A Villain's Will to Survive novel Chapter 187

Chapter 187: Southern Advance of the Demonic Beasts (4)

Crackle— Crackle—

The campfire crackled, its flickering light casting faint shadows across the silent training grounds. Most had already left, leaving behind Yulie and a few of her close knights. Gwen observed her, head bowed in silence, while Raphel and Sirio exchanged glances.

“... Maybe he used magic. A trick. Or, you know, something, don’t you guys think? But who would ever throw a kick in a sparring match between knights? ... Oh, right, he’s not a knight,” Gwen muttered, breaking the silence first and shooting a pointed look at Raphel and Sirio, silently prompting them to share their thoughts.

“Magic... I’m not sure. But didn’t we all see how Deculein handled his sword? It looked full of gaps, yet somehow, it wasn’t. I might have even fallen for it at least once. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before—a completely new style of swordsmanship,” Sirio replied.

“Hey, what are you even talking about?” Gwen said, her brow knitting as she fixed Sirio with a sharp stare.

“I’m just saying how I felt. It was like the wind—though not quite as swift as I am, of course. Hahaha.”

Deculein’s swordsmanship was better described as a movement than a technique. It carried the elegance of a waltz, never losing the poise of nobility. Each step and swing unraveled Yulie’s blade as though he were dancing through the battle.

“That’s true,” Raphel said. “And besides, Deculein’s physique is unquestionably strong. Even for you, Yulie, overcoming such a physical difference without mana would have been nearly impossible.”

Even the most skilled knight would find it nearly impossible to overcome an eight-inch reach disadvantage without mana. Yulie wasn’t wielding an unusually long spear but still tried to force her way in, only to expose herself, allowing a critical blow to land.

“... I am fine,” Yulie said, though her voice betrayed her words. “I admit it. The sparring match is mine to lose. The professor completely deconstructed my basic stances.”

Yulie closed her eyes for a moment, replaying the sparring match in her mind. Every motion Deculein made—from the subtle movement of his sword tip to the precision of his hand—was seamless and natural. However, the path of her blade had been predicted, and her basic stances were completely neutralized.

“... Haah,” Gwen murmured, letting out a sigh.

Sirio and Raphel remained silent as Yulie rustled through her coat, pulling out a sheet of paper filled with Deculein’s detailed critiques.

“Overreliance on foundational techniques is apparent. While initial impressions suggest some variation in execution, a closer examination reveals a predictable pattern. For instance, following a horizontal slash, the next move invariably targets either the upper-left or upper-right quadrant,” Yulie said, quoting a portion of the text.

Gwen, Sirio, and Raphel flinched, the reaction rippling through them like a shared instinct.

“Additionally, there is a clear tendency to rely on the physical dominance characteristic of Freyden, especially that of Zeit. This reliance manifests in repeated use of aggressive tactics, such as charges, rushes, and headlong assaults—”

“Oh~ That’s exactly it. Deculein must have known that already and thrown his shoulder into the move. No wonder his response was so fast. That shoulder check must’ve hurt a lot, didn’t it? Haha,” Sirio added, clapping his hands.

Yulie bit down silently on her lower lip.

“Shut up. You,” Gwen said, her glare cutting toward Sirio like a blade.

“Oh, sorry. My bad.”

At that moment, Yulie suddenly rose to her feet, turned her back on the others, and began walking away without a word.

Gwen slapped Sirio’s back with a smack as she stood up and asked, “Yulie, where are you going?”

“... I have a matter to discuss with Professor Deculein. It’s nothing of concern, so please don’t follow me,” Yulie said without turning back.

***

Crunch, crunch.

In the backyard of the mansion, blanketed in snow, where thick flakes settled softly, I swung the broadsword in fluid arcs. There was no trace of formal swordsmanship or basic stances—only the most efficient way of my body moving as one with the blade.

Whoooosh...

The arc of my sword, neither a precise downward strike nor a sweeping horizontal slash, carved through the air with a pull that seemed to command the wind itself. Nineteen fragments of Wood Steel danced and scattered like petals, tracing the blade’s path.

It seemed like a promising application. By combining Iron Man and Iron Bone with this approach, it could become more than just a dance of the sword or a sparring technique—it could prove itself invaluable in real combat.

... Honestly, it still seemed unreal to me. How Yulie managed to withstand the raw force of my legs and shoulders, tougher than titanium—without mana or armor to shield her—was beyond comprehension.

"It’s not bad," I muttered.

The training of my sword and body felt reliable, and it would certainly prove useful in real combat. However, the true challenges remained—the finite nature of my mana and the flaws ingrained deeply within my personality.

As a mage, manifesting techniques like aura or Sword Qi was nearly beyond reach. Though this limitation might one day be addressed through the refinement of Metal Enhancement, the very idea of sweat flying or bodies colliding was a thought I could hardly tolerate.

For now, Metal Enhancement had stalled at 99% mastery—a frustrating standstill. It was as if progress had hit an invisible barrier, trapped in the grip of some inexplicable bottleneck.

Hearing the faint sound of footsteps approaching, I stopped my swing mid-motion.

“... Deya,” I murmured, turning toward the shadows. There, Yulie stood, shrouded in darkness.

“Yes,” Yulie replied, her head bowing slightly.

“What brings you here?” I demanded, hurling my broadsword into the thick snow.

“For a balanced reflection, it’s important to consider the opponent’s perspective,” Yulie answered after a moment’s hesitation.

“You’re not wrong, but is there really anything worth reflecting on? Your basic stance was already in my thoughts, and your movements were entirely predictable,” I said. “Even the subtlest quiver of your blade betrayed your next move. It’s a weakness you cannot afford to ignore. No—your entire swordsmanship is flawed at its very core.”

Yulie clenched her fists but held her tongue. Instead, she let the question lingering in her heart slip out, asking, “... Professor, how can you be so certain? So certain that I’m wrong?”

“You’re right—I’m no knight. But the search for knowledge isn’t bound by titles or professions. I chose to embrace my ignorance, and by accepting it, I opened myself to learning. Through that learning, I found understanding.”

Yulie repeated my words under her breath, a faint sigh slipping past her lips. She was never one to argue for the sake of it, and deep down, she must have felt it more than anyone else.

“If that’s so—”

“I’ll compile a complete analysis—your habits, your patterns, all of it—and send it to you. While many knights could gain from such insight, most are too blinded by pride to admit that I understand the art of their swordsmanship more completely than they ever could.”

“... Yes, Professor,” Yulie answered, barely above a whisper.

"However, before you go," I said, sweeping my eyes over Yulie from head to toe. I already knew she stood at five foot eight. But knights were, more often than not, built like living fortresses of muscle, making it nearly impossible to estimate their weight by appearance alone. "Do you weigh around one hundred forty pounds?"

Yulie clamped her lips shut, her eyes widening as she stared at me, shocked by the question. I waited for her response, but as the silence stretched on, a faint furrow formed between my brows.

"Speak," I pressed.

Finally, Yulie mumbled, "One hundred... forty-seven... point six."

“Speak clearly, and give me the exact numbers.”

I listened as she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, the numbers slipping out so softly they seemed to vanish into the air.

“You weigh more than I expected. Well, that’s to be expected of a knight. Now, you’re free to leave,” I said.

Yulie shot me a glare, then dropped her eyes to the ground before looking back at me. She repeated the cycle—glare, drop, glare—before turning and trudging away with slow steps. Then, I made my way back into the mansion, my thoughts lingering on her height, weight, the proportions of her arms and legs, and the strength I had assessed during our sparring.

However...

"Hey, you’re here," Ihelm said.

"Oh, Professor’s here," Epherene added.

"Hello," said Louina.

The three of them were sitting around the living room table, each with a glass of wine in hand and light snacks before them.

“The Red Moon has risen. I figured this might be our last chance to share a drink and some chat with everyone,” Ihelm said, gesturing toward the window.

Glug glug—

“Ah~ This wine really warms me right up,” Epherene said with a chuckle as more wine poured into her glass.

“It seems you’re already drunk.”

"No, I am completely fine,” Epherene said, forcing her eyes wide open.

“Where have the merchants gone?” I asked, shaking my head.

"They are staying in their accommodations. It seems they’re feeling quite anxious,” Louina said.

“... I understand.”

“Is there something wrong?"

I turned to the window, my thoughts wandering back to the merchant guild I had met earlier today. I replayed the conversations with the forty mercenaries and merchants in my memory.

“Tch,” I muttered, a bitter smile curling my lips as the thought escaped me. “... How foolish.”

By this point, anger felt pointless. Instead, I was caught in a haze of disbelief, stunned by the sheer absurdity of it all.

I can’t tell if they’re mocking me with intent or testing my patience, I thought.

“What are you talking about? What are you doing there by yourself?” Ihelm asked.

“Louina,” I said, addressing her instead of Ihelm.

“Yes? What is it?”

Why was it that only this merchant guild reached Rekordak without an issue? Cutting off a supply line like theirs would have been simple enough for the Scarletborn. Was it by some miracle? Or sheer luck that they set out earlier than the rest? Or perhaps the skill of their mercenaries played a part?

No, none of that seems likely. The question, then, isn’t how this merchant guild made it to Rekordak, but why the Scarletborn allowed them through at all.

“... Monitor the accommodations of the merchant guild currently staying. Do so discreetly, ensuring you remain unnoticed,” I said.

The real question is, who among the forty could it be? The leader of the merchant guild? One of the mercenaries? Perhaps a mix of both? Or could it be that all forty are Scarletborn—or perhaps the Altar?

“... Yes, Professor,” Louina said, setting her wine glass down, her movements slowing as she caught the weight in my tone.

Even Ihelm seemed to have caught on, at least to some extent.

"Mmm... tastes like grapes..." Epherene murmured, her cheeks puffed out like buns as she savored the wine on her own.

***

"... Mmph!"

"Mmph—! Mmmphmmphmmph—!"

Don’t worry. We mean you no harm.

Rip—!

“Ouch!” Yeriel cried, her eyes brimming with tears as she glared at the woman, as if her lips had been torn apart. “Pfft! Who do you think you are?! Do you even know who I am?!”

You are Yeriel. I am Elesol.

We’ve been in trouble for a long time. But we won’t kill you.

Don’t worry. Your place has been taken by a puppet. There won’t be any chaos in Yukline.

None of this makes sense. Why are they behaving this way? What was the point of kidnapping me in the first place? Yeriel thought.

There’s something you don’t know, but you need to.

“Ugh... fine. Go ahead, tell me. What is it? Let’s hear it. Will you let me go if I listen?”

I can’t tell you that yet, but I will say this—we need you.

To negotiate.

We’re going to use you as a bargaining chip in our negotiations with Deculein.

This is why I always kept my distance from him—to minimize my value as a hostage and remain as low as possible, should it ever come to that, Yeriel thought.

Yes, I know Deculein doesn’t like you. But...

Tap, tap, tap.

“Sigh...”

I know. That’s why I’m still thinking it over. Go ahead and rest until we get to Deculein.

Clunk... clunk...