpened in the backdrop.

"... Just like you, eh?"

I turned to Coppelia at once.

She was already studying what the goblin wore.

"Mmh~ it's a real copper ring," she said, leaning this way and that. "Or rather, a real adventurer's copper ring. They all have a tiny amount of magic in them. The same signature. It's what the receptionists work with to record stuff down."

"There you have it." The goblin stretched his jaw in a silent yawn. "Bona fide ring. Bona fide adventurer."

I briefly closed my eyes, then swallowed a deep breath, hoping that comprehension was one of the things I accidentally inhaled.

"Very well, then … if I may inquire, Mr–"

"Snotrag."

"Mr. Goblin, for what possible reason could you have chosen to join the guild? To my knowledge, that is an organisation goblins have held nothing but acrimony towards for as long as your homes have contained even a single clay pot to be searched."

In response, the goblin reached into a pocket.

Out came a yellowed piece of parchment. He unfolded it, then rotated it around several times.

"I, Goblin Name, have always aspired to join the Adventurer's Guild," he said, eyes narrowing as he slowly read the words written in large lettering. "Ever since I was a small child, I have dreamed of fame and fortune. But more than that, I have wished to bridge the gap between goblins and non-goblins. I believe that by proving myself beneath the eyes of the world, I can further the image of goblinkind for all to see, in the hopes of furthering the lasting peace which now exists between us."

Apple snorted, his hooves digging at a clump of buttercups.

I was in full agreement.

"Excuse me?! You are clearly reading from a prepared note! Who is 'Goblin Name'?! … These are not your words!"

The goblin stared at me.

And then … he reached into his pocket once more.

"I confirm these are my words," he said, slowly reading from a second note. "As I am unused to conversation with non-goblins, it is necessary for me to have written down my thoughts beforehand, in order to ensure that my objectives are not miscommunicated. If I have made any error, please rest assured that it is only due to untold stress. I am in the middle of a custody battle for my eight children."

The goblin frowned, pausing as he re-read the last line.

"... I am not undergoing a custody battle," he said, his shoulders drooping slightly. "It is only at the petitioning stage."

I immediately poked the back of his parchment.

"I do not care what legal issues plague you. This is ridiculous."

"Yeah. That's what I told Martha."

"Not that. This." I gestured at everything. All at the same time. "Even should I generously assume that you didn't scoop up this ring from those idiotic enough to fall into a spiked pit, being an adventurer doesn't give a carte blanche to desecrate tombs at will. The optics of that for furthering goblin relations is very poor."

The goblin scratched his ear.

"I'd argue that the optics of sitting back is worse. This tomb is filled with giant rats. We're stopping them from breeding."

"It's a tomb," I said, thoroughly exasperated. "It's always filled with giant rats."

"Yeah. Because nobody else wants to deal with them. Except us."

"A beloved service, then. But does subjugating giant rats necessitate removing all the tableware far across the horizon as well?"

"It helps," said the goblin without shame. "And by right of triumph, we're also due a small portion of the treasure we liberate."

The sound of four small figures collapsing under the weight of an entire pilfered bar counter promptly came from the side.

More than one groan seeped out, lost beneath the woodwork.

The goblin in front of me looked over, then shrugged.

"... Lots of small portions."

I narrowed my eyes as I leaned closer, peering through whatever loophole he was hoping to stretch.

"The portions will need to be considerably smaller. This is a breach of the treaties."

"There's been no breach. This is—"

"This is an unworthy attempt at besmirching the Adventurer's Guild. And while I appreciate all efforts to undermine their name, it will not come from looting tombs more than they already do."

The goblin blinked.

He eyed the ring dirtying my finger as he betrayed a look of confusion. I chose not to correct him.

After all, I was hardly done.

"I demand that every item that's been removed be returned," I promptly informed him. "Any profits you've already accrued through sales needs to be relinquished. You will write a formal letter of apology, preferably using words and not pictures. Only after may you depart for your territory to submit whatever arguments you wish to be ignored. I suggest you have reparations prepared to quietly sweep this episode beneath the bulging diplomatic carpet."

I waited for the wrinkled nose.

I received a frown instead.

For a moment, only silence abounded as all movement in the clearing stilled once more. Even the knives ceased to sharpen. A warning like the calm before a storm.

And then … it was broken by a scampering of feet as a single goblin rushed out from the tomb.

Paying no heed to the lack of chatter, he stopped before us, wrinkled his nose at me, then whispered into his superior's ear.

A nod met him in answer.

And just like that—he ran.

The rest followed with professional efficiency. Tableware, carts, hidden coins and jewels, even hunks of boar were tossed aside with no thought spared to value or the desperate need to inventory what they were leaving behind.

I was aghast.

Why … the sheer rudeness!!

They were supposed to flee in horror after I'd used one of them for punting practise! Not before!

I hadn't seen a hint of a single fruit slime so far! How was I supposed to improve my delicate gardening techniques without an appropriate target?

The answer, as it turned out, came from the very tomb they'd looted.

A trickle of cold like a falling raindrop tickled my cheek. Turning to the side, I was met by the sight of an ominous shadow seeping out from the entrance.

What was dark before was now a shade blacker.

Inky appendages reached out, clawing at the edges of the doorway like a dozen tortured souls all seeking to escape their stone mortuary.

"Ooooaawwwwwwwwwrrrrrghhhhhhhh!!"

All that exited was an indecipherable gurgling.

A sound of choking bile and boiling malevolence. Of frigid death and unquenchable sorrow.

With it came a tremor. The very foundations of the tomb shook, an unnatural cloud forming over the clearing as the grass suddenly began to wilt.

I gave it a moment's thought, then nodded in acknowledgement.

Vandalising, littering, waking up some unspecified horror and then fleeing the scene without thought to the indescribable amounts of inconvenience caused to the kingdom's princesses.

"Hmm."

Coppelia tilted her head slightly, smiling as she always did.

"Something on your mind?"

"Only a little. I believe I need to offer an apology."

"Really? What for?"

"For casting doubt on the goblin's claim. These are the most professional adventurers I have ever met."
 
Chapter 318: Historical Grievances
Day turned to night as I stood before the tomb.

As an unnatural darkness filled the clearing, I drew Starlight Grace from my side. Partly to help against whatever needless horror was approaching. But mostly so I could count the drooping of each and every blade of grass.

I was going to invoice the goblins for all the costs incurred.

The greatest of which was my time.

I had things to do. And ensuring my kingdom didn't end overnight because goblins decided to accidentally wake up the wrong avatar of death wasn't on the official itinerary of browsing Marinsgarde's fashionable boutiques and patisseries.

A curious thing, then.

Cliiiiink. Cliiiiink. Cliiiiink.

Because our avatar of death was very much alive.

The shadows seeping from the tomb didn't disperse. But they did follow who exited.

The very last goblin remaining.

Or rather … a hobgoblin.

Natural warriors and leaders, this hobgoblin was encased in plates of black iron, crudely but effectively strapped to the ragged leather underneath. Amidst the barbarous dress sense, only a gleaming moonstone pendant was at odds with his theming, hanging from a golden chain rather than hidden away with all the other stolen valuables.

Their leader, then.

Perhaps even a warlord.

Unlike those who'd fled, his size would not be bested even by an ogre. Although shadows billowed around him like a sickly cloak, his remained the greatest. A window of darkness preceding his every step past the entrance of the tomb.

Indeed … here was an adversary who would cause knights and their steeds to pause.

Although he carried no lance, his weapon matched them in length. A great flail boasting a chain so long the spiked head was dragged along the ground, scarring the stone as it went.

Few could suggest a more fitting weapon.

The hobgoblin had no need for delicate footwork or the fine edge of a blade when strength alone could see him overpower a small mountain.

… But not, it seemed, the shadows which had seized him.

They slithered like snakes coiling around their prey. But it wasn't his figure which was now being strangled. As he stumbled forwards with the gait of a drunkard in search of the next bar, the black eyes I expected to find were absent.

They shone with a white flame instead, the irises alight with magic.

Or perhaps a curse.

"Ooooh~ now this is something!"

Beside me, Coppelia leaned forwards with professional interest.

I did the same. Except backwards. An unfortunate musk was being emitted from the direction of the tomb. Perhaps the goblins should have looted it earlier. Goodness knows the ones belonging to my own family needed airing every now and again too.

"... I take it the goblins didn't flee simply to escape the displeasure of their superior?"

"Nah. That implies their bosses ever get mad at them. You need to have expectations for that to happen."

"True."

"Plus hobgoblins are usually too busy to check up on their underlings. They have their own things to do. Like hitting things. Really hard."

"Then it seems this gentleman has struck the wrong object. Has he been cursed?"

"Worse. And that's great. Glowy white eyes, a lack of balance and weird shadowy things usually means one thing–magical possession!"

"I see … and why would that be great?"

"Because I've never seen this type of possession before. Unlike mind control, someone usually needs to be casting a spell to direct him. The shadowy things are like a tether. But this guy's tether isn't going anywhere. It's just floating about him. That's pretty unique … I like it!"

Cliiiiink.

Before Coppelia could espouse her curiosity any further, the spiked head of the flail came to rest against the edge of the stone tomb.

A crack filled the air, ensuring that what wasn't broken before now very much was.

For a moment, the hobgoblin ignored us.

There was no bellow or cry of anguish. Nor was there any swaying to and fro as one soul fought for control over another. He simply craned his neck upwards, his scarred face taking in the sky he was single-handedly managing to darken.

And then—

The hobgoblin looked down at us.

Or rather … at me.

Curiously, a light other than white shone in his eyes. A flicker of recognition, joined by a crease of the brows, a hardening of cheeks … and most notably, a stiffening of the shoulders.

To my surprise, I recognised this sequence at once.

Indeed, I saw it often … especially within the corridors of the Royal Villa.

And so it was that the upright back was followed by the shortest of bows, measured to distasteful precision. The black iron creaked as the hobgoblin's armour was forced into an unfamiliar pose.

Sadly, I recognised this as well.

"Well now," came a self-assured voice, calm, disregarding, and utterly at odds with the gravelly nature of all hobgoblin voices. "I'd believed it was goblins causing the rancid odour in my tomb. But it turns out it was a Contzen. A fine omen on this long-awaited day."

I tilted my head in thought.

"Hm. Interesting."

"... What is interesting, may I ask?"

"There are many ways to show respect, and a bow purposefully offered to skirt the demands of etiquette is not one which any servant has ever learned to display."

"That would be because I am no servant."

"No, of course not. They're far more useful. There is only one group who would offer a bow so primed to begrudging respect. The barons wouldn't dare, of course. The dukes are too old to care. The lords in the royal capital pretend that they do. Those lords left outside, however, possess just the right amount of resentment, lack of wealth and a misplaced sense of worth to delight in simple impertinence."

Hence—I prepared my finest smile.

It was no less than what any of my subjects deserved, after all.

Especially when they were working so hard to entertain me at short notice.

"... I confess this is new," I said, gesturing at the bizarre sight before me. "As far as inane ploys go, possessing the body of a hobgoblin is certainly a point for creativity. It is rare that entirely new ways to embarrass your bloodline are discovered. Tell me, how does this lead directly into my family's demise this time … my lord?"

A derisive snort came from the armoured hobgoblin.

He elegantly twirled his hand, waving away my words like he did whatever blackened foie gras this man clearly thought was too good for an entrée.

"Ah. And there it is. That famous Contzen disdain."

"Oh? I'm not aware of such a thing. Would you enlighten me?"

"Please. You need only open half an ear. Even after all these years, I can recognise it better than the sound of my own voice. I was hoping I was wrong. Or that you'd all finally died out. How nostalgic. It is not only your odour, but the very way you stand which repulses me. Your presence reeks of arrogance. Of hubris. Of vanity. It seeps from you. Grows. Like mould between the linings of kitchen tiles."

I gasped.

"That … That is the kindest thing nobility has ever said about me."

The lord in a hobgoblin's guise wrinkled his nose.

Whatever whiff he experienced, the look of discomfort was aimed as much towards himself as it was me. He shifted uncomfortably, as if to escape his own skin.

Then, he simply sighed.

"... Lord Horace Montrevel," he said shortly, offering even less of a bow than before.

"Princess Juliette Contzen, 5th​ in line to the throne."

"Ugh. Gods." The hobgoblin rolled his eyes. His shiny, glowy eyes. "There's at least 5 more now? Your family cannot keep infinitely spawning like this."

"Rest assured that we will. As long as the sun continues to rise over this fair kingdom, so too will it be renewed by the smile of a Contzen."

"Please tell me there's a civil war on the horizon."

"There is no civil war."

"A normal war?"

"Not while our castles stand tall and our knights taller."

"What about the Rozinthe Imperium? How have you not been annexed yet?"

"Rozinthe is not commonly referred to by that name any longer. Much of it disintegrated to civil strife. The Grand Duchy of Granholtz currently claims a significant portion of its former holdings."

"That farmstead?" said Lord Hobgoblin, his shock being the only thing I sympathised with. "... How many years has it been since our least beloved King Cadium's reign?"

"The third or the fourth?"

"There's been a fourth?" He let out a groan. The sound of a jaw cracked as he accidentally palmed his face with too much strength. "I hope at least that man's ridiculous idea to remove all the clouds from the sky by attacking it with ducks has finally borne fruit."

"More than that, actually. Enough time has passed that the clouds have now returned, yet only to provide the occasional sprinkle of spring rain. The great storms which once plagued this kingdom are now a distant memory."

"Then it's been too long. How has nobody robbed this tomb yet? I placed this … well, that doesn't matter. But somebody should have found me long before now."

I raised a brow.

"And what, exactly, are you? Some poltergeist capable of possessing the bodies of others?"

"Poltergeists are strays with no right to linger. I am far more than that. As is tradition amongst the Montrevels, I am a trained mage before I am a lord."

"Are you now? I had no idea. I'm afraid that was a rather short tradition in your family."

A glowy set of blinks met me.

"Excuse me?"

"As far as I'm aware, there are no renowned mages amongst your family."

"That cannot be," came the protest at once. "I left everything to my descendants. Spellbooks, tomes, stipends for tuition. Did some great misfortune take hold of my family?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, they've been elevated."

"Truly? Do we rule Marinsgarde now?"

"No. You now rule a farm."

"What?"

"If my memory recalls, House Montrevel's holdings were upgraded. I believe it was for a bout of minor smuggling across the Lissoine border. My congratulations, your family has the honour of earning its keep from selling wheat and wool instead of squirrelling away taxes. House Montrevel's use to the kingdom is now infinitely greater than it has ever been."

Lord Hobgoblin's jaw dropped.

Perfectly understandable. Nobility who dealt only in matters of farming were usually beneath my learning. But when it concerned a lordly household now being held up as an example of our charity, it was knowledge worth sharing.

"That is an outrage. My family have ever been in the upper echelons of nobility,"

"In that case, you've little need for grief. To serve is to be held in high regard. Neither your peers nor your lambs may think so, but in the eyes of royalty, you have never been more respected."

"I have not returned just to set my eyes upon flocks of lamb."

"No? In that case, we have vacancies open for jesters and interviews are guaranteed for those of noble lineage. When are you available?"

Lord Hobgoblin stood up straighter.

A fleeting image of the man he once was flashed across his now scarred and doubtless much more agreeable face.

"An offer as equally insulting as the last I received from a Contzen. And so I provide the same refusal. All the more so for my newly gained strength. I have, to your detriment, been busy these past few centuries."

"Yes, I imagine a plot involving an unhappy hobgoblin will spell the final doom for my family. Is this one some self-proclaimed child of a distant ancestor? A trueborn heir come to reclaim the kingdom he is due? If so, I must applaud you. Possession leaves less room for betrayal once the leash is loosened."

A snort to rival Apple's met my perfectly reasonable questions.

This wouldn't be the first time this happened, after all.

"Possession? Do not compare this to the tinkering of apprentices. What you see before you is the fusion of magic and mind, intellect and brawn."

"You appear to have the ratio skewed, then. This is a poor trade for the hobgoblin."

"The hobgoblin is now more than he could ever be, thank you. I despaired at one finding me, yes, but this is a stroke of fortune. If I'm able to capture the goblins to my cause, then I expect it shall make your family's well-deserved and frankly overdue downfall all the more efficient."

Hmm.

Straight to the regicide. And so earnest. This was considerably better than what I was expecting from a roadside detour. But I suppose standards couldn't stay low forever.

Competition for my derision was fierce, after all.

"Very well." I nodded in acknowledgement. "A simple wish. But as a busy princess, I appreciate the brevity. In respect of this courtesy, I shall provide one in turn. Unique as possessing a hobgoblin to settle your historical grievances is, there's one glaring issue before all the many others."

"And what is that?"

"... Poke."

Without further ado, I raised Starlight Grace … and promptly reached forwards, sending the tip into the moonstone pendant hanging from the hobgoblin's neck.

Pwishh.

It shattered at once.

Wisps of magic escaped as shards of moonstone burst forth.

A better reagent than it was jewellery, the gemstone was a popular alternative to arcana crystals for those with less means, less standards or very often both.

I leaned back and smiled.

And then I tilted my head slightly at the large hobgoblin, his eyes still glowing white, the shadows still swirling around his form and the flail still very much held in his hand.

"Hmm." I offered a look of curiosity. "Why has the possession not ended?"

"Likely because whatever you thought was its source is wrong."

"Your pendant exploded."

"It wasn't mine. It was the hobgoblin's. Frankly, I've no idea what it did. But I feel like I can smell clearer now."

"Oh, I see. You're welcome."

"I wasn't thanking you."

A nose wrinkled towards me.

And then—it was followed by the lash of a flail. And all the shadows which propelled it.
 
Chapter 319: To Soothe A Soul
A songbird hummed in the background.

A melody as beautiful as my smile. Yet this wasn't the familiar chirping which followed me, woke me and prevented me from falling asleep again. This was the sound of sombreness. A frail lament for the sunlight whisked away by the sudden clouds.

A moment later, it was also lamenting for the branch it was on … as well as the rest of the tree.

Bwoooph.

Splinters. Bark. Dirt.

Little remained of the innocent maple as it practically disintegrated, bludgeoned by the sheer force of a spiked ball more suitable for a catapult than the end of a chain.

The fragments blasted into the rest of the forest, sending scores of small animals and fellow birds fleeing for safety.

They needed to flee even further.

Bwoooph.

There was no finesse. No technique. And certainly no apology.

Just an overwhelming lack of regard towards nature and those who tended to it.

A chain cleaved through the air as much as the weight attached to it. Even before the fractured tree finished groaning, the weapon swung once again. An unseemly flail wreathed in shadows and bitterness, drawing forth another burst of splintering bark.

Left to right, that crude weapon lashed with abandon.

A ceaseless windmill of destruction matched only by my etiquette tutor with a ruler and a bottle of merlot. Even so, I would gladly face that calamity over the gruesome weapon this adversary possessed.

Yes.

His complaints.

"... Pistachios!" he cried out amidst the swishing of his flail. "I bribed your entire kitchen staff to learn this was the most favoured gift! I sent 74,819! Enough to feed a kingdom of squirrels! And instead of a swift elevation to dukeship, do you know what I received? … A query regarding why they did not come pre-shelled!"

All I could do was groan.

Especially if someone thought a duke's title could be bought with anything less than macadamia nuts.

Even so, the endless list of gripes continued to an accompaniment of wild swinging. Wisps of despair left my lips as I was forced to duck again and again, all the while flattening my hair for good measure.

Yet even if my delicate strands were saved, both my eyes and ears were not.

Frankly, a drunkard waving for a bartender was a more delicate sight than this. Despite the number of years this past nobleman of mine had nourished himself upon his own resentment, none were clearly spent on learning how to wield a flail.

Already an ungainly thing, such a wild display before my knights would see them surrendering just to avoid the trauma to their eyes.

And yet … it mattered little.

What the swings lacked in finesse, they made up for in ruthless disregard for fatigue.

Abusing the hobgoblin's strength, all thought to subtlety was erased in favour of simply removing the witnesses to this crime against delicacy. The flail thrashed like a child's toy during a tantrum. And utterly nothing else was required.

Bwoooph.

Indeed … this was an adversary beyond my expectations.

As a weapon scarcely different to a cannonball swished over my head, I could do nothing but tightly grip Starlight Grace in vain. Because despite the lightness of my sword, a different weight dragged down upon my arm.

No gentle breeze came upon the clearing nor the tip of my blade.

After all, if I were to raise my sword now …

Why … that would surely reduce the size of the invoice I could demand!

My teeth gritted together.

This hobgoblin … he was being possessed by my own nobility!

That in itself was a claim for trauma far beyond what any gardening technique could accomplish! Not even I could argue that! Yet if I were to punt him through half a forest as well, all the gold I'd hope to extort would be lost to the frivolous claims of additional nightly terrors!

I ducked beneath another hopelessly optimistic swipe, then quickly turned to my side.

"Coppelia! You needn't help! This hobgoblin must not be—"

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeee~"

Beside me, a certain clockwork doll wore a bright smile upon her face as she skipped over the sweeping chains. As the flail returned, she alternated between legs, hopping over the deadly weapon like a spring bunny.

I pursed my lips … and then returned to the problem at hand.

Very well!

A hobgoblin I required whole, if not quite sound, was a problem. But slightly larger was the crude weapon being lashed around like a failed whip.

… Fortunately, dispatching one would mean doing away with the other!

The flail struck into the hollow of a tree, briefly lodging itself before being ripped out again.

It was more than enough.

As the chain slacked, I dashed forwards and struck. The tip of my sword swiped through the chains holding the flail, snapping the steel as easily as I did a falling apple.

Sadly, respite lasted only a moment.

To my unending grief, it took more than swords to do away with the roaches of my kingdom. It took lessons in tactfulness. Few of which could be found as shadows filled the snapped chain, sealing it anew.

A swipe promptly followed, so vicious that it bludgeoned through not one, but an entire row of gnarly oaks, their trunks groaning to a line of freshly hewn cavities.

I was horrified.

"H-How dare you!" I said, pointing at what his descendants were going to pay for. "These trees are the same ones which watched you fail in your own time! They do not deserve to watch it again! It is highly distasteful!"

The flail came to a rest at last. It squished the mud where it lay.

"There shall be no more failure," came the indignant response. "I have waited for my time. And now it comes gifted with a Contzen at my door. Fate could not be clearer."

"This is not fate. This is goblins. I am here for them, not you."

"Goblins." The hobgoblin wrinkled his nose. An act which would be exactly the same even if he weren't currently possessed. "See the ills which have befallen this kingdom. The worst I expected in my tomb were bandits."

"Then you need to downgrade your expectations. You clearly never considered nobility who overstay their welcome. Frankly, you're as bad as the goblins–and I've neither the time nor the will to deal with both. I've no idea what my ancestors did to you, but know that you fully deserved it. Should you wish to absolve yourself, I suggest a graceful exit once and for all."

A look of pure gall met my suggestion.

"Deserved! Your family almost bankrupted me! Repeatedly!"

"Almost. Which means you were taxed the appropriate amount."

I waved away the reply to come.

"Yes, I understand. Nobody likes taxes. You don't like paying them and I don't like you not paying them. Even so, I see little need to haunt a tomb until the first goblin pulls you out from a jar."

"I was not in a jar."

"Well, then I hardly see why you should be surprised if it's taken so long to find you. Jars are the first thing people go through."

The flail lifted.

Shadows squirmed upon the chains like snakes writhing for blood.

"Is that so? … Then I can assure you that your remains will be suitably interred into a jar to be discovered and buried at a later time. I may consider every Contzen a leech, but that doesn't mean funeral rites shouldn't be respected. I quite enjoyed mine."

I rolled my eyes.

Ugh. To be threatened with a jar stuffing. And not even as ashes. Far from a lack of tact, there was simply no redeeming what never existed.

And so as an unseemly flail rose high overhead, I knew there was only one thing I could do.

After all, I was more than a princess.

I was an angel. And while I wasn't certain I could heal the mental scar of being possessed by a member of my own nobility, I could heal the vengeful spirit performing the possession in question.

Ohohohoho!

Yes … it was time to show my true qualities! Again!

To soothe the centuries of unwarranted bitterness residing deep within the soul of this raging spectre! And that was to offer my healing touch! … But since I also didn't want to touch nobility regardless of what they possessed, I would offer the next best thing!

My gentle words.

"Stop." I held up my hand. "Before you seek to stuff me into a jar, there is something I wish to convey regarding the status of your household."

The arm about to swing paused. A pair of glowy eyes narrowed.

"... Yes? What is it?"

"Although you doubtless feel aggrieved by your family's current circumstances as farmstead owners, know that I spoke no falsehood. House Montreval has never been more respected. Far from feeling wronged, your descendants have taken to their new life with dignity and pride."

"They are farmers."

"Wrong. They are excellent farmers. They have acknowledged their transgressions and worked to thoroughly scrub the blot of minor treason from their history."

"That is a blot as black as any cloud. It cannot be scrubbed. Only replaced entirely by a new history, written by a Montreval hand."

"Oh? … And yet the crest of royalty says otherwise."

"... The what now?"

I nodded … and then I offered a soothing smile.

"Every product purchased by the Royal Villa is automatically deemed to be of the finest quality. It is an accolade greater than what any duke could earn, even should they empty their vaults to achieve it. And, ah, I do recall that the Royal Villa does actually order directly from the Montreval Farmstead."

The hand holding the flail suddenly inched lower.

The flare of bitterness didn't reside. But it did still. For now.

"Truly now?" A back straightened once more. "Our … products are now purchased by the royal estate, you say?"

"Yes. Wool, to be specific. Yours is quite famed."

"And why would you not bring this up earlier?"

"My apologies. The crates that I see engraved with your family emblem are now such a common feature in my life that I make the error of forgetting it. Quite often, only the things which fill me with horror stick in my memory."

Lord Hobgoblin peered closely at me.

If he discerned a lie, he did not show it. And why would he? I had told none.

"... Are you saying my family now has regular contact with the Contzens, then?"

"Of course. That is a joy those few who supply the Royal Villa deserve. Granted, it will mostly come through the doings of our stewards. But that is simply a sign that all is well. We've no need to regularly see those who have no need to be publicly berated. Your family, therefore, is one well on the rise. Far more than they were in your own time."

"How much on the rise?"

"Well, I suppose that depends on how Marinsgarde fares in the next few months. Noble households come and go. Even those ruling one of our most fashionable towns. I shall simply say that while your family has risen, others have fallen."

I placed a hand upon my chest.

Although I offered a kindly smile, it was this token of warmth which caused the possessed hobgoblin before me to fall silent.

"Be proud," I said gently. "And do not allow the hatred of the past to taint the joy of today. You may feel regret at life, but know that you can be satisfied in death. Your legacy has more than endured. It has prospered. The wool your farmstead produces is so famed that we eschew even that of Lissoine's."

The towering figure leaned back.

As he did so, the shadows which swirled around his form began to subside.

"Really? Better than Lissoine's, then? That is … well, that is certainly something to be proud of."

"Quite so. The wool to come from Lissoine is far too fine."

"Oh. Ours are more thick, then? Suitable for coats and robes?"

"No, they're far too coarse for that."

"Excuse me?"

"The wool is not suitable for use as a clothing textile. We buy it in bulk and use it as rugs for the stables, packing material and general rooftop insulation. Your family's products are famed for their excessively low quality, but also their equally low price and disposability."

A moment of silence answered my enthusiastic nod.

I waited for the shadows to finally die away.

And then I continued to wait … despite the fact they suddenly bloomed like a swirling tempest.

"Oaawwwwwwwrrrrrrggghhhh!!"

I was shocked.

Why, to think that this nobleman's drive for vengeance was so unquenchable that even when he'd seemed to finally calm, a whirlpool of ire would inexplicably burst forth from within … and it came in the form of a bellowing howl to shake even the forest floor.

One which didn't come from the hobgoblin.

Instead … it came from what hovered above him.

The shadows converged, revealing the shape of malevolence itself. A faint image of malformed bones and stretched skin appearing amidst the darkness, garbed in robes and blackened flames. Only the hollow sockets of a skull where eyes had long ceased to be revealed any colour.

They were white, burning with the same brightness as a hobgoblin now hoisted high into the air.

The horror gargled. And from its clawed fingers, sinewy strands connected with its victim, revealing the truth of the shadows.

The hobgoblin was not being possessed.

No … this was far crueller.

To be possessed was at least to indulge in the bliss of ignorance. Instead, his every movement was being controlled akin to a puppet dangling upon a string. A prisoner in his own body.

And he was being controlled by this

A binding spectre.

Cursed souls said to be raised by their own regret. They were mages whose worth went unfulfilled, laid low in life, and now even lower in death. Unable to rest, their goal was not to destroy the living, but to have them perform for them what they could not achieve while they still walked beneath the sun.

And this one's face was currently twisting in undiluted rage.

I stared at the sight, nodded, then turned beside me.

"... Ohohoho! Behold, Coppelia! The spectre which haunts this hobgoblin has fallen for my ruse! I have revealed its true form through my deliberate incitement!"

"Uwaaah~ he looks like he's had a really bad day."

The binding spectre raised its arms. The hobgoblin rose with it.

"How dare you!" came the bristling words forced through its victim's lips. "You have cast a shadow over my legacy! My very name! … I will see this amended with blood!"

The horror didn't wait.

Hovering high enough to swing the crude flail without the impediment of the ground, it wheeled through the air before being released.

Such was the momentum gathered in the spiked head, the weapon didn't merely lash out towards me. It flew. Flail and shadows both launched itself from the captive hobgoblin's grip, striking directly towards me with neither grace nor thought.

I was appalled.

Why … to attempt to bludgeon me with such an unwieldy weapon was already poor enough! But to lack so much form that he simply threw it was unconscionable!

A twisted spectre he might now be, but that did nothing to diminish his duty to expectations!

Indeed, until the day his household was wholly stripped of their titles, he had a responsibility. If he wanted to see me murdered, he needed an overly complicated plan. That was how it worked. No ifs and no buts. Simply flinging a heavy object at me was an insult to all who'd failed before and after him.

That's why–

"[Spring Breeze]!!"

Without hesitation, I drew upon all my indignation.

Rapidly twirling my sword, I went through the familiar motion of punting the ungainly flail just as I would an approaching fruit slime. And my will proved the greater.

With a satisfying pwoomph, I punted the unwelcome weapon towards where only the grey clouds awaited, their sudden appearance still dousing us in an unnatural darkness.

"What was–"

The strings ceased to dangle.

The hobgoblin stilled. And what little expression could be seen from either was one of shock.

After all, I didn't usually do away with the unwanted gifts of my nobility so plainly.

However, in this scenario, I would offer more than that. As improper as his choice of murder instrument was, it was one made in earnestness. And what princess would I be, if I didn't acknowledge that?

"Very well," I said with a nod. "Although your heart has long turned to ashes, I can feel the sincerity in your words–yes, even spoken through a hobgoblin. It is certainly preferred to the blasé I'm more accustomed with. And so allow me to reply in kind."

I lowered my sword. All the sinews the spectre held froze at the sight.

"I see the centuries have been difficult for you. I dare say this is good. Regret is a gift more of my nobility could stand to acknowledge. But though you've abandoned your adherence to etiquette, you have not your claim to nobility. I do not doubt that you once earnestly sought to strive for the good of your family, and through it accidentally better my kingdom. For this, I shall offer a final reward in recognition of that past service."

Thus, I began with my smile.

A gift this spectre knew was so little deserved that his ghostly form began to shiver.

But only for a moment.

What shame he felt was calmed, for what came after was more soothing than even the gentlest of breezes.

A ray of spring sunlight.

Offered through a parting in the clouds made by a makeshift cannonball, it was to me the warmth which allowed me to nap at the drop of a shortcake. But to one who has dwelled in the darkness of their own mind, buried in some forgotten corner of a tomb, it was a flood of memories.

… And also fire.

A heartbeat passed, and all that could be heard was a hissing as the spectre's silhouette began to burn.

As debilitating to a spectre as it was to a vampire, the robes soon caught alight before being followed by the stretched skin and skeletal claws. The flames sprang as though a candle had been set against the oil of a lamp. Even so, no attempt was made to escape into the darkness.

Beneath the nostalgic weight of my kingdom's sunlight, a pair of shoulders began to sag.

A hobgoblin fell to the grass as the sinews snapped and began to burn. And while the aura of resentment did not pass, where it was directed was now no longer wholly towards me.

The spectre gazed up as the flames engulfed his form, staring into the sunlight.

It burned away his pallid flesh. Yet far from leaving only the rotting bones underneath, what replaced it was the brief visage of an ordinary, if fatigued man weighed down by the world of courtly politics.

"... Macadamia nuts," said Lord Montrevel, sighing. "I suppose I shall have the opportunity to try again with King Cadium."

Then, with his parting words decided, he exited as all nobles did.

With a complete lack of grace, offering the shortest bow imaginable. I accepted it with a roll of my eyes. He was no longer mine to chastise, after all.

All at once, day returned as the clouds departed as swiftly as they arrived.

Of the spectre, only a passing whisper could be heard. What remained instead was the humming of songbirds, the crackling embers of an illegal campfire and the giggling of a loyal handmaiden.

She separated her palms, the scythe she'd readied no longer needed.

"Heheh~ that wasn't too bad."

I gave a flick of my hair and smiled.

"Ohohohoho … naturally. Were it the spectre of some farmer, it would be a far ghastlier tale. But so long as it is my nobility which troubles us, you can rest assured that my gentle words will calm even the most bitter of wraiths. Thus, take note–it is the ones who are alive which are the issue."

"Got it! We need to make them less alive!"

Coppelia nodded brightly.

Her wording was somewhat different to what I was imagining … but it was the enthusiasm which counted!

And so–I turned to other matters.

A very confused looking hobgoblin.

Freed of the shadows which engulfed him, he scratched his head, both his blinking eyes and lack of needless grief a return to normality. If there was any lasting harm, I didn't see it.

And that meant neither would those collecting him.

"Ahem." I offered a professional smile. "Rejoice, Mr. Hobgoblin. I have through charity and nothing else freed you and added you to my invoice list. As you're doubtless as relieved as you are puzzled, I shall make your next steps simple."

I gestured at the looted mess around him.

"There is a goblin plot afoot. I can smell it like this … well, everything which shall need cleaning before you leave. Would you be able to answer some questions?"

The hobgoblin simply stared at me.

Neither a smile nor a rush of gratitude answered. But just as I began to wonder whether I needed to initiate a special hobgoblin greeting first, he offered a nod.

I clapped my hands in delight.

"Excellent! In that case, please tell me what the nature of what this ploy involving illegal looting and becoming official adventurers involves. I do not believe for a moment that goblins would willingly become adventurers, nor that the guild would so easily accept them. There is clearly more to this charade than meets the eye."

The hobgoblin blinked. He looked up in thought.

I waited patiently.

Then, after several long moments, I was rewarded with another nod, more certain this time. His shoulders stiffened. He took a deep breath.

And then—

The hobgoblin pointed behind him.

Darkness found me as I sighed into my palms, blocking out everything except the sound of Coppelia's ceaseless laughter.
 
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Eh I love regular nuts, but not when they get stuck in my teeth.

Honesty this whole goblins deal feels tedious more than anything.

Thankfully there is no way they will raise her to S class just for knowing bureaucracy. 😀
 
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Chapter 320: A Prince's Patronage
There was much to admire about Reitzlake's market district.

The colours of the kingdom were draped upon the sky itself. Banners and flags flew from rooftop to rooftop, their numbers matched only by the seagulls sitting upon the lining.

And all below them was a feast.

Merchants boasting fare dripping with lard thronged the busy streets, competing for the eyes of the many visitors the kingdom's greatest marketplace demanded. Others offered toys, curios and junk of ever decreasing quality and ever increasing cost.

Those fortunate enough to own their own shops ruled like emperors, stationing smiling maidens to draw those with thick purses and unsmiling guards to frighten those with sticky fingers.

The rest were stall keepers, yet few begrudged their lesser presence.

Costs for licences grew year on year, but so too did profits. Those who once staked their claims with gold now did so with iron. Once the market closed, the stalls still remained, bolted like masts on a ship.

From Wirtzhaven in the south to Marinsgarde in the north, the finest and worst that the Kingdom of Tirea had to offer were on display, here to be judged, dismissed and then inevitably bought.

Entrepreneurship filled the air of a busy spring day … yet it also extended to the ground as well.

Rarely did the rodents of Reitzlake seek their scraps where none stepped. Like the strays which darted after them, they were well hidden by the hustle and bustle, scrounging what morsels they could.

The ones which Crown Prince Roland Contzen watched were far more discerning.

Even so, their odour managed to still be greater.

The rats of Reitzlake, after all, were remarkably loyal to the city.

… Or so he'd heard from Renise.

Beside the sign of a bar constantly swinging from the coming and going of smiling customers, only two showed no interest in revelry.

Roland watched as strangers from afar played the game of conspiracy in his kingdom. The rules they ascribed to were different from the ones he enjoyed. He at least wore a hood. The minimum level of subterfuge required. But perhaps it was a sign of good fortune that the latest tranche of diplomats from Granholtz were still more interested in indulging in their own games than that of their ruler.

His were not the only eyes to judge them, after all.

A young man and woman lounged upon a nearby balcony, the sweet words traded upon their lips starkly different to the ones they held in their thoughts. Loyal hands belonging to the Granholtz Deputy Ambassador, but not his superior.

Factions. Rivalries. Suspicions.

Although they served under one banner, they doubted if the shade of black they each saw was quite the same. And how right they were to. At least one amongst them was untrue.

The Eyes of the Mirage rarely blinked, but here amidst the wiles of Granholtz and the glare of Tirea's springtime, the Dune King's observer betrayed a subtle smile.

After all—

"Hmmmmm …"

She was currently deciding whether or not to buy Roland's fruit slime figurine.

Eyes which could discern a lie from a truth as easily as a farmer gleaned a wolf from sheep peered closely, never once paying attention to the enormous amounts of sweat dripping down Roland's face.

Muscles which Roland never knew existed clenched. All the while, the frowning woman from the Kingdom of Dunes leaned slightly to the side, her serious expression almost reflected in the fruit slime's shine.

She looked up with a gaze sharper than any of the knives she carried.

Suddenly, all her focus was upon Roland. He felt as the hood he wore was being burned through. His throat gulped. The sweat seeped through his clothing and clung to his cloak.

The Dune woman's lips tightly pursed together.

And then—

"This … This is amazing!"

She clapped her hands together … and then continued clapping in frantic applause.

"Why, I had no idea this kingdom possessed craftsmanship so fine! For clay work, this … this is astonishing!"

Roland swallowed his saliva as well as his words. As he tried to speak, the words caught in his throat.

"The … ahem, the compliment is undeserved," said Roland, doing his best to change his voice into … anything not his. "But I offer my gratitude nonetheless."

To his surprise, the woman shook her head.

"No, no, no, no! I've seen markets all around the continent, from the Grand Bazaar in the Dunes to the Sunlight Festival in the Summer Kingdoms. But this … I've never seen anyone replicate a fruit slime so perfectly! And in the midst of a bounce as well! The detailing of the lines is exquisite!"

Roland stood up a little straighter, then remembered to slack, pulling down his hood in the process.

To be complimented by a member of the Dune King's private circle was outlandish to say the least. Even so, a spark of pride lit up inside him.

None knew his face.

None knew his name.

But all knew his figurines.

They were masterworks of clay. If a swordsmith forged a blade with half the meticulous detail that Roland displayed while making his figurines in the middle of the night when he really should be sleeping, then it would be a weapon passed down the generations.

It was his claim to fame.

Beyond being the Crown Prince, that is.

That was a title handed down to him. And while many, himself most of all, doubted his competency for the role, he took a sombre pride in the fact that even if the perils of statecraft proved beyond him, he could at least have a role behind his own private stall in Reitzlake's market district.

… Not least because it also allowed him to watch those who believed themselves far more subtle than they truly were.

Renise would pale if she knew.

Or explode into a horrified fit. Yes, that was more likely.

There was no need for Roland to expose himself, after all. Especially since Rose House had been founded to assume the specific duties that knights were ill-trained for.

However, while smugglers and thieves knew the city's sewers and docks, Roland knew the boutiques, the brightly lit cafes, the private terraces and the finest restaurants.

Foreign operatives may whisper in the shadows, but they certainly didn't dine in them.

When it came to identifying those whose eyes and gait betrayed both their origins and their purpose, Roland knew who to observe better than any other. And so he hid in plain sight. Just as they did.

But better.

So much so, that not even one who whispered directly into the Dune King's ears realised who he was.

… Yet.

Once again, Roland's muscles clenched.

"... How much?" asked the woman, her look furtive and hopeful. She fingered her pouch, looking for all the world like a townsgirl risking her week's wages when she had none to spare.

"5 copper crowns," replied Roland, his merchant's smile barely visible beneath his dark hood.

"Excuse me? 5 … 5 copper crowns?"

"Oh, my apologies. Is that too—"

"That cannot be right! … It is barely more than bread!"

Roland stopped himself from chuckling.

A nervous chuckle, yes. But one he knew would be as telling as doing away with his hood altogether.

"I believe in making my wares affordable," he said, declining to mention that as the Crown Prince, he really didn't need to ask for any amount at all. "My fruit slimes are popular with both adults and children, after all. But I do sell a more expensive range of figurines. That would be my dragons."

"Dragons?"

Eyes sparkled like an oasis before him. Roland felt an odd twinge of guilt.

"Dragons, yes. Unfortunately, they are already sold out for today. The models are particularly labour intensive, and there's an unofficial reservation list I also attempt to honour. This fruit slime is, in fact, the last of my wares today."

"I'll buy it."

The look of disappointment was mercifully brief. In a flash, a handful of coins was being presented on Roland's stall.

He didn't take it.

"Ma'am, um, the fruit slime is 5 copper crowns. This appears to be 5 gold crowns."

"Yes, it is."

Roland blinked in confusion. But only for a moment.

"... Ah, I see now." He nodded in sudden understanding. "You desire change. Is there a particular amount of copper or silver crowns you wish for?"

"I don't want change."

"Hm?"

"Please take all 5 gold crowns as payment for the fruit slime."

"Excuse me? … I, well, I cannot possibly accept this."

"Nonsense. You are a master craftsman. It's horrific for me to even consider paying you anything less than what your skill is worth. I insist. 5 gold crowns. Please."

Roland's mouth widened, despite his many years of etiquette training.

A moment later … a strange noise gurgled from his throat as he watched the woman happily skipping away. Whatever her mission was, she'd seemingly forgotten it in light of the clay fruit slime figurine she'd purchased.

Roland gazed forlornly down at his palms, at the 5 gold crowns accidentally donated to the kingdom's treasury by a member of a foreign intelligence organisation.

Then … he let out a sigh of relief.

Not only that he'd preserved his identity, but also that those he'd still followed throughout the horrifying interaction were no more. The diplomats and their minders had quietly dispersed, their order of business and treachery done for the day.

The worst case scenario had not happened.

Not here. Not yet.

Those involved in today's clandestine meetings were none of his own. But Roland knew it was only a brief respite.

Soon, his lords, his soldiers … even his own knights would be approached by a whisper in the dark. A pouch of coins when the purse feels lightest.

Just like how it was elsewhere.

The contents of the letter he received from Renise concerning Hartzwiese were not entirely unexpected, but they were deeply unappreciated. The news of Baroness Arisa Sandholt's tryst with the criminal syndicates of Granholtz had caused him to lose so much sleep that his guards had to prevent the castle physician from magically sedating him.

Roland was sad he didn't succeed.

However … if there was any joy to be had, it was that he'd been saved once again.

He was not alone in his endeavours.

Rose House was paying dividends. They could not yet compete with the career liars of other nations, but Renise was nothing if not dependable. Especially in her inventiveness.

In many ways, she was less like a smuggler and more an adventurer.

And so that brought about his next order of business.

Matters of patronage.

Allowing a nod of satisfaction at the emptied state of his stall, Roland left the market district behind–as well as approximately half of his subtlety.

By the time he arrived at the Adventurer's Guild, more than a few glances were spared his way.

His hood was slightly angled, deliberately revealing the very tip of his chin. More than enough for those who claimed Reitzlake's guild hall as their own.

And for their part, they welcomed him with the closest thing adventurers could to discretion.

It was widely known that the Crown Prince favoured the Adventurer's Guild. A rumour he was more than happy to sow. Long before Rose House came to be, he'd sought the aid of the Adventurer's Guild in the few matters where a wall of lances couldn't suffice.

Even now, he wouldn't eschew their help. He needed it more than anyone else.

The gratitude he now wished to convey was proof of that.

"Good morning," he said, his voice strangely relaxed, as though instantly taken in by the raucous atmosphere. "My apologies for the sudden request, but would Mr. Quinsley happen to be available?"

Before him, the familiar receptionist offered a pleasant smile.

As always, she humoured his lackadaisical attempt at subtlety by not querying his name. And also not breaking into a blind panic. But Roland wouldn't expect anything else. Guild receptionists were famed for their professionalism.

All the more so if they'd been hired by Timon Quinsley.

A man of legendary repute, although few knew the true extent of his past.

Even after all these years, Roland still found himself visiting the guildmaster's office as often as he did while a little prince playing truant. The days of yearning to be an adventurer were over, but his appreciation for the guildmaster wasn't.

Especially as he'd yet to tattle regarding his indiscretion.

"Good morning," replied the receptionist, her nod the only courtesy to his status she would risk. "Regretfully, the guildmaster is away on an important errand. If the matter is urgent, I can attempt to relay a message."

Roland didn't allow his shoulders to sag. He was crestfallen, but unsurprised. He was hardly the only busy man in the kingdom, after all, and Timon Quinsley was likely the only person in Reitzlake whose door had seen out more people than his.

He shook his head.

"That won't be necessary. It is a simple matter of acknowledgement. Please convey, if you could, my deep appreciation for the guild's recent role in maintaining the peace in Hartzwiese. I am deeply grateful that the people there may continue to enjoy its bustling market free of worry."

"I will ensure Mr. Quinsley receives your message. I'm certain he will be deeply appreciative of your kind words."

Roland offered a princely smile.

And that was that.

With Mr. Quinsley absent and his message delivered, his short business was concluded.

Roland offered a nod towards the receptionist, then turned … and then continued turning, all the way until he was facing the still smiling receptionist once again.

"... Incidentally, I am told that a certain adventurer was instrumental in aiding Hartzwiese's fortunes. I believe it's the same one who was also responsible for subduing the Smuggler's Guild, as well as a host of other matters. A certain … Juliette, yes?"

"Yes, that is correct."

Roland chuckled … although not only from his sudden bout of good mood.

"My apologies, I confess I'm still not used to hearing that name spoken in the context of an adventurer. I've a younger sister by that name also. A sweet girl who is not prone to violence. I dare say she is quite unlikely to ever consider wearing the copper ring."

The receptionist stared.

Her smile and posture were both as fixed as her desk. Roland gave a cough.

A moment later, he retrieved a small item within his cloak and presented it to the receptionist. He hadn't been lying when he said he'd sold out of dragons for today. But he'd omitted that he was holding one in reserve, to provide as a token of his appreciation.

A figurine of an ancient green dragon.

In truth, he was more than a little embarrassed at the idea of presenting his own work as a gift. But it was earnestly made. And every adventurer possessed a deep seated admiration for all things dragons. He had no doubt this one was the same.

"It is a gift," said Roland, putting aside his embarrassment. "I had it purchased from a craftsman of apparent renown in the market. I'm told this is his finest work. If you could, please offer it to Miss Juliette as a fraction of my gratitude. Of course, there will be greater accolades once time and formality permits."

"I'll ensure Miss Juliette receives it. I'm certain she will be delighted."

The receptionist nodded. The professional smile warmed.

A hint of recognition was revealed. Roland snapped it up at once.

"... By any chance, I don't suppose you've had the pleasure of meeting this elusive adventurer yourself?"

"I have, yes. On several occasions."

The receptionist paused.

"... By accident."

"I ... I see? Then those accidents were quite fortunate. Try as I might, it seems I have as little luck offering my gratitude to this adventurer as I do Mr. Quinsley. Tell me, what is she like?"

For a moment, Roland received no reply.

Fearing at once that he'd asked this dutiful receptionist to overstep her bounds, he swiftly made to offer her an excuse.

Instead … he found the receptionist smiling more brightly than ever.

"Miss Juliette is deeply virtuous. I believe she exhibits all the qualities of an ideal adventurer. Her heart is matched only by the strength of her sword. I've no doubt that come even the deepest dark, she will continue to light the way ahead. And that she will do so while supporting the kingdom in every manner that she can."

Roland offered a genuine smile as the dragon was carefully received by the receptionist.

It wasn't often he allowed the hard gaze expected of a Crown Prince to fall. But for the adventurer who had chosen his kingdom to make a name for herself, he would offer as many as could be gleaned.

Especially as each time her name was uttered, he was reminded of a different warmth.

One of family. And of memories.

Roland couldn't help but chuckle as he thought of his sister, whose innocence was ever the flame which kept the cold at bay. So long as he was Crown Prince, he would work hard to ensure it would never fade.

Fortunately, that dark day had yet to pass.

The Royal Capital was calm. At least for another day.

And while he didn't know what Juliette was doing right now, he had no doubt she was relaxing with a joyful smile upon her face.
 
Chapter 321: Open For Business
"W-W-What is this … ?!"

My mouth widened at the scene before me.

Creeping over the horizon, the town of Marinsgarde made itself known by the flash of its brightly coloured rooftops.

Borrowing directly from the Kingdom of Lissoine, its many chimneys were decorated with shop signs, compasses and clocks, allowing those looking on from afar to glean which businesses to peruse first.

To see Marinsgarde glinting beneath the spring sunshine was a cue for celebration. After all, it meant I would soon be admiring its many fashionable windows filled with overpriced curiosities the Royal Villa's stewards would never recall purchasing.

Normally, that is.

Because currently, there was a problem.

That wasn't unusual, of course. There was always a problem. If it wasn't something exploding, it was something about to explode.

However …

Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Of all the horrors I'd survived, all the inn meals I'd forgotten eating and all the places I'd witnessed turning into a ball of billowing flames, nothing had ever compared to this.

Yes.

I was currently experiencing my greatest hardship yet.

Because as Apple bore me along the cobbled road, I saw little of the town's famed textile industry at work, nor the gruelling sweat of those managing it.

All around me, the fields outside Marinsgarde were empty of the farmers regretting their life decision of being born a peasant and not a princess. Only a scattering of daisies remained to colour the fields, the bright petals swaying merrily against a faint breeze.

After all—

The flocks of sheep which usually devoured them were no longer in the fields.

They were on the road instead.

Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Tiny lambs. Big lambs. And lambs so big they were actually just normal sized ewes.

The sound was overbearing. The smell even more so.

However, wherever I turned my nose in search of freedom, I only found them looking back at me instead … often via their head bumping directly into my leg.

A veritable horde of livestock hopping, grazing and attacking me at their pleasure, all the while their fluffy coats remained waiting to be sheared.

Apple did his best to escape the bedlam.

He trotted along without pause. And yet they simply trotted along with him. Like ducklings to a very shaggy maned mother, the flock gathered around my noble steed.

And that meant they gathered around me as well.

"Shoo, shoo!"

I desperately waved away my assailants.

It was like waving away my suitors in a soirée. One would leave, but another would come. All without invitation. Left, right, behind and in front, they disregarded my personal space as much as any notion of shame.

Naturally, I was horrified.

To succumb to the baying of a mob was the greatest fear of all princesses. But it was all the greater if I wasn't even the sole target. An enterprising and far too optimistic lamb bit upon the designated pastry bag, sensing the buttery goods waiting within. I shooed it away with both hands.

And then the next. The next. And then more next.

After a while, I threw up my beleaguered arms in exasperation instead.

It was just as effective.

"W-Why are there so many sheep here … ?!"

"Uwaaah~"

Beside me, I was answered by the strangest cry so far.

Coppelia, to my horror, was being lost amidst a surge of sheep.

I'd seen her face fire and darkness, madness and magic, yet against the unrelenting onslaught of livestock, her strength and dexterity were no match.

Especially as she appeared to be inviting them with a bundle of grass in her hand.

"Heheheheheh ... that's right, eat well ... the Coppelia de Restaurant is always open~"

I pursed my lips.

Yes.

They continued gathering around her … even when they perhaps shouldn't.

"C-Coppelia! We are under assault … by farm animals … w-what should we do?"

"Hmm … I guess give up?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Well, there's too many. Sometimes, you just have to accept fate. Warm bundles of fluffy fate. Hey, have you tried petting them?"

"I … I most certainly have not! Why would I do that?!"

"Because it feels amazing. Look, look! The fluffiness! You can't even see my hands!"

"Please, Coppelia." I sat up straighter, all the while accidentally brushing against a lamb as I shooed it away. Over and over again. "I am a princess. I cannot touch livestock. Why, that would be not only deeply appropriate, but also highly … w-why, is it so soft?!"

"I know, right?!"

To my shock, the wool I was mysteriously poking was beyond anything I'd ever felt.

It was both fine and springy. Like a mattress demanding to be hopped upon.

This … This was unprecedented!

Why, even the silk I imported from the Summer Kingdoms failed to compare to the lushness of the lamb I was accidentally petting! And yet if such a fabric was available in my own kingdom, I surely would have known?

My mind spun with questions.

Was this the true quality of wool before it was sheared? Transported? Or perhaps before it was even spun into yarn? Clearly, a stage in the process was lacking. The raw ingredient certainly wasn't.

If … If this could be solved, then so could half of my imports being lost to banditry!

A moment later, I was leaning towards each lamb, carefully assessing their coats while marking them by the shape of their ears and the curliness of their tails.

Indeed, this one here could be made into a fine pillow stuffing ... and this one was also sufficient as a thick duvet … while this one was perhaps appropriate as an autumn scarf or a … no, wait!

"Shoo, shoo, shoo!!"

Fearing for my standing, I straightened my back while attempting to nudge the horde away. It made as much of a dent as huffing at the clouds.

Then, I let out a tiny groan as I simply accepted my place in this world.

A princess beloved by even nature's children.

As inappropriate as it was for every animal to bump into my ankles, it was only natural that my aura of kindness drew all towards me. Just as the hands of my subjects wished to illegally steal a touch of my person, so too did the noses of my kingdom's sheep.

Yes … even if most of their attention seemed to be where the croissants were.

"I never knew your tiny kingdom had such a big petting zoo," said Coppelia, giggling as she poked away the most aggressive of the lambs from the pastry bag. "How come you don't advertise this more?"

"Firstly, my kingdom is not tiny. It is as wide as the horizon currently blocked by a wall of sheep. Secondly, there is nothing to advertise. This is not a tourist attraction."

"You're right. This is better than that. Even in Ouzelia, there's usually only one sheep to distract each group of smelly children. Here, they get an entire flock each!"

"Nobody gets a flock. Not even to distract children, worthy as that cause is. This is a prized example of my kingdom's textile industry. And now it's simply … marauding at will."

Coppelia hummed, all the while helping me inspect the best future pillows.

"Okay, well, I'll put my hand up. I didn't know your standards were so high. By letting your sheep rob travellers, you make sure they eat a variety of food and gain a whole bunch of life experience. I'm sure that translates into super fluffy wool."

"Please, Coppelia. That's just silly. Given the standard of most travellers, the quality of the wool would only decrease."

"... Soooo, you're not against your sheep robbing people in principle?"

"I'm against my sheep robbing anyone I don't explicitly point at. Frankly, this is appalling. It's one thing to be waylaid by brigands, but sheep is another matter entirely … just where are my farmers?"

Indeed, no matter where I looked, I saw no hint of a bedraggled peasant.

Those tasked with managing this flock were as absent as the bales of hay they were usually found in. While I regularly spied my farmers napping in the fields, I could equally rely on Apple's snorting to ensure their lazing came to an end.

Now even that option was missing. And I already suspected why.

My thoughts turned to the looting I'd seen.

Of the audaciousness which surely went beyond desecrating a single tomb.

Indeed, if goblins lacked the tactfulness to at least empty a tomb during appropriate nighttime hours, then I had no doubt their mischief extended far beyond it.

Had they now caused my farmers to flee into hiding? Their boldness was beyond anything I'd seen since the signing of the treaties. Given their numbers, it would be little surprise if all the fields, farmsteads and barns were now emptied of my slacking peasants.

Even so, to abandon their flocks so close to the town was beyond any explanation I could fathom.

Indeed … something was terribly amiss!

I could sense it like my mother in a suspiciously good mood. Except now I had no window to escape through. My only path was ahead. And now it was flooded with livestock which had no right to be here.

With a deep breath, I turned my gaze towards Marinsgarde in the near distance.

The decorations upon the rooftops and chimneys no longer seemed to gleam. The faint breeze which tousled my hair seemed to cease. A sudden stillness pervaded the air, as though a dire panther in the dark was holding its breath, waiting to spring upon us.

Thus, I offered a smile.

"Ohohoho … how poor."

"Hmm~?"

"Something foul is afoot. I can smell it like an ill omen in the air."

"Really? Are you sure that's not the sheep?"

"... No, but regardless, our adversaries have overplayed their hand. And that's wonderful. To line the road with goblins and empty fields is a warning only those who cower from fruit slimes heed. There's such a thing as too much. Whatever awaits us, we must be ready to roundly disparage it at a moment's notice."

"Okie~"

Coppelia offered a lazy smile.

I nodded. The exact sort of lax response I wanted.

Thus, I tugged on Apple's reins. And with the sound of his fearless trots, the humming of my loyal handmaiden and the bleating of sheep as my accompaniment, I wore a dignified smile as Marinsgarde neared.

Unlike many of the larger settlements of my kingdom, almost nothing of its walls could be easily seen. With the Wisenlait Gate so close and little threat from our northern neighbour, they'd been eclipsed by the ever expanding list of shops hoping to monopolise the high street into the town centre.

A curiously ribbon-like town, as famous for its many patisseries as the only St. Liane workshop to exist outside the Royal Capital.

Although it did not boast the economic importance of Trierport or the industrial strength of Stermondt, there was much to admire about its adherence to fashionability.

That's why ... even before Apple's trots had stepped beyond the entrance of the town, we were greeted by an abundance of stalls.

Wooden signs rose high overhead as a fanfare of colour, each seeking to block each other out as much as the litany of rival storefronts. A welcoming committee of merchants competed for our attention. And while the colours of the awning were all different, the enterprising nature of those who worked beneath them were each the same.

A sight like any other.

Except for one thing.

There wasn't a single smile to be had.

Which made sense.

After all, the customers were not smiling, either. Nor were they particularly talkative.

Rather … they seemed more than happy to simply point for what they desired.

My jaw dropped at the sight. Yet as I read the wooden signs staked before the nearest stalls, it somehow dropped even further.


Cutlasses, falchions and scimitars! We have every type of sword at the Stolen Armoury! Buy one sword, get one dagger free now!

Rags & Bags! 50% opening sale! Get your finest scrap clothing and loot sacks, satchels and plunder bags of all sizes!

The Cave Fig Smoothie Company is now open for business! All figs freshly harvested from the dampest caves!



The Green Bazaar is open all day and night! Trade, buy back and purchase second hand loot at the best prices today!

GOBLIN HATS. I'M SELLING GOBLIN HATS.


Yes.

They were all goblins.

Buyers, traders and those who could alternate at the drop of a goblin hat.

More numerous than the sheep grazing at the weeds, goblins filled the entrance of Marinsgarde, their noses wrinkling in tandem as they examined the wares on display or placed new ones down instead.

Of the many fashionable cafés, bakeries and boutiques, nothing could be seen amidst a plethora of hastily built stalls and makeshift storefronts.

Soon, a goblin walked up before me.

He wrinkled his nose as my mouth failed to close, then pointed at the flock of sheep before holding up a pouch of coins. He shook it twice.

Coppelia looked at me, waved her hand in front of my face, then slowly plucked the pouch from the goblin's palm while nodding.

A moment later—

I threw up my arms in utter grief.

"... Why is my town a goblin marketplace?!"
 
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