A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 236: Name (3)

In the Capital’s cemetery—where the land met the peaceful whisper of nature—stood a lone grave, set in what people often called a sunlit resting place.

“You know, Woo-Jin.”

As I looked at the headstone, a voice from some distant memory whispered in my ear, gentle as a breeze.

“Woo-Jin. “

I remained silent.

“Hey, Kim Woo-Jin. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

The woman who stepped into the darkness when I was alone in that small room, carrying light in her presence.

“What is it?”

Only after I answered did she smile softly.

“... You know.”

The woman looked into my eyes—her voice clear, her lips trembling, and her breath unsteady.

“Do you want to get married?”

... I never gave her an answer that day. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I’d misunderstood her heart. After my younger sibling passed—taken too early—I wandered through life like a mechanical doll that had lost its key. I moved as if something inside me had broken. And from time to time, I found myself drowning in feelings that never lasted.

And so, I thought she pitied me. Maybe she was afraid I couldn’t keep going without her—that I’d fall apart completely, break beyond repair. I mistook that fear for love. I believed she wanted to stay by my side because she felt sorry for me.

“... I’m just kidding. Don’t take it so seriously.”

The woman tried to laugh it off, but I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want her to waste herself on someone like me, someone so clearly broken. I wanted to show her that I could stand on my own, that I wouldn’t fall apart without her.

“Hey, Woo-Jin! What are you doing?”

On another day, she tapped me on the shoulder and set something down beside me.

“Here. Look.”

It was a brand new tablet computer. I stared at it, not sure what to feel—only aware of the way my brow had drawn tight.

“What is this?”

“It’s yours.”

“... Isn’t this kind of expensive?”

“Yeah, it was pretty expensive.”

“What... Didn’t you say you were saving up for something? I thought there was something you wanted to buy.”

Then she smiled—that silly smile of hers, like nothing was wrong at all.

“Hehe. This was it. This is what I wanted. I wanted to give it to you.”

I turned the tablet computer over in my hands. It wasn’t something cheap—you could tell just by its weight. The woman kept stealing glances, then rested her head on my shoulder.

“You know, they say there are two kinds of happiness—one is giving it, and the other is receiving it.”

“... Yeah?”

"Yeah, if happiness only came from receiving, the world wouldn’t work. The algorithm is perfectly designed—just like the one in our game."

Then she pulled me into her arms as she said it.

“... So I guess I just like giving—especially when it’s to you, Woo-Jin.”

What she said was so soft and sweet, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Lucky me. I like being the one who gets to receive.”

I opened my eyes again. The memory had been vivid, but the world around me hadn’t changed. Maybe I’d thought of the tablet computer because it was what I used to design for this game. I knelt before her grave, my eyes on the stone, placing a single flower upon it.

Yuara von Vergiss meinnicht

But no tears came. Maybe it was time to let her go. A year felt long enough to let her fade into memory—at least, for Deculein.

However...

"Even now, there’s still a part of me that wants to see you, even if only once," I said as I pulled off my gloves.

I ran my bare hand over her name, but all I felt was cold stone beneath my fingers.

***

“... Woah.”

Epherene stood just a short distance away, watching Deculein. There was nothing to be nervous about, yet her hands wouldn’t stop sweating.

“D-Did you hear that, Your Majesty?”

Epherene wasn’t alone, of course—a small red Munchkin cat curled in her arms, warm against her chest.

"Hmph, I heard," replied the cat.

The cat lifted its tail, and the flicking tip brushed against Epherene’s nose and she wrinkled it, trying not to sneeze.

“Achoo!”

“Hmph. Even now, he still hasn’t let go of her,” muttered the cat, shaking her head.

It was a thought she knew was improper—but to Epherene, the sight was almost irresistibly adorable.

"And here I thought the Professor was above all that.”

“... Are you disappointed in him, Your Majesty?” Epherene asked, pretending to be casual as she let her hand rest on its back, the fur softer than she had imagined—almost impossibly so.

“Hard to say,” replied the cat. “I’ve never had my heart pulled in that direction.”

“Mmm... I see, Your Majesty. Mmm...” Epherene said, absentmindedly petting the silken fur beneath her hand.

"However, a life like that doesn’t seem like the worst way to live."

"... It doesn’t seem like the worst way to live, Your Majesty?"

“Indeed. If a noblewoman were fated only to live inconspicuously and die forgotten,” the cat said, resting her chin on a tiny paw with a faraway look in her eyes.

The cat was so adorable that it made Epherene’s chest tighten.

“Then perhaps becoming someone a man like Deculein would never forget wouldn’t be such...”

Epherene agreed before she even realized it. Of all the souls she’d ever met, Deculein seemed the farthest from love—and yet, for someone to remain that deeply in his heart, perhaps it meant more than words could express.

“Then I shall take my leave. The lecture begins shortly, and Yeriel won’t stop chattering in my ear.”

“Sorry? Oh, yes, Your Majesty..”

The reason Sophien ended up coming in her cat form had everything to do with Yeriel. On her way out of the university, Yeriel had spotted Sophien—disguised as a student—and, in a blur of cheerful insistence and confused chatter, had pulled her along, saying that it was almost time for their class.

Watching someone speak to Her Majesty so informally had left Epherene speechless. But revealing the truth felt like opening a door to something far worse, so she said nothing and stood there, stunned into silence.

"May you return safely, Your Majesty."

“I shall.”

There had been a faint smirk on the cat’s face, but then it faded, and what remained was just a cat, staring blankly into the air, signaling that the Empress was gone and her possession had ended.

“Phew. Finally—”

“Meow—!”

The cat meowed.

“Hey! Easy, easy. Hold still, will you...”

“Meow—! Meooooow—!”

The cat scratched at Epherene’s arms—clawing, twisting, doing everything it could to escape.

“Hey! Stop it...?”

At that moment, a shadow stretched across the ground—and with it came a creeping sense of anxiety.

“Gulp—”

Squeeeak—

Epherene swallowed hard, and with a stiff creak of movement, she looked up at the source of the shadow—and her breath caught in her throat.

“... Oh.”

Before she realized it, Professor Deculein was standing over her, looking down at her in silence. Even the cat, perhaps intimidated by his presence, stilled its paws and fell silent.

“Oh, umm, Professor—”

“What business do you have here?” Deculein inquired, the hostility visible in every line of his face.

Epherene, her heart pounding, clutched the cat tightly to her chest like a shield.

“N-No, it’s not like that—I didn’t mean to watch. I really didn’t—”

“Glitheon.”

“... Sorry?” Epherene murmured, her eyes widening as she quickly turned over her shoulder. “... Oh.”

And just as Deculein had said, Glitheon stood there. Sylvia’s father, a man whom the Luna family had long called an enemy. Epherene's expression tightened, her eyes narrowing—but then her head tilted slightly. Something wasn’t right about him.

“... What happened to him.”

There was something strange about Glitheon’s face—no, more than that. The weight he used to carry in a room had withered.

When did he get so thin, to the point of becoming nothing but skin and bones? Epherene thought.

“Deculein,” Glitheon said.

Deculein furrowed his brow, and Epherene hurried to his side, her brow furrowing to match his.

However, Glitheon spoke—and not a single word was what anyone had expected.

“Please help me.”

***

“Supply and demand is, of course, a foundational principle. However, when viewed through the lens of management, it doesn’t always hold up as a practical tool on its own. In business, every decision must serve a practical purpose. Let’s look at a few cases where this principle begins to break down...”

Empress Sophien appeared to be listening to the lecture, but with one hand, she was taking notes on a managerial economics lecture she had long since mastered, while calculating a dozen moves ahead on a Go board, revising imperial policies, and mapping the fastest way to eliminate the Scarletborn hiding in the desert.

“Even now, there’s still a part of me that wants to see you, even if only once.”

Deculein’s voice came to her without warning, echoing near her ear like a presence that refused to fade. Deculein—who had taken the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands, claiming every cruel wrongdoing as his own—and still, somewhere deep within him, he had buried a longing that would never let go.

Perhaps, in a hidden corner of her heart, Sophien envied the woman Deculein could never forget. And all the while, the tide of execution he had set in motion was rising through the halls of the Imperial Palace—and she knew.

However, it was Deculein who had lived through regression—and because Sophien trusted him, she had placed it all in his hands...

“Hey, you're not writing any of this down?”

An elbow nudged Sophien from the side—it was Yeriel, Deculein’s younger sister.

“Come on, take notes,” Yeriel said.

This girl meddles more than her brother ever did, Sophien thought.

It didn’t matter—maybe it never had—but Sophien let her pen move again.

“Miss Yeriel, there’s been quite a bit of talk lately—sounds like someone’s been busy shaking up the central political scene,” Sophien said.

For just a moment, Yeriel’s face stiffened—then she returned to her notes as if nothing had slipped through.

Sophien glanced toward her and added, “And that someone being your brother—"

“The Imperial Palace sent you. Didn’t they?” Yeriel interrupted.

Yeriel’s words didn’t land square, but they came close—close enough to draw a faint smile from Sophien.

“I’ve known from the beginning, but your questions are being a little too straightforward.”

Sophien remained silent.

“You want to know how I knew? Anyone with eyes could see it—the way you speak, the way you move, like someone straight out of the Imperial Palace.”

However, this girl overlooked the most important part. No—she probably never even thought to question it, as my disguise magic is far too precise. And let’s be honest, who in their right mind would believe the Empress is wandering around a university? Sophien thought.

“You’re one of Her Majesty’s few relatives, aren’t you? I’d heard Her Majesty had few relatives around,” Yeriel asked with a faint chuckle.

As expected—close, but not quite right.

Sophien nodded and replied, “Indeed. Now then, I have a question of my own that I’d like to ask—”

“What do you expect me to say? Everyone knows we don’t get along—we’ve been at odds for years.”

Sophien stared at Yeriel for a long moment.

Yeriel held Sophien’s stare, calm as ever, then a smile touched her lips.

— Let’s take a brief break and pick up where we left off in a few minutes. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

The break came just in time. Yeriel leaned back in her chair—just like her brother always did.

“But if you really need something to report when you get back—he’s not doing it for his own sake.”

Sophien listened in silence.

“It’s just his own way of serving Her Majesty. If Her Majesty told him to stop, he would. If I said the same, he wouldn’t even pretend to listen. And for what it’s worth, I’m not exactly comfortable with this kind of risk either.

“Right here, I’m getting live updates—names, numbers, everyone being taken in,” Yeriel continued, turning her head and tapping just behind her left ear, where a small crystal orb was.

“And how could the Imperial Palace believe that?” Sophien asked.

“Umm...”

Yeriel crossed her arms and made a show of thinking—but none of it surprised her, as she had been expecting it all. It was only a matter of time before someone from the Imperial Palace showed up.

“I’ve got so many letters from him, and all of them, every single one, was about Her Majesty—how he can be of service and how to be useful to Her Majesty... and things like that.”

A letter? Since when did Deculein write to his sister? Sophien thought in silence.

“Want to see? It’s mostly him bossing me around—telling me to do this, do that—like I’m his assistant or something. But if you read through them, you’ll understand that Deculein holds deep affection for Her Majesty,” Yeriel added.

Deep affection?

With a slight furrow in her brow, Sophien nodded.

“So you’re asking for it, right? Alright, I’ll give it to you after the lecture. But let me run to the bathroom first,” Yeriel said with a faint chuckle.

“And also,” Sophien said, stopping Yeriel just as she moved to stand, blinking in uncertainty. “I want everything—Deculein’s interests, and anything tied to his past.”

Yeriel’s ever-calm expression hardened just barely at the words she hadn’t expected.

“You have nothing to lose by telling me. After all, everyone knows you and your brother aren’t close—at least not publicly,” Sophien said, her tone measured.

“... Hmm,” Yeriel murmured, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Sophien held her silence, waiting for Yeriel to speak.

"So you're asking me to play double agent, aren't you?"

That's not quite what I meant, but that was close enough, Sophien thought.

Sophien nodded.

"Alright. I could use a connection in the Imperial Palace myself, as well."

Yeriel, too, agreed without much hesitation.

***

Steam curled from three teacups as the tea was poured and set before them. In Sylvia’s silent mansion, Epherene sat, not understanding how she had come to be here—swept in like debris on a tide she hadn’t seen coming.

“So. The mansion’s empty,” Deculein said without so much as glancing at his tea.

“Of course, the master’s gone,” Glitheon replied with a faint smile.

"Wasn't the word of the daughter who left this mansion sufficient for you?"

Within the Magical Realm, Sylvia stood at the center of every conversation, her mastery of the Primary Colors advancing with each passing day. From the Floating Island came a flood of theses, each daring to suggest that her talent might one day touch divinity itself.

"... I never imagined she would take a different path."

“A different path.”

“Yes,” Glitheon muttered, gripping his teacup with a trembling hand. “Sylvia is being taken by the demon.”

“... Do you mean the Voice?” Epherene asked.

"Yes. Sylvia is within the Voice, together with her mother," Glitheon replied as he glanced toward Epherene.

“Sorry? Her mother?!”

"That's enough," Deculein said, stopping her with a hand to her mouth.

"Yes, her mother. The Voice brought Cielia back, and Sylvia chose to remain inside it of her own will. At this point, she won’t become an archmage—she’ll become nothing more than a fragment of the demon," Glitheon said, smiling as if mourning.

To Glitheon and the House of Iliade, Sylvia was everything—the last glimmer of light, the final thread of hope. The thought that such a gift might fall under the sway of a demon meant nothing less than despair beyond measure.

“That is why I come to you for help, Deculein, through proper channels—has the demon ever been handled by anyone other than Yukline?”

“... How far you’ve fallen, Glitheon,” Deculein said, watching him in silence before his eyes settled on the hollowed skin beneath each one.

Glitheon remained silent.

“The man you were no longer remains.”

There were no Glitheon left in Glitheon—neither in the House of Iliade, nor even in his own heart, as he had given everything for his daughter. With that, his pride, his name, and his sense of self had long since disappeared.

“If Sylvia can be saved, I would lay down my life without hesitation. That child is Iliade itself. So—”

“Glitheon,” Deculein interrupted, leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed, his eyes full of quiet contempt. “Your life has lost all value. No one would ever lower their blade to the head of a man so broken.”

“Deculein,” Glitheon said, eyes locked on him with a burning stare, a faint flame flickering in their depths. “The Voice holds your lost fiancée as well. Do you really believe you’ll be any different, that you won’t fall under the demon’s sway—”

“I won’t fall,” Deculein interrupted, rising to his feet. “I’m not as fragile as your daughter.”

"Wait—hold on a second. Then, Glitheon, do you know how to save Sylvia?" Epherene asked, her face blank with confusion as she looked up at Deculein, then slowly turned her head toward Glitheon.

Glitheon then wrapped his hand around the teacup, and at once, the tea inside began to boil, bubbling with intensity.

“He does, Epherene. And so do you—you heard it as well, back then,” Deculein said, answering in Glitheon’s place.

“... Sorry? What was that?” Epherene asked, her head tilted slightly, her eyes clouded with confusion.

“By slaying the demon that wears her mother’s face once again.”

Bang—!

Glitheon’s teacup shattered, and Epherene stared, lips parted, too stunned to speak.

"I will gladly see it through,” Deculein concluded.

At that moment, Glitheon seemed to come alive again, but Epherene’s expression tightened.

Craaackle—!

Just then, a signal broke through on Deculein’s radio.

— Professor, this is Bethan! I’ve just received an urgent report and am en route to the Capital!

The line connected with Bethan, and Deculein brought the receiver close to his ear.

— And the report was that the Deputy Director of the Ministry of Public Safety, Primien, is Scarletborn!