Coppelia and I walked through the delightful, open lanes of the merchant's quarter together. It was wonderful. But not because this part of the city was particularly noteworthy, despite what the residents desperately wished.
No, it was because it allowed me the opportunity to literally shake off the unnecessary amount of luggage that was weighing down my thoughts.
The Smugglers Guild? The Thieves Guild? Territorial control? Betrayals, kidnappings and assassinations? None of the many pages of crimes that the receptionist delivered to me mattered. They were clutter in my thoughts.
All that mattered is that they were a stain on society, and that its leaders were two men known as the Smuggler King and the Dancing Rat.
How I would find them was another matter. But I had no doubt that I would. They just had to join a queue that began with a murderous dryad in the merchant's quarter.
“Hmm, fancy~”
Coppelia hummed as she admired the wide menu of flora on display. She stopped before a hedge spotted with red berries, then began plucking them into her mouth one by one.
“Mmh, this tastes like luxury to me. Even the rain that falls here is slightly more upmarket. It has a velvety tang to it.”
“... Really?”
“No. It's actually shockingly sour. Do not recommend.”
I peered closely at the red berries.
“Coppelia, I believe these are poisonous.”
She stopped eating at once.
Then, after a few seconds, slowly reached out her hand and picked out another one and popped it in her mouth.
“Mmh. I think so too. Don't eat this stuff.”
I briefly closed my eyes, purposefully wiping any misplaced traces of concern I had for this girl in the interim.
“... Surely, there's a limit to what you consume? Not all things that sprout are edible. Even for a clockwork doll.”
“Wrong. Everything is edible. Some things just don't feel so great afterwards.”
Perhaps I should have stabled Coppelia alongside Apple.
I'd left him with a stable master near the city gates so that he could rest and eat something other than potted flowers. And seeing Coppelia eyeing the rhododendrons growing between a fence, I couldn't help but feel that doing the same with this clockwork doll would have been prudent.
Still, I wasn't sure if Coppelia truly ate flowers or if this was merely one of her more eccentric jests. I hadn't actually seen her eat one yet. And until I did, I could continue concerning myself with more important things.
Namely … why the fire bells were tolling.
Diiing … Diiiing …. Diiiing ...
It was a wild ringing that woke up the night.
Somewhere over the rooftops, I could see a scarlet hue tickling the night sky as though dawn was desperately reaching up to grab a star.
Fire was, of course, always a concern, particularly in the densely populated and closely packed streets of Reitzlake. However, these well-established fears combined with ready access to a very large pool of water meant I wasn't unduly concerned. Certainly no more than the residents of the merchant's quarter.
They came out in their nightwear, men and women making the minimum of preparing buckets while the curious eyes of children were allowed to marvel at the sky instead of being rushed back to the safety of their abodes.
“I wonder if our dryad will be as curious?” I said, looking pointedly at the scores of residents beginning to pour out of their homes.
Coppelia paid little attention to the fanfare. She was more concerned with … well, I wasn't sure what she was doing.
“The dryad will probably just yawn,” she said, sniffing the air. “You know, after draining so many victims. It's probably really full right now. Really, uncomfortably full. Even a fire won't wake someone from that kind of stupor.”
“It sounds like quite the wonderfully indulgent way of life. Fitting for a resident of the merchant's quarter.”
“And it has sour blackberries. I'm sure dryads enjoy them.”
“Is that so? ...” I pondered over how I could use this to my advantage. “If you're going to eat all the wild berries you see, then collect the ones from the bushes which make you feel the most queasy.”
“Are you suggesting we poison the dryad?”
“What? Of course not. I'm suggesting we make it so feeble with stomach pain after eating its fill that we can approach it without resistance, set it aflame, then retreat to a safe distance and watch as fire slowly consumes it.”
“I'm sorry I suggested you were underhanded enough to use poison against a dryad.”
“You're forgiven.”
“Also, what happened to overwhelming diplomacy?”
“Diplomacy has many endings. Fire is one of them.”
“Top ten?”
“... Top five.”
Coppelia giggled. I wasn't sure why. It was no laughing matter. Replacing the upholstery was extremely time consuming.
“You seem very confident at handling your first D++ commission.”
I placed a hand to my chest and smiled.
“Ohohoho! Of course I am. Why, I'm not even sure what those pluses signify, let alone what the challenge of a D-rank commission is!”
“Okay. And not knowing fills you with confidence instead of dread because … ?”
“The unknown goes both ways, Coppelia. Why should I dread, when I can leave that to my enemies?”
That's right!
If I didn't know what level of challenge to expect, then I naturally favoured myself. I was confident that any problem for me was more of a problem for my enemies!
The fact was that I was a princess. And there were considerably less of us than there were monsters and knaves.
To me, a dryad was a monster. But to a dryad, I was something even worse.
I was a complete enigma. A mystery without answers.
And that meant I was terror incarnate.
Once again, my logic was flawless!
“That makes sense,” said Coppelia, though not before answering me with a giggle first. “But just in case you want to know, D++ probably refers to how much variation exists in a dryad's strengths and abilities. Really powerful dryads can cast magic, as well as having permanent bark as armour. So if we're lucky, we get a tree mage.”
“A tree mage?”
“A tree mage vampire. Remember, they drain life.”
What a novel description of a dryad.
It wasn't incorrect, just … well, no. It was incorrect.
“The merchant's quarter is significantly far from the dryad's last sighting,” I said, recalling the information my ridiculous waiver had provided. “Are you certain it would be here?”
“Maybe~”
“Coppelia.”
“Dryads are smarter than the average monster. And much more than the average human. They won't murder near their grove. And they like nice places. Nice, dark places with access to a nearby well and lots of sour berries. Everything required for a healthy grove.”
“Yes, well, I'm not certain why I even bothered asking the Adventurer's Guild for information if you're going to insist that it's somewhere else.”
Coppelia gave a mischievous smile, her general eagerness at odds with everyone else in the world over a potentially fatal meeting with a tree mage vampire.
“I never insisted. I hinted. Now, though? Now I'm insisting. I can smell it.”
“I can't believe you can smell a dryad.”
“Not the dryad. The grove. It's like a meadow in spring, summer, autumn and winter all combined. I'm more amazed none of you can smell it.”
Evidently, none of us had a nose as well-built as Coppelia's.
Nor did we have her turn of speed as she bounded towards a smaller lane like a cat zipping between alleys.
“Over here,” she said. “Look at the daisies.”
She'd stopped outside the only dilapidated house to exist in the merchant's quarter.
It wasn't in ruins. But it was clearly unlived in. The state of the garden was atrocious. Grass was allowed to reach ankle-height. And though there were no laws forbidding an unkempt garden, there was no doubt that the owner of this premises had already been tried and found guilty in the court of social disapproval.
Certainly, it compared little to the other houses reserved for merchants, ship's captains and lesser nobility here. The only positive was that no strange men selling fur hats in spring or women pleading for my audience at a bakery would be found here.
That alone raised its value considerably.
“Your lead is a daisy flower?”
“A new type of daisy flower. Look.”
I leaned down and peered at an overgrown daisy. It was very pretty. And very unremarkable.
“I see nothing, Coppelia.”
“It's got creamier petals than normal.”
“That means little to me ... although I'll admit to having never heard daisies being described as creamy before.”
“That's because you've never tried one.”
Coppelia kneeled down and plucked this rare breed of slightly creamier than normal daisy from the grass. Then she stuffed it in her mouth.
My, she really did eat flowers.
Excellent. She was already halfway to becoming my next steed. Despite her objections, she should have no issues carrying me if and when the situation called for it.
“Want one?” she said, offering a freshly picked daisy.
“Thank you … but I'll pass ...”
“Are you sure? Because it tastes magical. Literally. It tingles on the tongue. It's great.”
Coppelia hopped to her feet, then pointed at the dull house, curtained and showing no signs of life despite the tolling of the fire bells.
“That was the best daisy I've ever eaten. Our dryad is in there. The grove, at least.”
I frowned in thought. If true, it'd chosen a poor abode to make its grove. Each moment I looked at this house, the more its valuation dropped in my eyes.
Why, it didn't even boast a rooftop window. How was the dryad supposed to push off a dinner guest and claim an accident? If they survived because the fall was too short, that would mean second hand embarrassment for all. A terrible venue.
“So, would you like me to gently toss you over the fence?” asked Coppelia, readying her hands of brutality.
“You will do no such thing.”
“Climb the fence, then?”
“And shame myself in the process? It would be the death of me.”
“It's night and something's on fire. Nobody's looking.”
“Irrelevant. Even the smallest possibility of someone seeing my undergarments means oblivion. We'll use the gate. We're not common burglars.”
“I don't know. You're the adventurer here, not me. Doesn't that mean you basically burgle everywhere you go?”
Coppelia gave me an amused smile.
I had a better one for her.
Ohohoho! Did she truly expect me to recoil in horror at the accusation? It was utterly correct. Adventurers were little more than sponsored burglars. I was as aware of it now as I was when ransacking Marina Lainsfont's shop.
Naturally, I expected most adventurers to argue that the alchemist's criminal status made any act of forced entry and robbery quasi-legal in the name of public safety. It didn't. They were not guards and should stop pretending they were when it suited them.
But none of that mattered to me!
Not only did I have no qualms about sinking the Adventurer's Guild, but if worse comes to worst, I could always point to my status as royalty.
It was technically impossible for me to burgle anything! This land belonged to my family. Everybody, without exception, was merely a tenant. And if the tenant was a highly dangerous dryad, then all the more reason to requisition goods and crowns in the name of the kingdom!
“Rest assured that we'll be doing no burgling,” I said, heading for the gate. “We will, however, be confiscating any items of high value in the knowledge that the owner will only be too delighted at us having evicted an errant dryad from their property.”
“I can't wait to hear that one in court.”
“Please, Coppelia. I am the court.”
“That makes no sense … but it sounds amazing.”
Accepting the praise for what it was, I pushed open the vine-covered black gate.
It swung silently, ominously, as though used frequently despite the disparate state of the house.
Ignoring the steps to the front of the house, I walked across the overgrown grass and towards the side.
“We're not using the front door?” asked Coppelia. “My, that sounds a bit burglarish, and I thought we weren't common burglars.”
I flipped my hair in her face as my answer.
“We'd be giving up the element of surprise. It's important to keep your opponents on the back-foot in diplomacy. An unexpected entrance is a valuable opportunity.”
“You really don't want to climb that fence, huh?”
“Ask me when I'm wearing leggings. Until then, I will not be climbing fences.”
I paused at the side of the house. Every window was curtained, with no indication of which led to where.
However, just as I deciding which window to ask Coppelia to break—
“Voices,” she suddenly whispered, indicating towards a wall.
I found myself startled by the fact that Coppelia could whisper at all, then leaned in and pressed my ear to the wall. A faint murmur was audible on the other side.
“Inhabitants?” I queried. “How certain are you that there's a dryad and not innocent people enjoying their dinner on the other side?”
“Pretty sure. It doesn't smell like a sewer. That's how people smell, by the way.”
I nodded.
“Dryad it is, then. But voices? Meaning there are victims in there?”
“No. Dryads don't take their victims back to their grove. They just drain them until they've been completely absorbed.”
“Then … multiple dryads?”
“Unlikely. Dryads kill anything and everything to enter their grove. Except honey bees. Honey bees are our friends.”
“... Do dryads talk to themselves?”
Coppelia shrugged.
“Well, if they kill everything they see, I suppose they have to?”
I pressed harder against the wall, then looked at Coppelia in confusion.
“I can't be certain … but it sounds like different voices?”
“Well, if you only have yourself to talk to for hundreds of years, I'm sure you'd become quite proficient at them. I can do a good owl impersonation, and I barely practice.”
I waited.
She obligingly placed her hands around her lips.
“Hoot … hoot ...”
I had nothing to say.
After all, her skills spoke for themselves. It was a very impressive impersonation.
“Very well, Coppelia. I'll add that to your list of known skills for use in an emergency. Now, please punch the wall. We'll make our entrance with a show of overwhelming diplomacy.”
“As amusing as that sounds, I'm not punching the wall. Besides, there's a better alternative. Why not use your ridiculous spring breeze thingy instead?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, that technique that blew down a forest. If you can blow down a forest, you can blow down a wall.”
I was aghast.
“I-I-I didn't blow down a forest! That was the man eating fire breathing death beetles, and I fully absolve myself of all responsibility for that incident!”
Coppelia looked like she wanted to laugh. She held her hands to her lips, hiding a smile.
Then, she suddenly clicked her fingers.
“In that case … I have an idea.”
Suddenly, she scooted over to the gate and stopped next to a red mailbox covered in vines. She pulled it out after grabbing its wooden pole, then came back and promptly restuck it into the grass in front of the wall.
“It's not a death beetle, but it's red,” she declared enthusiastically. “Launch it with your thingy. It'll go right through this wall.”
I stared at the mailbox as I would a brick in a parfait, before turning to the architect of this ridiculous suggestion.
“My [Spring Breeze] is not a thingy. It's an extremely delicate and precise gardening technique, honed after years of suffering to meticulously remove common garden pests without damaging the leaves. It's not some … some ballistic device to be used for launching mailboxes!”
“I mean … have you ever tried?”
“No! Why would I?!”
“Well, I think it'd work really well! Frankly, it's shocking you don't just launch random objects everywhere all the time just for fun. Don't you want to blow down a wall sometimes?”
“I do not! Besides, there were extenuating circumstances with the blown down forest and the death beetles affair. They were very light and very explosive. This mailbox is … well, it's a mailbox!”
“I think it'll work.”
“It will not.”
Coppelia hummed, denting her brows in thought.
“If you try, I'll agree to carry you for one future emergen—”
“Done,” I said, immediately drawing Starlight Grace.
Coppelia wore an expression that suggested she'd just been cheated.
It was a folly of her own making.
If she wished me to cause a mailbox to sway, then I'd oblige her request. Especially if it meant her willingly selling her dignity for such a minor effort on my part.
As such, I wasted no time in raising my sword over my head.
Swishing in familiar, short circles, I drew a puff of wind around the tip of my sword.
It was far more crude than any magic, but this was never a gardening technique I was supposed to demonstrate in public. It was embarrassing that Coppelia even wanted me to try utilising it for anything else.
Moreover, I had little idea how long I was supposed to gather this breeze for.
But when the mailbox started rattling, undoubtedly due to it not being secured properly, my hand was forced.
I lowered my sword and pointed it at the mailbox.
“[Spring Breeze].”
Coppelia and I walked through the delightful, open lanes of the merchant's quarter together. It was wonderful. But not because this part of the city was particularly noteworthy, despite what the residents desperately wished.
No, it was because it allowed me the opportunity to literally shake off the unnecessary amount of luggage that was weighing down my thoughts.
The Smugglers Guild? The Thieves Guild? Territorial control? Betrayals, kidnappings and assassinations? None of the many pages of crimes that the receptionist delivered to me mattered. They were clutter in my thoughts.
All that mattered is that they were a stain on society, and that its leaders were two men known as the Smuggler King and the Dancing Rat.
How I would find them was another matter. But I had no doubt that I would. They just had to join a queue that began with a murderous dryad in the merchant's quarter.
“Hmm, fancy~”
Coppelia hummed as she admired the wide menu of flora on display. She stopped before a hedge spotted with red berries, then began plucking them into her mouth one by one.
“Mmh, this tastes like luxury to me. Even the rain that falls here is slightly more upmarket. It has a velvety tang to it.”
“... Really?”
“No. It's actually shockingly sour. Do not recommend.”
I peered closely at the red berries.
“Coppelia, I believe these are poisonous.”
She stopped eating at once.
Then, after a few seconds, slowly reached out her hand and picked out another one and popped it in her mouth.
“Mmh. I think so too. Don't eat this stuff.”
I briefly closed my eyes, purposefully wiping any misplaced traces of concern I had for this girl in the interim.
“... Surely, there's a limit to what you consume? Not all things that sprout are edible. Even for a clockwork doll.”
“Wrong. Everything is edible. Some things just don't feel so great afterwards.”
Perhaps I should have stabled Coppelia alongside Apple.
I'd left him with a stable master near the city gates so that he could rest and eat something other than potted flowers. And seeing Coppelia eyeing the rhododendrons growing between a fence, I couldn't help but feel that doing the same with this clockwork doll would have been prudent.
Still, I wasn't sure if Coppelia truly ate flowers or if this was merely one of her more eccentric jests. I hadn't actually seen her eat one yet. And until I did, I could continue concerning myself with more important things.
Namely … why the fire bells were tolling.
Diiing … Diiiing …. Diiiing ...
It was a wild ringing that woke up the night.
Somewhere over the rooftops, I could see a scarlet hue tickling the night sky as though dawn was desperately reaching up to grab a star.
Fire was, of course, always a concern, particularly in the densely populated and closely packed streets of Reitzlake. However, these well-established fears combined with ready access to a very large pool of water meant I wasn't unduly concerned. Certainly no more than the residents of the merchant's quarter.
They came out in their nightwear, men and women making the minimum of preparing buckets while the curious eyes of children were allowed to marvel at the sky instead of being rushed back to the safety of their abodes.
“I wonder if our dryad will be as curious?” I said, looking pointedly at the scores of residents beginning to pour out of their homes.
Coppelia paid little attention to the fanfare. She was more concerned with … well, I wasn't sure what she was doing.
“The dryad will probably just yawn,” she said, sniffing the air. “You know, after draining so many victims. It's probably really full right now. Really, uncomfortably full. Even a fire won't wake someone from that kind of stupor.”
“It sounds like quite the wonderfully indulgent way of life. Fitting for a resident of the merchant's quarter.”
“And it has sour blackberries. I'm sure dryads enjoy them.”
“Is that so? ...” I pondered over how I could use this to my advantage. “If you're going to eat all the wild berries you see, then collect the ones from the bushes which make you feel the most queasy.”
“Are you suggesting we poison the dryad?”
“What? Of course not. I'm suggesting we make it so feeble with stomach pain after eating its fill that we can approach it without resistance, set it aflame, then retreat to a safe distance and watch as fire slowly consumes it.”
“I'm sorry I suggested you were underhanded enough to use poison against a dryad.”
“You're forgiven.”
“Also, what happened to overwhelming diplomacy?”
“Diplomacy has many endings. Fire is one of them.”
“Top ten?”
“... Top five.”
Coppelia giggled. I wasn't sure why. It was no laughing matter. Replacing the upholstery was extremely time consuming.
“You seem very confident at handling your first D++ commission.”
I placed a hand to my chest and smiled.
“Ohohoho! Of course I am. Why, I'm not even sure what those pluses signify, let alone what the challenge of a D-rank commission is!”
“Okay. And not knowing fills you with confidence instead of dread because … ?”
“The unknown goes both ways, Coppelia. Why should I dread, when I can leave that to my enemies?”
That's right!
If I didn't know what level of challenge to expect, then I naturally favoured myself. I was confident that any problem for me was more of a problem for my enemies!
The fact was that I was a princess. And there were considerably less of us than there were monsters and knaves.
To me, a dryad was a monster. But to a dryad, I was something even worse.
I was a complete enigma. A mystery without answers.
And that meant I was terror incarnate.
Once again, my logic was flawless!
“That makes sense,” said Coppelia, though not before answering me with a giggle first. “But just in case you want to know, D++ probably refers to how much variation exists in a dryad's strengths and abilities. Really powerful dryads can cast magic, as well as having permanent bark as armour. So if we're lucky, we get a tree mage.”
“A tree mage?”
“A tree mage vampire. Remember, they drain life.”
What a novel description of a dryad.
It wasn't incorrect, just … well, no. It was incorrect.
“The merchant's quarter is significantly far from the dryad's last sighting,” I said, recalling the information my ridiculous waiver had provided. “Are you certain it would be here?”
“Maybe~”
“Coppelia.”
“Dryads are smarter than the average monster. And much more than the average human. They won't murder near their grove. And they like nice places. Nice, dark places with access to a nearby well and lots of sour berries. Everything required for a healthy grove.”
“Yes, well, I'm not certain why I even bothered asking the Adventurer's Guild for information if you're going to insist that it's somewhere else.”
Coppelia gave a mischievous smile, her general eagerness at odds with everyone else in the world over a potentially fatal meeting with a tree mage vampire.
“I never insisted. I hinted. Now, though? Now I'm insisting. I can smell it.”
“I can't believe you can smell a dryad.”
“Not the dryad. The grove. It's like a meadow in spring, summer, autumn and winter all combined. I'm more amazed none of you can smell it.”
Evidently, none of us had a nose as well-built as Coppelia's.
Nor did we have her turn of speed as she bounded towards a smaller lane like a cat zipping between alleys.
“Over here,” she said. “Look at the daisies.”
She'd stopped outside the only dilapidated house to exist in the merchant's quarter.
It wasn't in ruins. But it was clearly unlived in. The state of the garden was atrocious. Grass was allowed to reach ankle-height. And though there were no laws forbidding an unkempt garden, there was no doubt that the owner of this premises had already been tried and found guilty in the court of social disapproval.
Certainly, it compared little to the other houses reserved for merchants, ship's captains and lesser nobility here. The only positive was that no strange men selling fur hats in spring or women pleading for my audience at a bakery would be found here.
That alone raised its value considerably.
“Your lead is a daisy flower?”
“A new type of daisy flower. Look.”
I leaned down and peered at an overgrown daisy. It was very pretty. And very unremarkable.
“I see nothing, Coppelia.”
“It's got creamier petals than normal.”
“That means little to me ... although I'll admit to having never heard daisies being described as creamy before.”
“That's because you've never tried one.”
Coppelia kneeled down and plucked this rare breed of slightly creamier than normal daisy from the grass. Then she stuffed it in her mouth.
My, she really did eat flowers.
Excellent. She was already halfway to becoming my next steed. Despite her objections, she should have no issues carrying me if and when the situation called for it.
“Want one?” she said, offering a freshly picked daisy.
“Thank you … but I'll pass ...”
“Are you sure? Because it tastes magical. Literally. It tingles on the tongue. It's great.”
Coppelia hopped to her feet, then pointed at the dull house, curtained and showing no signs of life despite the tolling of the fire bells.
“That was the best daisy I've ever eaten. Our dryad is in there. The grove, at least.”
I frowned in thought. If true, it'd chosen a poor abode to make its grove. Each moment I looked at this house, the more its valuation dropped in my eyes.
Why, it didn't even boast a rooftop window. How was the dryad supposed to push off a dinner guest and claim an accident? If they survived because the fall was too short, that would mean second hand embarrassment for all. A terrible venue.
“So, would you like me to gently toss you over the fence?” asked Coppelia, readying her hands of brutality.
“You will do no such thing.”
“Climb the fence, then?”
“And shame myself in the process? It would be the death of me.”
“It's night and something's on fire. Nobody's looking.”
“Irrelevant. Even the smallest possibility of someone seeing my undergarments means oblivion. We'll use the gate. We're not common burglars.”
“I don't know. You're the adventurer here, not me. Doesn't that mean you basically burgle everywhere you go?”
Coppelia gave me an amused smile.
I had a better one for her.
Ohohoho! Did she truly expect me to recoil in horror at the accusation? It was utterly correct. Adventurers were little more than sponsored burglars. I was as aware of it now as I was when ransacking Marina Lainsfont's shop.
Naturally, I expected most adventurers to argue that the alchemist's criminal status made any act of forced entry and robbery quasi-legal in the name of public safety. It didn't. They were not guards and should stop pretending they were when it suited them.
But none of that mattered to me!
Not only did I have no qualms about sinking the Adventurer's Guild, but if worse comes to worst, I could always point to my status as royalty.
It was technically impossible for me to burgle anything! This land belonged to my family. Everybody, without exception, was merely a tenant. And if the tenant was a highly dangerous dryad, then all the more reason to requisition goods and crowns in the name of the kingdom!
“Rest assured that we'll be doing no burgling,” I said, heading for the gate. “We will, however, be confiscating any items of high value in the knowledge that the owner will only be too delighted at us having evicted an errant dryad from their property.”
“I can't wait to hear that one in court.”
“Please, Coppelia. I am the court.”
“That makes no sense … but it sounds amazing.”
Accepting the praise for what it was, I pushed open the vine-covered black gate.
It swung silently, ominously, as though used frequently despite the disparate state of the house.
Ignoring the steps to the front of the house, I walked across the overgrown grass and towards the side.
“We're not using the front door?” asked Coppelia. “My, that sounds a bit burglarish, and I thought we weren't common burglars.”
I flipped my hair in her face as my answer.
“We'd be giving up the element of surprise. It's important to keep your opponents on the back-foot in diplomacy. An unexpected entrance is a valuable opportunity.”
“You really don't want to climb that fence, huh?”
“Ask me when I'm wearing leggings. Until then, I will not be climbing fences.”
I paused at the side of the house. Every window was curtained, with no indication of which led to where.
However, just as I deciding which window to ask Coppelia to break—
“Voices,” she suddenly whispered, indicating towards a wall.
I found myself startled by the fact that Coppelia could whisper at all, then leaned in and pressed my ear to the wall. A faint murmur was audible on the other side.
“Inhabitants?” I queried. “How certain are you that there's a dryad and not innocent people enjoying their dinner on the other side?”
“Pretty sure. It doesn't smell like a sewer. That's how people smell, by the way.”
I nodded.
“Dryad it is, then. But voices? Meaning there are victims in there?”
“No. Dryads don't take their victims back to their grove. They just drain them until they've been completely absorbed.”
“Then … multiple dryads?”
“Unlikely. Dryads kill anything and everything to enter their grove. Except honey bees. Honey bees are our friends.”
“... Do dryads talk to themselves?”
Coppelia shrugged.
“Well, if they kill everything they see, I suppose they have to?”
I pressed harder against the wall, then looked at Coppelia in confusion.
“I can't be certain … but it sounds like different voices?”
“Well, if you only have yourself to talk to for hundreds of years, I'm sure you'd become quite proficient at them. I can do a good owl impersonation, and I barely practice.”
I waited.
She obligingly placed her hands around her lips.
“Hoot … hoot ...”
I had nothing to say.
After all, her skills spoke for themselves. It was a very impressive impersonation.
“Very well, Coppelia. I'll add that to your list of known skills for use in an emergency. Now, please punch the wall. We'll make our entrance with a show of overwhelming diplomacy.”
“As amusing as that sounds, I'm not punching the wall. Besides, there's a better alternative. Why not use your ridiculous spring breeze thingy instead?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, that technique that blew down a forest. If you can blow down a forest, you can blow down a wall.”
I was aghast.
“I-I-I didn't blow down a forest! That was the man eating fire breathing death beetles, and I fully absolve myself of all responsibility for that incident!”
Coppelia looked like she wanted to laugh. She held her hands to her lips, hiding a smile.
Then, she suddenly clicked her fingers.
“In that case … I have an idea.”
Suddenly, she scooted over to the gate and stopped next to a red mailbox covered in vines. She pulled it out after grabbing its wooden pole, then came back and promptly restuck it into the grass in front of the wall.
“It's not a death beetle, but it's red,” she declared enthusiastically. “Launch it with your thingy. It'll go right through this wall.”
I stared at the mailbox as I would a brick in a parfait, before turning to the architect of this ridiculous suggestion.
“My [Spring Breeze] is not a thingy. It's an extremely delicate and precise gardening technique, honed after years of suffering to meticulously remove common garden pests without damaging the leaves. It's not some … some ballistic device to be used for launching mailboxes!”
“I mean … have you ever tried?”
“No! Why would I?!”
“Well, I think it'd work really well! Frankly, it's shocking you don't just launch random objects everywhere all the time just for fun. Don't you want to blow down a wall sometimes?”
“I do not! Besides, there were extenuating circumstances with the blown down forest and the death beetles affair. They were very light and very explosive. This mailbox is … well, it's a mailbox!”
“I think it'll work.”
“It will not.”
Coppelia hummed, denting her brows in thought.
“If you try, I'll agree to carry you for one future emergen—”
“Done,” I said, immediately drawing Starlight Grace.
Coppelia wore an expression that suggested she'd just been cheated.
It was a folly of her own making.
If she wished me to cause a mailbox to sway, then I'd oblige her request. Especially if it meant her willingly selling her dignity for such a minor effort on my part.
As such, I wasted no time in raising my sword over my head.
Swishing in familiar, short circles, I drew a puff of wind around the tip of my sword.
It was far more crude than any magic, but this was never a gardening technique I was supposed to demonstrate in public. It was embarrassing that Coppelia even wanted me to try utilising it for anything else.
Moreover, I had little idea how long I was supposed to gather this breeze for.
But when the mailbox started rattling, undoubtedly due to it not being secured properly, my hand was forced.
I lowered my sword and pointed it at the mailbox.
“[Spring Breeze].”
