A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 288: Ages (2)

In the stillness of the warehouse where not even the air seemed to move, I felt Sophien’s breath touch the tip of my nose as she lay over me, her body fitting against mine without a word.

The Empress was far too close for comfort, and normally my instincts would pull back since hygiene and personal boundaries mattered to me, but because it was Sophien, I managed to bear it.

In that moment, the Empress’s vitals appeared normal with even breathing and no change in her pupils just as they always were, but there was a slight irregularity in her heartbeat—her heart was trembling, meaning that she was not making light of it.

“Your Majesty,” I said.

“You needn’t worry. It’s curiosity, nothing more. My predecessors must have done such a thing to bring me into this world,” Sophien replied, licking her lips.

“Such a thing is not a kiss.”

Sophien did not answer, but her eyes drew into a deep curve, a look that alone was enough to put me on edge.

“Then…”

Tap—

Sophien’s lips touched mine for the briefest second—too quick to be called a kiss and not even warm—but her heart pounded like it had been something more, feeling more like a childish mistake than anything else.

“Your Majesty, I can hear the sound of your heart beating.”

“… I see, how strange,” Sophien replied with a nod before lowering her head and leaning against my collarbone.

“Your Majesty?”

“… A headache,” Sophien muttered.

At that moment, a crimson flare burst from Sophien, flooding the air around us, and in less than a second, the entire warehouse was swallowed in crimson as a Death Variable, so I didn’t hesitate and wrapped the Snowflower Stone over my chest and heart.

Boom—!

The very next moment, a massive shock slammed into my body, sending a tingle through every nerve and making me feel as if my bones were being crushed from the inside out.

“… Kgh,” I murmured, gritting my teeth as blood welled between them. “Your Majesty.”

I held Sophien in my arms, but her eyes were no longer her own, as crimson mana shimmered within them, overflowing with murderous intent, revealing the murderer sealed within her—the one who murdered her own mother.

“Your Majesty.”

With those hollow eyes, Sophien locked her gaze on me and began to draw mana into her grip as her nails lengthened and her fingers distorted into something monstrous. The mana around her was extremely lethal—it could slice through even the bones of Iron Man, maybe even the Snowflower Stone—and if it touched me, I wouldn’t be able to survive.

“… Your Majesty.”

However, Sophien didn’t go through with it, murderous intent still pulsing in her grip as she didn’t move and just kept staring at me without taking the next step.

Time passed in silence as the death variable that once filled the warehouse began to fade, thinning little by little, and now Sophien was resisting not something external but the murderous instinct boiling up from within her, and if that was the case, then as her loyal subject, it was my duty to stand by Sophien and help her through it.

“… If you would excuse me, Your Majesty,” I said, placing a hand at the back of Sophien’s neck and pressing on the vital point beneath it.

Plop—

Sophien’s body gave out and fell into my arms, the moment of tension passing in a breath, and in that sliver of time, I felt that death had come alarmingly close.

— Deculein, are you well?

Keiron, on the medal hanging from my chest, asked.

“Yes, I am fine.”

I managed to protect myself with the Snowflower Stone just in time, although my head was slightly spinning and there was no serious damage, and if I hadn’t had it, I would not have lived to see this moment.

— Is this what you expected would happen? The safety mechanism that God planted in Her Majesty’s instinct?

“Yes, it seems that way,” I replied, letting out a sigh. “It is best that we keep this in confidence between us.”

— … Would that be for Her Majesty’s sake?

“Without question.”

With Sophien in my arms, I brushed her red hair with both hands, letting the strands fall like silk between my fingers.

— But tell me, Deculein—will Her Majesty’s love always be hers alone? Must Her Majesty’s heart keep giving without ever being received?

Keiron asked.

“… Well,” I replied with a smile. “I wouldn’t say it’s entirely impossible.”

— … Is that true?

When Sophien’s lips brushed mine just now—light as breath—my heart stirred, and if anyone besides Yulie could ever receive Deculein’s love, it would be someone like Sophien, the most regal woman on the continent, for him class wasn’t just a condition but the price of entry.

“Therefore, I ask that you keep it between us.”

— Will do.

“For the time being, I ask that you suspend your instructions for Her Majesty’s combat training.”

— … Will do.

I finished speaking and took a breath.

“Then…”

I was drowsier than usual—probably because I’d just burned through nearly three thousand mana in an instant to block Sophien’s strike just moments ago.

“… I’ll allow myself a moment’s sleep,” I concluded, closing my eyes with Sophien in my arms.

Keiron didn’t answer, and I let myself sink into the warmth of sleep.

~

… About thirty minutes had passed when I heard a rustle from within my arms, and my heightened senses caught it immediately as Sophien let out a breath as if waking but stayed where she was.

“… Is that you, Professor?” Sophien muttered.

But rather than pulling away, Sophien pulled herself closer like a koala reaching for a tree, holding onto me the way one hugs warmth in sleep, as she gave a yawn, something almost contented, and tucked herself deeper into my arms.

***

The Land of Destruction, true to its name, was a place where no life could take root. Demonic beasts and demons roamed freely, with day and night blurring into one stretched chaos.

There were no meadows or streams—only choking air saturated with mana concentration so dense that a gas mask was essential. But it wasn’t the afterlife, since one didn’t die the moment they stepped in.

The Land of Destruction had seen more than just the Altar. Numerous adventurers and seekers who walked without fear of death. Life simply couldn’t last without outside support, but that hadn’t stopped those willing to brave it.

Creáto, the Empress’s younger sibling, was in the Land of Destruction, and beneath it in the underground stronghold known as the Sanctuary of the Altar, he was looking into a crystal orb.

“It seems people are coming,” Creáto said.

Quay’s crystal orb, capable of revealing any location across the continent, was astonishing even to mage Creáto, and its vision reached anywhere he desired, unrestricted by distance.

“Yes—I didn’t drag them here,” Quay replied.

The crystal orb now projected a strange sight—a procession of people walking one by one toward the Sanctuary of the Altar, each carrying a bundle on their back as they left the living heart of the continent behind and stepped into the Land of Destruction, a place steeped in death.

“No one’s pushing them—they’re coming of their own will.”

Creáto turned toward Quay.

“They believe in my revelation and choose to follow it, a belief born voluntarily and faith without compulsion,” Quay concluded.

“… Will you preserve them as well?” Creáto asked.

Quay offered a smile.

Preservation was a privilege—one that Quay, who called himself God, promised Creáto, assuring him that even if the entire continent was remade and all things reset, Creáto would be spared and remain on the continent.

“No, their original sin cannot be cleansed. That privilege belongs only to you—for now. However, their souls will remain, and they will be regenerated with the same soul but destined for lives far from the ones they knew.”

“… What purpose does that serve?” Creáto said through clenched teeth, his jaw tightening. “Regeneration without memory or flesh—is that not merely another name for death?”

“You’re not wrong if it is seen through a narrow lens. However, human memory is, after all, limited by human constraints, and their entire span of years, in the eyes of the cosmos, is no more than a speck of dust.”

“I, too, am human,” Creáto said, each word falling like a stone laid in place.

“… No,” Quay said, shaking his head with a smile and placing a hand on Creáto’s shoulder. “You are different.”

Perhaps because he had lent his body to Sophien, Quay felt an odd sense of affection for Creáto, as Creáto’s very birth—and even the strong sense of connection Sophien shared with her relative—had been part of Quay’s design from the start, just one small step in a far greater plan.

“You will have what you seek. If the continent is remade, its magic will begin with you, and the knowledge you hold will become the cornerstone of the new world to come.”

Therefore, Creáto—whose very existence strengthened Quay’s divinity—was more than deserving of such a privilege, but without agreement or refusal, he turned without a word, walked away, and left the room.

“I’ll give you enough time. Humans tend to think things through, don’t they?” Quay concluded.

Quay was more than willing to give Creáto the time he needed to think because he already knew what the answer would be.

***

Meanwhile, back on the Floating Island, Epherene roamed through a row of magic shops, holding her stuffed purse with both hands.

“Is it necessary that you purchase it on the Floating Island?” Allen asked.

“Of course. The equipment left from the Ages is far too outdated. The Floating Island evolves by the day—how could we make do with technology from three years past…?” Epherene replied with a nod.

“Even so, the Floating Island is too dangerous. The Purgers might already be watching you, Miss Epherene.”

The Purger, much like a heretic inquisitor in religious terms, was the militant arm of the Floating Island. Their targets were often mage killers—those who created and distributed dangerous forms of magic. This time, it was Epherene who had drawn their attention because in the Magical Realm, tampering with the mysteries of magic and mana was no small crime.

“I mean, what’s there to worry about? With your talent, Assistant Professor Allen, we could take off in a single step,” Epherene said.

“I would prefer, if possible, not to draw any attention to my abilities…” Allen replied.

“Oh?”

At that moment, Epherene caught sight of a child she recognized from behind, wobbling along with both arms full of exquisite magic items, and without hesitation, she closed the distance.

“Ria!”

I thought Ria was an adventurer, so how did she find her way to the Floating Island? Epherene thought.

“How did you get up to the Floating Island… oh?” Epherene asked with a delighted smile.

Ria said nothing, staring at Epherene with a blunt expression, and the moment Epherene took in her condition, she instinctively stepped back.

“Umm…”

Ria’s cheeks were thin, her face thinner and more angular than before, her eyes had taken on a sharp edge, and even her lips were slightly askance, so different from the gentle girl she used to be.

“… I had a letter of recommendation since I’m an adventurer,” Ria replied, keeping it brief.

“Umm… Oh?! Wait—what happened to your arm?” Epherene asked, blinking and rubbing her temple.

Something about Ria’s hand seemed strange—no, one of her hands was gone, with everything below the wrist missing.

“I didn’t have one for a long time before,” Ria replied.

“… Huh?”

“I’d been using a prosthetic arm until now, but it broke,” Ria continued. “I’m going to get it replaced.”

“Oh… Why did it break?”

“During training. I’ll be going now,” Ria concluded, lowering her head and walking away as if she had nothing more to say—or no strength left to say it.

“… What on earth could she have gone through?” Epherene muttered, watching Ria fade into the distance.

Honestly, it is a little shocking. That sweet and bright child I remember now looks worn down, like a graduate student far older than her years, Epherene thought.

“Miss Epherene! Please hurry and buy it. We don’t have time,” Allen said, pushing her forward.

Pushed along by Allen, Epherene stumbled into a shop—and the moment she stepped inside, she spotted a research setup that was just what she’d been looking for.

“Oh, this is just what I needed.” Epherene said. “Excuse me—how much is this?”

However, Epherene was startled by what she heard.

“Five million elne—for a microscope and a mana solution set?! That’s my entire savings!”

“Yes, they are advanced magical tools,” the shopkeeper replied.

“But they were everywhere in the Professor’s laboratory!”

I remember grabbing one of those old microscopes lying around on Deculein’s laboratory bench while working on a Magicore, and now they cost five million elne…?!

***

As Epherene stood stunned by the prices on the Floating Island, Ria returned to the Yukline mansion, where a puppeteer arranged by Deculein was attaching her new prosthetic hand.

Crackle— Crackle—

Mana crackled like sparks as it threaded between the puppet and her veins.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” the puppeteer asked, her brows rising at how indifferent Ria seemed to the pain of the surgical procedure.

“I’m used to being hurt,” Ria replied, without even blinking.

“Haha, is that so? Hahahaha,” the elderly puppeteer chuckled, clearly entertained.

As Ria watched the elderly puppeteer work, she found herself impressed by the puppet’s craftsmanship and had never doubted the puppeteer because Deculein had chosen her, but even so, her expertise exceeded Ria’s expectations.

This level of craftsmanship is nearly Arlos’s. Wait—could she be Arlos? Ria thought.

“It seems you’ve had a difficult time under Yukline,” the puppeteer asked.

“… It’s like he digs down to the bottom of who I am,” Ria replied, nodding after a moment’s hesitation.

Deculein’s lessons were, of course, perfect by design, each cutting straight to the core and offering Ria insights so precise they bordered on the essence itself morning and night without fail, making it feel as if her body were being reshaped from the ground up like some kind of chimera, while her mind remained in a constant state of tension, held tight as if in a vice.

However, it was the way Deculein spoke that struck something deep within Ria, prodding her pride again and again, while the barely concealed contempt he occasionally showed sparked an instinctive anger she could barely contain.

“But I’m going to prove myself to him.”

Nonetheless, what consumed Ria now wasn’t because of Deculein himself, as the desire burning in her chest—to be acknowledged—had nothing to do with who he was and was not because he was Deculein but because Deculein looked so much like Kim Woo-Jin.

“If you keep swallowing all that down, one day you’ll blow—maybe even at Yukline himself.”

“… If it came to a fight, I’d win,” Ria replied, her lips pressed tight.

“Haha, is that so?” the puppeteer said, a smile blooming at the corners of her lips.

Crackle—!

At the burst of a spark, Ria flinched, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.

“There we go. It should move just like the rest of you now. It won’t break, and it’ll bond to you like skin to bone,” the puppeteer added, tapping Ria’s wrist with her fingertips.

“… Let me take a look at it,” Ria said, moving the wrist back and forth, testing it from every angle as her eyes widened without meaning to, and then she added, “… It’s perfect. It’s really perfect. It feels like my own hand.”

“Haha, that’s exactly how it should be. Though I have a feeling you’ll be back for repairs before too long.”

“Why?”

“While I was trying to wring a better deal out of the Head of Yukline, I had a little peek at your curriculum.”

Curriculum? Ria thought, tilting her head.

“It looked like there’s some practical training scheduled for next week.”

Then Ria looked toward the window, and there he was—Deculein, seated at a tea table in the heart of the Yukline garden, reading a book.

“… I can do whatever he throws at me. Even if it’s the Head of the House himself—I’ll be just fine as long as I don’t punch his face.”

From the neck down, he’s not Kim Woo-Jin, so I can do that… But does that mean we’re going outside for practical training? Ria thought.

Ria, worn thin from the long hours of indoor training, allowed herself a smile for the first time in what felt like ages.

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