The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer
Chapter 398: Act One

A witchly village frozen in time.

I was almost impressed.

Even the Royal Institute of Mages had yet to accomplish anything as curious as this. All they could do was summon black holes in the sky. And sometimes camembert upon my father’s request. 

Nobody quite knew where they came from … just like nobody knew how these witches had conjured themselves into their current predicament.

Beneath a fading evening, I was greeted with a sight worthy of their reputation.

There were teapot houses, gardens with more moss than a goblin smoothie, and gnarled oaks which didn’t try to break my ankles. Each was something stranger than the last. And yet what wasn’t strange was the lack of welcome.

Here in this tiny village, there were more intruders than there were residents.

Squirrels, badgers and even the odd fruit slime took the opportunity to reclaim what had once been theirs, scurrying or bouncing between the overgrown gardens. How any of the delicate hydrangeas survived was a puzzle, but not as much as the witches tending to them. 

Despite the smiles they wore as they eternally watered their herbs and their potted plants, it was clear that only anxiousness for their fates could be seen in their eyes. 

Unmoving and unspeaking, they were even helpless to the tickling bump of a fruit slime. 

If the squirrels decided to use them as a scratching post, there would be nothing left to mourn.

Thus, seeing the inhabitants at the mercy of the local fauna, I did what I had to.

“Hm hm hm hm hmm ♫.”

Pausing beside a witch drawing water from a well, I leaned down and carefully plucked the little purse of crowns by her waist, then dropped it into my bottomless pouch.

Ohohohoohohohohoho!!

Indeed, as a princess, I could not permit the innocent to needlessly suffer! … And since nobody was as innocent as a princess, that meant I had to seize the opportunity to do what would certainly be more cumbersome once every witch could complain!

Yes … taxing the village!

“... I found more stuff!”

Emerging from a circle of gossiping witches, my loyal handmaiden held an armful of potions. 

While they didn’t clink like the promise of crowns, the concerning colour they gave off spoke of their value to either apothecaries or goblins. 

I leaned away slightly, all the while offering a bright smile. 

“Ohohoho! … Well done, Coppelia! Make sure to thoroughly search every witch! Whatever undeclared valuables they wish to hide, we must properly appraise!” 

“Woooooooooooo! Requisitioning is so fun!”

“Very true, but this isn’t requisitioning.”

“Ooh, really? So we’re just going to call it looting?”

I gasped at the insinuation.

“Coppelia! This is not looting!”

My accomplice looked between my slightly bulkier bottomless bag, the slightly lighter witches, and also the rare potions she was slowly emptying into her own pouch.

She then raised her arms and beamed.

“This is not looting!”

“Exactly. This is an official levy overdue by several centuries. And given how much they’ve squirreled away, they’ve clearly enjoyed prospering at the kingdom’s expense.”

Indeed, although this was only a cursory inspection, it was clear the witches had far more to offer.

A peek into any of the teapot windows never failed to reveal an emporium of apparatus, magical scrolls and books upon books waiting within. There were more in every home than the shelves could hold, and were instead overflowing from cabinets and cauldrons.

Frankly, it was little wonder why the witches were so secretive. There were nobility who would pay their weight in gold just to learn how to avoid my tax inspectors half as well as they did.

“Your witches are great!” said Coppelia, poking every pocket as we continued our tour. “Normally, they threaten to conjure a fruit slime onto your next dessert if you try to tax them. These ones haven’t complained once!”

“Ohohoho … why, that’s only to be expected. They’re clearly so stunned by my presence that all thought to even greet us has abandoned them.” 

“Mmh~ although there’s also the crazy amount of magic in the air.” 

“Oh, is that magic? I thought it was just the badgers. I can practically feel the weight of their stares. You must stay vigilant.” 

“... Of the badgers? Or whoever induced magical stasis on an entire village of witches?”

“The badgers, of course. They’re clearly powerful enough to defeat whoever assailed the witches. But I expect nothing less. If badgers can return to my orchard after I gently shoo them away, then no magic is enough to stop their wish for wanton destruction.”

Coppelia giggled. 

I hardly saw why. The only reason they hadn’t already consumed everything was because they’d been satiated elsewhere. Likely on my petunias.

“For wanton destruction, it doesn’t look too bad. I’ve visited a bunch of witchly villages, but this is the first that still has teapot houses. That’s really old fashioned.”

“Yes, well, this is a kingdom which values traditions. Even as hermits, it’s only natural that the local witches respect the image chiselled by their forebears. I also find it quaint.” 

“Mmh, me too! The countryside look suits your kingdom really well!”

“Hm? What do you mean by ‘the countryside look’ … ?”

“I mean that the reason teapot homes don’t exist in other kingdoms anymore is because the witches have moved to the towns and cities. And once you realise that a square gives more volume than a teapot, there’s no going back. Being a witch is just another shade of mage, after all. I like that! Your witches still keep to their rustic ideals.”

I covered my mouth.

“R-Rustic … ?!”

“Great, huh?” 

“No, that is awful! I thought this was how all witchly villages were … but you’re saying they’re provincial? Why, if they knew how wonderful and modern my kingdom’s towns and cities are, they’d never have resorted to hiding away their wealth!”

“I think in terms of population density, only your capital counts as a city.”

“Exactly. The vastness of my kingdom is beyond definition. It’s the only reason they’ve been left behind … but since they have, I can at least make use of it. Perhaps by selling packaged tours through their village.”

Indeed! 

I could do little for their way of life, but I could at least bring them up to modern productivity!

I just needed to fix a few things first. 

Their dress sense most of all. 

Despite their teapot homes, the residents didn’t even remotely look like witches. They wore frumpy clothing made for comfort, adorned with aprons and the occasional scarf.

In fact … there was only a single exception.

A woman holding a broomstick, wearing a wide brimmed hat impractical enough to impede movement and dark robes sewn with a starry sky. A far more traditional appearance compromised only by the fact that she looked like she’d just been wildly sprinting.

The sweat drenching her brows glistened beneath the fading sunlight.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

I paused, then narrowed my eyes as I looked at her. 

There was something almost familiar about this one. How odd. Perhaps there were witches among the noblewoman at my mandatory tea parties. It would explain the many times the shortcakes vanished despite nobody other than myself eating them.

“Tourism never works with witches,” said Coppelia, the sagely shake of her head drawing my attention again. “People think they want to experience riding on a broomstick. But once they do, they just end up suffering lifelong trauma and fearing the sight of the sky.”

“Well, as long as they pay, I hardly see the problem.”

“I think the problem is that everybody starts blaming the witches. And then next thing you know, they’ve disappeared for another 500 years.”

I groaned at the thought.

If that happened, it meant I’d need to tax them again.

“You have something even better, though,” added Coppelia. “Witches are great at the whole forbidden book thing. I bet there’s at least a few highly destructive grimoires mixed with the tomes of brownie recipes around here. You can sell them to the big guy!”

“... Really? How much for?”

“Loads. That’s what the hoard is for. And if Fleur ever stops being bonked on the head for trying to get him to take over the world, I’m sure she’ll make sure you get a freebie from the souvenir shop too.” 

I blinked.

And then–

“Ohohohoho! My, that’s an excellent idea! I can be rid of the future culprits who’ll drag me out of bed with a calamity and extort your dragon in the process! … In which case, I’ll need to thoroughly appraise the value of every grimoire!”

Coppelia, star employee that she was, merely giggled at the thought.

“I think that’ll be hard. Not a lot of people outside of dragons know how to value forbidden books. And the big guy will definitely try to pay as little of the loads as possible.” 

I hummed.

“... In that case, what about her?”

“Yep! She’d probably know how much everything is worth.”

Deciding not to ignore the most obvious feature of this tiny village any longer, Coppelia and I turned our eyes towards its very centre.

There, clearly at odds with the rest of the village, was a raised wooden stage.

Theatre Of Joy

Despite the sign before it, it was less a theatre and more the corner where penniless bards went to drown in their sorrows. 

It was a modest affair to say the least.

A few props had been arrayed in the backdrop. Cutouts of apple trees and flowers stood behind a small white table adorned with teacups and plates of cake. 

Around it were several chairs.

All were empty, save for a child whose appearance was as innocent as a meadow in springtime.

A circlet of flowers sat upon her golden hair, while her blue dress could have substituted for an apron. 

As she quietly sat, she defied the motionless state of those nearby, taking sips of her teacup while requiring both hands to lift it. A childish gesture which would have every grandmother battling to answer her every whim.

Except mine, of course.

She would have identified the posture as being poor etiquette, and then also chastised her for the slightly shaking smile. After all, just because the child was being left to continuously hold a teacup while her guests blatantly ignored her was no excuse to allow appearances to fail.

“Wow,” said Coppelia. “It’s amazing how long she can just sit there and wait for us.” 

“Really? I find it unsurprising. Those who have arranged themselves to sit with an air of mystique have already committed. There is no going back.”

“How do you think she keeps refilling her teacup?”

“She doesn’t. She’s only pretending to sip. You can tell from the angle of the tilt.”

“Ooh, you’re right! … You think if we leave and come back she’ll still be there?” 

“Yes. I’m tempted to see how long that will be.”

“She needs to use the restroom eventually, right? We can go up to her when she wants to leave.”

“Now that’s just cruel. To purposefully wait until the exact moment the teapot she’s drunken decides to punish her is something not even the worst of nobility deserve.” 

“What about a little human girl who has less than a 0.015% chance of actually being a child?”

“Even then. There are some things which are truly taboo. No, for our host, she may have something less severe. Obviously, we cannot simply approach. In order to upend whatever carefully staged choreography she has prepared, we first need the slightest edge to throw her off balance. A minor advantage to aid us in the discussion to come.”

Coppelia pointed at a stack of unused chairs nearby.

“... What if I throw a chair at her?” she asked, her turquoise eyes blinking innocently.

I gasped.

“That’s an awful suggestion! To begin diplomacy by throwing a chair at the other party is beyond all reasonable expectation! The utter contempt for etiquette is enough to cause teacups to shatter in protest! That isn’t just offensive–it’s utterly demeaning!”

Coppelia nodded.

I nodded.

A moment later–

“[Coppelia Throw]!”