A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 233: Island of the Voice (3)

“This device is a Hextech Brainwave Explorer.”

At the coastal theater, I showed the adventurers the cylindrical machine and its helmet—a brainwave explorer, one I had once used myself.

“This explorer holds a test of my own design. It will draw on your mana and blood to activate the magic circle. From there, you will explore. Succeed, and you pass. Fail, and you're dismissed,” I said.

The brainwave explorer was already a masterpiece in its own right—but now, with the Midas Touch imbued into it, it lacked nothing to create an entirely new world of the unconscious.

“It’s rather simple.”

Therefore, the test of mental strength was simple. Each participant surrendered their consciousness to the machine. With their mana, they offered silent consent—and with their blood, they signed the magic circle I had prepared. The result mirrored a phenomenon similar to Carla’s Authority.

Technically, it was only a reproduction of Carla’s Authority—but close enough, I thought.

"There are 433 adventurers gathered here. Any may step forward and take the test at will. And naturally—should one choose to withdraw midway, that too is allowed," I concluded, my eyes sweeping across the crowd.

Red Garnet, Azure Helm, Blue Marlin—several well-known adventure teams had gathered. And as a rule of thumb, if a team carried a color in its name, they were never the average sort.

“... I, like—straight up have a needle allergy, dude?!”

At that moment, I caught sight of a man in martial attire, shouting at full volume and waving his arms like he owned the sky.

“Hehehehe... sooo, like—what now, bro?"

It was Jackal—Carla’s younger brother, grinning—who had already drawn every eye in the room with that outburst.

“Sooo, like... blood? Yeah nah, that’s kinda a hard pass for me, dude~”

The scent of blood seeped from Jackal’s breath, and the air around him had grown heavier—more dangerous than before. Of course, his presence alone felt twice as dense, as if his power had deepened beyond anything I’d known.

“Then leave,” Ganesha said, cutting in without missing a beat.

Jackal gave a grin, stood up, and casually placed his long sword over his shoulder like it weighed nothing, replying, “Mmmyeah... not really feelin’ the whole leaving vibe, bro.”

“... If you don’t want to leave,” Ganesha said, her eyes glaring at Jackal.

Jackal, too, did not look away.

“Then do you want to die here instead?”

At that moment, the grin slipped from Jackal’s face. frёeωebɳovel.com

Flap, flap—

Ganesha’s twin tails fluttered behind her, catching the tension in the air like blades drawn too near.

"... Honestly? Kinda down. Been feelin’ stiff all day anyway, ya feel me?”

A weight settled over the room as sparks of mana shimmered like falling light, and the auras of two masters swept through the theater.

As the adventurers watched in breathless silence, their eyes bright with anticipation...

“Jackal,” I called.

Jackal turned his eyes on me.

“Sit,” I added, tilting my head toward the seat.

“Bro, I mean—how’m I supposed to sit when she’s the one who came at me like a total psycho—”

“Is Carla dead?”

Jackal froze, and without meaning to, a twist of a smirk formed on my lips, as he and Carla had always moved as one—never apart. But now, it was just him, which could only mean one thing.

“Or, is she dying?” I added.

Jackal’s fingers curled tighter around the long sword.

“I don’t repeat myself,” I said, smiling as I watched Jackal. “Sit.”

Then it came—Jackal’s death variable. A red mist began to bleed from him and crept toward me like something alive, writhing at my feet.

However...

“If her life matters to you.”

At that moment, it froze—and Jackal’s unfocused eyes trembled, just barely, as if something inside him had cracked.

“... Yo, Professor,” Jackal said, his voice curling with something dark—thick with murderous intent. "You know 'bout it?"

It was nothing but a simple question.

"Jackal," I replied, locking eyes with the arrogant samurai as I slowly shook my head. "Learn your place."

“... My place.”

"I won’t fault you for a life spent in ignorance...”

Tap—

I tapped the platform with my staff, and the quiet impact swept through the air, rippling outward just enough to ruffle Jackal’s long hair, like wind over water.

“But you'd best start understanding the room you're in," I concluded.

Jackal went still for a moment, then stared at me with eyes empty of anything human.

Then Jackal said, "Yo, Professor."

Jackal took his seat.

"If you don’t, you're dead, man. Straight up."

As Jackal muttered under his breath, he looked almost spectral, his eyelids blackened to the brow, staring with a murderous glare that sliced straight through.

"Correct your tone from here on out—before I decide to put an end to it myself." I said.

Jackal remained silent.

"All adventurers wishing to take the test must submit their blood and wait for further instruction."

***

... Lately, the atmosphere within the Imperial Knights' Order had grown dark and tense. Outwardly, the Empire and its monarchy appeared stronger than ever, their influence expanding with each passing day—and the citizens could feel that progress in their bones. But within the Imperial Knights' Order itself, the foundation of merit above all else had begun to crack.

— Merit? That’s some bullshit. If the Professor likes you, you’re golden. If he doesn’t, you’re screwed. Just look at who’s supervising the external audit for the elite knight promotions—it’s the Lead Elite Guard himself, Deculein. Get on his bad side, and you can kiss that promotion goodbye. You’ll be booted before you even get the badge.

In the dark corridor of the knights' order’s annex, Deputy Knight Isaac stood in silent anguish, listening to the fading echo of the Voice as its assimilation seeped in.

— Even Her Majesty’s all over the Professor these days. And let’s be real—no one gives a damn about the Imperial Knights anymore. It’s the elite guards running the show now. If you’ve got any sense left, you’ll stick to the Professor like glue. Look at Delic—he’s not that cranky old fossil he used to be—

"It may be time for us to take our leave. The guest is waiting," Gawain said, his face no less somber.

Isaac gave a slight nod and pushed open the backroom door of the annex.

Creeeak—

In a reception room prepared for the Voice itself, a blond mage sat with his arms crossed.

“... Ihelm, it has been some time,” Isaac said.

It was an Imperial Mage, Ihelm.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. Is that what this is about? That Deculein is planning to take the Imperial Knights’ Order for himself?” Ihelm replied, pointing his hand toward the outside of the door.

Isaac gave a silent nod, and Gawain closed the door to the backroom behind him.

“That is correct.”

“So, is it really happening? You want me to go up against Deculein again—after I was humiliated in the last Chairman’s trial?”

“... We intend to convene a hearing,” Isaac replied, his voice sounding somber.

“A hearing?” Ihelm said, the disbelief evident across his face.

“Each spring, the Empire holds audits and hearings for corporations, merchant guilds, and noble houses. Many of the senior ministers are wary of the rise of Deculein’s influence. If we can apply even a modest check, it should be enough to keep him from acting with such unchecked power—”

"No—I can’t. If it involves Deculein, I want no part in it. Wouldn’t it be better to call someone from the Round Table instead?"

“... It would be unwise to bring the Round Table to the Imperial Palace, as their relationship with Her Majesty remains strained.”

"Is that so?" Ihelm said, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Isaac.

Isaac wore a complicated expression, one uncharacteristic of him.

"So... if I understand you correctly, you're looking for a noble mage—someone who knows exactly what Deculein has done, and has the strength to stand against him?"

“Yes, that is correct,” Gawain replied on Isaac’s behalf. “The Imperial Knights’ Order is in a critical condition. These days, men are judged not by merit, but by the weight of their connections.”

“... Has it become that critical?”

"Yes, Mage Ihelm!" Gawain replied, slamming the table. "The knights' order is now divided—those aligned with Delic and those who are not. But this isn't a factional dispute. It's a hierarchy. Delic’s side looks down on the rest, disregards them completely... and every crucial mission, every position of power, is held exclusively by Delic and those tied to Deculein."

"... Is that so?"

"Yes, Mage Ihelm! If this continues, the Imperial Knights’ Order will fall into the hands of Deculein, becoming his private knights' order."

"Perhaps that may be so. But I won't be part of it," Ihelm replied, offering a faint nod, his expression unreadable.

"Mage Ihelm, the fate of the Imperial Knights’ Order hangs in the balance. I may be near retirement, but the Imperial Knights’ Order was built to serve the Imperial Palace, Her Majesty, and the Empire. If it is taken over by Deculein, its future will be lost in shadow. You know that as well as I do—we both belong to the Imperial Palace," Isaac said, his eyes beginning to glisten.

"Oh, don’t look at me like that. I don't like it," Ihelm replied, waving him off.

Ihelm, of course, knew that Isaac was a man of substance.

"Isaac has always placed the Empire, the knights' order, and justice above all else. If he's speaking like this, then perhaps Deculein must be a real threat, Ihelm thought.

"Whatever the case, I am not doing it."

“Mage Ihelm!”

"Since we both serve the Imperial Palace, I’ll keep today’s words about Deculein to myself."

“Mage Ihelm!”

"Oh, come on. Enough of this. And if you're so desperate, there's another—one House with the standing to bring Deculein to a hearing."

"... A House?" Isaac asked, his eyes widening. "Who has that kind of standing?"

“Iliade,” Ihelm said, the word tasting heavier than he would admit.

The three fell into silence, trading nothing but glances.

"But I’m guessing Iliade doesn’t sit right with you?" Ihelm asked.

“... Ahem,” Isaac murmured.

There was something about Iliade that never sat right to Isaac. The stain of what he had done in Berhert hadn’t faded—and the name Glitheon the Lunatic needed no explanation.

"Glitheon may prove more of a danger than an ally."

"Then go to the daughter."

“... His daughter?”

“Sylvia.”

Sylvia of House Iliade—rumored to have the gift of an Archmage—was a name barely spoken among knights. They were never ones to follow gossip, and the magical realm was a world they kept their distance from, as it was a place of betrayal and backstabbing, where loyalty meant nothing and courtesy was ashes. Filthy to the bone. Just thinking of it made them look away.

"Is Sylvia really that gifted, as they say?"

“‘Really that gifted’?” Ihelm said, drawing the word out with a look of disbelief. “You both have no idea.”

Gawain and Isaac exchanged a pair of embarrassed coughs.

"Hahahaha! This is exactly why you've been left behind. No sense for politics, no eyes or ears in the field. But then, that’s always been the way of knights," Ihelm said with a laugh. "Do you even know what the Round Table is saying now about Sylvia of the Primary Colors?"

Without a word, Isaac and Gawain turned their attention toward Ihelm.

“... Sylvia’s talent might border on something closer to divinity.”

At the mention of divinity—power near to that of God himself—Isaac and Gawain felt a chill ripple through their spines.

"There are those who say Sylvia might be a fragment of the Holy Era itself. Perhaps Deculein knew—and that’s why he turned her away."

“... Turned her away?”

"Yes. Sylvia is under surveillance by the Intelligence Agency—and Deculein himself is the one in charge," Ihelm concluded.

"Hmm," Isaac murmured, clearing his throat.

Deculein, just how many moves ahead is that calculating mind of his? Isaac thought.

“Does that mean...”

"Sylvia is from Iliade, and if she holds a grudge against Deculein... As for me, this is all I can say. I don’t hate him, and I don’t like him either. Whatever remained—old grudges, former friendship—has long since balanced itself out. The rest is yours to handle."

"I understand. My thanks, Ihelm."

"I believe I said what needed to be said. Let’s bring this to a close," Ihelm said.

The three of them exchanged a brief nod and rose. But the moment the door to the backroom opened, it hit them like an explosion to the chest. They froze where they stood, breath caught in their throats. Every muscle drew tight, as if the body itself recoiled from what they saw. And the reason was...

“... Hmm, I see. So that’s what’s been going through your heads.”

Just outside the backroom door, muttering to herself with a hand on her chin, stood the most respected person on the continent—Empress Sophien.

"... Y-Your Majesty," Isaac muttered, before falling to one knee.

It wasn’t by choice that Isaac knelt—his legs gave way. Gawain and Ihelm followed without a word.

"Your Majesty, w-we weren’t expecting you..."

“I’m making my rounds,” Empress Sophien said. “I wasn’t in the mood to sit still today.”

“Oh...”

“So, you're planning to bring Deculein before a hearing?”

Everything blurred in an instant. Their thoughts slipped away, the world went dark, swallowing the edges of their sight, and sound faded. They stood in silence, held by the gravity of her presence.

“Speak,” Sophien added.

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty. Professor Deculein is attempting to take over the Imperial Knights’ Order from within. If left unchecked, his influence may soon reach the Crown itself..." Isaac replied, shaken but steadying himself under the weight of her stare.

“Hmm. Is that so?"

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And the reason?”

"The Imperial Knights’ Order was founded upon two pillars. Merit and chivalry, conviction and principle, justice and strength—only those who bore all, all of them, in equal measure were deemed worthy of rank.

“But, but under Deculein’s growing influence... that foundation... it’s, it’s cracking. Now... far, far too many, they're just struggling, struggling only to earn his favor. This... this is not the path of a just order, no, far from it,” Gawain said, stepping forward as Isaac swallowed hard beside him.

The words stumbled from Gawain’s mouth, misaligned and rough—but in a moment so urgent, no one expected elegance in a moment like this.

"So, are you saying Deculein has turned the Imperial Knights’ Order into a club of connections and favoritism?"

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

“Hmm,” Sophien murmured, giving a slow nod.

Even now, the three of them were still piecing it together.

“That does make sense.”

It took a moment for any of them to catch up. The change had been too strange, too sudden, and none of them could quite place where it was going.

"Interesting," said Sophien, the Empress, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Bring the daughter of Iliade and I may consider bringing Deculein to a hearing."

***

In the silence that settled over the coastal theater, where a total of 433 adventurers and named characters had gathered, every one of them wore a helmet.

“All 433 of them have entered the test,” Epherene said, having come here in the middle of preparing for the tournament with her teammates. “But...”

Sweeping her eyes across the adventurers seated in the audience, all wearing helmets and sitting so still, they looked as if they had quietly fallen asleep.

“Is the test difficult, Professor?”

“It is difficult.”

“Really?”

"It was designed for most of those to fail from the start," I replied, nodding.

“... Sorry?”

"Even I can’t say for certain what exists within."

Within the helmets worn by the adventurers, an unconscious world was beginning to take shape—imbued with the Midas Touch. In that space, control no longer belonged to me, but to the attribute itself.

“Be prepared, Epherene,” I said.

“Prepare for what?”

"We're heading to the Island of the Voice."

"... What about these people?" Epherene asked, glancing toward the theater seats with her eyes wide.

"Leave them to Julia, Drent, and Maho."

Julia, Drent, and Maho moved through the theater, checking on the adventurers one by one. Their task was simple; if anything went wrong, they were to cut the connection—to pull the plug on this test before it turned disastrous.

"Although Julia is a commoner, Drent is clever—he will manage just fine," I said.

"Julia’s great too. Being a commoner or a noble means nothing."

“Hmm,” I murmured, straightening my tie. “Make your preparations. You’ll be coming with me to the Island of the Voice.”

“... Yes, okay. I don’t mind.”

“Where we’re going isn’t without danger. I’d expect you to take it more seriously.”

Gulp—

Epherene swallowed hard, a beat too late. Just one sentence had drained the color from her face, leaving her eyes wide like a creature frozen in the shadow of a hunter.