A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 215: Outing (1)

“You are exactly as I’ve heard, Professor,” Logeff said, sitting across from me in an elegant restaurant in Macan. “Now, I understand why Her Majesty holds you in such high regard.”

I sliced into the veal steak, and rich juices seeped onto the plate. A meal Epherene would have enjoyed.

“So, is the New Church finally stepping in?” Ihelm asked. “I thought the New Church would spend eternity tucked away in their quiet little cathedrals.”

“Eradicating heresy is the sacred duty of the cathedral,” Logeff said with a quiet chuckle, sipping his wine, his eyes—ever thin—curved like those of a fox.

“But still, doesn’t the New Church reject God altogether?”

This continent was shaped by three major religions. When the Holy Era fell and God’s presence faded from the world, belief fractured into separate paths.

The New Church followed the doctrines and teachings of Idsilla, the human who had walked closest to God. The Old Church, upheld by the Scarletborn, worshiped the God of a bygone age. And the Altar, a heretical sect, sought to bring that forsaken God back.

Entangled in all three, the Scarletborn had long been at the heart of conflict, their eradication had long been a constant undercurrent in the continent’s history.

“Yes, that is correct. Sepern, chapter 3, verse 19, ‘The Lord declared that He was no god, but a man like us…’ That is why we uphold His teachings, not the worship of a god,” Logeff said, slicing into a spear of asparagus with his knife.

Logeff was a vegetarian, refusing to take life; he abstained from alcohol, believing it tainted the clarity of a noble mind; and he lived in strict austerity, bound solely to the path of Idsilla.

Then Logeff added, “Of course, the distinction between the Lord and a god does not seem so great.”

“Does the New Church acknowledge the existence of God?”

The question had not come from Ihelm or me—it was Primien of the Ministry of Public Safety. After Vahalla’s fall, the officials of the Imperial Palace had gathered in Macan to handle the aftermath, and among them was Primien, the Deputy Director of Public Safety.

Logeff offered a pleasant smile before replying, “Oh, that is—”

“The first Archmage was a faithful servant of God,” I said.

At that, the entire restaurant turned to me—Logeff, Ihelm, and Primien at my table, along with the surrounding high-ranking officials.

“If he placed his faith in God, then his followers could not so easily deny Him,” I said, setting down my knife.

“Yes, that is correct. Ah, Professor, speaking with you is such a delight,” Logeff said, neatly swallowing a bite of asparagus before continuing. “Indeed, as the Lord Himself was a believer, we follow in kind… though, in truth, that interpretation is still open to debate.”

I regarded Logeff in silence.

“Whether the Lord believed in the existence of the Holy Era or if it was merely an embellishment by His devoted scribe, Rohan… The New Church now leans toward the latter—a rhetorical flourish, devised to guide those too blind to recognize the Lord’s power,” Logeff said, setting down his knife and dabbing the corner of his lips with a napkin.

Then Logeff continued, “More importantly, there is no proof that the Holy Era ever existed—not a single remnant remains upon this continent. The notion that runic language was the language of the God is nothing more than a tale spun by later generations. And yet, the Lord’s presence endures, leaving behind undeniable marks of His existence.”

Primien remained composed, glancing between Logeff and me, while Ihelm silently sipped his wine.

“Therefore, the New Church follows the teachings of a saint who once walked this land. The Scarletborn, in contrast, are branded as heretics—for they revere a god whose existence is uncertain, sowing discord across the continent,” Logeff concluded.

“That makes sense,” I replied with a nod.

Logeff offered a bright smile and began, “As expected of—”

“But why question a doctrine that has stood the test of time?”

For a brief moment, Logeff’s face hardened.

“The Bible is, at its core, a historical record—a transcription of the first Archmage’s very teachings. Yet, you dismiss parts of it as mere embellishments by his scribe while accepting the rest as truth? The moment you cast doubt on even a single verse, its claim to infallibility shatters.”

I tilted my head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at my lips, and added, “If you are to doubt, doubt it all. If you are to believe, then believe in its entirety.”

“… A most fitting insight for a mage, Professor. To set aside faith and see only the facts—perhaps that is why the Lord is called the first Archmage,” Logeff said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Idsilla—the one they called the Lord—bore the title of the First Archmage, a title officially recognized within the game itself.

“Indeed. Idsilla is the very foundation of the continent’s Magical Realm. I respect him not as a figure of faith, but as a scholar—one whose magic I seek to understand, and whose teachings I do not accept without question,” I said, glancing at my watch and noting that it was almost eight in the afternoon.

Then I added, “And through that questioning, I may have uncovered the very answers the New Church seeks in its own scriptures, the Bible.”

“… Very answers the New Church seeks, you say, Professor?” Logeff asked, a faint crease forming between his brows.

The primary duty of the New Church—the heart of the cathedral—was the analysis of scripture and doctrine. Even now, numerous passages remained shrouded in ambiguity, their meanings lost to time.

“For instance, the interpretation of Sepern, chapter 8, verse 11—‘A lamb, lost upon the path, donning the guise of a wolf.’ Or the meaning behind the final proverb that Idsilla left before departing from the Mortal Realm.”

The Bible held many unanswered questions, yet I knew most of them—some through the knowledge of the game, others revealed through Comprehension.

“… Is that so?” Logeff said, forcing a smile.

But as the conversation continued, his forced smile quickly faded.

“To me, Idsilla’s final proverb felt more like a map.”

The map was evidence pointing to the location of the Holy Relic—an integral piece of the main quest. By now, the cathedral had likely reached the same conclusion through its research. However, such knowledge would have been confined to only a handful of individuals, kept in the strictest secrecy.

“… Hmm. That is very interesting, Professor. And what else?” Logeff asked without revealing any emotion.

Tick—

Right on cue, my watch struck 8 p.m.

“The time has come, so I will take my leave. Since it is merely the speculation of a non-believer, you may disregard it,” I said as I rose from my seat.

“No, Professor. It was a thought-provoking theory, one worth considering.”

Logeff nodded with a smile, but I caught the fleeting emotions hidden beneath his expression—nervousness, anxiety, surprise, and doubt. For all his composure, he was an honest priest in his own way.

***

As night fell, Primien stepped out of Macan’s restaurant, only to be immediately surrounded by the Minister of Public Safety and a group of government officials.

“Deputy Director, Deputy Director Primien. What’s the status?” asked the Director of the Minister of Public Safety.

“There was nothing of note to report,” Primien replied.

“Phew, well, that’s a relief. Wow, seriously—I almost thought you’d lost your damn mind,” said the Director of the Ministry of Public Safety, wiping the sweat from his bald head. “I mean, how did you have the nerve to sit right next to the professor like it was nothing?”

As the high-ranking officials gathered in Macan and stepped into the restaurant together, Primien was the first to approach Deculein. The government officials from the Ministry of Public Safety were visibly taken aback, yet, to everyone’s surprise, Deculein made no move to stop her.

The Director of the Ministry of Public Safety let out a sigh and then added, “Either way, that rash stunt you had the nerve to pull off ended up giving the Ministry a boost.”

“When would you like us to proceed with the task?” Primien asked.

“All we have to do is transport the prisoners. It’s not like we’re drowning in work.”

The reason they gathered in Macan was to manage the aftermath of Vahalla’s complete annihilation, with their main task being the transfer and inspection of prisoners.

Then the Director of the Ministry of Public Safety added, “Anyway, it is all good. I’ve still got no clue how you managed to get on the professor’s good side with that damn personality of yours, but—”

“Attention, government officials!” declared Delic, the Elite Knight bearing three stars on his chest. “We will now commence a brief blood sample collection.”

“Blood sample collection?”

“Indeed. Just a single drop will do as this is a newly developed magic that will streamline the reissuance of identification should an official ever misplace theirs.”

Most of the government officials nodded in agreement, but not Primien—she knew the true purpose behind this blood collection. It was a means of distinguishing a human from a Scarletborn. Anticipating this, she had come prepared, a concealed blood pouch tucked within her robes.

“However, the blood sample collection will be handled by the Elite Guard. From inserting the needle to sealing the sample, every step will be carried out under our strict supervision.”

Primien toyed with the blood pouch tucked inside her coat, her tongue clicking in quiet contemplation.

“Now, we will commence the blood sample collection.”

As the Elite Guards moved from one government official to the next, closing in like predators on their prey, Primien remained still, lost in thought—what could only be described as a moment of life-or-death peril.

“Hmm.”

… Well, it’s rare to summon every department’s managers and directors for post-operation procedures. Unheard of, even. But there was no way around it. I never imagined they would conduct a search of the entire organization so quickly—from the very first operation in Vahalla, Primien thought.

“Deputy Director Primien, your finger, if you will,” the Elite Guard said, approaching with a needle in hand.

Primien gave a slight nod and extended her finger.

“I will proceed with the blood collection now.”

As the needle inched closer to her skin, Primien’s heart pounded against her ribs. A single drop of her blood, combined with the classified documents Deculein had leaked to her, meant the Scarletborn screening would take no more than five minutes.

Would that be enough time to escape? No—the Elite Guards are not to be taken lightly. Delic is here, and no doubt, several Intelligence Agency agents are among them as well

“There is…”

Just as she was about to accept that there was no way out…

“Deputy Director Primien.”

Someone called her name, and the needle, ready to pierce her skin, froze in place. At the sound of that voice, the Elite Guard immediately let it drop, straightened, snapped to attention, and raised his hand in salute.

“Sir!” said the Elite Guard.

“Are you occupied?” Deculein asked, his eyes moving between Primien and the Elite Guard, his uniform pristine and commanding like that of a seasoned officer.

“Not at all, sir! It is of no concern!”

Using the knight’s response as cover, Primien moved, pretending to pick up the fallen needle while discreetly puncturing the blood pouch concealed in her inner pocket, smearing its contents onto both the needle and her fingertip.

“… Take this,” Primien said, extending her bloodstained fingertip and the needle without hesitation.

“Oh, yes, Deputy Director!” the knight responded, securing the drop of blood—without having the time to question whether it was Primien’s. “My task here is complete! Please, continue your conversation, Professor!”

“Very well,” Deculein replied.

As the knight departed, Primien looked up at Deculein, and he, in turn, looked down at her.

Gulp—

“What brings you here?” Primien asked, forcing down a breath.

“Ready a horse. I have business to attend to alone,” Deculein commanded.

It was a simple request—just to have a horse prepared.

“Where could you possibly be heading at this hour?”

“To the vineyard.”

“… I believe you can take any horse from the stables if it suits your needs.”

“Hmm.”

Deculein tapped his staff against the ground, gave a slight nod, and let out a quiet chuckle.

“Indeed,” Deculein added.

At that moment, a sense of unease crept over Primien—no, it had always been there, hovering at the edge of her thoughts. But now, it had become clearer, caught somewhere between suspicion and certainty.

“However, there is a black steed in the finest stall of the stable. It belongs to our Director, who values it dearly, and it is widely regarded as a horse of exceptional pedigree,” Primien said.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Professor. Whenever he grows bored, he even orders the lowest-ranking officers in the Ministry of Public Safety to bathe and groom the steed.”

“Inform him that I will be borrowing the steed for today.”

“By all means, take it. It’ll be interesting to see the old bald man cry about it.”

“I’ll now be on my way,” Deculein said.

Thud, thud—

As Deculein walked away in measured steps, he suddenly turned his head and glanced back at her. Primien nearly exhaled in relief but caught herself just in time.

“Deputy Director,” Deculein said.

As Deculein called her title, his profile stood chiseled—his eyes, nose, lips, and jaw, every feature honed like a dagger, as if cutting straight through Primien.

“… Yes, Professor.”

“No matter what happens or what you anticipate, always remember—your plans will unravel in ways you never expect.”

As Primien stood still, his cold voice seeped into her ears, a quiet warning edged with admonition.

“It seems I hold you in higher regard than I thought,” Deculein concluded.

With those words that she couldn’t quite understand, he departed, yet Primien’s eyes remained locked on his back. Lost in a web of thoughts, she watched as Deculein made his way to the stables.

And finally, as Deculein mounted the director’s steed and rode away from Macan…

“Let’s see how you handle this, you damned old octopus,” Primien muttered.

Primien didn’t know where Deculein was going, but a quiet sense of triumph welled up inside her.

“… Wait. Vineyard.”

Then, a word from Deculein’s lips surfaced in her mind—vineyard.

… The vineyards of Rohakan.

***

Under the golden glow of the spring sun that bathed the campus of the University of the Empire, Sophien, disguised, walked along the bustling streets just before the start of the new semester, accompanied by Ahan, who was equally concealed.

“Oh… so this is what a university is like… Hmm?” Sophien muttered.

As she strolled through the university streets, her eyes landed on a familiar face seated on a distant park bench.

“… I’ve gone so long without sleep that I’m starting to think I might not even need sleep anymore,” Epherene said.

“Hmm? What are you talking about, Ephie?” Julia replied.

Epherene, Deculein’s protégé and assistant, sat staring blankly at the park’s pond, the shadows beneath her eyes deep, as if sleep had long forgotten her, like a panda.

“I have no idea.”

“Ephie, have you been busy revising your thesis? You look very tired. Just get some sleep.”

“No, I can’t. Deculein hasn’t returned, so I can’t sleep either.”

“What? Keeping you from sleeping? That’s basically torture! Ephie, report him!”

“Report him? Deculein?”

“… Oh, never mind. It’s Deculein—we both know that won’t work.”

“It’s fine. Out of twenty-five hours in a day, I get five hours. Just five. Five times eight is thirty…”

“… Ephie, you’re not okay right now.”

“Has she lost her mind?” Sophien muttered, turning her eyes away from Epherene then settled on Roteo Hall, standing tall among the many buildings on campus. “Well, either way, it seems I’m a student here now.”

“Yes, Your Maj… I mean, that is correct, Lady Soliet. You are officially enrolled as a student in the Department of Business Administration,” Ahan replied.

“Business, is it? Well, that makes sense. A ruler, after all, manages an Empire,” Sophien replied as she strolled along before settling into a seat on a nearby café balcony.

Ahan sat across from her, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. To meet the Empress at eye level like this was an unthinkable breach of order for a mere maid.

Beep—

At that moment, a message arrived through the Imperial Palace’s communication network, the Magic Slate. As Ahan scanned the report, her face grew tense.

“… Lady Soliet, there is troubling news,” Ahan said.

The Magic Slate was part of the Imperial Palace’s communication network, similar to the one used by the mages of the Mage Tower. As the Empress’s trusted aide, Ahan held a position that granted her access to nearly all matters within the palace.

“Troubling news? What is it?”

“Oh, it is about…”

Gulp—

“Last night, Deculein was seen entering the vineyard,” Ahan reported, swallowing hard.

“… The vineyard. You mean Rohakan’s vineyard?”

“Yes, Lady Soliet. The report comes from the eunuchs—it is unquestionable.”

Deculein… I can’t understand why that professor would suddenly return to that vineyard. Rohakan was the Empire’s most infamous criminal—he should know that even stepping near his land could be a political catastrophe, Ahan thought.

“I do not know why the professor chose to go there, Lady Soliet… but are you well? News of his visit to the vineyard will not remain hidden for long…”

The mere fact that Deculein had returned to the vineyard where he had slain Rohakan was more than enough to spark suspicion—no, it was far more than that. Even if Sophien herself conducted the interrogation, it would be justified. After all, Rohakan had been a criminal of the highest order.

“… Professor is more political than anyone in the Imperial Palace. He sure knows all too well that stepping foot in the vineyard would make him an easy prey for the hounds of the palace,” Sophien said, resting her chin on her hand as she stared over the university grounds.

Students, mages, knights, and physicians—young minds to shape the Empire’s future—moved across the university grounds.

“Yes, Lady Soliet. But why would the professor willingly return to such a place…?”

“Who knows?” Sophien replied, a faint smile forming on her lips.

At moments like this, she couldn’t help but realize.

“Because, in the end, he is only human.”

“Pardon me, Lady Soliet?” Ahan asked.

No matter how cold he appeared, he was human all the same.

“Don’t you see? Deculein is mourning—grieving the fact that he was the one who took Rohakan’s life with his own hands.”

Even he, who seemed devoid of blood and tears, was human, after all.

“That… that can’t be,” Ahan replied, shaking her head in disbelief. “Surely not, Lady Soliet. Professor Deculein would never—”

“No, I’m certain. He must have gone there to mourn Rohakan. Or to pay his respects. Or perhaps… to be swallowed by old memories.”

“Ah…” Ahan murmured, momentarily at a loss for words.

Deculein mourns Rohakan’s death, and to Sophien, a man who mourns Rohakan must be nothing short of a traitor.

That was how Ahan’s thoughts pieced themselves together.

“There is no need for concern. In a way, it is only natural that he mourns,” Sophien continued.

“… Pardon me, Lady Soliet?”

“Professor was once Rohakan’s protégé, and it seemed Rohakan cared for him. No—he certainly did. At least, when he spoke with me.”

Rohakan had come to the Imperial Palace, prepared to face death for his protégé, speaking only the truth and delivering a warning meant to protect Deculein. But in the end, that very warning set the course for his fate—his life taken by the very one he sought to save.

“I knew it, yet I still forced a protégé to turn against his mentor, because I could never trust Deculein, whom Rohakan cherished—but Deculein, who killed Rohakan, was someone I could trust,” Sophien concluded.

“Ah…” Ahan muttered.

“And so, Professor chose me—by killing Rohakan.”

Sophien had driven a wedge between protégé and mentor, and Deculein turned against him without hesitation.

“Professor seemed indifferent after killing his own mentor… but perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected as he appeared,” Sophien muttered, looking up at the sky.

The sun shone brightly in the clear sky, untouched by a single cloud.

“This time, I wronged the Professor. So, allowing myself a moment to reminisce is the least I can—”

“Excuse me!”

A clear voice sliced through the heavy silence, shattering its weight. Sophien and Ahan, momentarily stunned, turned toward the source of the interruption.

“You need to order at least one drink per person to sit here.”

The woman who suddenly appeared, calling for a one-drink-per-person rule, was none other than Yeriel—Deculein’s younger sister and the owner of the café, visiting her alma mater after a long time.

“But I don’t see a single drink on your table. I guess some things never change—college students are still treating cafés like they’re free study halls,” Yeriel grumbled.

Watching Yeriel cross her arms and snap back her words, Sophien experienced a brief sensation, something she hadn’t felt in ages—amusement…

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