A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 254: Event (1)

When I returned to Hadecaine, the capital of the continent, the first place I visited was the Yukline mansion.

“Oh, hey Lord Decul—”

“Step aside,” I said, and with a flick of Telekinesis, pushed Yeriel back as she waved her hand, showing little interest.

“Wait—hey! Hey! I said I have something to say! There he goes again, always walking away!” Yeriel groaned.

I kept walking, tuning out Yeriel’s angry voice as if it weren’t even there.

“But, Professor, does that mean Sylvia’s staying on the island? All by herself?” Epherene asked, hurrying to keep up, worry evident in her voice.

“That was the second-best path we could take,” I replied. “There’s one more step left—the one that leads to the best.”

The magic circle stretched across the Island of the Voice, with only the third stage remaining to be completed.

“One more step?”

“Indeed.”

It started as nothing more than a mere possibility, one I wasn’t sure could ever be implemented, with slim chances—but the Unique Grade Equipment Catalog changed that.

As she’s the reason I’ve earned three, the least I should do is spend one for her, I thought.

“And what is the best path?” Epherene asked.

“... Not leaving her alone,” I replied, heading down the stairs.

Not long after, I reached the underground, where knights were stationed to guard the sleeping adventurers.

“Sir!” said one of the guards, straightening their spine as they saluted.

“Still dreaming, are the adventurers?” I inquired.

“Yes, sir! They’re currently exploring.”

“Then wake them,” I replied. “There’s an update they need to hear.”

“Yes, sir!” said one of the guards, and without a single question, they moved as one.

I glanced at the watch strapped to my wrist.

“An update? What kind of update, Professor?” Epherene asked, her hand tugging at the edge of my sleeve.

“About the link between consciousness and magical space.”

“... Huh?”

“I’ve already inscribed a magic circle on the island,” I continued.

In its current state, no one could set foot on the Voice, as any being bearing flesh who attempted to step onto the island's grounds would risk entanglement in the remnants left behind; however, sending only one's conscious self was of no consequence.

“The manifestation and containment of consciousness have already been demonstrated within my magical space,” I said. “Moreover, the Island of the Voice—no, Sylvia’s island—is a wellspring of creation, and the link will hold.”

Of course, it was a possibility in name only, closer to fiction than reality, but swept up in Kim Woo-Jin’s all-too-human wish, I found myself adding it to the magic circle.

However...

“From where will you cover the mana, Professor?” Epherene asked.

At Epherene’s question, I held out the mana stone, and her eyes widened as her lips parted without a word.

“What...”

The item was a golden mana stone, about the size of a thumb, something I’d obtained from the Unique Grade Equipment Catalog.

“Woah...”

The fact that the Equipment Catalog offered nothing but a single mana stone made it clear—this was the only one of its kind, a mana stone so unique it might as well be a piece of equipment on its own.

“I want it...”

“Wake up,” I said, flicking Epherene’s forehead as she reached for it, seemingly absorbed in it.

“Ow!” Epherene screamed, stumbling back and rubbing her forehead with both hands. “That hurts... but what is that? It’s like it’s pulling me in.”

“It’s called a Sunstone,” I said. “A mana stone formed without impurities—condensed from nothing but sunlight and mana.”

───────

[Sunstone]

◆ Description

:A mana stone forged solely from pure sunlight and raw mana.

:A miracle made manifest.

───────

It is a miracle made manifest—a pure convergence, impossible by the laws of this world, and so it may help me achieve the small miracle I seek, I thought.

“Sorry? It was formed from nothing but sunlight and mana? Is that even possible?”

“Whether it’s possible or not isn’t for you to question,” I replied.

“Oh... right... you’ve got plenty of money, Professor,” Epherene said, turning back to the Sunstone, her eyes already clouding with that dreamy glow as it pulled her in once more.

“Wow... It’s mine...”

“Silence,” I said, brushing Epherene’s hand aside. “Prepare yourself. When the adventurers come out, I will be modifying the magic circle.”

“... Oh, yes, Professor!”

Creeeeak—

At that moment, the basement door opened, and the adventurers stepped out—faces drawn with fatigue, their backs sagging under the weight of overflowing packs.

“Professor, why? We were right in the middle of treasure hunting~” Ganesha said, her red hair spilling over her shoulders as she complained.

Standing beside Ganesha, Ria and Leo wore the same frustrated expressions.

“The second test will be posted. Come back in three days,” I replied, though I had no idea what she’d been doing. “If you wish, you may pass the time at the mansion...”

***

Three days later, at the central lighthouse on Sylvia's island, its owner, Sylvia, looked down upon the land below, committing its beauty to a landscape painting.

“... Hmm, there we go.”

Trees stood tall in a dense forest, grass whispered in the wind, and flowers bloomed—each captured in oil on the canvas, which Sylvia regarded with pride, a work so impressive that even Deculein would have praised it.

“Looks good,” Sylvia added with a bright smile blooming as she brushed her hand over the Bearbie Panda on her lap. “I think it turned out rather well, don’t you?”

Bearbie Panda stretched without a sound, Sylvia’s smile faded like morning mist, and with a slight bitterness in her chest, she placed the canvas and brush aside, her eyes looking out at the sea beyond the window.

Outside, clouds flowed in slow circles, light and hollow; leaves fluttered down like sighs, and the season itself felt suspended, caught somewhere between summer’s warmth and autumn’s hush.

I feel empty, hollow, and lonely. That much, I can’t deny. And sometimes, I feel afraid, too. Just how long will I be here, alone on this island...

“Kreeeeeeeeeeeee—!”

At that moment, Swifty, who had gone out for a glide, cried from somewhere outside.

Sylvia flinched, her eyes snapping upward as she asked, “Swifty, why—”

“Oh?”

Then, all of a sudden, Sylvia heard a voice in the distance—uncertain, almost questioning.

... Sylvia remained silent, wrapped in a hush that stretched just a breath too long.

“... Oh?”

Then came another voice—this one filled with admiration—but unmistakably human, and not one that belonged on this island. Sylvia slowly lowered her head, swallowing hard as she looked down from the lighthouse in tense silence.

“... Ah.”

A single word fell from Sylvia, as if the weight of her wonder had turned to water and dropped like a tear.

There’s people on this island.

One by one—first one, then another, then more—they raised their heads upward, and the ones Sylvia had been silently watching were now looking back at her.

“Oh, that person must be Sylvia,” said one of the group.

“Hello~” said another of the group, waving a hand.

Sylvia stood lost in her confusion, still searching through clouded thoughts—until a name reached up from their voices, catching her ear.

Deculein, did he send them to me?

“Alright, so what should we be doing here? Excuse me~ Is there anything you need us to do?”

“Is there any small task we could do?”

“The scenery is pretty nice. Makes me feel like looking for a mine.”

Sylvia had no way of knowing—her senses were overwhelmed, as if the world had gone blurry and the sounds distant. But for those who had arrived on the island, the magical link Deculein had granted served one clear purpose—to make sure Sylvia would never feel lonely on her island.

As long as they followed that one simple rule, they were free to claim whatever the island offered, and that had been Deculein’s final offering—and Kim Woo-Jin’s final offering.

***

The Empire was at peace, having stitched itself back together while the Voice faded into nothing, and it was only natural that Sophien now stood at the height of public favor, with the people’s trust in her stronger than ever.

On the other hand, the Empire’s conflict with the Scarletborn, especially across the desert, had reached a dangerous edge—like a thread trembling over a flame, fragile and near breaking.

“Congratulations to you, Professor.”

Although tensions ran high across the continent, the Addicts from the Floating Island—apathetic to worldly matters—stepped into my office, handing me a box and a certificate for my Ethereal promotion and the robe that marked it.

“Much appreciated,” I replied.

Being promoted to a rank just beneath that of Archmage—surely one of the highest honors accorded to any mage—was no small thing, and I allowed myself, if only briefly, the pleasure of satisfaction.

“You may leave.”

"Yes, then. I look forward to your continued success," replied one of the Addicts.

[Level Quest Completed: Promotion to Ethereal]

◆ Mana Point +300

◆ Category Talent Selection

Three hundred mana points and, of course, a selection of category talents were not bad rewards.

“Oh, congratulations, Professor. You are now an Ethereal,” Epherene muttered with a hint of jealousy, and once the Addicts filed out of the office, she sat hunched over the thesis, looking like a shell of herself.

“When will that thesis be finished? And when exactly will you set your mind to mastering the Four-categories magic? All you’ve done is bury yourself in work, making it nothing but pathetic,” I said.

“Oh, come on! It’s hard! You know it’s hard!” Epherene barked, her words bursting out like sparks.

Well, I admit that I can’t say it’s entirely not my fault—she stayed up for three nights with me, linking the adventurers’ consciousness with Sylvia’s island, I thought.

“Epherene, I’m deducting points from your professor evaluation. Mind your attitude—and your dignity,” I said.

Of course, none of that had anything to do with the evaluation.

"How is your behavior lower than a bone dragged by a stray dog?"

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!"

Bang!

The moment Epherene dropped her forehead onto the desk...

Knock, knock—

When a clear knock came at the door, I gestured with my chin to Epherene, and her face twisted with frustration as she yanked the door open.

“Who is it... Ahhhh!”

The moment she saw who it was, Epherene collapsed onto the floor as if the air had left her body—and given who was standing there, no one could blame her.

“Y-y-your M-Majesty!” Epherene stammered, her words tripping over each other as she bowed, her body trembling like a leaf.

I, too, stood, meeting the eyes of the woman beyond the threshold and offering a respectful nod.

“Professor Deculein,” called Empress Sophien as she approached, her tiger coat swinging like the mantle of a predator, her heels clicking as she took the seat opposite me.

I bowed my head and said, “... Why grace me with your presence, Your Majesty? Had you summoned me instead—”

“Take this,” Sophien said, handing me the document without another word. “Here are the lists of Scarletborn villages for you to dispose of.”

“Scarletborn villages, Your Majesty.”

“Indeed, a fair number of Scarletborn villages were discovered in your absence,” Sophien replied, smiling like a snake in a graceful crown. “If you’re thinking of taking the Elite Guard—”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty. This task is well within my ability alone. You need not concern yourself,” I replied, folding the document neatly and slipping it into my inner pocket.

“Furthermore, Roharlak will have a gas chamber added. Odd, isn’t it? The grandest concentration camp, yet no gas chamber was installed until now. I’ve been meaning to ask—why didn’t you set one up?” Sophien asked, raising an eyebrow and nodding, like she was testing me.

“There’s no particular reason, Your Majesty. Do as you will,” I replied.

After a brief silence, Sophien let out a scoff that broke the silence of the office.

“Starting next month, you’ll be staying in the Imperial Palace for eight weeks. It’s for an event,” Sophien added.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

[Main Quest : Event at the Imperial Palace]

◆ Store Currency +3

◆ Additional Rewards May Be Granted Upon Completion

The Imperial Palace held a grand event once every few decades—an Empress’s Event. On the surface, it was meant to test the loyalty of nobles and servants, but the truth was much simpler—everything from its timing to its format depended entirely on the Empress’s choice, as it was a tradition to hold one such event per reign.

"But is this moment fit to serve Your Majesty’s will?" I asked.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“The event was originally meant to intimidate or pressure the nobles and ministers whenever the monarchy began to waver—”

“Professor, do you believe there will come a day when my authority will be shaken?” Sophien asked.

I thought it through, then shook my head.

“Indeed. I have set it for next month, since I do not believe such a day will ever come. Before I declare my war.”

Before declaring war. Of course—it must be the Scarletborn and the desert she means, I thought.

"I understand,” I replied, meeting Sophien’s eyes.

Sophien met my eyes in silence.

Epherene was long gone, and judging by the single shoe left behind, she must’ve run as if her life depended on it.

A moment later, Sophien's eyes moved toward the Go board.

“Hmm. It’s been a while. Let’s have a game of Go.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. However, a personal visit like this could cause problems,” I replied, placing the Go board on the desk.

“And why should that matter? It is, after all, my procession,” Sophien replied, her hands portioning out the Go stones.

“The political implications differ. Even if Your Majesty meant no such thing, interpretation will follow.”

Sophien was playing black, and I played white.

“Hmph. My procession is mine to command—and in the end, the meaning will be what I guide.”

“I won’t stand by and let myself be guided by that current.”

Tap—

Sophien placed the first stone—black—and stared into my eyes.

“... You won’t stand by, is that what you're saying?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Rattle—

I held the white stone between my fingers.

“I hold Your Majesty in the highest respect and reverence...”

Tap—

I set the stone down—not on a star point, nor a three-four point approach—but where no one opens a game.

“But I am no one’s plaything,” I concluded.

It was no pattern, no variation, no trick—but a break from the board itself, and in that moment, Sophien’s brows gave the faintest twitch.

***

In Padahal—a dense area reminiscent of a jungle forest in the Empire’s southeast—there was a Scarletborn village where they lived in silence. Compared to their counterparts in the Altars and the desert, they were far more peaceful, but by no means naive.

The forest itself was their first line of defense, laced with magical traps, and a band of vigilantes, trained in both blade and spell, guarded the village from within.

Rustle—

Footsteps echoed as someone stepped into the forest—every movement causing the Scarletborn to watch, drawn by an undeniable dignity and grace that hung in the air like morning mist.

Rustle—

The forest was unnaturally silent, holding its breath—the kind of silence that pressed against the skin—and beneath it, tension coiled, more fragile and more fatal than a sheet of thin ice.

Rustle—

Because in that silence walked Deculein von Grahan-Yukline—the one whom the Scarletborn called the Grim Reaper of the Scarletborn.

Rustle—

The Vigilantes of Padahal swallowed hard, their fists clenched around palms damp with sweat.

Rustle—

On his fifth step, a dry twig snapped beneath Deculein’s dress shoes, and he stopped in the center of the forest, scanning the area—unaware or unbothered that he stood at the threshold of layered magical traps.

“Do you all hear me?” Deculein said.

No answer came from the forest; however, a faint curl appeared at the corner of Deculein's lips as he continued his words.

“Of course you all can hear me. After all... you’ve scattered such shoddy spells all around. How pathetic, how lacking.”

Deculein muttered under his breath, laced with disdain for the Scarletborn, before looking off into the farthest reaches of the forest, as if searching for something only he could see.

“Listen well. I offer you all a choice.”

It was the word choice, dangled like a gift—spoken with the weight of a favor, as if mercy had been handed down from on high.

“The choice is simple. Either you all leave your heads at my feet here...”

At that moment, the vigilantes gritted their teeth, their breathing uneven as they prepared for what was coming.

“Or, live out what remains of your days in Roharlak.”

‘Resist me here and die, or crawl through the short life in Roharlak. Whatever choice you all make, its end will be death.’

“However, time is short.”

That was how the Scarletborn of the forest met Deculein’s offer of choice—with silence.

“You all have ten minutes.”

Under the arching canopy of Padahal, where sunlight failed and the ground rose in tangled weeds, Deculein stood alone, as still as stone at the center of the forest’s breath, waiting—for the Scarletborn to choose.

“That’s all the time you’ve all been given,” Deculein concluded.