My kingdom was lost.

The sacrifices of every innkeeper forced to adopt a minimum of standards so that I could officially ignore their establishment was in vain.

Here in the peaceful village of Nettle Cross, I stared at the beginning of the end. A premonition of the shadow which would overtake my fair realm. A foe so merciless that any thoughts of resistance left me. 

Starlight Grace remained in its sheath, its light diminished and cold, for against the darkness which had spread, there was neither hope of victory or retreat–merely unfeeling oblivion.

Only Apple’s steps were assured, his will to bear me through even the blackest abyss unbroken.

Even so, this was worse than that.

It was a graveyard. A battlefield of the fallen. 

And the vultures … were fruit slimes.

A fruit slime here.

A fruit slime there.

A fruit slime everywhere.

Bouncing. Hopping. Jiggling.

There were so many that they were practically rolling over each other. And yet even if I gave into curiosity and tested to see if I could make a rainbow by sending them over the horizon, it wouldn’t change the fact that they would only return.

The reason–

Every bergamot had fallen from their branches.

“W-What is this … ?!”

I was aghast.

The bergamot trees were the only defining feature of this village!

Each house has its own little orchard. A private oasis amongst the endless fields of crops which made up the southern heartlands of my kingdom … and for good reason! 

Why, every orange was a promise of opportunity!

They were a reminder to every commoner that if enough of their sweat watered the soil, then they too might one day wake up to find a beautiful bergamot tree magically growing in their garden–especially since the effects of a young and unidentified princess casually throwing seeds from the back of a royal carriage could still be seen today!

I clenched my fists around Apple’s reins.

All I saw around me was a village besieged.

Farmers desperately yawning as they shooed fruit slimes away with the butts of their pitchforks. Merchants shaking their heads as they watched a rival sell a rare albino fruit slime. Children in the grip of terror as they poked fruit slimes while smiling.

And most of all–

“Heheheh~ that’s right, grow nice and big. Go show all the helpless humans who’s boss.” 

A certain clockwork doll tossing fallen oranges, encouraging the simmering vengeance of the only monsters which were both weak and squishy enough to be kept as pets.

I was appalled.

Throwing fruit was something only appropriate when in a theatre.

“C-Coppelia!”

“Eh? What’d I do?”

“Please do not goad the fruit slimes into taking over the continent! … Once they decide that princesses are tastier than oranges, there’ll be no going back.”

“In that case, I’m helping–look, the fruit slimes are tidying up all squashed bits!”

“They’re not tidying it up. They’re absorbing it. Why are they so big?”

Indeed, the more I looked, the bigger they became!

The fruit slimes which had gorged on the most oranges had more or less doubled in size. This was a problem. I used them as a standard measurement.

Coppelia giggled.

“I think it’s a natural evolution. Once a fruit slime is punted by you, they realise how weak they are. That means they’re all here to become stronger so they’ll eventually beat you.”

“Please, Coppelia, that cannot possibly be true … can it?”

She went to her tip-toes and leaned towards me, her hand shielding her lips from view.

“I’ve seen them,” she whispered with a serious nod. “Sometimes in the middle of the night, I look outside and see a ring of fruit slimes bouncing together, shooting suspicious glances towards our inn window.”

I gasped in horror.

Why, that was the thing nobility did before planning my assassination … or deciding who jumped the queue to my mandatory tea parties!

For fruit slimes to join in the melee for my attention was horrific!

I shook my head and frowned.

No, this was quite enough already. 

My time was already fully booked. And that was to inspect all the new bergamot oranges I’d now need to import to make up for the shortfall. That was appalling. The ones grown in my kingdom weren’t just fresher, but they were some of the best digestive aids for my father. 

Indeed … this no longer affected just me!

For a king to greet his subjects while groaning and clutching his tummy was a terrible precedent! The next time he did it while perfectly healthy, the nobility would think it wasn’t because of their presence! 

Sadly, it was clear this was beyond me. 

I could launch a single fruit slime over 100 metres, true. But what good was that when even Coppelia was overwhelmed with deciding which fruit slime she’d choose to triple in size?

Indeed … there was only one thing left to do!

Adventurer’s Guild

Nettle Cross Branch

Yes!

It was to demand the layabouts to get to work!

I had utterly zero expectations of their abilities, but even the most drunken of hoodlums could still defeat fruit slimes … barely, yes, but still!

Thus, I hopped off Apple and made my way up the steps of the only building not to be besieged. Not because fruit slimes feared adventurers. But rather because anything remotely shaped like fruit were the only things not to be thrown into the communal cauldron.

A curious thing, then.

Because for once, the scent of boiled boot laces was absent.

The common room was dim and cold. As was the fire beneath the cauldron.

Although there were adventurers in the hall, there was no merriment. Far from it, the song of boisterousness and palms slapping on tables had been replaced with sniffles and whimpers.

A fine sheen of golden ale still covered the floor, the chairs and the very walls from ages past. But none of the tankards now overflowed with ale. 

They were empty as the eyes staring into the abyss of their drinks. 

The adventurers sat at their own tables, hands shaking as they gripped the handles of their barren tankards like recruits returning from their first war.

Only one source of warmth remained undaunted. 

A smile which welcomed me despite my shoulders dropping with every step I took towards her.

“Greetings!” said the receptionist behind her desk. “Welcome to the Nettle Cross branch of the Adventurer’s Guild. How may I help you?”

I stared at her.

By now, their faces simply blurred together. But the smiles were always the same. 

How they did it, I had no idea. 

Even the maids trained by seasoned veterans to smile in synchronisation occasionally faltered. A part of me wished to poke her cheek. To see whether cogs or muscle existed beneath those dimples. And yet a greater part of me wished to not disappear in the middle of the night. 

“Salutations,” I said, as I pointed to the side. “... Excuse me, but I can’t help but notice that the noise level is acceptable. Did somebody perish while illegally looting a tomb?”

“Fortunately, there have been no casualties. The state of the adventurers is only due to the influx of fruit slimes.”

I raised my arms in exasperation.

“Are you saying these adventurers were beaten … ?!”

“Oh no. They were not defeated in combat. In fact, they were doing very admirably even against overwhelming numbers.”

“I see. Then what happened? They look like they’ve just seen a new edition of a history book.”

“Unfortunately, we discovered that fruit slimes had invited themselves onto a cart delivering several kegs of honey ale. We’re uncertain how, but they also managed to squeeze themselves into at least two of the kegs. Due to contamination fears, we disposed of the delivery. The sight of several kegs being emptied into a drain has deeply upset many of the adventurers. Some are quite traumatised.”

I placed my face in my palms. 

To think that all this time, fruit slimes waylaying carts of alcohol were the key to causing adventurers to behave. I just needed to find a way to organise their ambushes.

“... Fine. The fruit slimes. I see the village is practically overrun with them. What happened, why is it always the fault of dwarves waking up a sleeping terror and who do I speak to about compensation?”

I braced myself as the receptionist pulled out a document from a drawer.

That was a terrible sign.

“The inundation of fruit slimes is the result of tremors which have become a regular occurrence around the region. The shaking of the bergamot trees throughout Nettle Cross has meant an excess of readily available fruit. For compensation claims from the Kingdom Under The Mountain, you shall need to fill out form 27B/6 relating to damage incurred from seismic incidents.”

I stared at the official looking wad of parchment.

It hurt my eyes just looking at it. They actually had a compensation form.

“I’m not filling out a form,” I said, poking it away. “If the dwarves are responsible for ruining my bergamot harvest, I shall choose my own compensation.”

“I understand,” said the receptionist, offering Coppelia’s outstretched hand the form. She immediately began scribbling. “However, I should state that the cause of the tremors is not confirmed.”

“No? Are dwarves not mining nearby?”

“They are. A dwarven mining guild has been given permission to conduct a minor excavation to survey for ore deposits. As the tremors coincide with their arrival, queries have been made regarding their involvement. However, the dwarves strenuously deny any responsibility.”

I nodded.

“I see ... far be it for anyone to blame dwarves for causing the ground to shake just because they do it so often they have an official process for claiming compensation. With that said, has nobody sought to see for themselves what the dwarves are actually doing?”

“Inspections by the governing baron’s household occur regularly. They confirm that the excavation is not beyond their remit. The guild has also investigated owing to concerns by the local populace. There’s an open C-rank commission regarding the tremors. However, as we lack permission to enter the mines, we’ve been unable to determine the cause.”

I leaned closer.

“And the less official answer … ?”

The receptionist’s smile brightened.

“Informally, I’ve personally noted the movement of a significant number of dwarves unaffiliated with the mining guild passing through Nettle Cross. They often mistake the guild for a public tavern. The number of arrivals does not match the size of the excavation.”

I raised a brow.

A dwarven convention in my kingdom. 

How wonderful. Except they’d forgotten to invite their hosts. A problem I was willing to overlook by personally visiting.

“Very well, then,” I said as I turned around. “... Come, Coppelia! The truth is being hidden somewhere beneath the surface! We shall need to pave the way to it.”

“Okie~” Coppelia hurriedly finished filling out her form. “Are we gonna make the dwarves stop digging with the boot of authority?”

“Ohohohoho … not at all. We’re going to encourage them.” 

I offered a beautiful smile.

If the dwarves wanted to dig, I was more than happy for them too. 

After all, no matter how deep they went, it still wouldn’t be enough to hold all their regrets ... or the amount of reparations in a pile big enough to go diving, swimming and rolling in.

Suddenly, a small cough sounded behind me.

"Just a moment, please."

I turned to see the receptionist offering me another sheet of parchment.

“As I said, I don’t need a compensation form.”

“It’s not a compensation form.”

“Oh. What is it, then?”

“A waiver. Please sign here.”

I gave a groan as all the will was instantly drained from me … then took the waiver.

I’m certain I could find a dwarf to sign it.