A Villain's Will to Survive - Chapter 262: Phantom Ball (1)
Chapter 262: Phantom Ball (1)
Ruuuumble—!
Rain fell in a drizzle, and thunder growled through skies dark as ink, lightning tearing through the darkness. For a moment, the ghosts blazed in the electric glare, but they returned moments later, their faces even more grotesque and vicious, charging with a rage born of the storm.
“This is getting annoying. Hey, we’ll handle the distraction—Sirio, take them to the room,” Jaelon said.
All at once, dozens of the Altar’s soldiers broke formation, scattering in all directions through the corridor.
“Let’s go~” Sirio said, scooping up Epherene and Ria in his arms and shooting down the corridor like the wind itself.
Bang—!
“Whew~” Sirio murmured as the door clicked shut, setting Epherene and Ria onto the bed with a bright smile. “Great—you both seem okay.”
Epherene and Ria stared at Sirio in silence.
Plinnnnnk…
The sound of rain tapping against the old mansion seeped into the silence.
“… Why,” Epherene muttered, her words slipping from her lips. “Why did you come? Was it because… of that self-proclaimed God?”
“Hmm? Hahaha. A self-proclaimed God? That’s pretty funny,” Sirio said with a chuckle, dragging a chair over, flipping it around, and straddling it with his chest pressed to the backrest. “But yeah—it’s Him we’re here for”
“How many temples were destroyed?” Ria asked.
“All of them. Not a single one remained. It’s a shame—we never even had the chance for a prophecy,” Sirio replied with a bitter smile.
“… So you’re here to assassinate Her Majesty’s again?” Epherene asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Us? What are you talking about? We’ve never killed the Empress,” Sirio said, his eyes going wide as he shook his head.
“… Of course not now. But before the regression—”
“Not before that, either.”
“What are you talking about? That’s a lie—you guys don’t even remember what happened before the regression.”
As she spoke, Epherene stretched her words, her eyes distant with thought, calculating every variable in her mind, wondering if her magic could possibly bring down Sirio.
“Nope. I’m serious. I don’t remember everything, but I heard about it—straight from the self-proclaimed God you are talking about.”
“What? Then who was it that assassinated Her Majesty?”
“It’s simple. The Empress committed suicide. We just arranged it to appear as an assassination.”
At that moment, Epherene’s words caught in her throat, and Ria, watching in silence, blinked—clearly taken aback that she couldn’t hide it.
Before and after the regression? The Empress’s assassination and suicide? Both are way off from the official scenario of the game. Sure, there are dozens of endings in this world… but this is definitely a different route, Ria thought.
“Bullshit!” Epherene barked.
“I’m telling the truth. At some point, for reasons of her own, the Empress came to realize who she really was. That’s why she committed suicide,” Sirio added, shrugging.
Epherene remained silent.
“But it was you who revived her. Or rather, we made you revive her. You might even say we guided you along.”
At that moment, Epherene’s brow furrowed, tension knotting her features, and outside, the darkness pressed against the window, tangled like a spider’s web left to ensnare the night.
“You probably thought you’d done it yourselves…”
Slap—!
Sirio clapped his hands.
“But oops!” Sirio continued, a wide smile stretching across his face. “The scenario was manipulated from the beginning.”
Then, Epherene’s eyes stretched wide.
Is she beginning to understand what I mean? Sirio thought.
“Epherene, do you still not see it? We were the ones who set off that bomb to force your regression. We were the ones who killed Deculein over and over, who destroyed the continent every time you regressed. Every bit of it—it was all us, all of it forced upon you,” Sirio said, his smile deepening, finding her expression almost charming.
“Like we were telling you to hurry up—bring her back. Don’t leave the Empress dead,” Sirio continued, dipping into a chuckle at the end.
“A body is required for God’s descent? We were the ones out there collecting the materials for it? Says who? Did God say that to you? No—of course not. It never happened, did it?” Sirio added, brushing his fingers through his hair, his eyes flashing beneath the sweep of loose strands.
“You just interpreted what we said and did—and misinterpreted it yourselves as if it were real. But, of course, our followers believed it enough. But you know the saying—if you want to fool the enemy, first fool your allies[1] and, well… anyway.”
Sirio’s words died away, and then he raised his head to the ceiling.
“What matters is that every step you took was part of His plan all along,” Sirio said, his expression touched by a trace of melancholy. “Even when you twisted and detoured, when you revered and delayed, or wasted time sitting here and there… it was all part of the path He prepared for you.”
Sirio lowered his head, the smile slipping from his face as his calm, composed eyes landed on Epherene.
“… The One we speak of is the Emperor himself, and He is the Emperor in all but name. Now that the regression blocking His arrival has been removed, the time has come to usher in His coming.”
Sirio’s smile crept back onto his lips, the corners touched with something almost mocking.
“The reason I’m telling you this is simple—cooperate with us. Stand with us, and even when God makes His descent, you’ll live. But if you don’t—”
“Hmph. But what if that self-proclaimed God fails to come? What if we defeat Him—and He’s kept from descending forever?” Epherene interrupted.
“That would be even worse. Sophien’s endless hatred would set this whole continent aflame. After all, that’s exactly what she was created for,” Sirio replied, raising an eyebrow and nodding.
“… What did you say?”
“For now, Sophien’s wrath is directed at the Scarletborn. But once they’re gone, Sophien’s wrath will turn to another tribe. And when that tribe is no more, her wrath will move to the Kingdom. And when the Kingdom falls, it will turn to the Principality.”
“Sigh…” Sirio muttered, letting out a long sigh. “To be honest, the Empress’s last real opportunity to win was through that suicide. We were actually shocked—we never expected her to end her life like that. But now… thanks to the Professor, the Empress will never commit suicide again.”
Epherene remained silent.
“The Empress has found her reason to live. Even if she’s a calamity, even if she’s a monster set to burn this world down, even if every truth comes crashing down on her… she’ll never commit suicide again,” Sirio said, flashing a cool smile as he spread his arms wide. “Well? All those moves you thought were for the best ended up wiping out the only variable.”
“… No, you are wrong.”
“Come on, don’t be difficult.”
“No, you are wrong.”
“Yes, I am right~”
“No.”
“Yes~”
“Nope.”
“… Haha, well,” Sirio muttered, letting out a laugh and opening his palm. “Anyway, now you get it, don’t you? Everything—all of you—was right here, in the palm of God’s hand, and everything you believed, all of it, played out exactly as we planned.”
“Is that so?”
At that moment, a voice slipped through the room from outside, and Epherene and Ria flinched, snapping their heads toward the door.
“Your eyes are turned the wrong way.”
Finding nothing at the door, the three turned as one, their eyes snapping to the window—where someone, no, a ghost, was pressed flat against the glass.
“It has been a long time, Epherene.”
Epherene swallowed hard, tension knotting in her throat, while Sirio’s face hardened, and he drew his sword.
“Remain in that place, and the rot will find you.”
A face resembling Deculein, but older, his presence colder—a ghost unable to sever the ties between life and death, left to roam the afterlife in regret…
“… Decalane.”
“Stand up and come here,” Decalane said, extending his hand through the window. “Or will you let yourself be dragged down by those no worthier than fleas, cockroaches, and vermin?”
“Wow, your way with words hasn’t changed,” Sirio said, letting out a laugh in disbelief and narrowing one eye as he looked from Epherene to Ria. “But tell me—no matter what you think, aren’t we still a preferable choice over Decalane, wouldn’t you say?”
Ria gave Epherene a nudge on the bum, and Epherene flinched, startled, but cleared her throat as if nothing had happened.
“How foolish. There is no filth fouler than you, even in the depths of the afterlife,” Decalane said, his eyes blazing crimson.
At that moment, Sirio’s armor convulsed, metal rippling and mutating into living tissue—snaking out in twisting tentacles that wrapped tightly around him.
“Oh, what the? What kind of monstrous spell is this?!”
“Epherene! Let’s go! Hurry!”
“Okay!”
Then, without hesitation, Epherene and Ria sprang toward the window.
Craaaaash—!
As the window exploded in a spray of glass, Epherene and Ria tumbled into open air and fell into Decalane’s arms before the ground could take them.
“But nothing will change,” Sirio said, smiling as he looked from the two living to the one dead.
***
Yulie was dressing her wounds in a room of the old mansion, with Gawain, Adrienne, and Ihelm close by. They had retreated only because the enemies they faced refused to die, no matter how many times they struck them down.
“Thankfully, Her Majesty is safe. Professor Deculein has sent his word,” Gawain said, his hand gliding over the smooth crystal orb.
“You stand as Deculein’s accuser, and yet you believe his words?” Ihelm said, a sneer glinting beneath his words.
“… I do not deny that the Professor is a loyal subject of Her Majesty. But his hands are stained with more sins than one can count.”
“Listen to me! Why was I even called here?! I’m not supposed to get involved in the Mortal Realm’s stuff no more!” Adrienne said, planting her hands on her hips, her face flushed with anger. “And I am really, really angry right now!”
Adrienne let out little bursts of frustration, her breath flaring in angry huffs. Although Adrienne looked so adorable that, for a moment, it seemed a soft pat on her head might soothe her temper, there was real danger in that, and Ihelm, Yulie, and every knight in the room knew it.
After all, this was Adrienne—an Archmage at the height of destruction spells, with only her final farewell to the Mortal Realm left once her coronation was complete. And if she were ever to unleash her unrestrained rage…
“I ask for your understanding, Chairwoman. Both the living and the dead will be caught in the storm,” Ihelm replied, clasping his hands together.
“Then do something about it! Do something!” Adrienne barked, her brow furrowing in frustration.
Adrienne shrieked in anger, shouting loud enough that she might breathe fire—and, in the very next moment, she actually did.
Whoooosh—!
It blasted out like dragonfire.
Ihelm, watching the Chairwoman’s anger simmer, turned to Gawain and said, “… Knight Gawain, why don’t you send a message to Professor Deculein? It appears he has located a safe place with Her Majesty. The Chairwoman should head there—”
“Oh, I’m done! I’m going to bed—and I don’t even want to see the Empress’s face right now!” Adrienne yelled, flopping onto the bed.
Yulie stared down at the map, her finger tracing the mark left by Iggyris. Then, out of nowhere, Deculein’s voice echoed through her memory like a whisper from the dark.
“If you go to Iggyris, you will die.“
“… Father,” Yulie muttered.
The father Yulie had never dared to call Father had never once smiled at her; he had only ever resented her for the loss of his wife, and now, if he meant to end her life as well…
“Is everything alright?” Gawain asked.
Without a word, Yulie nodded, slipping the map against her chest, running a final check over her wound, and then pushing herself to her feet.
“I will excuse myself here. Please, take some rest.”
“Where to?”
Gawain and Ihelm turned to Yulie, and even Adrienne, slumped deep into the bed, turned her head, her eyes following Yulie’s every move.
“There is a place I must go,” Yulie replied, her hand gripping the doorknob.
Gawain pushed himself up, moving to follow Yulie, and said, “I will come with you—”
“This is a matter I must handle on my own.”
Gawain watched Yulie in silence, her eyes bright and as transparent as snow, shining with the pure clarity of one who had already accepted death.
“… Yes, Knight Yulie. Please… be safe.”
Gawain could not bring himself to step closer, nor could he dismiss the burning determination of the knight before him, so with acceptance, he lowered his head, the only answer he could give.
“Thank you,” Yulie said, bowing her head and opening the door.
But the moment she stepped out, her foot caught on a stone.
It was a mana stone.
To Knight Yulie, Your Guardian Angel
Yulie tucked the labeled mane stone into her inner pocket and walked on with her eyes on the map. Although she could have lost her way, she was not alone, as a ghost guided her forward.
… And so.
Restaurant
Yulie reached the end of the wall that wasn’t marked on the map—a hidden passage bridging the living world and the afterlife.
“Thank you for guiding me the way.”
Swoooooosh…
The ghost that had guided her faded from view, and as Yulie reached for the door, it opened without a sound—like the breath between two heartbeats.
Yulie stepped through, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes took in the sight ahead. The long wooden table stretched, its flickering candlelight illuminating the dining hall of Freyden’s castle—exactly as it had been when she’d dined with her father, Zeit, and Josephine.
“You’ve come,” Iggyris said, seated in the chair, his eyes resting on Yulie.
At their first encounter, he had been little more than a passing ripple in the air, but now, his form stood clearly before her eyes.
“Lord Iggyris, might I ask—where is this place?” Yulie asked.
“Can’t you tell? This is the place where I reside.”
Even as his voice deepened in clarity, Yulie felt her consciousness begin to slip away, her senses blurring with a fog in her mind.
“Sit.”
“… Yes, Lord Iggyris,” Yulie replied, sitting down in the chair opposite him.
“Yulie, you must have come here because of your resentment toward Deculein,” Iggyris said, his breath stirring in the darkness, lit only by the dim candlelight.
“Yes, Lord Iggyris,” Yulie replied, nodding with determination.
“Is your resentment toward him enough to want him dead?” Iggyris asked.
“Yes, Lord Iggyris.”
“And what is the cause of it?”
“There are many reasons, but I have no intention of seeking your power, Lord Iggyris. I—”
“Did I ever say I would offer you my strength? You are still as mistaken as ever,” Iggyris interrupted, his tone chiding.
Yulie inhaled a shallow breath, and his scolding hadn’t changed—it was harsh and all too bitterly familiar.
“Take out that mana stone,” Iggyris said, pointing at Yulie’s inner pocket, the scar on his finger unchanged from his living days.
“… Is this the item you sent to me, Lord Iggyris?”
“No, I asked a bad friend of mine to see it done.”
Muttering the words bad friend, Iggyris looked into the mana stone he held in his hand.
Then, Iggyris turned toward Yulie and called, “Yulie.”
“Yes, Lord Iggyris.”
“Do you believe it is Deculein’s fault that your core was broken and your body left on the edge of death?”
That question from her father—an unforgiving blow straight to the heart—was about the day that Yulie was unwilling to recall or let pass her lips.
“I believe the fault is mine,” Yulie replied, shaking her head after a long hesitation.
“Do you mean it? Do you place no fault on Deculein—not even a shred of it?”
Yulie remained silent.
“Are you certain that you can stand by those words?”
Yulie couldn’t bring herself to answer, the words trembling on her lips but never coming.
Even Yulie—no, even the greatest knight, even the mightiest of knights, or a saint worthy of scripture—couldn’t hold back the blame for the one who destroyed their dreams, as no one could forgive so completely or bear all the weight alone.
And no matter how much she tried to deny it, somewhere in the depths of her subconscious, a dark knot of anger stayed alive, smoldering in the heart’s core like a flame that refused to die.
Grind—
“… Perhaps that is what I’ve come to believe,” Yulie said, her voice shaking as she lowered her head, her teeth gritted. “Could it be that everything I resent now all began with the incident of that day?”
Yulie confessed, her face tight with the effort of holding back tears, and with each word, she clawed at the walls of her heart, desperate to search its depths.
“No, I believe it must have been because of that…” Yulie continued, raising her head as her mana flared around her like an aura. “Yes, all this time, perhaps I’ve only been searching for reasons to resent him, because of the memory of that day…”
From Yulie’s eyes, a single stream of tears traced down, the droplets freezing into rivulets of ice.
“No,” Iggyris replied, staring at the shimmering tear as it froze into ice, shaking his head.
Yulie didn’t understand what he meant, so she looked up at him, needing to ask what he meant by his words.
… And then he spoke.
“It was I,” Iggyris said. “No one else—no one but me.”
The darkest sin he had ever committed…
“It was I who did that to you.”
Against his own daughter.
1. A strategic concept attributed to Sun Tzu, the famous Chinese military strategist and author of The Art of War. It highlights the importance of manipulating one’s own forces through deception to create the right conditions for outsmarting the enemy. ☜
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