It’d been sometime since I’d last seen a Zelronto piano.

That was during a private performance at the Royal Arc Theatre. I’d been informed that their famed red mahogany St. Liane was being serviced and that a Zelronto personally gifted by the main workshop in the Grand Duchy of Granholtz was available instead.

I requested that the pianist hum while miming playing the air.

Seeing the underside of the Zelronto as it dove towards me, I would make the same decision again.

Much like Granholtz as a whole, only the very surface was beholden to presentation. The thin layer of varnish failed to extend to where ordinary eyes wouldn’t see.

A lack of quality which included the fine instrumentation within.

And that’s why–

PWAAAAMMMMM!!

Lacking either notable warmth or brightness, both the sound it conjured as it was played or when it crashed on the exact spot where I’d stood just a hopping moment ago were without charm. An insult to an industry where my kingdom was utterly dominant.

No … there would be no saving grace for this piano.

Just as there was none for a Mad Prophet whose expression was illegally bereft of terror for having failed to turn my head into a squashed pumpkin.

Instead, he merely noted the splintered husk of the piano with an academic nod … before leaning down and scooping up the pieces, no different than were he gathering kindling in his arms.

“Darn, I might need to replace the floorboards,” he said with a mild frown. “The edges are chipping where the gap is. Too many piano bits colliding with it. I can feel the grazes when I’m barefoot.”

I threw up my arms in outrage.

“E-Excuse me?! What just happened?!”

“Hm? I dropped a piano on you.”

“Yes! Yes you did! Why did you just drop a piano on me?! More importantly, why did you drop a Zelronto on me?! … If that’d struck, I’d have died from embarrassment!”

“Well, it’s a good thing it didn’t, then. But I’d expect nothing less from a heroine.”

My mouth widened in horror. I’d rather accept another piano than such an insult.

“I am not a heroine!”

The man wore a puzzled expression as he looked up, his back cracking unhealthily.

“Really? But you just passed the standard heroine test. You dodged a hole and a falling object.”

I gestured wildly at the mess of broken woodwork and scattered keys. One which could have been replaced by a falling pillow.

“This is how you test for heroines?! Why not just ask?!”

“Really now, that’s far too important a thing to ask. What if you were mad? I can’t have you sent off on a dragon related matter on my advice without the standard test. I’ve personal liability to consider. With that said, are you certain you’re not a heroine? That was a fine dodge.”

“I am very certain!”

The man glanced me over, then tossed a bundle of piano chunks to the side in a clearly practised motion.

“Is that so? How curious. But no matter. So long as you can evade a falling piano and a random hole, I’ve satisfied my individual accountability to the Sage’s Association. I’m on my final warning, you see. I was apparently too lax with ensuring the standard heroine test in the past.”

Words failed to match my exasperation.

I looked to my loyal handmaiden to voice my grief in my place. To my despair, her smile was so bright that they reflected off the varnished pieces of the broken piano.

“It’s true,” she said with a nod. “This is the standard test.”

I placed my face in my palms.

A groan leaked between my fingers. And that was it.

After all, to voice actual words would mean extending this line of conversation. And that was another moment I wasn’t home where not a whiff of madness awaited me. Only my bedroom, my orchard, and a 14 layer cake which had either been eaten or gained sentience through adversity.

“Yes, well, if you’re quite satisfied with the destruction of a Zelronto, then I would very much appreciate some vital information regarding my marriage prospects.”

I paused.

“… And maybe something about a dragon as well.”

The man raised a curious eyebrow.

“Ma’am, if you don’t want to be engaged, you can just say no.”

Ugh.

Commoners.

They thought marriages was something as easily declined as a moules marinières served with the wrong shade of parsley. If it was, I wouldn’t need to do more than permanently flick my wrist.

“If it was as simple as saying no, then it’d also be as simple as setting my constant stream of letters aflame. It is not. Yet if you can provide me with the names seeking my hand that I most need to be wary of, then I can plan efficiently for my survival.”

For a moment, the man almost looked like he wanted to object.

He wisely chose to fling away a panel of maple scratched even before it was broken instead.

“Very well, then. A somewhat unorthodox request. But nothing beyond my talents. Even if my magic has waned like an overused brine today, I’m certain it can be managed.”

“That does not fill me with optimism. I wasn’t aware that magic could wane like the tides.”

“Perhaps not magic wielded by common mages, which by and large remains constant. But my speciality is not in fireballs, but sagely wisdom. An issue given that Witschblume’s one and only dragon is now missing, along with all that his presence offered.”

He gave a shake of his head, a hummingbird chirping as its bearded nest was disturbed.

“It was a terrible thing,” he said, as he shifted the bulk of the piano with a foot. “I could feel it in the air. The lessening of something sacred, as though the words of a great tale had suddenly become faded and lost. For mages like myself who deal solely in matters of the whimsical, it is nothing short of calamitous.”

“Then I hope you know how your words can be found again.”

“I certainly do. I’ve more than my scrying bowl, after all.”

“... Are you referring to cheese?”

“Yes. But also my professional network. When everybody wants to know me, it means I know everybody. And in rare instances, it even comes in handy. I’ve reason to believe that Virudaax the Learned was abducted by one of my competitors. The Bewitching Oracle, to be exact.”

I didn’t bother hiding my groan.

“Are you telling me that one of … you stole a dragon?”

“The Bewitching Oracle is not one of us,” he said indignantly. “As a mysterious newcomer, she plies her trade without a drop of respect for industrial guidelines. Due to her unfair market practices, she has destabilised the realm of sagely wisdom even before she began stealing dragons. Her bargain prices and fantastical predictions have gathered her a loyal following. One enough to drive the Misled Augur to poverty and the Deadpan Diviner into comedy.”

He shuddered.

I understood the grief. Anyone with names such as these would make for both terrible paupers and jesters. Their only role would be to harass my nobility.

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“I was told that I’d be dealing with dragon cultists. Is this fancifully named inconvenience also one?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if she was. All dispensers of sagely wisdom are dragon enthusiasts. To therefore monopolise one for herself is both shameless and impermissible.”

“Yet I see that hoarding a dragon does not allow enough foresight to see the perils of inconveniencing me. I clearly need to offer some sagely wisdom of my own. Now, where do I find my missing dragon?”

The man duly pointed into the distance.

One where a horizon was conspicuously absent. All I saw instead was a thick wall of impassable mist, topped by a lone mountain peak wreathed in snow and ice.

“The Hazy Mountain,” he said confidently.

I pursed my lips.

“Is that too a trade name and it’s neither hazy nor a mountain?”

“No. It’s called the Hazy Mountain because it’s a hazy mountain.”

“Very well. In that case, I want you to point somewhere else.”

“Pointing somewhere else won’t help.”

“Try.”

“My scrying bowl was clear on the matter. Too clear, I should add. And that is rarely a good thing. Just this morning, I saw within it a vision of calamity without obfuscation. Virudaax the Learned erupting like lava from the Hazy Mountain, now an avatar of ruin and rage. I saw nothing of the famed bookworm. Only flames in his wake and misfortune for all the world ahead.”

I raised my arms in exasperation.

“And you were here reading while nibbling cheese?”

“I hardly see why not. If it was a true problem, someone would come along to help.” He stared pointedly at me. “Such as you.”

I jabbed my finger towards the man’s nose.

“Then know this–although I will see to this dragon issue for my entirely own non-altruistic reasons, that does not excuse you from providing remuneration in kind. I will need you to provide an exhaustive list of dates, times, names and locations of all potential marriage prospects from now until forever. I intend to have all notions of my imprisonment nipped in the bud.”

The man looked aghast.

“Such a list goes well beyond even the premium service level I provide!”

“And it’s still less than what I deserve. If I’m to inadvertently secure your business against a rising, and some might say, deserving competitor, then I expect your finest and most comprehensive reading. Unless, of course, such detailed work is beyond you.”

Every wrinkle the man possessed shone through his beard.

“An unnecessary provocation. But one I shall rise to nonetheless. Rest assured, I’ve more accreditations than I have recipes for fondue. I am utterly unmatched in my abilities. If an exhaustive list regarding marriage related encounters is what you desire, I will provide it down to the smallest detail.”

I clapped my hands in delight.

To trade a hefty portion of my innocence by stepping foot in Ouzelia was a steep price. But one I would gladly pay to ensure my continued dignity from now on.

“Wonderful. Is there a magic mirror or an enchanted lake we should proceed towards, then?”

“If it was my ordinary premium service, I’d be leading you towards the silver bowl in my study. But since this is a highly bespoke service, I shall use only the finest apparatus available.”

I nodded, waiting for him to declare just what his finest apparatus was.

Yet no sooner had he straightened his back to another crack did he bend down low again. This time, it wasn’t to scoop up the bits of a broken piano which were still hogging up his doorway.

Instead … he picked up a fallen wheel of gouda.

I offered a polite smile.

“... Excuse me, but is this bespoke process so draining that you must prevent sudden malnourishment?”

“No. This is my scrying tool.”

“I see.” I gave a nod, then turned to the distant fog. “Thank you for your assistance. I will go rescue a dragon now. Good day to you.”

“Wait! Don’t go!”

“D-Do not approach me with that wheel of cheese! Remain at a distance!”

As I attempted to make my way back towards Apple, the bearded man practically hopped in front of me, the gouda hugged to his chest as wounded pride furiously bellowed in his eyes.

“I understand what this looks like, but–”

“Stop right there!” I interrupted, utterly aghast that I’d almost been convinced a man called the Mad Prophet wasn’t, in fact, utterly insane. “I will not have premonitions of my own marriage be derived through the workings of cheese. How would that even work?! Who would my fated partner be? The shiniest gruyère?!”

“Well, if it is, you wouldn’t have to search long. I just so happen to have–”

“No!”

I immediately stepped around the certified madman and placed my hands on Apple’s saddle.

Then, just as I began to hoist myself up …

Clink.

The sound of a handful of coins being tossed onto the ground.

“I’ll pay you,” he declared.

“You want to pay me for my own reading?!”

“This is a matter of professional pride! I have worked all my life for this moment! For a challenge worthy of my research!”

“Research?! What were you researching?! How to send maidens running into the mountains without a vague quest pointing them there?!”

A burning sense of self-dignity filled the man’s expression, like an old soldier guarding what all else had forgotten.

“Do not think for a moment that my hobby is a mere pastime,” he said, strength filling his voice. “In cheese can be found the fundamentals of life. Liquids, proteins, fats … and most of all, soul.”

“Apple, it’s time to trot quickly.”

“There is no need to escape! Cheese has all the constituent components required to serve as a first-class reagent to those with the ability and the creativity to use it! And I shall now prove it–”

The man held out the wheel of gouda, then sucked in a deep breath.

A moment later … a magic inscription flashed to life.

Not in the air. Not in the ground. But on his outstretched cheese.

I was absolutely horrified … so much so, that all I could do was stare in utter disbelief and morbid curiosity as the man closed his eyes. Sweat began to form at his brows, his cheeks twitching as the strands of magic left his fingertips, running across innumerable veins permeating the wheel of cheese.

They then escaped entirely, flowing like delicate weaves as they rose around my head in the form of a blinking constellation.

“I am the Mad Prophet,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I do not casually boast a 100% customer satisfaction rate. Whether it is in matters of life and death or an unravelling of that most tangled matter of destined romance, I undertake all my requests with steadfast professionalism. Withhold your disbelief at my means, for that is reserved for my results.”

Suddenly, the constellation expanded.

Almost seeming to darken the sky, the bright veins drowned out all other light. The man’s cheeks hardened as he bit down, navigating the stars he’d sown in his mind.

“Ooooh~”

Coppelia immediately reached up, poking at the bright lights. I shooed her away.

“I see it now,” said the Mad Prophet, his voice distant and toneless. “The threads which follow your footsteps. And those you’ve yet to traverse. Such a colourful display. A dance with neither beginning nor end … as is appropriate, for I see you are a princess whose heart is worth a kingdom. A magnificent sight.”

I gawped … for even as he spoke, it was through the sight of the gouda melting in his hands.

It was a gruesome display … somewhat impressive, yes … but gruesome nonetheless!

“... H-Have you found anything?” I asked, as equally engrossed by the melting gouda as the magic. “What names do you see? What faces? Is there one my parents have conspired with to bind me in a bitter marriage marked by duty and boredom? Who dares to take my hand?”

The Mad Prophet fell silent.

His eyes seemed to pulse beneath his eyelids, as though searching for a needle amidst the darkness of all fate. A noise like rolling thunder filled the air, though no clouds loomed upon the horizon. Magic. It was the sound of magic, deep and ancient as the dragons over Ouzelia.

“I see it.”

The man’s eyes opened.

And just like that … it was over.

The constellations faded. The sunlight returned in full, washing away any hints that a wheel of cheese had contributed to the avoidance of a future filled with hardship. I leaned forwards at once.

“What … What was it you saw?”

I waited, all the while the Mad Prophet stared at me.

And then–

“Heh …”

“Excuse me? I didn’t quite–”

“Heh … heheh … hahah …”

I blinked, as equally bewildered as I was horrified by the response.

“Haah … ahaha … hahahaha … ahahahah!!”

Falling upon his knees, the Mad Prophet hugged his stomach.

The next moment, bellowing laughter filled the air with all the raucousness of a busy tavern. He doubled over, forehead almost touching the ground as the laughter threatened to choke all the air from him.

Suddenly, it stopped. The hiccups of laughter subsided. He looked up at me.

“Bwahahahahahahaaahahah!!”

And then broke into a coughing fit as the laughter returned anew.

I was appalled.

“W-What did you see?!” I hurried forwards, reaching down to shake his shoulders. “I-I demand you tell me what you saw! Who am I to be married to?! Did I fend them off?! What happened?!”

“Ahaha … ahahaha … hahahaahahah … !!”

Impervious to the healing touch of my violent shaking, the man promptly fell to his side, hands clutching at his wounded stomach as he rocked to and fro, trying and failing to stop the laughter from flooding out like a broken sewer.

Coppelia kneeled down beside the fallen prophet.

“Wow~” she poked him to a fresh bout of laughter. “This is amazing! I think you made the Mad Prophet actually mad!”

I looked on in horror.

But not for long.

“... Come, Coppelia!” I swept around at once. “We’ve no time to waste!”

“Oooh, are we finally saving a dragon?”

“No.” I hoisted myself upon Apple, then promptly urged him away from the laughing madman. “We are saving a dragon who will owe me enough riches to prevent … whatever this is.”

Coppelia added a giggle to the backdrop of laughter.

And that was fine.

After all, when it came to marriage, only one type of laughter was available … and that was the amusement when I skillfully avoided it by amassing such an absurd amount of wealth that no dowry could compare!

Indeed, this was a welcome reminder that I had no time to tarry!

Fortunately, I was in a land where hoarded wealth was plenty and rescues by a princess came at a significant premium. And neither a mountain of indeterminate height nor whatever pests lived within could prevent my noble goal of ensuring my quality of life.

Thus … it was time to bankrupt a dragon!