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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/kayenano on 2024-04-10 03:34:00.
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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she’s left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette’s swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom’s finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 224: Tavern Brawl
No bellow of laughter met my ears.
Gone was the comforting sound of hoodlums at rest, desecrating a corner of a bar instead of a corner of my fields. I heard no tuneless bard monopolising the disappointment of drunkards and no splintering of chairs as peasants directed their fists upon themselves and not against my kingdom.
Instead … all I heard was the din of duplicity.
A muffled sound creeping from the tavern, no different than the movement of burglars in the night.
And then–
Bwam.
It was joined by the crash of a door bursting open.
Hinges groaned as a result of the lightest touch Apple’s head could offer. And then he promptly entered, his measured trots echoing against the wooden floorboards like the butt of a reaper’s scythe.
Behind me, the last gasp of evening poured past my silhouette.
A window of scarlet stretched over shocked faces which shuttered windows had sought to conceal, and yet any warmth was made cold again by the reaching shadow I cast atop from atop Apple’s back. Dimly lit candles leaning from walls hushed to my coming, retreating where hoodlums didn’t.
As the door creaked to a close, only the embers of a dying hearth lit the room, revealing open mouths and eyes almost just as wide.
Left, right and centre, I saw the finest louts any freshly requisitioned tavern could boast. A common room filled with knaves adorned in rags, their ill-intent matching the foulness of their odour.
Hands came to a stop as they were caught with everything the tavern had to offer.
Crates of wine bottles, clinking to Apple’s steps. Kegs hoisted to chests, still with their leaking taps attached. Cutlery, tableware and even the cloth used to wipe them. If it could be carried, it was done by the armful.
And if it couldn’t, it was simply rolled across the floor.
A barrel came to a stop against an oaken table, itself being hoisted between a pair of stunned louts. They watched as Apple bore me past, frozen in their disbelief that a princess would ever sully herself with their presence.
Even so, their astonishment was little compared to my own.
I was appalled.
Indeed, this tavern wasn’t merely closed! It was being stripped bare!
And these hooligans … they were utterly useless at it!
Why were they rolling kegs while these permanently stained tables had yet to be removed? Why were they spending time dodging scattered chairs instead of tearing them away? And why was the floor absolutely littered with unretrieved bottles and steins?
The utter gall!
I expected nothing of ruffians, but I at least assumed they knew how to ransack a simple tavern!
Naturally, since this watering hole was being requisitioned, changes would be wholesale. And this meant everything including the wallpaper had to go–something these charlatans hadn’t even touched yet, let alone the candle wax somehow melted upon it!
Ugh. The absolute state of my kingdom’s looters.
Unless it was a royal tomb, I couldn’t rely on them to even pick their own pockets.
Having seen all I needed, I tugged on Apple’s reins, bringing him to a halt just before the bar.
It’d been swiped clean, all its contents now stacked in a pile beside the only hoodlum to boast rags in the shape of a tax inspector’s uniform.
The leader of these failed vandals.
I noted the inconsistencies at once. The patches of underlying colour beneath the black. The flimsy collar lacking the rigidity to be used as an emergency weapon. The boots with soles far too thin to echo across all surfaces no matter the texture.
But most of all, I noted the utter look of bewilderment upon the man’s face.
Unworthy of more than a glance. Our tax inspectors were practically handpicked by my family. For one not to recognise my regal aura was testament to his fraudulent nature.
Thus–
I idly peered around me instead.
“Salutations, gentlemen. And what exactly do we have here? I see greater organisation in a goblin’s laundry pile. Has a sense of urgency not been discovered in the countryside? Or does that come after you’ve finished spilling my newly seized assets beneath the floorboards?”
I gestured for an answer to shoot past my ears.
Nothing came. And so I pointed at the stack of crates which would need their contents returned.
“Why have the beverages been removed first while the furniture still remains? These are the only things which don’t need to go. The peasants can do without seating, but what will they use to reconcile themselves with their life of inescapable poverty? Your apologies, perhaps? There is a mob of rapidly sobering peasants outside. And when they realise in a brief flash of epiphany that their time could be better spent supplanting their rulers instead of feeding them, chaos and anarchy will reign. How do you intend to escape when you can scarcely walk without stumbling over your own feet?”
I waited.
Silence as heavy as the dourness of the curtains fell over the tavern. Naturally, they’d need to go as well.
And then–
“Bwahahaahahahahah!!”
“Oh gods, I thought it was just me! Someone’s actually ridden a horse straight into a tavern!”
“Oi, we need to make the sign bigger! The drunks are still coming in!”
“Gwahahhaha! Better bring one of the kegs back! We don’t know what this one will do otherwise!”
The tavern echoed with a chorus of mocking laughter.
As though its patrons had never departed, the noise rose as a crescendo of derisive glee. Hands slapped against thighs and boots stomped against the floor. The mirth shook the ageing, wooden beams until even trails of dust came spiralling down.
My mouth widened in outrage.
How … How dare they laugh at Apple!!
“Ahaahaahahaha~”
“C-Coppelia?! Why are you laughing too?!”
Horrified that even my loyal handmaiden was succumbing to the loutish atmosphere, I focused my attention on the loudest source of insult. The lout masquerading as a tax inspector, his face now red as an overripe tomato.
“Bwahahaahhahahahahaha.”
I jabbed my finger directly towards his nose.
“You do not have permission to laugh! There are very few scenarios in which nameless goons are permitted to cackle! Why, you’ve neither a mysterious figure nor a weapon of doom before you! No, you are to properly prepare this tavern for refurbishment, restore the bar to full working order, and then direct me to whichever stained corner a lowly baroness seeks to hide herself in!”
The chorus of laughter faded at once.
Where there was the sound of rampant impropriety, there was now an appropriate silence.
“Tch.”
At least until a tongue clicked before me.
A disgraceful noise to direct towards a princess, worthy of more soap than could ever be mined. At least until I saw where the man’s bleak eyes were narrowed towards.
The copper ring around my finger.
I pursed my lips, withholding my unfair and partial sentencing. For now.
I could fault these ruffians for many things. Their odour especially. But not that.
“Well, well, what’d ya know? Not just a drunk, then. But a drunk adventurer.”
And then the pretender grinned, revealing a line of chipped teeth, freshly broken from the last tavern encounter he’d enjoyed.
A shift in atmosphere filled the air.
It was tangible. Like an errant child’s squirm of delight. And now a group of hoodlums revelling in chronicle inefficiency found their mirth replaced by a different joy. One of roguish opportunity as clear as the glint of a Reitzlake alley.
Somewhere, I heard the sound of knuckles cracking in the dark.
The man before me gave a sigh, donning an appearance of regret only less false than his uniform.
“Tough to be you, eh? Adventuring is a hard life. I know it. Even thought about doing it myself once. Problem is, when your job is being in the wrong place at the wrong time, that means you can’t even enjoy a drink in a tavern anymore.”
He waved his arm at the furniture yet to be replaced, then presented his chipped smile once again.
“Luckily for you, I’m better than that. So I’ll make it easy for you. Take a seat. Any seat. You can play it smart and sit it all out somewhere nice and warm until this all blows over. Or you can be dumb and find yourself at the bottom of a well. A fair offer. And better than any of these would allow.”
I covered my mouth with my hands.
I … I scarcely believe it.
This completely irrelevant henchman was … taunting me!
The absolute insult to social hierarchy!
These were all utterly nameless, bo…
Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1c09gw8/the_villainess_is_an_ss_rank_adventurer_chapter/
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