A tavern filled with wide-eyed goblins stared.

In the middle of a common room so true to life that every corner was indistinguishable from the bar itself, a table was currently occupied by a princess, a clockwork doll and a pair of adventurers.

Amidst the silence, a single cough sounded before it was hurriedly covered. A tiny clink was heard as a tankard was lowered by the arm straining to hold it aloft. And the world’s smallest sip filled the air as a goblin dared to enjoy his beverage before the last of the foam died away.

None else dared to disturb the silence.

The only movement came from those at the table.

Coppelia leaned down to sniff at the surface of her drink. She smiled warmly, then slowly pushed it away with her pinky towards the commoner sitting across from her.

A moment later, she proceeded to exchange it with the fruit cordial clasped between his hands.

The man in question made no complaint, his eyes wider and lips more pursed than any of the observing goblins as he diligently avoided eye contact with his smiling colleague sitting next to him. Instead, he focused all his attention on an orange, black and white cat as it stalked the legs of everyone present.

The woman with auburn hair wasn’t fussed. She instead busied herself with slowly downing a glass of wine drawn from the same kegs that the ales came from.

All the while … I simply stared.

Directly in her face.

Leaning across the table while ignoring Coppelia exchanging cordials under my tummy, I narrowed my eyes as I studiously assessed the smile in front of me.

Eerie and devoid of emotion.

It was a smile I saw often, usually in the corners of a soirée as the envious conspired against one another instead of their combined poverty. But this was no freshly raised baroness I found scheming in the depths of my kingdom.

It was an adventurer whose soul had clearly been stretched by the indignity of her profession.

Indeed … here was the result of someone who’d clearly harassed too many cats relaxing in trees.

If there was once hope in her eyes, it was now as far gone as chivalry in a Reitzlake alley.

Fortunately, I wasn’t just a beautiful princess!

I was an extremely beautiful princess–and thus my worldly advice would light the way!

“... 26 hours,” I declared to the woman with the empty smile.

In response, she tilted her head slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“26 hours. This is the amount of sleep I’m officially prescribing you. You’re to sleep for 26 hours a day for a minimum of 2 … no, 3 months.”

“But there’s only 24 hours in a day.”

“Exactly. That’s how hard you need to sleep. If you wake up and you don’t see goblins elbowing each other to decide who has to check your pulse, you need to return to sleep.”

An impression of polite confusion met me. Like a caricature drawn by a hermit who only knew emotions through a dictionary.

Then, she glanced around her.

A cacophony of chatter, clinking cups and sliding chairs immediately filled the tavern as every goblin simultaneously busied themselves with avoiding being placed on pulse checking duty. That was understandable. It was the worst job there was.

Whichever underpaid minion was responsible for checking pulses was also responsible for telling the results. Nobody wanted to be the bearer of bad news.

After all, their employers were usually alive.

“Oh, I see. Thank you for the advice. But I’m not too sure what a prescription of 26 hours of sleep is intended to cure. Rather, I think such an amount might be actively detrimental.”

“For those who lack a busy schedule, perhaps. But for anyone who decides to requisition a goblin tribe for … whatever reason I’m braced to already forget, it’s the absolute minimum requirement. Have you seen yourself in a mirror recently?”

“I have, yes. Oh–and would you like a snack?”

“No, thank you.”

“I want a snack,” said Coppelia, raising a hand.

The woman waved towards the bar. A goblin barkeeper slowly approached, his eyes the size of dinner plates as he offered a bowl of mixed nuts. Coppelia accepted with a grateful nod, then proceeded to nibble away while watching the proceedings.

“I noticed you destroyed my [Crystal Reflection],” said the errant adventurer, setting her glass of wine down. “That didn’t seem necessary. Liliane #2 was doing an excellent job in overseeing the excavation efforts.”

“You should be relieved, then. I’ve just saved you from untold grief.”

“How so?”

“As ideal as a magical duplicate might seem so that you may sleep while it sweats in your place, the laws of creation and poor humour dictates that any twin can and will inevitably take your place.”

Coppelia nodded as fast as a hummingbird, all the while tossing peanuts in her mouth.

A warning to be acknowledged. If someone from the land of oddballs understood the dangers of body doubles, then so should everyone else.

That was lesson #87 in the Princess’s Guidebook To Survival.

Incidentally, this woman was also failing lesson #16.

Not to wear cursed magical artifacts promising unchecked power.

“... Now, I don’t care why you decided to wear a goblin’s favourite magic hat,” I said simply. “I care even less how that evolved into plotting your own goblin conspiracy. All I care about is that you cease and desist trying to take over the world so that historians don’t need to needlessly choke from laughter. They work very hard to write a biased account in my favour and are difficult to replace.”

The woman blinked at me.

“I’m not trying to take over the world.”

“Excuse me?”

“That sounds appalling. I’d never do such a thing.”

“... Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Have you at least considered it?”

“No … why would I?”

I let out a small groan.

Just like that, any spark of interest fluttered away to the horizon of disappointment.

“... Do you see this?” I turned to Coppelia with a flick of my wrist. “This right here. This is precisely the reason adventurers are not designed to be villains. What happened to standards?”

“Mmh~ it’s awful, isn’t it?”

“It’s worse than that. It’s a travesty. This woman has a cave, a small horde of disloyal minions and a cursed magical artifact. These are the three essential building blocks of establishing an evil empire. And here she is, making them dig a hole and drink in a tavern instead.”

“Evil is a talent. Not a life skill. You can’t blame her.”

“This is more than a lack of talent. It’s a lack of effort. Who’s she trying to frighten with this ridiculous scheme? Rival tavernkeepers?”

“I’m not trying to frighten tavernkeepers,” said the worst evil empress on the continent, frowning ever so slightly. “I’m not trying to frighten anyone. I’m an adventurer. Not a villain.”

I instantly raised a finger in the same way my mathematics tutor did.

Except unlike her, my explanation would make sense.

“That is unacceptable.”

“What?”

“If you’re to draw me into the depths of a cave, then your scheme must be shameless. It must be decadent. It must be a mille-feuille layered with so much cream that the cows are now on strike. This? This is a sponge cake with no strawberries, no icing and no quivering servant trying to mathematically calculate how to fit it on a table deliberately too small to accommodate it. Even this tavern undermines you. Why illegally requisition a tribe of goblins only to provide them with free snacks? It’s extremely half-hearted. If you wish to be a despot, you must do it properly.”

A genuine hue of indignation rose upon the woman’s cheeks.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“I’m not a despot. I take my responsibilities as the human representative of this tribe extremely seriously.”

“Better,” I said with a click of my fingers. “Claim ignorance as you earn the ire of the goblin matriarchs. If nothing else, it will humour them. Do it enough and after 50 years, perhaps they’ll take pity over the fact you decided to measure the size of your scalp using an obviously cursed crown.”

The woman straightened her back. Her brows dented at once.

“The crown isn’t cursed. Obviously or otherwise.”

I turned to Coppelia at once. She was already humming while leaning forwards.

“Hmmmmm … it’s not vomiting evil. But it’s so shiny my eyes hurt. It’s a really powerful artifact. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t made for normal humans to wear. At least not without exploding.”

“There you have it,” said the woman, her clap of joy ignoring almost every word Coppelia said. “Yes, I understand this looks poor on my part, but rest assured that I’m very much not beholden to any evil thoughts. I’m only doing what is best for Marinsgarde.”

I raised an eyebrow.

"I see … and is that what the ominous voice in your head told you?”

The woman paused.

“There’s no ominous voice in my mind,” she said, blinking.

The commoner beside me gingerly held up his hand, breaking free from the chair he was blending into.

“Right, uh … I’m actually pretty sure I’ve heard you speaking to someone who wasn’t there before.”

“Because I have nobody else to speak to. It’s perfectly normal to voice my thoughts out loud.”

“You have eyes like a salmon staring out of a cooking pot,” pointed out Coppelia.

“My loyal handmaiden just insinuated you look like a broiling fish. What is your defence?”

“My eyes are fine,” said the woman with the smallest click of her tongue. “They’ve simply been opened. After all, it’s more than magic that the creator of this crown imparted on me. It’s knowledge.”

“Knowledge? Knowledge about what? … How to be laughed out of public spaces? That crown is ghastly. Why is it so bent? Was it forged by a blacksmith’s hammer or the hooves of my horse?”

The errant adventurer raised her chin slightly.

“Its appearance is irrelevant. This is a crown of empowerment, crafted by an archmage of overwhelming talent.”

“Well, I suppose that explains everything. Archmage of overwhelming talent rarely means archmage of overwhelming disposable income. But that’s hardly a reason to be frugal. I’m certain the goblins under your thrall would have fewer complaints if the crown at least looked the part.”

The world’s second longest sigh met me.

The longest was reserved for my use. I had little doubt I wouldn’t need to wait long.

“There are no complaints,” she said, as even more goblins pretended to be busy. “Because while you might think I’m misleading the 586 goblins who follow me, this isn’t a relationship of unequals. They experience the joys of moss cakes, fig smoothies and the occasional hiccup of gratitude from the people of Marinsgarde. In return, they assist in something worthy.”

She gestured to a window from which the sounds of pickaxes could be heard.

“... Do you see what this is?”

“Indeed. A mine waiting to be exploited exclusively by the kingdom.”

“Exactly.” The woman snapped her fingers and smiled. “It’s a mine. A trove of wealth waiting to be excavated. But not just iron and silver. There’s treasure as well. The type which makes the relics hidden beneath Reitzlake Cathedral look like spent candles.”

“My, is that so? How wonderful. I’ll inform your loyal replacement of this. With that said, I’m also ready to compromise with iron and silver. I’ve only seen one treasure chest so far, and it had a tongue.”

A knowing flash of satisfaction met my unmoved expression.

“The treasure is below. Far below. But not too far for goblins, who have seen the darkest places of the world and know how to reach them.”

I didn’t bother hiding my groan.

“Stop.” I held up my hand, seeing at once where this was going. “Stop right there. Please don’t tell me you’re digging a hole into the abyss.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

“I’m digging for a door into the abyss. The dwarves have an Underhall nearby.”

I threw up my arms in exasperation.

“Excuse me! I’ve already made my thoughts regarding this clear! … Maybe not to you, but to everyone else! No digging into the unexplored darkness of the world! … Why is this a difficult concept to grasp?!”

“Maybe because not all fear the darkness.”

“It’s not darkness I fear! It’s nameless horrors thinking they can tour my kingdom without the necessary documents! You are not a border official!”

“Well, perhaps I should be. I’m about to extend the kingdom’s influence. And I intend to do that by leading an expedition–just as the greatest adventurers in our past have all done.”

I immediately pointed at my face.

“... Do you see this?”

“Yes, I see this.”

“Good. It’s the expression I make before Coppelia begins peering into the distance. Normally, I allow the explanation, but I’m afraid this is a level of comedy too advanced for me.”

The woman wrinkled her nose in a way which could cause any goblin to hop back in outrage.

“I assure you, this is serious. If it wasn’t, I’d have continued as I was, crawling my way up that ladder. But while fame through simple deeds is well and good, that won’t earn any tales. Adventurers are not common labourers. We are explorers. And I know firsthand that S-ranks do not flee from the monster in the wardrobe. We challenge it.”

“‘We’? Who is ‘we’? As ridiculous as the Adventurer’s Guild is, I’m certain this breaks at least one rule.”

“Goblins. I intend to use goblins.”

I looked at the goblins in question. A few dropped their jaws along with their drinks.

I was in full agreement.

This was appalling.

After all … I’d come all the way to the bottom of a goblin cave only for a plan so awful that adventurers trying to drink themselves sober was a better idea.

“Excuse me? … You intend to have goblins headbutting the giant triple skulled horrors underneath?”

“Not in the slightest. I’m their leader. I won’t request that goblins start throwing themselves to their dooms. Only that we work together. An adventurer leading goblins into the darkness will be an immense force. It’s not at all unusual to see their warbands already below. Goblins would prove better than any eager adventurer stumbling in the dark.”

I nodded. And also shook my head. Both at the same time.

“Goblins, yes. You, no. You should stick to kidnapping cats. It’s a more manageable prospect.”

“Maybe it is. But I’m unlikely to crawl out of Thomas Lainsfont’s shadow that way. And that is the least of my goals. I want more than that. Because to map the abyss is a feat which even the Snow Dancer after a hundred years of sword training wouldn’t achieve.”

And there it was.

Proof of lunacy.

Not in wishing to lead goblins into the cold depths of the world. But to give even a moment of consideration for that elven woman. If one was insane, then the other could only be more so.

Well, not today.

“I see.” I offered a polite smile. “It seems you intend to fully stretch what a small tribe of goblins can accomplish. Yet while I’d be delighted to employ them as miners, it won’t involve opening up any entrances into the depths of the world. I demand that you cease this ridiculous scheme and offer the crown to be permanently forgotten under a pile of similarly dangerous artifacts.”

“That’d be cruel. This crown is no ordinary headpiece. It’s the heart of this tribe. The magic which forged it is a bond which draws its members towards it. And that is a power I now wield.”

I leaned forwards slightly. The errant adventurer leaned back.

“If you wanted power, you should have become a receptionist.”

“... Excuse me?”

“Receptionists are considerably more frightening. And efficient. They don’t need to cause diplomatic incidents to see their wicked plots come to fruition. Nor do they require any crowns bent out of shape.”

“The crown is not bent out of shape. Although I understand why you’d think that. Goblins, after all, are rarely kind to the treasures they appropriate. But this wasn’t a crown made by an elven or human archmage. It was made by a goblin archmage. That is incredible.”

The woman tapped at her metal trinket with a fingertip.

For a moment, she even pinched the edge, threatening to lift it up as though to display it.

Instead, she adjusted and patted it down. Absolutely no difference was made.

I idly turned to those beside me.

“... By goblin archmage, she’s referring to the ominous voice in her head, yes?”

“Yeah, I think so,” answered the commoner.

“I bet it’s speaking to her right now~” said Coppelia, swiftly downing the last of her bowl of nuts.

“There’s no ominous voice,” said the woman, her tone strained. “And if there was, it would not be ominous, but wise. This crown belonged to a prodigy, for it offers more than just magic. It is a crown of leadership. It imparts the ability to [Command] the most uncertain of allies to remain true–even if it means walking to the end of the abyss … or simply ensuring that visitors without an appointment can wait in the comforts of a well stocked bar.”

She tapped a finger against the table.

And just like that, the sounds of a blustery tavern ceased to be.

The goblins traded looks of uncertainty as a fresh silence came over us. Even the nearby mining had stopped. Hands gripped against the handles of tankards like weapons as goblins rose from their seats, their movements stiff and lumbering.

In response, I simply nodded … all the while raising a hand to my lips.

“Ohhohohhoohoohohohohoho!!”

Stunned faces met me as every goblin came to a swift halt. And why not?

Compared to the dullness spoken by an errant adventurer with more time than sense, the melody of my laughter was nothing less than food for the soul.

“My, how amusing,” I said, barely covering my smile. “Yet as tempting as it is to see you singlehandedly complete the downfall of the guild, I’d rather not have my kingdom play host to a gathering of faceless horrors. That’s what the royal capital’s noble district is for.”

The woman frowned, as much in puzzlement as sudden doubt as all the tavern remained still.

“You fear only the unknown. And that includes the magic of my crown. You know not what it can do.”

“True. I’ve no idea what magic it holds. But I know what it doesn’t. And that is authority.”

“A crown is authority.”

“No. A crown is a distraction. Something to be fought over by vultures while kings observe in bored amusement. Authority is independent of guises, trinkets, crowns or scepters. It is a birthright … unbending and unbreaking. And I see what you wear has already been bent.”

A moment of misgiving. A whisper of hesitation.

For the briefest of seconds, a note of prudence borne of past experiences lit up in the A-rank adventurer’s eyes. A sparkle of light amidst the dim irises.

And then it was gone.

“I hear an idle threat,” she said, standing up from her chair. “You’ve few means to decline your escort. You’ve no means to damage this crown. No sword can harm it.”

I leaned forwards, idly placing my chin against my palm.

“Ohohoho … is that what you think? Yet why would I need to damage your crown … when I can simply deny it?”

“Deny it? What do you mean? You’re not a mage.”

“And how fortunate I’m not. For I can see clearly that a crown is worth only as much as the one who wears it. And what I also see is an adventurer who’s had far too many drinks. Rejoice. I shall begin your rehabilitation.”

Snap.

I clicked my fingers.

The eyes of a mage became as wide as dinner plates as she suddenly stepped back, betraying her caution. Her hands rose, a glimmer of magic at her fingertips.

“What are you–”

“You claim these goblins as your own. Yet this is the Kingdom of Tirea. And here, I’m afraid that even the finest crown that an archmage could craft is worth less than a pebble washed up on a shore. You command nothing but what I permit. For I am a princess of the realm … and I hereby [Declare] every goblin to be released.”