A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 342: Empress and Sophien (3)

In the darkened Imperial Palace, Sophien sat in her inner chamber facing Rohakan, her sudden, uninvited visitor. With a slight smile on his face, Rohakan absorbed her emotions of contempt, anger, and sorrow, tolerating the protracted silence that thickened the strained ambiance.

As if in boredom, Rohakan silently looked around the inner chamber. On a wall, a portrait of a man was hung—the late Emperor of the Empire and Sophien’s father.

“He was a great sovereign, and a fine friend,” Rohakan said, recalling Sophien’s father with a bitter tone.

Sophien, watching Rohakan, leaned her chin on her hand, her eyes narrowing to an intense stare.

“He was also the husband of the Empress you had murdered,” Sophien replied.

As Sophien added, Rohakan lowered his head.

“… That is correct.”

Though Rohakan uttered his words in a hushed tone, almost like a confession, Sophien found his demeanor unlikable.

“Rohakan,” Sophien said, her teeth grinding as she let out a heated breath.

Rohakan was a name loathed by Sophien, for he was a significant cause of her hatred—not only toward the Scarletborn and the desert but also toward the worst of the Black Beasts who dared to assassinate the former Empress.

“I will now ask once more,” the Empress continued, her frigid tone becoming more pronounced.

From Sophien’s voice alone, Rohakan seemed to already understand what her question would be.

“You must speak the truth.”

Even as the Empress, Sophien continued to hold onto a personal matter—the memory of that day. Yet, the day the former Empress died, the day her mother was murdered, was absent from her mind. It was as if she had been led astray by the mists of oblivion, sunk into the deep abyss, leaving only a dazed and faint recollection.

Therefore, once again, Sophien asked, “Was it truly you who killed her?”

“… Is it necessary for you to ask once more?” Rohakan replied, his expression hardening.

“The reason I ask is that the memory of that day is dim, and that is all the evidence there is.”

“Is not your memory sufficient, considering that it is the memory of the Empress herself?”

“My memory may be sufficient, but what is certain is your mouth,” Sophien replied, pointing at Rohakan’s lips. “To settle for sufficient when certainty is at hand is a sign of complete idiocy.”

Then, Rohakan merely smiled, bringing his middle finger and thumb together.

“Well.”

Snap—!

It was the sound of fingers snapping together.

Whooosh…

In a split second, the scenery changed with the wind, and Sophien assessed the surroundings, finding herself in a white vineyard—Rohakan’s vineyard, filled with swirling thick mist and the sweet perfume of fruit.

“Moreover, are you not curious as to how I died?” Rohakan said.

Sophien frowned, but at the faint sight of someone barely visible in the mist just beyond, she was momentarily speechless.

“See it with your own eyes, for my timeline is laid bare here,” Rohakan added, a smile playing on his lips.

Sophien stared silently at someone seated in the cabin amidst the vineyard beside a strangely youthful Rohakan. He was a familiar face—too perfectly and impeccably dressed, too handsome, and too lovable.

“… Deculein,” Sophien muttered, her voice distant as she breathed his name.

“Yes, it is Deculein,” Rohakan replied, gesturing toward Deculein. “Specifically, the Deculein of the past. He sought me out and conversed with me then. He would, it seems, reveal his true thoughts before me. And those thoughts, for the most part, concerned you.”

Sophien turned to Rohakan.

“This is a timeline I preserved specifically for your viewing. Therefore, watch it here,” Rohakan continued, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

With a silent gesture, Rohakan pointed to Deculein, signaling the nature of their conversation and Deculein’s regard for Sophien, prompting Sophien to once more direct her eyes toward Deculein.

“Rohakan, was it truly you who killed the Empress?”

When Deculein asked Rohakan the exact same question Sophien had, all of Sophien’s attention was drawn to Deculein within the vineyard…

***

… It was an impression that became ever clearer the more one analyzed Deculein’s utterly flawless, elegant, and beautiful spell—a conclusion reached after forgoing food and drink and immersing oneself solely in his magic. Of course, magic was a realm of subjectivity, a discipline and a mystery where uniform evaluation was impossible.

Therefore, no definitive answer existed, and naturally, the assessment of any magic varied according to individual views and tastes.

However, there were undeniably results that were beautiful to everyone, and there were certainly outliers in the complex and subtle subject of magic that felt like art.

“This…”

For Louina, Deculein’s work was precisely that—and other mages would undoubtedly agree.

Rustle—

Louina placed the research document on Deculein’s spells on the desk, then covered her face with her hands and sighed.

“Haa…”

To elaborate on the spell of Deculein applied to this lighthouse, a thousand pages would be insufficient. It was immense in scale—deeper than the abyssal sea and more profound than the great ocean. Such magic would confound even a mage with exceptional theoretical knowledge, and even Louina had lost her way dozens of times while attempting to analyze its sheer volume.

However, if Louina were to pour all her effort and capability into beholding that grand totality—the spectacle of hundreds of thousands of magic spells interlocking like exquisite gears, turning without a single error—she would be astounded and horrified. Even the worst mage, even the most heinous criminal, would inevitably come to respect him.

“With magic this immense, there’s no need to divide it into categories…”

It was unnecessary to separate by category when all categories blended together, moving with unrestrained liberty, and his spell made it evident, once again, that property, category, and grade were but artificial divisions established by mages for their own practicality.

“As every circuit has a foundation,” Louina muttered.

Each circuit was grounded in reason, and not a single one was needlessly expended or lacked efficiency, while every line, point, and circle of the numerous spells, down to their minutest details, performed and operated with absolute perfection.

Therefore, Deculein’s spell was more artistic than art itself, a magic more wondrous than any magic trick, representing the pinnacle of enlightenment that Deculein, the mage, had achieved by pouring his heart and soul into his work.

“… A wall.”

Louina felt as if she faced a brick wall—no, it was something beyond that level.

“Has he already become a giant?”

It was the essence of the discipline of magic, a realm where neither inferiority nor insecurity could be felt, and one might even dare to call it a holy ground. Deculein had already become a giant, and his theory, his magic, his knowledge, and his abilities transcended the limits that a human could pursue.

“… But why.”

Then, is the purpose of this spell really for the continent’s destruction? Louina thought.

That was Louina’s concern.

“Is the purpose of this spell really to be…”

This grand magic, formed from hundreds of thousands of circuits and manifesting through the lighthouse as a medium for the destruction of the continent? Louina thought.

“… Why.”

Louina found it questionable, and when considering Deculein’s current actions—his tyrannical behavior and monstrous deeds—it became clear that the continent’s destruction was his true nature. Yet, it genuinely appeared to be his purpose.

“But why does it seem as if it isn’t?”

Louina, who had at the very least been known as a genius, was able to vaguely sense the other purpose of this grand magic.

“… Deculein,” Louina said, calling his name before rubbing her tired temples and picking up her pen. “You really are a genius.”

Once known as the genius of spells, Deculein was now stained by such infamous labels as plagiarizing professor and Icarus who dared to fly too high.

“They say there’s no end to scholarship—but no, you, it seems, have seen the limit of magic as a field of study. You appear to have understood the very foundations of magic.”

Louina had believed that magic was perpetually incomplete, an endeavor without end, even if one dedicated their entire life to its study.

However, Louina wished to correct that notion, for the end of magic existed, and it was neither a metaphor nor a vague commendation—the end of magic was right here, before her eyes.

“You are no fake.”

Deculein was not a fake but the most utterly real individual, and this spell he had crafted was a revolution poised to entirely alter the continent’s magical standards, for even if only the logic within this grand magic were adopted, it would be sufficient to generate hundreds of thousands of academic theory papers.

“… You are aligned with the truth itself,” Louina said, clenching her teeth.

Deculein had already reached the pinnacle known as something greater than the very truth of magic.

Therefore, Louina was curious about the motivation, determination, and capacity that had elevated Deculein to such grandeur and advanced him to become such a great sage.

“That is why it makes it harder to believe.”

The Deculein known to Louina was unwavering, demonstrating a mental strength of an immovable mind, attainable only through one’s beliefs and an unshakeable conviction.

“You are not faithful to the Altar.”

A mage of such magnitude would not rely on outside entities, nor would he be seduced by base desires such as extending his lifespan.

One who had reached the zenith of magic, who, through intense perseverance, had finally attained truth, would surely not seek the destruction of the continent, which was naught but the fruition of that truth, nor would he offer his fealty to a mere cult.

Therefore, there was but one conclusion for Louina.

“… You are hiding something,” Louina muttered, coming to that conclusion as she got to her feet.

At that moment…

— What do you claim he has hidden.

A chilling mechanical sound echoed, as if it were some strange frequency.

“Aah!” Louina murmured, a startled sound escaping her lips. She stumbled and hastily spun around to face that direction. “… You are.”

Louina’s eyes trembled, for the one standing there was completely unexpected.

— Allow me to introduce myself. I am Elesol.

Elesol, the leader of the Scarletborn, seemed to have overheard Louina’s muttering, for her face was notably serious.

— Why is Deculein hiding anything that makes you speak the truth, and what exactly is this whole mess.

Louina looked around without a word, finding the place exactly as described—a complete disaster, with papers analyzing Deculein’s spells scattered in every direction.

“… Ahhh.”

There, Louina lost consciousness, and Elesol, taken aback, quickly moved to assist her as a consequence of having consumed nothing while analyzing the spells.

***

… For five whole days, Sophien kept the main gates closed. Not only did I kneel before them, but all the Empire’s ministers gathered as well, neither eating nor drinking—merely kneeling and squawking like parrots—incessantly begging her to reconsider.

“… It would appear the rain is soon to cease,” I muttered.

Those five days had been filled with rain, leaving my entire body a mess of mud. However, today brought a distinct change, with the sky clear, the dark clouds broken, and warm sunlight streaming down across the land.

“We urge you to reconsider, Your Majesty—!”

Once more, I heard the echoing cries of the ministers.

“Tsk, have their voices not withered yet?”

The moment I stared at them with palpable irritation and the Empress’s ministers returned my stare with contempt…

Creeeeeeeak…

From the main gate came the sound of gears interlocking—slight but remarkably clear—as all eyes were locked on the gates of the Imperial Palace.

Creeeeeak…!

Then, as the sound from the main gate became unmistakably clearer, a collective breath was drawn by all, and the ministers’ attention was already entirely concentrated on that very place.

Gulp—

There was the simultaneous sound of gulps, and the passage of time felt as though a single second stretched into an hour.

Click…

The moment the subsiding rainfall completely stopped…

Whirrrrrrrrrr—!

The Imperial Palace’s doors opened, and all present raised their heads to look within.

“Ah…!”

Beyond that, within the sunlight that descended like a burst of brilliance and beneath the veil of light particles that shimmered like a radiant curtain, stood Sophien, glowing as if aflame.

“Your Majesty—!”

Sophien swept her eyes across the area without a word, and I looked upon her, thinking without words about what concerns she had, what contemplations she held, and how her resolution had been formed—these, the most important matters to me, remained uncertain.

“… Let all who are assembled hear me.”

At that moment, Sophien broke her silence, her voice somewhat hoarse, leaving me uncertain whether she had shed tears or battled with such intense tribulation.

“I, myself…” Sophien continued, looking at me.

My heart, long since dead, held no pulse, but the hairs on my skin, standing on end, betrayed my tension.

“I will now proceed to the Land of Destruction.”

Hearing Sophien’s declaration to proceed to the Land of Destruction, I felt a wave of relief welling up inside me, but as if displeased by my reaction, Sophien continued.

“All my Elite Guard shall be with me for that advance.”

The moment Sophien mentioned the Empress’s Elite Guard, all eyes before the Imperial Palace fell upon me, for the reason was singular.

“Did you heed my words well, Deculein?”

I remained the Lead Elite Guard of the Empress.

“… Yes, Your Majesty. However,” I replied, rising and brushing the mud from my attire before directly meeting the eyes of Empress Sophien in the distance. “Your Majesty, will you find it in yourself to trust in me?”

To other ministers, my impertinent words and actions would be considered a declaration of war—indeed, the behavior of a traitor for a mere subject daring to question the Empress’s trust, and they glared at me with horrified eyes, as if to strike me down.

However, to Sophien and me, who understood each other, that question carried an entirely different meaning.

“Do you genuinely have trust in me?”

My question to Sophien was whether she could kill me.

Then, Sophien stared at me without a word for a moment and, very gradually—as if lost in thought or meticulously selecting her words—she parted the most beautiful lips on the continent.