The Villainess was Loved

Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Four Year Difference I

“Haha! I’d drink to that!”

Billy, the local drunk, yelled over his companion's words.

“This is the third time they have appeared in the local paper. Isn’t it weird that they haven’t conducted an official interview yet?”

“ff you ask me…” Billy slurred, “They're definitely hidin’ something!”

Billy followed his wise words with a loud burp then laid his head on the wooden table.

Loki, his quieter companion, pulled back to avoid the pungent smell of beer oozing from his mouth.

Luckily they were the inn’s only patrons; otherwise, others would have complained.

But what would one expect on a sunny afternoon? Everyone was hard at work.

Well, everyone but Billy.

Still, he was no exception. As a young undercover journalist with only a nepotist advantage, he had to prove himself, perhaps twice as much as a typical employee.

Yet what better way to do so than to follow the currently trending and elusive adventurers?

Aru, Breca and a cheetah beast halfling named Kat.

“They should just do an interview, then get an action movie gig. They…they will be richer that way.”

Billy added, then sighed deeply after tilting his now empty beer mug.

“You know…” he continued, half asleep, “You know Mindy, my little girl. Loves plants to death. Her favourite one is called ‘the devil’s ivy’. A plant almost impossible to kill; hell, the damn thing grows in the dark! Can you believe that?”

Loki smiled then scribbled on his pad.

‘The devil's ivy?’

As the journalist in charge of their investigation, his responsibility also included choosing a suitable nickname for their leader or the most charismatic of the group.

If the nickname was good, the pay would be extra, and he might even become famous himself as his audience would most probably increase, granting him numerous job opportunities.

If the nickname was not, it wouldn't even stick, and time would erase its trace.

Good did not necessarily mean catchy; it meant representative of personality.

Yet another thing almost impossible to nail with elusive adventurers.

All he had so far based on his interview of townsfolk they interacted with are:

‘The saint of Ismuth’, ‘The tamer of animals’, ‘The Demon of Montague’ and now, ‘The devil’s Ivy.’

All were about Aru, the clear group’s leader, yet still, it was puzzling.

Each name represented a different moral connotation.

The inn door suddenly burst open, allowing the bright afternoon light to sweep into the dusty, dingy commoner pub space.

“No! I said no-,”

“We are already inside; let's eat!”

“I’m with her; we haven’t eaten in days!!”

Three noisy hooded figures walked in.

Based on their tone, they were all female.

“Seriously? How could you turn me out to be the unreasonable one when you know where you were summoned! I mean, are we still seriously passing by Riven?”

“But of course.”

The first cloaked woman to sit dropped her hood, letting distinct cheetah print ears spring upwards.

More than her hair’s shoulder width length, it was the black and deep gold pattern of her hair that attracted attention.

The second figure also removed their hood, exposing their cropped maroon hair and pinkish-red eyes.

“Freaking heat!”

She cursed.

However, the third maintained their disguise.

Loki stared at his companion, who was practically snoring at this point, then pursed his lips.

His journalistic senses were tingling.

If he neared them, it would be too obvious.

Should he feign slumber?

“Okay, I vote we compromise. Riven, after the imperial summoning!” the maroon haired offered.

An imperial summon?!

“Breca…”

The halfling called as though her friend was being insensitive.

Wait…Breca?

Gods, he found them?

After two years of tireless work, he finally found them!!

Loki turned to his notebook then began scribbling furiously.

“We’ll be fine; we'll stick to the main road and then get some to-go food. We should be by Cider metropolis soon. I guarantee they have a teleport thingy….”

“Yes, they do, but will they have one in Riven? It’s a backwash town; hell, it's practically a forest.”

“I need to see the witches.”

The hooded girl said.

The rest of the group treated her words with finality; there was no further leading question to permit him to uncover more.

Riven was a backwash place, so backwash that they burned witches or halflings at the stake.

Why would a witch reside there?

Isn't that obviously a fake lead…

But then again, plain sight is the best place to hide.

The maroon haired girl, Breca, grabbed the table's menu then startled him by yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Hey! Any waiters in this dead inn!!!”

“Shut yer yap! I’m coming! Too damn loud!”

A stout male dwarf replied groggily as he approached their table.

“I’m Alir. Both yer chef and waiter, problem?”

“Maybe the servic-,”

“None! None, no problem at all!”

‘Breca’, interrupted the hooded girl.

“Good, what will it be?”

“I’ll have the salted lamb and dried shallots with a tankard of stout. Pack ten in to-go preserve bags.”

The hooded girl answered first.

“That’s a hundred and ten florins.”

“Salted shrimp and Acorn bread with a Tankard of mead. Same number packed, minus the alcohol.”

“Sixty-eight, florins. You?”

The keeper pointed to the beast, halfling.

“Pickled Salmon, Dried Cabbage and a tankard of Perry. Add twenty to go; alcohol included!”

“Two hundred and ten florins, the total is three hundred and eighty-eight florins, plus three preserve bags…total comes up to eight hundred and thirty-eight, will you spend the night?”

“No, just eating.”

The keeper nodded then turned on his way to the kitchen.

Eight hundred and thir…

They were loaded if they could spend almost nine gold on food!

“So…” the cheetah halfling crossed her legs then turned to the hooded girl. “How was your night, Arusei?”

Arusei? Aru?

“My night? Why?”

“No reason. I just…thought you and Wreigner smelled the same when we left their group.”

“Wreigner?”

Breca frowned.

“Okay, okay, before you go judging me, let me clarify. I was just listening to his woes!”

“Oh, yeah, right!”

“Seriously, he is engaged now. Kept saying how he needed to get serious, start taking care of his people and whatnot, then he mentioned that he might have found a ‘younger sister’ in Regina.”

“Off!!”

Breca exclaimed as though she had been slapped.

“Right? Well, anyway, that’s basically it.”

“Get to the smell part; why did he smell like cherries?”

“Hah!” the hooded figure chuckled then shrugged, “We may have gotten into the wine, BUT!-,”

The rest of the story was cut off from him as they leaned in closer to each other and spoke in whispers.

By Wreigner…did they mean ‘Wreigner Hyle’ or another that bore his name?

Gods, but what if it were the real Wreigner? Could that also mean then referred to the real Regina?

Gods, but the implications were astronomical!

Regina stood as the beloved capital angel! This would also boost her current fandom!

The people would eat this up!

But…he needed proof.

He could be sued or even killed for announcing such news without proper evidence.

What happens afterwards?

No question was answered, but the girls exchanged a meaningful look.

“You were denounced, so that shouldn’t be an issue.” Breca said, following up on the look.

“Yer food!”

The dwarven innkeeper interrupted their conversation.

Loki leaned back in his chair to inch closer unnoticed, but they no longer continued with the previous story.

Their conversation changed dramatically to dresses, then forests; finally, they shifted to the throne race.

They talked of the angelic daughter of the Central Marquis, Regina, securing the hand of the Fourth Prince in accordance with the prophecy released a few months ago by the church following the pope’s accident.

They briefly mentioned the opening of the third middle-class clinic, not that the other two were thriving.

They were severely understaffed and poorly equipped as the donated pieces of machinery were yet to be updated. It was as though they did not understand that the middle class occupied most of the population of Central.

The real estate is expensive, even for the outskirts. So most living there would have to at least be able to maintain their stay, did that not make them middle class? Whether upper or lower should be considered in clinic location.

Gods, but how self-absorbed are the aristocrats that even their campaigns would be poorly thought out?

It was a considerable effort from the fourth prince and his partner, but it was and still is poorly executed.

Shouldn’t they have invited a professional?

Still, despite the conflicts arising, this is the first democratic move made by the throne, which commoners celebrate.

“Alright, we should go now. Arusei, it’s your turn to pay.”

“My turn?”

Should he follow them?

Loki considered the risks and rewards to his action, but before he could come up with a decisive solution, the wood of his chair grew fresh branches that bound him.

“Wha-!”

The chair seemingly lost its rigidity and melted to the ground.

None but the hooded girl at the table stood.

‘s**t! she is coming over?!’

The woman’s long and slender hands pushed back her hood, letting an unforgettable mass of greenish-black hair tumble down her back.

F*ck!

It was her.

The devil’s ivy.

No, that nickname was still not a good match!?

Shit! It was impossible to look for a nickname when his heart thundered mightily out of…gods, but he was unsure whether it was the danger he was in or the riveting beauty claiming her smiling happy go lucky face.

The smiling devil?

No, that nickname was granted to a more sinister bastard.

He needed one that fit her dangerous aura as well as her feminine beauty.

Poison Ivy?

No, not quite.

“I wonder.” She drawled as she placed her heeled boots to both wrists plastered on the ground, “I wonder.”

“what has your pretty little head occupied?”

“Wha- what? I beg your-.”

The sentence was barely out of his mouth when she dropped the entire weight of her body on his stomach by sitting abruptly.

The wind escaped Loki’s lungs violently, causing him to strangle his cough!

“The devil’s Ivy…possibly of noble blood, possible relation to nobility. Need evidence for relations with Wreigner Hyle and Regina Alpensa…passed Grisla three days ago, according to the villagers she talked to a wyvern.”

“My notes!”

He blurted before he could stop himself.

Indeed she was holding his writing pad and reporting its contents to him.

“It was four days ago, Mr Reporter!”

He swallowed slowly, perhaps to stall for an excuse, but his brain was severely sleep-deprived.

Something entered his coat pocket and lifted the heavy sack of coin sitting at his belt.

Both her hands were occupied with his note pad so what could it be?

As though the timing was meant to cater to his question, a thin, vine-like twig handed the woman on him his coin sack.

“Hey, wait! I-,”

“Alir! Mr Reporter here offered to pay for our meal, isn’t he too kind?”

The dwarven keep peeked through the curtains dividing the quarters, then shook his head.

“Don’t like gettn involved, ‘long as I get paid, I’m happier than a leprechaun holding a pot of gold!”

“Aya! Hear that, Mr Reporter.”

The woman atop him smiled so brightly that her deep evergreen eyes sparkled.

“Breca, Kat. Let's go.”

She pocketed his coin purse and stood.

Her sudden posture shift strained his wrists, but that was only briefly as she turned to the door.

“Wai- wait! How am I supposed to pay!!”

Deep-set anxiety sunk into his stomach.

He was also to cater for Billy’s drinks, and he had drunk nearly worth half a gold coin.

“Sir, we are strangers. Why would you involve me in your catastrophes.”

She said with finality.

The three women put on their hoods simultaneously, their faces giving no hint of when they would be back to free him.

Should he yell that he had learned his lesson, or would they insist on sincerity?

“I have learned my lesson! I am sorry!!”

“Lesson? There is no lesson to learn. I just hope you find someone to free you before my vines consumes all your mana. I mean…who wants to die sober in a dingy pub?”

Arusei shrugged.

Seriously?

The door shut after them, leaving only Billy’s snore echoing after them.

“Seriously!?”