A Villain's Will to Survive novel Chapter 162

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.

“Phew...”

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

"... Tch."

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

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

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