A Villain's Will to Survive novel Chapter 271

Chapter 271: God's Meaning (1)

From the darkness of the volcanic cave, I watched as God appeared without warning, his face shadowed yet smiling.

“I wonder if you should go with him,” Carla said from behind.

At that moment, a system notification appeared—a new quest.

[Main Quest : God’s Meaning]

◆ Mana Point +200

No matter what, He was the final boss—the one destined to close out the game’s last chapter, whether by ending the act with a closed curtain on the play or by destroying the stage entirely.

Therefore, our meeting had always been inevitable—and the conversation that would follow, just as necessary.

“Come with me.”

I stepped toward Him.

“Let us begin a journey—to the Holy Era, my homeland,” He said, smiling as He gestured.

One word from him, rich with mana, transformed the dark volcano, altering the background and warping space itself—naturally and effortlessly, as if the world had always been waiting for his voice.

***

... Chirp, chirp— Chirp, chirp, chirp—

As birdsong swelled and sunlight poured from the sky, I let my eyes fall shut, and when I opened them again, the world had changed—replaced by a distant past lost to time that filled my sight, a village older and wilder than any the continent remembered.

There were no signs of concrete or cement—only earthen homes with thatched roofs and huts fit for a tribal society. Buildings shaped by nature stood among forested hills, clear mountain streams, and gentle warmth. Between them, villagers moved with easy smiles, in harmony with it all.

“This is the village of God, where I have long made my home.”

It was humbler than the world I knew—even shabby at a glance—but overflowing with transcendent mana, for this was the Holy Era.

“Come with me, Deculein,” He added, His hand pointing to the sanctuary—the largest in the village.

I nodded.

“We begin each day in our village with worship.”

He walked without haste, his eyes sweeping the village steeped in memory—as if he still lived among them, unchanged by time, still calling this place home.

“In this hall... no, the sanctuary, we receive God’s revelations.”

Creeeak—

The door of the hall creaked open, and inside, they waited—rows of followers, eyes shut in silent prayer, their silence filled with expectation for a revelation.

“I, too, am right there.”

Where he gestured stood Sophien—her long hair blazing like fire flowing down her back, and eyes stained a wine-dark crimson—completely unblurred by years or memory.

“Don’t I resemble your Empress?”

“... Indeed,” I replied.

“Your Empress was crafted in the image of my former flesh,” He replied with a smile.

I looked at him, confusion blooming inside me—no, the entire village confused me, since everyone was remarkably beautiful, yet not one bore a single sign of gender.

“We do not die, so there is no need to define gender,” He added, as if he had heard the question in my heart. “What purpose would it serve to divide ourselves by gender and have descendants when eternity stretches before us? All is as God has written. We live not through blood, but through belief.”

At his words—spoken as if they were gospel—I let out a scoff while something sickened me, crawling beneath my skin, and I turned away with a shake of my head.

A life denied human choice and bound solely to the will of God—what else could that be but fatalism, the very thing I’ve always loathed. No, it was fatalism itself.

“The life of a puppet,” I replied.

“Do you see a life of faith as no more than a puppet’s?”

“To me, there is no difference.”

“Hmm... I’ll respect that,” He replied with a puff in his cheek as he gave a nod. “However, we have lived without crime, without law, and without passion turned bitter. But I would not call that the life of a puppet. There is a connection among us. Beneath the grand will of God, we laugh, weep, we grow angry, and indeed, we love.”

Snap—

With a snap of His fingers, the world obeyed, and suddenly we were standing inside a hall of scholars, voices rising like wind through paper. The villagers gathered around a few sheets of paper filled with revelations—discussing and debating, their voices rising and curling like smoke.

“What follows worship is the work of interpreting God’s revelation,” He said.

“הפרשנות של משמעות זו דומה לגילוי הקודם.”

“לא. אל תיתפס יותר מדי בגילויים קודמים.”

I couldn’t understand a word they said. The language was so complex, so subtly structured, that even my attribute, Comprehension, strained to follow. However, I absorbed it all—every sound, every phrase—committing it to memory in full.

“We analyze the revelation, commit it to study, and through that journey, encounter the divine. Through this, we inscribe the course of history—and with each stroke, draw nearer to our origin, and...”

As He murmured on, He suddenly fell silent with His face tightened with sorrow, His lips curved in a smile, but His eyes—watching the world—trembled as if bearing the weight of tears never shed.

Would that be what longing looks like, if sorrow ever took a face? I thought.

“This... is our era. The word of God becomes our duty, duty becomes devotion, and through each passing day, we rediscover His grace anew in gratitude...”

I clicked my tongue as I watched Him sink into sentiment, pathetic being the only word for it.

“... However.”

Without warning, the air around him changed as His hands closed into trembling fists, His teeth ground together, and hostility burned in His eyes, drawn tight as wire.

... Did he just peer into my thoughts? I thought.

It seemed that wasn’t the case, for instead He added, “One day, God died.”

His tone barely rose above a whisper, yet it echoed like a scream held between clenched teeth, and fierce emotion burned beneath the surface, with the anger—slow as embers glowing with every word—still not faded, not even now.

“... And it was His followers who killed Him.”

The moment he spoke and his voice faded like a sigh, the world around us collapsed into darkness. The calm from before was gone, and in its place came a scream—no longer calm, but filled with rage, hatred, and murderous intent.

“האם עשית את זה!!!”

“דברים כמו זבל. האנשים שיש לשנוא ששכחו את חסדם!!!”

I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but one thing was certain that they were casting blame on each other, their emotions rising faster than language—felt long before the meaning ever reached me.

"We searched in torment to learn who had done it—who among them, so devoid of gratitude, so animal in heart, would murder the very God who created them, and for what reason? And in that search..."

Crackle—

From within the absolute dark, a lantern flared its faint, flickering red flame like a heartbeat in the silence, bleeding color into the void.

"I became the sinner."

It was a prison housing Him, with Sophien’s face, and in that village of nothing but thatched huts and trees, the very first iron bars had been born.

“Our sin was that we failed to read the revelation for what it really was.”

“Revelation?” I repeated.

“Indeed, a revelation—one in which God foretold His own death,” He replied, meeting my eyes as words shimmered into being in the air.

Your indulgence shall lead to My death.

“From a single line of revelation, we each interpreted it differently, and we walked separate paths. I, in my blindness, thought it a call to deeper worship—to serve God with greater faith.

“But He had warned us of heresy. We were meant to seek it out and cleanse it from among us, and I... I failed to see,” He continued, his lips trembling as he closed his eyes, a storm of silent angers brewing beneath them.

“And after that, what followed next?” I inquired.

“... We warred for what felt like an eternity. Immortal as we were, we spent all our years searching for a way to kill one another. In time, we scattered—each to a corner of the continent,” He replied with a note of regret.

Then, as if reciting a verse, He added, “The greedy became the forebears of giants. The disillusioned became the seed of the fairies. And the heretical ones—those I once named godslayers...”

Suddenly, his eyes—steeped in hatred—locked onto me.

"They became human?” I said, nodding with a cold smile.

“Indeed, but that was not the whole of it. Most of the heretics, as you said, became the root of humanity—but a few became a certain tribe you now know by another name,” He replied.

As if offering a riddle, he waited for my answer, but to me, it was a simple problem—nothing more.

“Demons, then?” I said.

“Indeed, humans and demons share the same origin. Even the demons you so deeply loathe are but a branch of your own kind. Should humanity perish entirely, it is they who would be called human.”

“Hmm?”

“Haha. You already know the answer, but do you wish to hear it from my lips?” He asked, laying His hand on my shoulder, tapping it twice, and pressing His forehead against my chest. “I tried to resurrect God from death. Even in His absence, I remained a follower myself.”

Fwooooooosh—!

Plink— Plink— Plink—

Snap—!

“Now tell me, does Comprehension come at last?” He asked, His hand reaching out toward me. “Deculein, this continent was wrought from the sin of godslay itself.”