A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 136: Farewell (1)

I descended the staircase made of Wood Steel, each step forming beneath my feet as twenty steel blades shifted effortlessly into place.

At first, carrying Sophien on my back was uncomfortable, but I soon came to terms with it. She was Sophien Aekater Augus von Jaegus Gifrein, an Empress of the Imperial Palace. With such noble blood running through her veins, I figured she deserved the honor to rest on my back.

Sophien had been silent for some time, likely lost in her own thoughts.

"... The temperature," Sophien muttered, her voice soft as she pressed closer against my back.

"Your Majesty, are you feeling well?" I inquired.

"I'll manage," Sophien answered.

Despite possessing the greatest potential in the world, Sophien remained in a cocoon of her own making. Her usual ennui and lethargy made it clear that her awakening was still a distant prospect. Besides, since entering this snow globe, she had consumed nothing but ice cream and water.

"This is the result of Your Majesty's long-neglected training."

Sophien remained silent.

"If Your Majesty had been more diligent in honing your mana and training in magic, this chill would not trouble you—"

"I get it. Now, shut your mouth."

"... Sir Keiron," I called, keeping pace as he guarded Sophien’s back. "Is everything well?"

The Snowflower Stone could shield only one—Sophien. Keiron had no choice but to face the cold alone.

"I am fine," Keiron replied.

I trusted his words and instructed, "Stay close and do not fall behind."

"... אח בשבילך."

At that moment, Sophien wove a spell of wordcraft. Her words transformed into a warm, gentle flame that wrapped around Keiron.

"Your Majesty."

"I won’t have anyone lagging behind," Sophien commanded.

Keiron nodded to the Empress, a faint smile touching his lips.

***

Tick, tock— Tick, tock—

The clock’s ticking echoed through the quiet Inn. The rustle of turning pages filled the room as Epherene read Sylvia’s novel, while Sylvia watched her intently. Idnik, Gindalf, and Rogerio observed the two, their eyes sharp with interest.

Gulp—

Sylvia tensed, masking her nerves with a façade of indifference. Deep down, she had always intended to share this story. Writing and painting were her passions, and recently, she had poured her soul into this novel, tentatively titled Blue Eyes.

Her eyes stayed on Epherene’s face, studying every flicker of expression. At last, Epherene glanced up, either done with the story or already bored of it. Sylvia held her breath, waiting for Epherene’s reaction.

Finally, Epherene looked up and said, "You know, Sylvia, you’re a good writer."

It was a compliment. Sylvia’s heart skipped a beat; it had been so long since she’d heard such praise. Still, she kept her expression steady. Epherene grinned, fiddling with the manuscript pages of Sylvia’s novel.

"This is great. Do you have the next chapter?" Epherene asked.

"I haven’t finished it yet," Sylvia replied.

"Oh, really? It's so intriguing—I can't wait to read the next part."

Sylvia lowered her chin, masking any trace of emotion.

"Do you plan to publish it?"

Sylvia gave a simple nod.

Epherene’s eyes lit up with excitement and said, "Wow, I’ll be the first to buy a copy when it’s published!"

"... Do as you like," Sylvia muttered.

At that moment, Gindalf intervened, saying, "Now then, if we're finished catching up, shall we begin? Carla?"

Carla and Jackal glanced over. Epherene flinched, only now realizing they had been listening the entire time.

"I apologize for the delay," Gindalf said. "I have asked them to assist with your training."

"... I think it was only four times," Carla said.

"Exactly."

Carla nodded, slipped a hand beneath her robe, and slowly drew back her hood, revealing her magic eyes—brilliant and glowing red. The instant Epherene locked eyes with her, her consciousness spiraled into darkness. She crumpled to the floor without a sound. Sylvia glanced at Epherene's limp form, then waved over a staff member, ordering something off the menu.

Three minutes later, Epherene snapped awake with a sharp gasp.

"Argh! What was that? I nearly died!" Epherene yelled, instinctively clutching Gindalf’s collar. Gindalf let out a hearty laugh as Epherene's hands shook before she finally let go.

“What did you think?” Gindalf inquired.

“I... I’m sorry, I just got startled. But w-what was that? It felt so—”

“It’s a mental strength exercise,” Gindalf explained. “I had Carla perform it for you. You’ll have four attempts in total.”

“You want me to go through that three more times...?” Epherene muttered, clutching her chest as her heart pounded, feeling like it might burst.

“Epherene, ya mental strength ain’t too shabby. Ya just need a good, well-structured system, that’s all,” Rogerio said. “Easiest way ta do that is ta construct a mental guardian up in ya head.”

"Well-structured system?" Epherene echoed.

"Yes," Rogerio nodded. “Picture the most trustworthy thing ya can think of in ya head. Don’t gotta be a person—it could be a deah, a lion, hell, even a dragon. Once ya visualize it, it’ll fight for ya.”

Epherene stared at him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. A mental guardian... Only one person came to mind.

"Alright, I’ll give it a shot," Epherene said.

“Speakin’ of which,” Rogerio said, turnin’ to Sylvia, “ya wanna give it a go, too?”

Sylvia shook her head and replied, "No, I’ll pass."

“... Ya sure? Alright then. Carla?” Rogerio gestured.

Epherene, still trying to collect her thoughts, waved her hands and said, "Wait, I’m not ready—I don’t think I can—"

“Okay.”

“Arghh!”

Carla, however, wasn’t ready to take no for an answer. Epherene barely managed to shout before Carla’s eyes locked onto hers again, pulling her back into the depths of her consciousness. Meanwhile, Sylvia received her order.

“Mana-stone roast chicken,” the server said, carefully setting the dish before her.

The chicken, dusted with mana stone powder, was tough as a rock—a dish most would struggle to eat. But for Sylvia, who had long lost her sense of taste, it was ideal. After all, a strict diet was essential for becoming an Archmage.

“...Ya really eatin’ that?” Rogerio asked, her face twisted in horror. “I get that castin’ magic’s important, but that ain’t food fit for people, nevah mind mages!”

“Don’t bother with me,” Sylvia replied, her voice in a slight cold tone.

"Oh?"

Rogerio was caught off guard. She was nothing like the person she’d met on the Floating Island. Idnik gave a faint, bitter smile.

"Grrrblablabearrgggh—!"

Epherene snapped out of her trance, releasing a choked, unintelligible cry.

Jingle—

Just then, the door to the inn swung open. The newcomer stopped at the odd noise and looked over, flinching.

"Oh, what? Epherene? And the old man, Gindalf, too?"

It was Yeriel of Yukline, Deculein’s half-sister. She glanced at the renowned mages gathered around Epherene, tilting her head in puzzlement.

***

Deculein moved forward, carefully navigating the darkness. Sophien, resting on his back, was lost in thought. She tracked the flow of mana currents and noted the time difference. The source became clear as they advanced—this underground space, where a powerful surge of mana rose from the depths.

"... It still makes no sense," Sophien muttered.

Though she grasped the phenomenon with clarity, and her insight was sharp, one question remained, haunting her thoughts.

"Why won’t you..."

To her, death meant nothing. It was just a triviality.

However, Deculein—the Deculein from the previous cycle—had once said to her, "From now on... no matter what happens, you must not take your life by your own choice."

Sophien grasped Keiron’s loyalty, but Deculein’s motives were still a mystery. He had died without ever revealing the true meaning behind his words.

"Why won’t you let me die, Deculein?"

Deculein remained silent.

"My memory is sharp," Sophien continued. "Even if I were to go back in time, I’m certain I could piece everything together accurately."

Thud, thud—

Deculein continued walking, his footsteps echoing steadily in the silence. Growing frustrated with his silence, Sophien struck his back with her fist.

In response, he finally said, his words dropping like coins from a vending machine, "Your Majesty, are you aware of why the ancient giants suddenly disappeared?"

A peculiar question, seemingly from some old legend.

Sophien, well-versed in the continent's history, answered without pause, "Because they were immune to death, they lost their purpose..."

Deculein's words began to make sense. She stared at his broad back, her anger smoldering beneath a composed facade.

"Yes," Deculein went on. "For humans, the will to challenge comes from the certainty of death. Without death, they lose their purpose and become empty. Surely, Your Majesty understands this better than anyone."

"... Hmph," Sophien scoffed. "Even if you say that, final death won't simply appear because I wish for it. I could commit suicide without you ever knowing."

"Then, I will swear my oath."

“What?” Sophien said, her head snapping up, eyes wide.

Deculein speaking of an oath was a rare occurrence. Over the centuries they had spent together, she had learned that when he swore an oath, it was a vow of eternity—unchanging, even as the cycle shifted.

“I do not know what I am to you, Your Majesty," Deculein continued. "Perhaps I am simply an ordinary subject, a troublesome Instructor mage, or just the head of Yukline.”

Sophien gazed at the back of his head, his expression concealed. She couldn’t help but ponder what emotions lay behind his words.

"However, should you go against my will and take your own life..."

“Deculein. Shut your mouth at once.”

Sophien sensed what Deculein was about to say. And, as predicted, he spoke the very words she had expected.

“I will follow Your Majesty’s path.”

Deculein’s words held a thinly veiled threat to join her in death. This unimaginable oath struck Sophien silent.

"... How arrogant," Sophien muttered, regaining her composure. "Even if I were to regress, you would remain unaware."

"Do you honestly believe I would not be aware?" Deculein replied calmly. "I might know Your Majesty better than you know yourself."

At that moment, Deculein's foot found solid ground. They had finally reached the bottom of the cliff.

"To say you know me better than I know myself," Sophien mused, "is to tread dangerously close to defiance..."

Deculein continued to carry her on his back, while Sophien’s displeasure from his words hung heavy in the air.

"Deculein. Please take care of Her Majesty,” a voice called from behind them.

Sophien turned to see Keiron, his body now frozen solid in ice.

“I will rejoin you shortly, Your Majesty.”

"... Keiron,” Sophien murmured.

“As you know, Your Majesty, I do not fall to something as trivial as the weather. For me, this is simply an opportunity as a knight. I have remained idle for far too long..."

With that, Keiron froze entirely, his form becoming a solid statue in the extreme cold.

"... Do not be late," Sophien commanded, trusting in his promise.

Deculein did not glance back at the knight. Instead, they pressed on, pushing through the bitter darkness toward their destination. At last, they arrived at the edge of the frozen abyss.

“I foresaw your return...”

Finally, a voice shook Sophien with tremendous force, its deep resonance signaling their arrival. She looked up at him. His eyes were vast, like lakes, capturing her reflection within them. No, they fixed on her intently. He was a giant.

“The passage lies here,” the giant spoke, his mana forming an oval portal. “Return, children. Your time is nearly at its end...”

Deculein stepped into the portal without a word, lacking both the energy and the will to speak to the giant.

Wooooom—!

A wave of mana washed over them, followed by a blinding light that filled their vision. As the light faded, they found themselves back in Sophien's bedchamber. A snow globe rested on the bedside table. Sophien remained on Deculein's back, and he noticed the Quest Clear notification floating in the air.

“... Deculein,” Sophien called.

"Keep the snow globe with you, Your Majesty," Deculein said. "Keiron will make his way out on his own."

Sophien’s gaze fell on the snow globe, and a wave of heartache swept through her. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time.

“Your Majesty,” Deculein spoke softly, as if sensing her inner turmoil. “Perfection does not exist in any human. In fact, because you transcend death, you are, in some ways, more incomplete than the rest of us.”

He laid her gently on the bed. Her body, still rigid and chilled from the cold, struggled to move.

“The first step,” Deculein went on, “is to face the truth. Acknowledge your flaws and embrace your losses.”

Sophien stayed silent, letting his words sink in.

“Your Majesty is human, like the rest of us,” Deculein added, gently tucking the blanket around her. Her face was nearly concealed, eyes narrowed in a sharp glare. “I will take my leave now.”

“... Professor, are you not going to rest?” Sophien asked.

“No, Your Majesty,” Deculein replied, bowing slightly as he turned away.

As he turned to leave, Sophien called after him once more.

“Professor.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I cannot comprehend human relationships.”

“It is to be expected, Your Majesty,” Deculein replied. “I understand.”

“Do you hold love for me?” Sophien asked.

Deculein remained silent. The tension between them grew almost palpable, pushing Sophien to correct herself quickly.

“I ask out of curiosity about the source of your enduring loyalty. If not, so be it.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Deculein replied, then turned and left the room.

Still, an unsettling doubt lingered within her. Perhaps it was the gravity of his oath that struck her so deeply...

“Ridiculous,” Sophien muttered, shaking off the thought. Her eyes fell back on the snow globe. “... Keiron.”

Within the snow globe was the most loyal knight she had ever known. He had vowed to find his way out, and Sophien placed her trust in him.

“I will await your return.”

*** Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"... The Professor is so distant and indifferent.”

The autumn air was bitterly cold. The knights of the Freyhem Knights’ Order walked along the roadside, speaking in low murmurs. Guzen, a junior subordinate knight, kicked a loose pebble in frustration.

"He could have shown up at least once, or, at the very least, written a recommendation. Then we wouldn’t be stuck here like this; he would have already been recognized in the Hall of Knights."

After the funeral, the prayers, the coffin’s burial, and the official report of Veron’s death to the Hall of Knights... Deculein never showed up.

“Hold on. The Professor did actually make an appearance, but only briefly...”

"It must not suit Yukline’s pride to make an appearance, especially since Veron was not a knight of noble birth.”

The knights of the Freyhem Knights’ Order muttered among themselves, voicing their frustrations with Deculein. Veron’s death had been officially recorded as a fall during a struggle with an assassin while defending Deculein.

Amid everything, Yulie had stayed silent. She offered no response to her subordinates' complaints. Knowing the truth behind Veron’s death, she suffered each day in quiet agony, sinking further into despair.

“But, they say he fought beside him. Shouldn’t that be enough? Veron would have wanted it that way.”

Veron would have wanted it that way... Yulie repeated the knight's words in her mind.

That was the last straw. Gritting her teeth, Yulie stormed away from the knights and got into her car. As soon as she turned the key, she floored the gas pedal.

“Oh! Grand Knight! Where are you headed?”

“Grand Knight!”

Vroooom—!

The battered old car thundered down the road like a beast. Yulie drove the worn-out vehicle straight toward the Yukline mansion.

“... Where is the Professor at the moment?” Yulie demanded, locking eyes with the guard stationed at the sealed entrance.

The guard remained silent.

"Where is he?"

Despite asking multiple times, the guard remained unmoved. Yulie gave a slight nod, acknowledging his silence, and then positioned herself beside him. She would wait, no matter how long it took, until Deculein returned.