The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

Ophelia made no noise as she skipped across the snowy floor.

It would have been the same were she sprinting across a pebbly beach or barren wastelands. Her footfalls betrayed no sound. Even the snow fawns that inhabited the Frozen Palace failed to turn their heads, those unnaturally keen ears of theirs remaining low and bent as they feasted on the yuleberries which grew along the edge of the corridors.

Beneath the crystalline roof of the Winter Court's palace, Ophelia was a shadow in the darkness. Her silver hair and pale skin invisible among the backdrop of faint violets and whites which decorated these walls.

Neither sun nor moon rose in the fae's homeland. And yet outside the windows, night and day interwove above the horizon, permanently dousing the domain of the first children in a beautiful cascade of colours that imprisoned any unlucky wanderer with its otherworldly majesty.

The Winter Court's realm was beautiful. But to die a slow death of starvation and dehydration while mesmerised was not.

That wasn't an issue Ophelia faced.

She appreciated beauty. That's why she paused whenever her reflection appeared in the snowy floor or the shining mirrors. But she was never one for sightseeing. As she passed the windows, all that caught her attention were the snow fawns. She wanted to pet them. To stroke them. And maybe eat them.

And that was as far as her intoxication with the Winter Court went.

She was elven. And her race was immune to the wonders of the Fae Realm.

Infiltrating the home of the fae required someone whose strength of will could overcome the magical wonders which littered this land. Or barring that, an elf. And among all elves, one needed to be chosen who wouldn't screw up the job by going on a murdering vengeance spree in the name of their ancestors.

As she danced across the snow, Ophelia knew that her brothers and sisters would give both hands to be where she was now, lunatics that they were. They'd even start chopping off each other's hands as well. And not because it was in any way required.

Elves were, in Ophelia's opinion, some of the most violent people in existence. They loved their trees and cute bunnies. But that didn't mean they were friendlier.

It just meant they valued everything else a lot less.

Especially fae.

Ophelia was a rarity. She held no ill regards towards those who'd kicked out her ancestors. She was reasonable and fair. There were no grudges to be settled against those she'd never met before. That was how wars started. And no one wanted war.

Well, except elves.

Somewhere far up the family tree, her relatives had once been inhabitants of this plane. But that was a long time ago. Now they were travellers and wanderers among the younger races. But they weren't hungry or pitiful. The elven clans trumpeted their skill at craftsmanship from the Principalities all the way to Ouzelia.

Ophelia didn't understand why. For all their wealth, the elven clans were still nomads.

Maybe it was because they never accepted they were homeless.

To her people, their home was and always will be within the Fae Realm. That storied land of magic and wonders, where dreams and reality meshed to form a world of warmth—even within the Winter Court's domain of ice and snow.

To return here was the wish of all her kind.

Except Ophelia.

She lived in the Duchy of Aquina. A lifestyle choice she enjoyed greatly. Out of the three dukedoms under the purview of the Kingdom of Tirea, Aquina boasted the nicest cottages.

And among those, hers was the best.

A wide fireplace. A sunlit kitchen. A springy bed. Her own garden. And a pond with two ducks.

True, she hadn't seen all the cottages in Aquina or Tirea. But she didn't need to. Hers elicited comfort just by the thought of it. She was fond of her home, and held no ill regard towards the fae. They may have kicked out her forebears, but they never kicked her out of her cottage. Why did she care about a fancy sky? She just wanted her pond. And her two ducks.

That's why she was selected for this task.

It definitely wasn't because Ophelia was the only one available. So what if all the other elves had families? She could have a family any time she wanted. She just had other priorities. She liked her work. Why should she feel guilty over that?

Yes, she could settle down any time she wanted. The fact that she'd never been in a relationship before? Irrelevant. She had a good job and she was beautiful. She could afford to be picky. She could afford to take her time.

Lots and lots and lots of time.

Hiding beneath the bough of a crystalline tree growing from the wall, Ophelia edged towards the end of the corridor and stole a peek around the corner.

A pair of fae were present, stoically performing their duties as they stood watch outside a door, enchanted halberds in hand and handsome, super glowy eyes on. How could she tell that their eyes were handsome when they all glowed the same amount? She just could. She had a thing for eyes. Especially blue. That was her colour. And she considered herself both beautiful and handsome.

Still, she didn't introduce herself straight away. These weren't just royal guard. They were royal guard who were actually guarding something important. That meant they were serious business. And that intrigued her.

Ophelia knew by now that a position as a high ranking guard actually meant very little. The people she'd seen elevated to protecting Aquina's court. They were decoration who wouldn't be able to stop a kitchen mouse, much less an armed intruder.

No, those in the know only looked at the servants carrying far too few cups. And that's why Ophelia always requested exorbitant amounts of wine when she visited any court. It wasn't because she was an alcoholic. No, it was prudence. Those that didn't try to get her smashed out of her head? Dangerous people.

But royal guard who actually guarded stuff—now, those were dangerous.

And also acceptably handsome.

Ophelia pursed her lips.

She could have a family any time. What exactly did her colleagues mean when they said she was unapproachable? She was incredibly open and friendly. In fact, she was so open and friendly that she could even make a fae fall head over heels for her.

Yes, that's right!

Fae, the enemy of all elves.

That even her mother was bothering her about her relationship problems, or rather, her lack of them was ridiculous. She could still hear the chiding. It was exasperating. Ophelia could have anyone she set her eyes on. And to prove it, she'd come back with undeniable proof that it wasn't her.

It was everyone else.

That's right! She knew exactly how to play the part of the courtesan. She'd seen them all the time, acting as shadows to the rich and the powerful. Their sly smiles and subtle gestures? The coy twisting of the hair? The aura of confidence and intelligence?

Easy.

“Hello there,” she whispered to herself, reciting the many ploys she'd planned for this exact moment. “I never believed in love at first sight, but then I saw you … both of you. No, wait, that'll never work … if you two were fruit slimes, I'd be your watermelon … no, that's ridiculous, and also a bit … yeah ...”

Ophelia quietly groaned as she went through the thousands of pick-up lines she'd memorised over her lifetime of loneliness. She couldn't mess this up. In one swift act, she could go from Miss Alone-In-Her-Cottage to Femme Fatale in a single act of daring do.

And then she had to remind herself that this wasn't why she was hired.

It was to steal the most treasured artifact of the Winter Court.

But then again, why should theft and romance be mutually exclusive?

This was a rare chance to not only steal what was behind that door, but also the hearts of those guarding it. The look on her mother's face when she succeeded without her endless advice. It would make everything worth it.

Ophelia lightly clapped her cheeks, refreshing her mind as she prepared to take the leap. True, she wasn't looking for a partner, but if she could bag a handsome fae, or even better, a pair of handsome fae to bring back with her, she'd be the talk of the town. Never again would the town aunties gossip about the strange elf speaking to herself in the dead of night. She'd be respected. Envied.

Deciding to take the plunge, Ophelia began Operation: No Longer Alone.

She swept around the corner with a flick of her hair. Her brightest smile and widest eyes were on display as she sought to convey confidence, but also clumsiness. Two qualities that Cosmos Monthly insisted were the correct ingredients to winning endearment in the harsh court of first impressions.

“Good … Good morning! Or is it afternoon? Evening? Well, actually, I don't really know what time it is. I'm, well, you can probably tell, I'm a bit lost and wondering if either of you gentlemen could help me? I'm … I'm looking for a map … since the reason I'm lost is that I'm lost in your eyes … yes, both of yours ...”

Ophelia shook as she waited for the condemnation to arrive. And maybe vomit.

Instead, all she received were blank stares.

For a moment, she felt her mental state shatter. And then she realised that the eyes weren't judging her. They weren't judging anything.

“Ah.”

Finally, she noticed she was speaking to a pair of heads rolling on the snowy floor.

Ophelia glanced down at the sword drawn in her hand. And then she let out a groan.

Now that she thought about it, this was the 19th and 20th potential star crossed lover she'd killed today, wasn't it? Had she accidentally murdered her soulmate? How was she supposed to bring back a tale of forbidden romance between elf and fae if she removed their ability to even let her know if they were married or not?

With a huff, she booted one of the heads away, then drew the lockpick from her hair.

“Love is overrated, anyway,” she said to all the disappointed faces in her mind. “I can live my own life. Yes, I like my work. But why is that an issue? I'm a modern elf.”

For a moment, Ophelia glanced at one of the heads on the floor. The glow in their eyes diminished with each passing moment like snow melting in the sun. She received no answer … and yet she couldn't help but feel that her words were being scoffed at.

She booted the offending head away. She thought about setting it on fire as well, but that'd be immoral. And probably illegal.

Ophelia was nothing if not law abiding.

Why, she was killing and trespassing on behalf of her homeland. If that wasn't being a model citizen, then what was?

Thus, she drew the lockpick out of her silver hair and proceeded to go about her next lawful task. More breaking and entering. And probably killing, too.

Her deft hands was another reason other than availability for why Ophelia was chosen for this task. Aside from being fleet footed, she was handy with a lockpick—among other things she carried on her. She relied on her blade, but not at the expense of everything else.

Ophelia learned from a young age that as versatile as a sword was, it could not solve every problem.

Only most.

And none of them regarding how to get her mother off her back about not settling down yet. But maybe that'd change today.

She just needed to not kill the next eligible bachelor she saw.

And maybe hope they didn't kill her, either. But that was very unlikely.

Because Ophelia the Snow Dancer, the pride of the Duchy of Aquina, owner of a cottage with two ducks and perpetually single, was an A-rank elven sword saint.

And she was very hard to kill.