A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 216: Outing (2)

I stepped into Rohakan’s vineyard, forcing my way through the tangled, overlapping worldlines with sheer mental strength. Without the Endurance I had acquired before, I wouldn’t have lasted long.

“You’re here,” Rohakan said.

Deep in the vineyard, I came across a cabin. The sky above was as blue as a midsummer afternoon, the sun pouring its golden heat over the wooden porch. Rohakan sat there, bathed in the warmth, waving as I approached.

“Come, have a seat.”

Rohakan looked older than when I killed him—no longer a boy, but an adult.

“Hmm… You’ve changed quite a bit, I see.”

I stepped toward him.

“This will do. You are finally worth teaching,” Rohakan concluded.

And so, the lesson began. Rohakan wasted no time on introductions or unnecessary words.

“Care to take a look?” Rohakan said, tracing a spell into the air.

A simple yet elegant magic circle took shape in the air, its design all too familiar to me.

“So, this is your Telekinesis, is it?”

Rohakan took one look at my Iron Man body and immediately understood the Telekinesis engraved within it.

“Yes, that is correct,” I replied.

“What a perilous undertaking… Engraving an entire magic spell onto your own body. Tell me, did it not hurt?”

“It was nothing more than pain.”

“Correct. You engraved a magic spell into your own body, exponentially amplifying its function, output, and efficiency. An ordinary mage—no, even a seasoned knight—wouldn’t dare attempt such a method,” Rohakan said, letting out a quiet chuckle.

It was a method only Deculein could accomplish in this world—one that would have been impossible without the Iron Man attribute and his unshakable mental strength.

“Each time you cast a spell, the circuit must overheat. That very heat could reduce your blood to cinders… And yet, the fact that you still draw breath proves it is stable enough,” Rohakan added, reshaping the Telekinesis suspended in the air.

The spell and magic circle rippled, their shapes warping into an ambiguous haze. Dozens of strange circuits branched outward, twisting together in intricate patterns, sketching an unknowable geometry in the air.

I looked upon it through the lens of Comprehension.

“How does it look?” Rohakan asked.

“… Inefficient,” I replied.

“Is that so?”

It was inefficient. Modern magic followed three fundamental principles: minimal, optimal, and advanced. Minimal—magic circuits must be as short as possible. Optimal—mana consumption must be kept to a minimum. Advanced—balancing both while achieving maximum output.

“It abandons all three fundamental principles—nothing more than a clumsy and inelegant imitation,” I said.

“Hahaha… Perhaps so, for the ordinary mage. No, they would not understand. Sometimes, the most inefficient magic holds the greatest depth,” Rohakan replied.

“Is that so?”

“Correct. This spell is neither scientific nor mathematical, nor is it efficient. It is, in the purest sense, magical. You, who measure only with reason, may find it difficult to comprehend.”

I looked at the spell again, but no matter how closely I examined it, it remained nothing more than a disjointed tangle of meaningless strokes.

“With this, your Telekinesis may no longer move just objects—but the phenomenon itself,” Rohakan added.

“Phenomenon,” I replied.

“Correct. Take, for example, the ability to command the very particles floating through the air—or to manipulate energy itself, even bending gravity to your will.”

I nodded. The thought of using Telekinesis to control particles or gravity was both profound and enthralling.

“But that is the work of the unrefined,” Rohakan continued.

I turned my head and met his eyes.

“Deculein, the essence of Telekinesis is, at its core, the concept of control itself.”

It was true. By definition, Telekinesis was the art of exerting control over an object without physical contact.

“But focus on the concept itself. When you seek to control ‘something,’ can you ever be certain of the limits of what that ‘something’ may be?” Rohakan concluded with a smile.

I narrowed my eyes slightly and said, “You’re not referring to some sentimental nonsense about controlling the heart or human emotions—”

“Hahaha… Even magic cannot move the human heart. But tell me, have you ever considered this? That with your Telekinesis, you could command all that is dynamic and all that is static? For example, that you might bring this entire world to a halt? That you might wield the power to govern concepts themselves?”

“That is impossible,” I said, shaking my head.

“Do you really believe magic is bound by limits? The moment you shackle yourself to convention, the moment your thoughts turn rigid, your growth withers. Break free—learn to let go,” Rohakan replied, clicking his tongue.

Splash—

A bucket of water poured over my head, drenching my hair, and the wet strands stuck to my forehead, brushing against my brows as they fell.

“Hahahahaha! Yes, that’s it. Break free—learn to let go.”

I remained silent.

“Hahaha…Ahem. Anyway,” Rohakan continued, clearing his throat. “This is your first lesson. Return, and at the very least, make an effort to understand the spell I have given you.”

I rose to my feet, the spell Rohakan had shown already engraved in my mind.

“Then, I will take my leave,” I said.

“… Well. Oh, one more thing—beware the Voice. The assimilation seems to be stirring.”

“I understand,” I replied, nodding.

It was no surprise, as the progression of the main quest, the Voice, still remained within my expectations…

As I walked the path beyond the vineyard, I turned Rohakan’s words over in my mind. The only lesson he left me was this strange spell—excessively inefficient and complex—and inscribing it into my body would take no less than half a year.

“However, it merits consideration,” I muttered.

The fact that this wisdom and knowledge came from Rohakan himself made it more than enough.

“Deculein! Take this!”

Before I could even turn around, an ancient wooden staff cut through the air, and I caught it with one hand.

“I have no use for it anymore,” Rohakan added.

Its name was the World Tree Staff of Murkan, a treasure beyond measure—one of the most powerful artifacts in this world.

I looked at Rohakan in silence.

“Take it with you.”

I held the World Tree Staff in one hand; in the other, my own.

“I understand. I will deliver it, though I cannot say if it will be accepted,” I replied, nodding as I finally understood Rohakan’s intent.

This legendary staff was never meant for me. Such artifacts chose their wielders by talent, and more importantly, this one bore a strict condition—only those with Mana Quality Grade 2 or higher could command it.

At the very least, one would need Adrienne’s level of gift, but Rohakan would never give his staff to her. That left only one other possibility—Sophien.

“… Well. But do not say it came from me—call it loot from the battle instead.”

“Understood. Will do.”

“We will meet again,” Rohakan muttered, raising a hand in farewell.

***

Back at the university café, Blue Melody.

“Why didn’t you guys just say you were freshmen?” Yeriel asked with a smile, looking at Ahan, who sat across from her.

“… No, it was our oversight,” Ahan replied.

“An oversight? Don’t worry about it. If you’re freshmen from another nation, it makes sense you wouldn’t know about the one-drink-per-person rule. Classes haven’t even started yet—I figured you were at least sophomores or juniors.”

“Thank you for your understanding.”

“No worries. But is she the lady you serve?” Yeriel asked, gesturing toward the grass field by the café.

Sophien—no, Soliet—stood there, surrounded by a few stray cats.

“Where did all those stray cats come from?” Yeriel muttered.

Soliet stood still as the cats curled around her feet, seeking her attention.

Well, that is strange—cats are looking for attention while the person stands unmoved. Isn’t it usually the other way around? Yeriel thought.

“So cold. She could at least give them a single petting.”

“… That is indeed true.”

As Yeriel sipped her coffee, stealing quiet glances at Soliet…

— Pay him no mind.

A deep voice echoed from somewhere, and Yeriel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Pardon me, but did you just say something?” Ahan asked, turning to Yeriel.

“No, I didn’t say anything. But… you heard it too, didn’t you?”

“Yes… something about paying someone no mind…”

— Paying him no mind is one thing, but what if he does something?

The voice echoed once more, and this time, there was no doubt—it was Ihelm’s.

— Do not worry. Kagan Luna can’t do a damn thing. Just leave him to rot.

The voice that answered was Deculein’s. As Yeriel glanced around, she soon realized—it was echoing from their own table.

— By the way, what is your younger sister up to these days? I heard she dropped out of university.

Once again, Ihelm’s voice echoed, questioning Deculein.

— I have told you not to speak of her. It’s none of your concern.

The younger voice of the two, along with the topic of conversation, made it clear—this was a memory, an echo from the past.

“… What now?” Yeriel muttered, swallowing as she feigned composure in the face of the unexplainable.

“It is an assimilation of the Voice.”

At those words, which seemed to explain the phenomenon, Yeriel flinched and turned toward the voice, finding Soliet approaching with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Assimilation of the Voice?” Yeriel asked.

“Yes. This is a phenomenon where voices from the past blend with the present. Here, the echoes of conversations long forgotten seep into reality, their words overlapping as if time itself is being assimilated.”

“… And how would you know that?”

Doubt was second nature to Yeriel, and for a moment, her eyes narrowed.

“This echo, this phenomenon of voices bleeding through time, will persist for quite some time,” Soliet replied with a faint smile.

“No, what I’m asking is, how would you know about that?”

“That is because…”

However, the relaxed composure on Soliet’s face soon disappeared the moment the next words fell.

— Oh, right. Deculein, are you meeting Her Highness, the Princess, this time? I heard there’s a banquet.

— There’s no need. It’s not a duty, so why waste my time?

— Why not? A meeting can only work in your favor. It’s always wise to form connections early.

— Rumors abound that she is cruel and ferocious. And as a Yukline, my presence—or absence—will cause gossip to spread all the same. It is best to let absence speak for itself…

Those were the final words, and with them, the assimilation came to an end.

“How would you know? Aren’t you a business major?” Yeriel asked for the third time, her patience wearing thin.

“It was a pleasure. I’m sure our paths will cross again,” Soliet said, offering her hand for a handshake.

“… Huh? Oh… Okay,” Yeriel replied, hesitating before taking the offered hand.

Without even knowing, Yeriel had already taken Her Majesty’s hand.

“I’ll be going now,” Soliet said, turning away with Ahan at her side.

“Pardon me, Lady Soliet, but… was that assimilation really happening?” Ahan asked in a hushed tone as she turned away.

“It is indeed happening. A demon’s handiwork, born from the very concept of Voice.”

Disbelief was written across Ahan’s face, as if struggling to reconcile reality with reason.

“Ahan, have the Intelligence Agency look into Deculein’s past,” Sophien ordered.

“… Pardon?” Ahan muttered, blinking at the sudden command, and after a brief pause, a small smile crossed her lips. “Oh, I see.”

Ahan nodded in understanding before adding, “You may claim otherwise, but his visit to the vineyard seems to have weighed on you—”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“My deepest apologies, Your Majesty.”

“… It is because my doubt will benefit Deculein,” Sophien muttered.

Although Sophien had allowed Deculein’s visit to the vineyard, she had to feign suspicion. Without it, the eunuchs and officials would stir like agitated hounds, demanding an inquiry into his true intentions.

“And… I find myself rather curious about Deculein’s past.”

I have never been one to concern myself with another’s past, yet lately—no, when it comes to Deculein, I cannot help but be strangely curious. Of course, it has nothing to do with the assimilation or that ridiculous conversation about ‘There is no need to meet Her Highness, the Princess.’ Sophien thought.

“Do you understand?” Sophien concluded.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will see to it the moment I return,” Ahan replied.

“One more thing,” Sophien said, turning to Ahan again, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Since Gerfried, the Empire has been without a Guardian Knight. Perhaps it is time to fill that empty seat.”

***

I returned to the Mage Tower late at night, and the moment I arrived, Epherene, who had been waiting in my office all this time, fell into sleep as if the weight of exhaustion had finally caught up with her.

Snore— Snore—

Epherene had buried her face in a pillow on my desk, lost in a sleep so deep that nothing in the world seemed capable of waking her. And yet, a strange, cold unease settled over me. The memory of the strange death variable she had unleashed not long ago kept resurfacing in my mind, refusing to fade.

But as long as I was at my peak, there was no chance she could defeat me. At least… not yet.

Scratch— Scratch—

I scribbled the spell Rohakan had taught me onto magical paper, my fountain pen gliding across the surface in a rush of ink. As I wrote, his words echoed in my mind—this might bring the entire world to a halt.

“Yawwwn—!”

As I contemplated the concept of Telekinesis, the sound of Epherene’s morning call, loud and brash like an elephant’s trumpet, echoed through the air. When I glanced outside, I realized dawn had already broken. My notes were now filled with Rohakan’s spells, hastily scribbled down in the quiet hours of the night.

“Yawwwn…”

Epherene let out a series of yawns, glancing at her wristwatch with a look of mild annoyance, and said, “Professor, you know there’s an entrance exam briefing at Roteo Hall tonight, right?”

“I am aware,” I replied.

“… Did you finish your work?”

“It’s done,” I replied, rising from my desk.

Epherene stretched her neck and shoulders before looking up at me and saying, “Professor, if you’re going out, can’t you take me with you? You always leave me behind, and I never get any sleep—wait. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You just enjoy making me miserable—”

“Deliver an official letter to the Imperial Palace, stating that I have a gift prepared for Her Majesty.”

“T-Today? To the Imperial Palace?” replied Epherene, who had been grumbling moments ago, gasping, her body tensing.

Epherene fears the Imperial Palace more than necessary. Is it because she’s been living as a commoner for too long? I thought.

“Indeed.”

It was Wednesday, a scheduled day for instruction, yet anything brought into the Imperial Palace required prior approval—whether a gift or otherwise.

“… O-Okay. I’ll, um, prepare the official letter first. Oh, and—here’s today’s newspaper, Professor,” Epherene replied, handing over the newspaper—The Journal.

The headline signaled the first true omen of the demon’s arrival.

The Dead Rise in the Streets, Their Voices Echoing from the Past—A Prelude to Disaster or a Mere Magical Phenomenon?

***

The Dead Rise in the Streets, Their Voices Echoing from the Past—A Prelude to Disaster or a Mere Magical Phenomenon?

In the Northernmost Region of the Empire, in Rekordak, Yulie set down the newspaper she had been reading. Across from her, Sylvia gave a slight shrug.

“It must be the aftereffect of the Voice,” Yulie said.

A medal adorned Yulie’s chest, and her complexion was noticeably healthier now that Deculein was no longer in the Northern Region.

“Yes. The Voice is beginning to assimilate into this world,” Sylvia replied.

“There have been no direct casualties yet, but the threat must be eliminated before any harm is done.”

“Yes.”

Yulie had grown used to Sylvia’s short replies and oddly hostile tone, pausing in quiet reflection with an unreadable expression. Since Deculein’s departure, she had steadily ascended in Rekordak, honing her skills and earning recognition as a knight of unparalleled strength.

It was only natural that knights from across the Northern Region now traveled to Rekordak, for no reason other than to have a chance to test their blades against Yulie in pure swordsmanship.

In every duel, her record remained unchanged—ninety-nine victories, zero defeats. Not once had she lost, and her awakening had long since transcended the Northern Region, its renown echoing across the entire continent.

“Knight Yulie!”

At that moment, the door swung open with a crash, and a voice thundered through the room. Sylvia glared toward the source, her eyes filled with quiet annoyance for such blatant disregard of decorum.

“Reylie, what is it this time?” Yulie asked, blinking as she looked at her.

“H-H-Her Majesty!”

“Her Majesty?!”

Clatter—!

The moment she heard those words, Yulie sprang to her feet, her knee striking the desk with a dull thud. Pens and papers scattered to the floor, but she paid them no mind. With her right hand pressed over her heart, she focused on Reylie’s lips, waiting for her next words.

Thump, thump— Thump, thump—

“Her Majesty requests your presence, Knight Yulie!”

“For my presence?!”

“Yes, that is correct!”

“The reason? Could it be that Her Majesty seeks my strength to face the Voice?!”

“I don’t know the reason either, but why are you still standing here? Hurry and pack your things! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! There’s no need to question it!”

“You are right!”

Yulie donned her tiger pelt armor and grabbed the bundle lying in the corner of her office.

“Quickly! Quickly! Also, your formal attire—and oh, don’t forget a gift for Her Majesty!”

“You are right!”

“There may be a ball, so also bring something other than your armor!”

“I have no other clothes! What should I do?!”

“Oh, honestly! Then just go and buy one! You do have enough money, don’t you?!”

“Alright! Let’s do that! How much should I bring?!”

“Everything you have! You must buy only the finest—and don’t forget the accessories!”

“S-S-Shouldn’t I be saving as much as possible?! I still need to invest in stocks—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Knight Yulie, get a hold of yourself!”

“You are right!”

Sylvia watched as the two scrambled to pack their belongings into bags, her eyes filled with quiet disapproval at the disorder unraveling before her.

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