A VILLAIN'S WILL TO SURVIVE

Chapter 206: Proof (2)

“… Wow.”

Having returned from the World of the Voice, Epherene stood in a daze, staring up at the Yukline mansion.

The mansion stood in quiet splendor, its grand structure framed by elegant annexes. A marble path stretched from the gate to the entrance, winding through a garden filled with exotic blossoms. Butterflies fluttered among the floating pollen, while a fountain sent arcs of water cascading into the tranquil pond.

If I had to sum up this entire scene in an idiom… Fresh and new? A pretty sight? Wait, are those even proper idioms? Epherene thought.

Ever since returning from Rekordak, the Yukline mansion had become part of Epherene’s daily life. Yet no matter how often she visited, its grandeur still felt overwhelming, as if she would never quite get used to it.

“Have it sorted by the end of this month,” Deculein said, pulling a thick tome from his briefcase—Theory of Magical Refinement.

“What is this? No author, and I’ve never seen it before. Theory of Magical Refinement? I’ve read almost every book in the Mage Tower’s library, but this one…” Epherene muttered, tilting her head as she scanned the cover of the tome.

“It is a translated edition of an ancient tome.”

“… Hmm?”

Epherene examined the book again. Though its binding was simple, the leather was undoubtedly of the finest quality, and when she ran her fingers over the cover, it was spotless, without a speck of dust.

“But just how ancient are we talking?” Epherene asked.

“Before the Empire,” Deculein replied as he pushed open the door.

“Woah. Before the Empire? Then… the Age of Kingdoms?” Epherene asked, following closely behind him.

“Even before that.”

“… There was a time before that?”

Before the Gifrein Empire, there was the Gifrein Kingdom. But before that… was there even anything at all? Epherene thought.

“It is a translated edition of inscriptions from the Holy Era,” Deculein replied.

“What? And who exactly translated that? Isn’t it just a fraud or scam then?”

Deculein stopped in his tracks, his eyes glaring straight through her.

“Oh, did you translate it, Professor…?” Epherene murmured, realization dawning in her eyes.

“It is a translation of an inscription written in runic language. For now, you are the only one granted access to it, so do not lose it.”

“… Yes, Professor.” Epherene responded energetically, tucking the book under her arm. “Since it’s a translated edition, how much would it be worth? Three hundred thousand elne, I am guessing?”

“Even at a price of three hundred million elne, the Floating Island would still compete to purchase it. The translation remains undisclosed to the public.”

Epherene’s mind went blank for a moment. Three hundred million elne—a fortune beyond what she could ever hope to earn in a lifetime. Epherene swallowed hard, hands trembling as she clutched the book tighter, repositioning it from her side to the safety of her chest. Hugging it close, she hurried up the stairs.

“Three hundred million… Three hundred million… Three hundred million…”

Sweat beading on her forehead, Epherene reached the fifth floor—the space that served as both her study and bedroom. Epherene still lived close to Deculein, as she never knew when Decalane’s presence might resurface in her mind at any moment.

“… By the way, Professor,” Epherene asked as she settled into her chair. “When will we go back to the World of the Voice?”

“The intervals will grow shorter,” Deculein replied.

Epherene and Deculein woke the moment they reached the first checkpoint within the cavern in the World of the Voice. Though the path ahead still seemed long, they had already returned to reality.

“So forge ahead without a moment’s rest,” Deculein said, casting a brief glance at the book clutched in Epherene’s arms before ascending to the floor above.

“… Oh, but,” Epherene muttered, a shiver running down her spine at the mere thought. “Three hundred million elne… What am I even supposed to do with this?”

As she moved to place the book on her desk, Epherene flinched, her eyes darting around. After a brief hesitation, she used Telekinesis to lift a nearby blanket and spread it neatly over the table. Only once she was certain the surface was free of dust and scratches did she gently place the book down.

With trembling hands, Epherene flipped open the cover of the Theory of Magical Refinement. The pages were filled with intricate spells, yet, to her surprise, they weren’t difficult to follow—thanks to the annotations written in the margins.

This section may seem complex at first, but do not confine yourself to rigid structures. Instead, analyze the spell in segments. Refinement is not about reinforcing rigidity—it is about enhancing adaptability and fluidity. Begin by deconstructing the spell above into seventeen distinct segments.

The task within the book felt as if it were instructing her, and Epherene stared at the passage for a moment before nodding. Opening her notebook, she broke down the spell—just as Deculein had instructed—into seventeen essential components.

Reflect on the concept thoroughly before turning to the next page.

As Epherene read the final line, she realized this was no mere translation. This book—one of a kind in the entire world—was perhaps a textbook that Deculein had written just for her. And in that moment, a quiet certainty took root within her heart.

“It’s strange…”

Had Deculein pushed me so hard and spoken badly about my father all for my growth? Looking back, he had always been fair. Even when I nearly got expelled for that foolish fight with Sylvia, even when I founded the Common Magic Research Club… he had never stopped believing in me, Epherene thought.

“… Hoo!”

Epherene let out a deep breath and refocused on her studies. It wasn’t exactly about repaying that trust—perhaps they were fated to remain enemies as mentor and protégé—but she had once read that a mentor’s greatest pride was seeing their protégé surpass them.

From this moment on, my goal is simple—to push myself forward, to study without end, and to surpass Deculein. To ascend as an Archmage.

Buzzzz—

Just then, the Wood Steel tucked against her chest quivered ever so slightly.

Epherene let out a small chuckle as she pulled it out and murmured, “And what’s with you this time… Huh?”

Then, its surface caught her eye, and the Wood Steel, once rich with deep tones of wood, now looked faded.

“Why are you turning gray?”

The Wood Steel was fading to gray—no, ashen—a shade now close to her own hair.

***

… For the first time in a while, Sophien picked up a newspaper and the headline bore the news that had shaken the entire continent this past week.

Floating Island Breaking News: Deculein and Luna’s Thesis Completed

The Floating Island has officially validated The Invention of Pure Elements and the Four-Categories Magic Founded Upon It, a groundbreaking thesis authored by Deculein, head professor of the Mage Tower at the Imperial University.

While some critics argue that the proof remains theoretical and therefore incomplete, no mage of this era has ever come this close to achieving the monumental milestone of Pure Element Invention…

The very next day, another groundbreaking exclusive followed.

Completed Thesis to Be Delivered First to the Imperial Palace

Sophien set the newspaper aside and, without rising from her seat, used Telekinesis to open the window by the terrace.

“… What’s with all this fuss across the continent?” Sophien muttered.

Deculein’s thesis—its theory perfected and refined—arrived at the Imperial Palace last night.

They say over a hundred imperial knights escorted its journey from the Floating Island—what is this, a royal procession? Sophien thought.

“… The public sees it as an event of great importance, Your Majesty,” the maid said, as she tended to Sophien’s nails.

Sophien quietly stared at the crown of the maid’s head.

“They say it proves Professor Deculein’s loyalty, shining like a star in Your Majesty’s honor…”

For a moment, Sophien considered the possibility that the maid before her might suddenly brandish a blade or plot to poison her. But such a thing was beyond the woman’s reach, and even if it weren’t, Sophien would not fall so easily. And even if she did, she would simply regress.

Just then, Sophien flinched—a reflexive twitch from the light tickle as the maid tended to her nails.

“That’s enough,” Sophien said.

“Yes, Your Majesty. My apologies. I will finish once I’ve tended to this thumb.”

Deculein had once told her in a letter that she could not bear the weight of everything alone. Instead of drowning in endless doubt, she should find even the smallest source of support among her vassals and keep them close.

This was part of that lesson—a small gesture of help. Sophien wondered then, what could be more insignificant than having a maid tending to her nails.

“… Are you finished yet? It tickles. You may leave now.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. However… may I ask if you intend to decline the visit again?” the maid asked.

Sophien met the maid’s eyes. It was a bold question, yet devoid of any hidden motive. Compared to the eunuchs, her intent was purely innocent.

“I have a full day of duties ahead and will not be receiving anyone today.”

Every Wednesday, Deculein arrived at the Imperial Palace, claiming it was time for instruction. Although Sophien had refused him time and again, telling him not to come, he always appeared—on the same day, at the same hour.

“Then… does Your Majesty intend to study the thesis alone?” the maid asked, gesturing toward the document resting on Sophien’s table.

“Do you doubt my ability to handle it alone?” Sophien retorted sharply.

“N-no, Your Majesty. I would never dare to suggest such a thing. My deepest apologies…”

“Enough.”

Knock, knock—

At that moment, a knock echoed through the chamber doors.

“What is it this time?” Sophien inquired.

“Your Majesty, it seems Professor Deculein intends to wait for quite some time today. Aware of your pressing duties, he has proceeded to the Imperial Palace Library…” a vassal reported from outside the door.

Beyond that, the outside buzzed with other noises.

“Who else is out there?”

“… Yes, Your Majesty. The imperial mages are present as well”

“Your Majesty, perhaps you would allow us to review… to review the thesis—”

“Leave,” Sophien said.

The imperial mages were the first to lose themselves the moment the thesis arrived. Though its contents were reserved for the Empress alone, their desire for its knowledge was desperate.

“I have no time to waste. If you value your head, do not test my patience.”

“… Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the sea of footsteps receded, Sophien closed her eyes, letting the sound guide her. Fifty-seven—no more, no less—had gathered, only to leave, burdened by the weight of what they would never witness, their sighs thick with quiet regret.

“… Pathetic,” Sophien muttered under her breath, shaking her head before turning her attention to the preparations for the expedition to the Land of Destruction.

With Deculein having defended Rekordak at the cost of his very life, Sophien had every reason to make full use of it, and her first course of action was to isolate the Scarletborn within, settle unfinished business from the past, and devise a strategy to select the finest for the expedition.

“Your Majesty, would you care for dessert?”

Just as Sophien set down her pen, the blueprint for the next three years completed within the span of a mere three hours—the maid’s voice reached her ears with impeccable timing. Only then did Sophien understand why they had chosen to send this young maid to serve her. The maid was perceptive, and her round, chubby face held just the right touch of charm.

“I have no need for it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the maid replied, bowing deeply until her head nearly touched the floor.

“Deculein hasn’t left yet, has he?” Sophien muttered, her eyes resting on the maid’s crown.

“No, Your Majesty, the Professor remains in the library. And this,” the maid said, placing a letter on the desk, “has just arrived—an official letter from Professor Deculein.”

“… An official letter from someone right beneath my feet?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty. Hehe,” the maid said.

Annoyed by the smile, Sophien’s voice turned cold and inquired, “Why do you laugh?”

“… Pardon me, Your Majesty?”

“I asked you—why do you laugh?”

The maid’s face tensed, and Sophien noticed the slight changes in the maid’s muscle movements and her lines. There was no hidden intent—only the clear mark of fear.

“Your Majesty, I—”

“Speak honestly. I have no patience for lies.”

“It seemed…” the maid said, trembling as she hesitated before answering. “It seemed as though Your Majesty and Professor Deculein were caught in a tug of war of emotions, and I couldn’t help myself…”

“… Tug of war?” Sophien replied, furrowing her brows.

The maid kept her head low, not daring to meet the Empress’s eyes as she continued, “Y-Yes, Your Majesty. Professor Deculein keeps pulling the rope, yet you continue pushing him away…”

“Keep pulling the rope?”

“… Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And I continue pushing him away?”

“… Yes, Your Majesty.”

Sophien picked up Deculein’s thesis from the table and slowly turned the pages, reading each line with her eyes. But the words slipped past her, refusing to take shape, and with a quiet sigh, she set it down once more.

“By pulling the rope.”

Then, concealing her emotions, Sophien asked about the one thing she dared to admit not fully understanding—the one thing this young maid might know better than she did.

“Do you mean that the Professor harbors some sort of deep affection for me?”

***

In the Imperial Palace Library, I pored over the reports related to Imperial University that had been left behind, reviewed the necessary documents for the transfer of duties, organized the records of the Mage Tower’s former members, and designed the entrance exam for the next generation of mages soon to arrive.

“… How historical. Two centuries of university history, all gathered in one place…” I murmured.

“Yes, Professor, that is correct. Since both the Mage Tower of the Empire and the Mage Tower fall under the Imperial Palace’s jurisdiction, most of the related records are stored here—for preservation as well as surveillance,” Lexil, the librarian, replied.

As the soon-to-be Chairman, there was much I needed to learn.

“And… It has already been nine hours, Professor.”

At Lexil’s words, I glanced at my wristwatch. I had arrived at noon for the scheduled instruction, yet somehow, night had already fallen, and it was now 9 p.m.

“It is of no concern. Waiting is the duty of those who serve Her Majesty.”

At that, Lexil pressed his hands together, as if moved by the moment, with deep respect shining in his eyes.

“When do you plan to leave, Professor? I swear, the longer we wait, the more I find myself growing frustrated with everything,” Primien muttered, stifling a yawn, her face drawn with boredom.

“You should make use of your time and study. It’s thanks to me that you’re here, and there are books in this library you may never have the chance to see again in your lifetime.”

“… The librarian is watching,” Primien muttered, shooting an annoyed glance at Lexil.

Librarian Lexil had also obtained Primien’s consent for Thought Storage, allowing every thought that surfaced while reading to be shared directly with him.

“Are you hiding something from the Empire?” I asked calmly.

“I am merely thorough in protecting my privacy,” Primien replied in a composed expression.

At that moment, my face stiffened, and a heavy silence settled over the library.

“… Is something wrong?” Primien asked, her body tensing as she sensed the chill creeping into the air.

My eyes lingered on a single page, the words holding me in place.

Hmm. By now, Deculein, you must be reading this paper. It’s me—Rohakan.

The words written in the corner of the document were not merely Rohakan’s prediction that I would read them—they were something he had already witnessed in the future.

This moment, I feel as though I have seen it before—perhaps from the future. Anyway… my protégé, I am in the northeastern reaches of the Empire, at the Orhan Vineyard. Enclosed is a map—follow it and find me. We have much to discuss. Ah, and one more thing—I am already aware of the extra weight you’re carrying.

I glanced at Primien, and she hesitated, awkwardly moving forward. But a single look from me held her in place.

It’s fine—bring her along. I have one last gift for you. Not as Rohakan, but as a mentor… Oh, of course, I know that I’ve done little to earn the title of your mentor. But what can I say? When you were a child, I took your father’s money and made a promise—to be your mentor myself—and a mage does not break his word.

It was a ridiculous set of sentences.

If it were the original Deculein, he would have ground his teeth in disgrace or humiliation, I thought.

However…

“Primien.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“It’s time to head out,” I said, eyes still on Rohakan’s letter.

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