Apple snorted as the overgrown wheat tickled his sides.

I nodded in agreement.

This was no place for a princess. Or at least not while I wasn’t sleeping through the ordeal.

The last time I’d ridden through a field of wheat, it was via the back of a royal carriage stuffed with so many cushions that opening the door had to be done with a stick.

Despite Apple’s valiant attempt at paving a new dirt road using just his hooves, he lacked the necessary weight to create infrastructure as he went. As a result, I saw with a heavy heart how sorely overdue my royal tour of the kingdom was.

With Florella occupied in Trierport, Roland stuck in Reitzlake and Tristan based at the Loerstadt Gate, opportunities for our royal processions to improve the accessibility of our kingdom whenever we trundled through a barn were few and far between.

It was only natural that my farmers were now pushed into voicing their complaints.

After all, our carriages did more than leave a blackened trail of upturned dirt through their farms. It was both a badge of honour they could use to sell their products, as well as a warning to all would-be ruffians that my family were ever present.

As such, I looked steadfastly ahead, tightly gripping Apple’s reins while urging him onwards so that we may see to the plight of my people … especially since I was currently in mortal danger.

Yes.

There was a reason princesses only skipped through carefully curated meadows.

Because if the wheat was high enough to magically dip into our footwear at every opportunity … then it was also high enough to hide the things which lived amongst them.

Fwish.

I pursed my lips, boldly ignoring the flash of a badger.

Swish.

I leaned away slightly, boldly ignoring the tail of a field mouse.

Pwish.

I huddled closer to Apple’s back, boldly ignoring the … well, no, the fruit slime was acceptable. In fact, it looked like it was fleeing from the shambling corpse flower drooling at the edge of the field.

Cautiously, I searched for any signs of hedgehogs.

A moment later … I relaxed.

Pwoosh!

“–Hiee?!”

Only to see a burst of wheat as a thing in the shape of Coppelia suddenly appeared.

“Look! I found a ruffian~”

Her smile brighter than anything the late afternoon could hurl, she lifted her palms to reveal a squirrel lounging on her palm as it chewed on a sprig of leaves.

I nodded at once.

“Indeed, you have. Squirrels are notorious for scratching at the bark of my apple trees.”

“Great! What should I do with it?”

“You may let it go. But with a stern reminder not to dig up private property. Especially mine. Besides, this isn’t the ruffian we’re looking for.”

“Okie~”

Coppelia gave a nod, then proceeded to toss the squirrel away without actually bothering to warn it. Even so, it bounded off into the distance to tell its friends of its near escape.

It was a tale the hoodlums I’d soon be sentencing with soap duties wouldn’t enjoy … beginning with whatever pale miscreant was apparently leading them.

Or as a fraudulent auntie called him–the monster in the darkness.

Yes.

Something foul was residing in my kingdom.

A thing so malevolent that its presence could even be felt by a dishevelled baker, whose testimony just before being escorted away by a helpful minotaur was the news that something unseemly was now populating my nearby forests. A being of pure wickedness who’d gathered all the unwanted hoodlums beneath a laughing banner.

It was utterly shocking to me.

After all, no matter how much I thought about it … this was truly the singular most useless information I’d ever received!

There was something foul hidden away in my forests?

Why, that wasn’t news! It was an understatement!

Far from needing to scour beneath any branches, all I had to do to find something nefarious at play was to walk past a tavern!

… Fortunately, while scheming aunties weren’t useful, those they associated with were!

Thus, it was now time to directly question the ruffians who needlessly harassed my peasants.

For that, even the directions I was given were needless. All I had to do was follow the odour.

Eventually, I pinched my nose and frowned.

“Do you smell that, Coppelia?”

“Yup! I don't actually know which awful thing you’re referring to, but I definitely smell it.”

“I’m referring to the odour of drunken debauchery.”

“Oh, that.” Coppelia sniffed the air. It was so unpleasant she even forgot to wrinkle her nose. “I mean, it’s pretty much what we always smell when we sleep in an inn. I’m surprised you still notice.”

“I’m not. To safeguard my delicate sense of smell has been a constant endeavour. That’s why I’ve been routinely burying my face in the nice pillow throughout the day.”

“I thought you just did that because summoning a giant magical bed is fun.”

“... Yes, but it’s also to reset my sense of smell, as is my royal duty. If I don’t take full advantage of the Spring Queen’s blessing of a permanent meadowy scent, it would set back human-fae relations.”

“But you always bad mouth the fae.”

“That’s also my royal duty. As long as they continue kidnapping the wrong princesses, I’ll continue to remind them they can be more useful stealing away the more deserving instead.”

“... Such as unwashed hoodlums?”

“Such as unwashed hoodlums.”

I nodded … all the while wrinkling my nose.

Just ahead, a barn was at risk of collapsing to the magpies perched atop it.

Little would be lost if it did.

A makeshift bar was set up beneath its shadow, with kegs poorly disguised amongst barrels which once held seeds or crops. Tankards were filled and laden upon a table sat around by gentlemen as oblivious to the overgrown fields of wheat as the fact they were responsible for farming it.

Or so their attire would suggest.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Overalls, pitchforks and mud.

They were very much identical to the irate peasants who gathered at the Wessin Bridge.

Except that unlike them, not even the most drunken farmer would permit a cooking fire to merrily burn while so close to an endless expanse of dry wheat. Nor would they be so easily caught napping where eyes could see.

Instead, their hollering guffaws filled the open air, joined by the slapping of tables and the wincing when they realised that wood was hard.

Yes.

These specimens would do.

“Very well! … We shall query these brigands, sentence them to soap making and then swiftly be on our way. But remember–despite them being little more than nameless louts, we must never dispense with the usual subtlety we always observe.”

“Got it~!”

Coppelia began stretching her arms. I nodded in satisfaction.

Soon, the raucous laughter rang in my ears as I brought Apple towards the gathered scoundrels. So diligent were they in their hooliganism, that it wasn’t until Apple was practically snorting at their muddy backs before they turned around.

A gnarled table surrounded by blinking eyes met me.

“... Yes?” said the brigand nearest Apple’s nostrils. “Can we help you?”

“Indeed, you can,” I replied with a warm smile. “Salutations, gentlemen. I’m here to free you from your life of hardship from a cruel taskmaster. From now on, you may indulge in working relentlessly for a gentle soul instead.”

“What?”

“I’m told that some vandal by the name of the Pale Ghoul is organising all the local misfits into disturbing my farmers. This is unacceptable. I’m here to remove him.”

Silence met my declaration. I expected nothing else.

“... Uh, do you mean the Pale Knight?” asked one of the louts.

“Yes. Where might I find him?”

“Lass, if we knew where he was, we’d be telling the guards.”

I raised a hand to my lips, barely hiding my smile.

“Ohohohohoho … how cute.”

“... ‘Scuse me?”

“To feign such ignorance. Yet while I admit your synchronised looks of utter bewilderment and lack of obvious weapons being drawn is acting to a higher standard than I’m used to, know that this isn’t enough to fool me. You are clearly not farmers. And this is not your barn.”

The ruffians exchanged blinks.

“Miss, we’re farmers.”

“Please. You’re clearly not. Pretending otherwise is useless.”

“We’re not pretending.” The closest not-a-farmer pointed at the muddiest one here. “That’s Mr. Heaths. He owns all the farms here from the stream to the windmill.”

I rolled my eyes.

“‘Mr. Heaths’? Did you spend all night thinking that up or is it the generic name all bandits are given?”

A few tankards dropped alongside jaws.

“None of us here are bandits,” said ‘Mr. Heaths’, his shocked eyes straining in competition to widen more than everybody else’s.

I gave a small sigh, then jabbed my finger towards the barn.

“If you’re farmers, then why would your own farm be in such a state of disrepair?”

“That’s my house,” he said, his tone hurt.

“This barn is your house?”

“It looks better on the inside. Sure, it’s seen better days, but so have we all. So long as it’s sturdy enough to keep the worst of the cold out, it’s more than good enough.”

“Well, it’s clear it isn't required to store anything crop related, at least. I see you’re busy revelling over whatever scheme you’ve recently accomplished.”

The muddied man pointed towards one of his colleagues. He raised his hand sheepishly.

“It’s Roy’s birthday. Of course we have to celebrate.”

“Oh? And how many consecutive days of celebration is that, exactly? The wheat is so overgrown that it’s threatening to invade the nearest forest.”

“Well, yes, but that’s because I haven’t been able to get any decent manure this entire year. I’ve decided this wheat isn’t for harvesting. Instead, most of it’s going back into the soil as fertiliser. I’ve decided to let this field fallow.”

“... What is ‘fallow’?”

“It means to let the field rest. It’s a normal part of crop rotation.”

I gasped.

“W-Wha–! That you’d go so far as to learn farming terminology … ! Very well, I admit you’ve certainly prepared your answers … even so, nothing can excuse having a fire threatening what remains of the barn … !”

“Well, sure, I can see why that’s a concern. But there’s not many places in a farm we can have a cooking fire that’s completely safe, so we do what we can instead. The area is clear, it’s always supervised and there’s buckets of water on hand. Most of all, the fire isn’t meant to be open like this. Usually it’s covered with a pot. Martha’s just getting a new one now. She insists the last one was too big.”

I looked at the man in overwhelming confusion.

“Who is Martha? … Your supervisor?”

“Oh yeah, you could see that.” The man gave a chuckle, then cupped a hand to the side of his mouth as he turned towards the barn. “... Martha, we’ve got guests! You need to bring the big pot back!”

“–What?”

To my horror, I watched as a woman with curly hair and a yellow apron stuck her head out of the door as it immediately creaked ajar.

Below her popped out another head.

One considerably smaller.

A small girl whose curious eyes looked at me with much less horror than I looked at her.

I pursed my lips … then returned my attention to the muddiest lout … man … farmer …

“... Excuse me, but is that small child a brigand?”

“Yeah. She’s 6.”

A round of good-natured laughter filled the air.

Farmers whose voices were bereft of hostility, their palms slapping against the table once more. One laughed so hard he began to choke. He went into his pockets and emptied out a rag to wipe his mouth.

I was stunned.

These … These were not louts! At least not when they weren’t in a tavern!

They were farmers!

My princess senses … had failed me?!

All of a sudden–I felt my world collapsing around me.

T-This had never happened before!

My princess senses were foolproof! They’re what I used to sense the malevolence of my etiquette tutor as much as the hoodlums which plagued my kingdom! A finely crafted tool sharpened over years of daily use as I expertly hid between the same two wardrobes I’d hidden in the past 164 times hoping she’d never think I’d do the same tactic 165 times!

Could I have spent too much time punting fruit slimes? … No, that’s ridiculous. Practising my delicate gardening techniques was the epitome of elegance!

And yet … I couldn’t deny that these muddied peasants were assuredly harmless peasants!

This was utterly bizarre. All the more so as I could still sense the odour of ill-will.

It hovered in the air as thick as ash. A familiar tingling of debauchery which pricked at my nose like the mysterious brown sludge served in common inns I’d never once eaten but seemed to recognise upon sight.

In fact … it was only becoming stronger!

Fwiiish.

A moment later–

The source of the overwhelming discomfort revealed itself.

A small group of armed ruffians calmly exited the tall wheat, arrayed in the finest rags that crowns couldn’t buy. Covered in more dirt and bits of crops than any farmer spent in a field, they wielded crooked smiles far more terrifying than the clubs and rusted daggers in their hands.

“Well, well. What do we have ‘ere, eh? Looks like another gathering you weren’t invited to, Sourface.”

“Shaddup, Lemmy. I don’t see an invite for you, either.”

“Both of you hush it. I ain’t crawling through all them fields again just to get the jump on farmers. I got bitten three times by things that don’t even have teeth.”

“Yeah, well, if you weren’t so ugly, Mother Nature wouldn’t be so upset.”

Horror came over the faces of the farmers.

One of them rose, only to be stopped as a hoodlum immediately pointed a dagger his way.

“None of you move,” said the ruffian, his dark eyes squinting over everyone present. “I’m sure you all know how this works by now. Let’s do this like gentlemen, shall we? Crowns in one pile. Jewellery in another. Everything else in another.”

Cheeks paled all around me. And no wonder.

Against such a motley group of brigands, it was already clear that neither pleas nor tears could move them. These were assuredly the most shameless louts that mud could spawn.

Thus … I let out a sigh of overwhelming relief.

Oh, thank goodness! My princess senses were working just fine!

“Ah, but I see we’ve ladies here as well,” said the ruffian, finally sparing a glance away from the farming men. “So how about you go first and …”

The man suddenly stopped.

He stared at me. At Apple. And at Coppelia as she began joyfully rotating her shoulders.

Suddenly, his squinting eyes opened as a spark of recognition lit up within them.

“My gods,” he whispered. “It’s … It’s …”

Indeed, there could be no doubt.

This odour wasn’t just nauseating … it was also distinctly familiar.

“You.” I pointed at the hoodlum. “Were you not the same implacably low-tier hoodlums who attempted to accost me outside the forests of Rolstein?”

The man immediately quivered. His eyes went to the sword by my side.

“N-No …”

I pointed at his companions. All of them snapped to attention, like servants called for inspection.

“Furthermore … I distinctly remember you being involved in a petty scheme involving kidnapping cats from the streets of Trierport. Why, I even punted you through a door! Were you not all arrested … ?”

The nearest ruffian gulped, his squinting eyes magically repaired by virtue of my healing aura. They were now as wide as dinner plates.

They could be wider still.

“Miss … ma’am … listen, we’ve changed … t-this isn’t what it looks like, I swear … !”

I smiled.

And then I slowly drew Starlight Grace.

“Ohohoho … my, is that so?”

Each of them seized up, their legs torn between fleeing and remaining stationary and harmless. Expressions of overwhelming regret flickered across each of their faces.

A moment later, they did what any ruffians in their situation could do.

They threw down their weapons and struck the ground with their foreheads.