A Villain's Will to Survive novel Chapter 204

Chapter 204: Return (3)

"It is time to leave," Primien said.

I raised my wrist and checked the time—it was already three in the morning. After half a day of waiting, Sophien had left only a message saying that it was too late. But I hadn’t expected much to begin with. If she had made up her mind, it wouldn’t change overnight. Even lost in lethargy and ennui, her stubbornness remained absolute.

"Primien," I said, turning toward her as she studied the fragment of Rohakan’s robe in silence. "Will you be able to track him?"

Rohakan was one of the key named characters and a crucial piece of the main quest. The fact that he had sought out Sophien himself was no small event. At the same time, since I would not be the one to kill him, the task of tracking him down had fallen to me—an equally significant responsibility.

Glancing my way, Primien murmured, “This robe is absolutely exquisite. Every stitch carries the touch of a master. I wonder how much it would be worth—”

"Just answer the question I asked."

"It is possible."

Hummm—

As Primien channeled mana into Rohakan’s robe, the lingering traces of mana within it stirred to life. Tiny particles rose into the air, flowing and gathering until they formed a unique shape—a butterfly with curved antennae and outstretched wings.

"If we allow this butterfly to lead, the path will reveal itself in time."

One of Deputy Director Primien’s unique attributes—Printer—allowed her to materialize the intangible, whether it was thoughts, emotions, mana, traces, or plans. Within the Ministry of Public Safety, it was an invaluable talent, indispensable for espionage and interrogation.

"However," Primien said, lowering to one knee as her eyes settled on a faint trace left behind. "Rohakan has made quite a few mistakes—unlike him. Even his footprints remain."

"Can you see them? They must be quite old by now."

"They're visible to me," Primien said, brushing off her knees as she stood up and pulled out a stack of documents. "This is a separate matter, but it's a file on Sylvia. The Intelligence Agency has been tracking her movements and organizing the events in chronological order. Review it when you have time."

I gave no reply and simply looked toward the outer wall of the Imperial Palace, its gates sealed shut.

"Do you intend to continue your visits?" Primien asked, slipping the documents back into her coat.

Sophien, the central figure of this world, was undeniably important; however, visiting her daily did not suit my nature, nor was it considered proper etiquette.

But her lessons were not yet complete, and Sophien still had much to learn. Having spent her years surrounded by death and suffering—and now with even Keiron gone—she was, in every sense, a walking death variable, waiting to be triggered.

"Instruction is a tradition of the Imperial Palace, lasting for one year after ascension to the throne."

The instruction was originally held once every two weeks, but considering the long pause during my business trip to the Northern Region... I thought.

"I cannot break that tradition. A weekly visit, as scheduled, should do," I continued.

"I imagine Her Majesty will find it bothersome."

"It does not matter."

One fortunate thing was that Sophien despised lies and had an even greater disdain for excuses, holding herself to the same strict standards. This meant that even if something began as an excuse, she would see it through. In other words, her claim of being occupied with work was no mere excuse—it was the truth. At the very least, she was not wasting time in laziness.

"Umm... Professor, may I ask you one thing?"

I turned to look at Primien.

"Is it true loyalty? Or merely a pursuit of power?" Primien asked, her expression rigid as stone.

"... What do you mean by that?"

"You mentioned tradition, which makes me wonder. It’s well known that the Yukline family has never been particularly close to the Imperial House."

The Imperial House had always been wary of regional nobles growing too powerful, and with Yukline being one of the most influential houses ruling the large territories, such caution was justified. The history between them was one of constant scrutiny and restraint.

I stared at the Imperial Palace in silence. Though still veiled in darkness, it was slowly waking from within, with light spreading across the lower floors as the vassals who woke early lit the lamps, bringing the halls to life.

"... Neither," I answered.

As I looked up from the foundation of the Imperial Palace to its highest peak, a faintly glimmering chamber came into view. A place sealed by magic and impervious to any prying eyes from the outside—the Empress’s bedchamber.

"Then what is it?" Primien asked.

Primien's persistent questioning was irritating, but in the grand scheme of things, Sophien remained a responsibility we all shared.

"Responsibility... No.”

Therefore, as long as I had become a Deculein—as long as I lived on this continent...

"It’s far greater than that—more of a fate."

I could not give up on Sophien, nor could I let her give up on me.

“That is what Her Majesty is to me,” I concluded.

Primien hesitated, cleared her throat, and then, as if it were unexpected, said, "I didn’t take you for someone who believed in fate, Professor."

"I do not."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Not believing in it doesn’t mean I can deny its existence. As a mage and a scholar, that is the most fundamental principle," I said.

Primien seemed to reflect on my words for a moment before giving a small nod and saying, "I see. Let’s take our leave..."

***

Leaning against the window of her bedchamber, Sophien watched Deculein disappear into the distance and remained silent, sinking into thought as if drawn into still waters. A fountain pen rested in one hand and a stack of documents in the other, her mind quietly echoing the words he had left behind.

"How arrogant," Sophien murmured.

To claim the Empress as his fate—such arrogance—but, for some reason, a faint chuckle escaped her lips.

“... Fate, is it?”

Does fate really exist in this world? A world where death only leads to a new beginning, where everything crumbles into uncertainty—can there be such a thing as an unchanging fate...? Sophien thought.

"How strange."

Sophien often questioned the unknown. For living over a century—no, she had spent over a century dying—yet she had never considered such things. But now, events beyond her imagination were occurring, and it was unfamiliar, for all she had ever known was fading away in sickness and meeting death in agony.

Back then, Sophien believed her endless deaths were her fate—the cursed cycle she could never break. But now, having grown far beyond who she once was, she had finally come to a realization.

“... I see.”

For a moment, Sophien searched the depths of her mind, tracing the memories of before and after her return—until her thoughts settled on a single figure, one who still remained, never having faded.

"Deculein...”

The man who had witnessed each of her deaths and, in the end, met his own.

“Even through all those cycles of regressions...”

When she regressed once more to save him, he forgot every moment he had shared with Sophien...

“You remained the same."

The Deculein of the past and the Deculein of the present were no different—constant, unchanging, like a metronome counting the beats of time, like a clock ticking through the hours. And so, Sophien was certain that one day, he would reclaim the lost memories of their regressions from those distant days.

Sophien rested her forehead against the glass, letting the warmth of spring soak into her skin. In that quiet warmth, a thought took shape—perhaps Rohakan’s words were not mere nonsense, but a truth. Perhaps this unfamiliar feeling stirring within her was proof that his vision of the future was not so far from reality.

“... Fucking pathetic,” Sophien murmured, turning away from the window, sinking back into her chair, and gripping her pen once more.

“Sophien, if you really care for Deculein...”

In the stillness of the night, Rohakan’s voice echoed in her mind.

“Or should you come to love him, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Sophien let out a quiet breath, and with it, Rohakan’s voice gradually dissolved into the silence.

“Please, keep your distance from him.”

Within the silence, her answer fell to a quiet murmur.

"It would be far too easy—too easy, but..."

***

Winter had melted away from the square of the Imperial Palace, and spring had begun to bloom, painting the sky and earth in brilliant colors. The lush green lawn hummed with refined voices, while the gentle notes of classical music floated through the air, creating a sense of quiet peace.

The southern advance, the worst in the Empire’s history, had torn through the continent, erasing hundreds of villages and leaving innumerable lives still fading somewhere even now. Yet here, it felt like an entirely different world.

“... To each of you who braved countless demonic beasts, bore agony as if carving away your own bones, and withstood an unforgiving frost that threatened to break the soul—yet still, you have defended Rekordak, safeguarded the people of the Northern Region, and upheld the Empire’s stability...”

“Haha... The Imperial Third-Class Honor Medal... Haha... It’s far too valuable to carry around. I should frame it and keep it as a family heirloom,” Delic muttered, carefully placing the medal into a premium wooden case he had prepared in advance.

"Oh, come now, Knight Delic! You’ll surely receive at least a Second-Class Medal," said Zerok, one of Delic’s subordinates. "Why don’t you wear that Third-Class one until it’s worn thin, and frame the Second-Class or the Medal of Honor instead!"

"What? Haha! Oh, come now! A Medal of Honor? That’s for... Ah!"

“... Haha. So, the Professor’s assistants are here as well,” Delic said, hesitating briefly before turning to the young mage beside Deculein.

“Oh, yes. Hello,” said Epherene, Deculein’s assistant, with a small bow, holding a large velvet pouch tightly against her chest.

"Hmm? Oh... Ah—hahaha. Well, that’s quite frugal of you. But calling it some seems a bit of an understatement, doesn’t it?"

"Well done."

"Oh? What’s with those faces? His fiancée nearly ran herself to death to save him, and that bastard couldn’t care less. What’s so great about him?"

"Oh! Watch your words. And wasn’t she his former fiancée? Besides, as knights, it is our duty to protect the Professor. I would have done the same without a second thought."

“Ahem,” Delic muttered, clearing his throat and strode toward them.

“Hmm. Well, that’s right.”

“Ahem, well...”