A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 162: Ages (3)

In the shadows stood a child with her golden-blonde hair. Her expression remained unchanged—a cold, distant look, with eyes that seemed to sink into darkness.

“Sylvia.”

As I looked at the young child before me, I imagined the Sylvia of the distant future. This child was a central named character in the world—a prodigy destined to become an archmage who would one day lead the continent. Between her and Epherene, I couldn’t say who would reach that future first, but it was certain that they would.

“It has been quite some time,” I stated.

Sylvia said nothing, standing as still as a doll. Rising from my seat, I took a step toward her, and immediately, a ripple of mana flowed around her, carrying a trace of murderous intent.

“Don’t come closer,” Sylvia warned.

I stopped briefly, watching her in the darkness of the cavern, faintly illuminated by the glow of the crystal tree. She seemed lost in thought—though I neither knew nor cared to ask how or why she had come to be there.

Thud— Thud—

Step by step, I moved forward. The air around us felt heavy, though it wasn’t due to her presence.

Thud— Thud—

As my footsteps echoed and I approached, Sylvia raised her hand to stop me and said, "Stop."

Disregarding her words, I pressed on and said, "It is you who should stop."

Whirrrrrrr—!

The Wood Steel blades responded, nineteen of them orbiting me as their mana started to build up. Sylvia glared, her eyes filled with hostility. But she wasn’t the problem. It was the Death variable—the deadly crimson aura looming behind her.

“Shh.”

At first, I thought Sylvia’s murderous intent was directed at me, but if that were the case, she wouldn’t have hesitated. No, the ominous, undeniable aura of death creeping out of the darkness was...

“I said don’t come any clos—”

Misunderstanding my movement, Sylvia activated her mana.

Boom—!

I launched myself off the ground, closing the distance to Sylvia in an instant. Without hesitation, I activated Duct Tape, binding her in place.

"Your journey is far from over, Sylvia."

Though her talent is undeniably immense, only a few mages could ever match my skill in the true art of practical combat. Only those with overwhelming firepower, like Adrienne or Rohakan, or knights like Yulie, whose physical strength far dwarfs my own, pose any real threat.

"It seems you've arrived bearing trouble," I continued.

“What are yo...”

I gestured toward the darkness beyond. Sylvia, who had been about to speak, fell silent. Her expression remained unreadable, yet there was a hint of shock on her face. There, a figure scattered death variables—a strange-looking person, no—a being that surpassed the very label of human.

An imposing silhouette, nearly nine-foot-ten tall, loomed before me with a mouth stretched wide like a shark’s, a face as pale as death, and eyes that glowed with a deep crimson hue. I had seen this figure before, or rather, I had heard of it—through Epherene’s description. It was her eyewitness account that had led to Sylvia being placed under surveillance as a potential threat.

"Is that the ghost of your own making?"

For it to extend death variables toward me, it had to be a rather threatening opponent.

Sylvia gritted her teeth and said, "Let me go."

"It seems you’ve let go of all formality in your manner toward me."

Sylvia pressed her lips together, twisting her bound arms with all her strength, though releasing her mana would be nearly impossible under the hold of the Duct Tape. Even for her, analyzing the magical structure of the spell woven into it would take at least three minutes. Still, she thrashed against it, as if she’d break her own wrists to escape.

I shook my head at the sight and added, "You’ve developed quite a temper."

“No.”

I deactivated the Duct Tape, and Sylvia staggered. In that instant, the ghost flicked its tongue, lancing it toward us like a spear.

Clang—!

The Wood Steel intercepted the attack, and a shower of sparks erupted although it was the metal that clashed against flesh.

Hummm...!

Soon, Sylvia’s mana filled the space, spreading through the surroundings—the manifestation of Primary Colors. In an instant, the entire area transformed into a vast, sandy open field. Her magical ability was flawless, beyond reproach.

"You have come into your own."

"I’m not here for your approval," Sylvia said, her eyes busily flickering between me and the ghost.

“Very well. Then go ahead and handle it yourself.”

A faint crease appeared between Sylvia’s brows as her golden eyes lifted to meet mine, a trace of uncertainty clouding them

“This is your chance to correct your mistakes. If you can tame that ghost, it will become a significant advantage."

There was no need for me to step in on her behalf. While that ghost posed a death variable to me, it seemed to hold no such danger for Sylvia. Its tongue, after all, lashed deliberately away from her. More importantly, any interference on my part would only impede her magical growth.

“I look forward to seeing it,” I said, as the Wood Steel gathered beneath my feet, forming a platform.

“Go,” Sylvia said resolutely.

With a steady expression, I nodded slightly and replied, "You have my trust, Sylvia."

“... Why would you,” Sylvia said, glaring at me with a look of frustration.

At that moment, the Wood Steel lifted beneath me, suspending me in the air as the ghost’s tongue lashed out. But its attack dissolved into dust before reaching me, evidence of Sylvia’s magic, Primary Colors in its purest and most powerful form as the Eraser.

***

In the distant future, within the Northern Region’s finest restaurant, Charancha of the Antler Deer, Epherene sat beside Sophien. Granted the honor of selecting their meal, she pored over the menu with care, while a quiet melancholy settled heavily upon her heart.

The heaviness of the air seemed to settle over the distinguished figure across from her. Her Majesty’s expression, even by generous reckoning, was somber—but for reasons quite apart from Epherene’s own. The thought of Deculein’s death in that future, if truth be told, hardly stirred Sophien; after all, she could always commit suicide if she so desired.

"... What a damnable place this is," Sophien murmured.

It was the very air around her that disturbed Sophien. For nearly two centuries, she had lived and died within the Imperial Palace—a place perfectly tailored to her whims.

No matter how fine the chairs or tables there claimed to be, they could hardly rival those of the Imperial Palace in luxury, nor match its pristine cleanliness. An intense urge toward suicide stirred within Sophien; she would rather retreat into a snow globe, where at least the air was unblemished.

“Pardon? Your Majesty, did you say something?” Epherene asked.

"... No, nothing," Sophien replied.

Every part of her body itched, weary and irritable, but she endured this life’s greatest challenge without revealing a hint of it.

"But, Your Majesty, how did you end up here together with me?" Epherene asked as she completed the order.

"Because I am the one who confirms this world’s existence," Sophien replied.

Though the words sounded egotistical, Epherene nodded as if they were perfectly natural, then asked, "Even the horse outside?"

"No. He is likely..." Sophien paused, a faint, amused smile playing at her lips.

Even for a spiritual being, it was impossible for a horse to travel to the future. Still, Sophien retained every detail of this moment with clear understanding. There was only one speculation that her future self had knowingly sent the horse to this place.

“Hmm?” Sophien murmured, her sight drawn to the window as her eyes widened.

Epherene tilted her head slightly and asked, “... Is something the matter?”

“Look. They’re engaged in a game of Go.”

Across from the restaurant, in the cold expanse of the park, a game of Go was underway—a quiet battle of black and white stones on the continent of woods.

“Ah, I see,” Epherene replied.

A faint smile crossed Sophien’s lips. It seemed that Go had deeply rooted itself in this future, offering her something genuinely engaging to focus on.

"... Your meal is served."

Soon, an endless procession of dishes that Epherene had ordered began to arrive—one, two, three, four, five, six... nearly a dozen in total.

Epherene gulped as she looked over the feast before her, then asked, “But, Your Majesty, if I may, do you happen to have any money?”

"I have none."

“... Sorry?”

Sophien lifted her knife and fork with elegance woven into each movement, carving into the steak as though it were a work of art. Meanwhile, Epherene anxiously rummaged through her pocket, breathing a sigh of relief upon finding her paycheck.

“Phew...”

As Epherene wiped the sweat from her brow, Sophien set down her napkin, having already spat out the first bite of her meal. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she incinerated both the food and the napkin.

“Your Majesty...?” Epherene said.

"It does not suit my taste."

Sophien then moved on to the next dish, but it too proved unsuitable for her taste. She frowned as she rinsed her mouth with water, her displeasure unmistakable.

Fucking damn it. It absolutely tastes like shit, Sophien thought.

"... Tch."

“Is everything all right, Your Majesty?” Epherene asked.

"You may stay here and finish your meal," Sophien remarked, rising to her feet.

Though the food was dreadful, it had shaken her out of her drowsy state. Thanks to the terrible meal, she figured she would stay awake for at least a couple of hours now.

"I will go and satisfy my curiosity," Sophien said, moving ahead not only to watch the game of Go but also to follow the faint traces that Deculein had left in that future.

"Oh... yes. I’ll take some time to consider the matter of the professor as well, Your Majesty," Epherene murmured.

"Do as you see fit."

Epherene, not daring to follow the Empress, instead picked up her fork and knife to carry out the command she had received to stay there and finish her meal.

~

"Well now~ you're quite the master, I must say!"

Sophien visited a park in the Northern Region and ended up playing Go. Originally, she had intended to visit a library, but the sight of people gathered around the game drew her in.

"Every move of yours sparkles with creativity. It's absolutely remarkable..."

"Where might you have come from? You don’t seem local to the Northern Region."

Sophien felt quite satisfied with their praise, for it hadn’t been hollow flattery but genuine admiration, a respect for her strength that rang with heartfelt sincerity.

“Is there a particular individual around here who is skilled in Go?” Sophien asked.

"Oh, that old gentleman used to be our champion," a young lady said, gesturing to the elder whom Sophien had just defeated.

The bald old man cleared his throat, turning his eyes away to avoid their watchful scrutiny.

"It's scarcely a challenge. So, who’s the strongest player on the continent? Is there someone worthy of being called a master of Go?”

Sophien, deep down, anticipated hearing her own name—something like "Her Majesty, Empress Sophien the Great."

“If it’s the whole continent, then of course, it must have definitely come from the Yukline’s—”

"Enough," Sophien interjected, cutting off the conversation before it could continue.

It was a future she had no desire to envision. Although it felt as though her chest twisted with discomfort, she maintained the faint possibility that they had invoked the Yukline name only out of fear—afraid to even mention the Empress's name.

At that moment...

"Excuse me! Excuse me~! Is anyone named Deus here?" the postman called out, raising his voice as he approached. “Mx. Deus~ Are you here, Mx. Deus?!"

Sophien found the shout irritating at first—the sharp pitch of a boy still untouched by puberty. However, as the name Deus reached her ears, its meaning fell into place instantly.

"Is there a Mx. Deus here—perhaps playing a game of Go?!"

With a subtle flick of Telekinesis, Sophien effortlessly drew the letter from the postman’s hand, capturing it mid-wave.

“Ahh!” the postman cried out, stumbling back, startled.

Sophien's eyes rested on the envelope, silently tracing its surface.

To Deus, At Play in the Game of Go

The word Deus in the runic language meant the Empress, referring to none other than herself. Sophien thoroughly inspected the envelope before tearing it open and pulling out the letter inside.

Your Majesty, it is Deculein writing to you now, reaching across the distant future.

The first line, in its boldness, caught her eye immediately—however, the letter’s intrigue grew richer with each line she read.

From this moment onward, I intend to place my life entirely in Your Majesty's hands.

“... Hmm.”

Although the contents of the letter were both ridiculous and outlandish, a slow, broad smile spread across Sophien’s lips with each line.

***

At the bottom of the crevasse, Sylvia sat blankly on the ground, her eyes drifting through the shadows, her body utterly exhausted and drained of mana from the battle with the ghost. Her thoughts circled endlessly around one name—Deculein, Deculein, Deculein.

“Grrrrrrr.”

“Quiet,” Sylvia commanded, her voice slicing through the ghost’s growl.

The ghost, covered from head to toe in blood, let out a rattling cough before curling in on itself. Though it had taken time, Sylvia had finally brought this creature—her own creation—under her complete control. Now that she had succeeded, her thoughts drifted once again to Deculein.

The recent exchange she had overheard resurfaced—a confusing conversation between Epherene of the future and Deculein of the present. Sylvia pondered their intertwined words, unsure of what was real and what wasn’t, while the past and future melded into a swirling mist.

“... Hey,” Sylvia mumbled as she stepped closer to the emerald-hued tree. “Speak.”

But only silence and stillness remained. Though it had communicated lively with Deculein, the tree now ignored Sylvia completely, as if her presence were beneath notice.

Placing her hand on the tree, Sylvia muttered, “Arrogant Epherene. Answer me.”

... It feels hollow. She had much to say to Deculein—both things spoken and unspoken. Somehow, it leaves me feeling foolish, Sylvia thought.

“Epherene. It’s me, Sylvia.”

The ghost edged closer as her fingers traced absently along the tree’s rough bark.

“Sit.”

“Grr.”

The ghost settled beside her, its silent stare fixed on her, as Sylvia returned her focus to the tree.

"I'm going to sit right here and wait until you answer me,” Sylvia murmured, sinking into a nearby chair—the very one Deculein had so recently occupied.

The very thought made her unusually nervous—an odd heat flushing her cheeks and a flutter of frustration stirring within. Sylvia soon brightened the dim space around her, hoping her words would reach Epherene in some unknown place.

"I, too, want to know."

The image of Deculein remained in Sylvia’s mind—the striking blue of his eyes, his broad shoulders, and his voice, crystalline and cold.

This much is certain—I hate him. I loathe him completely. However, just sharing the same space with him, just feeling his breath touch me—no, in every single one of those moments, my heart quakes wildly, as though caught in a storm of madness.

“... Am I going to be the one who kills Deculein?”

Sylvia found herself wondering if, one day, she might be the one who would kill him, the one she both loved and hated with her own hands. And perhaps, just maybe, Deculein genuinely wished for her to be the one to do it.

“Tell me.”

But there was no response. Sylvia puffed out her cheeks, her eyes nearly like lasers drilling into the tree, but silence stretched on endlessly.

“You fool.” @@novelbin@@

Epherene was as arrogant as always. Left with no other choice, Sylvia crossed her arms on the tea table and decided to wait until this stubborn tree finally chose to give her an answer.