A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 278: Matters Pending (1)

The magical expo, a grand event prepared by Yuren, was progressing peacefully. Citizens filled the fairgrounds with excitement, while mages from the Floating Island descended to the continent to demonstrate their newest magical innovations. Even the elders of the Round Table—Astal, the Addict; Jektaine, the elder; and Ihelm—had risen from their seats to attend.

Of course, I was also looking around at the many inventions on display at the magical expo. From time to time, my senses picked up tremors from the volcano, but none were strong enough to cause concern.

“Nothing of significance on display,” I muttered.

At that moment, a voice reached me from just behind my shoulder.

“Nice work,” said Quay, the final boss, appearing beside me without a sound. “You stopped the volcano before it could do any real harm.”

“Not I—Epherene was the one who stopped it.”

“None of it would’ve worked without you. But, I wonder if she will be okay?” Quay muttered.

Quay was fiddling with something in one hand—a doll made of tiny interlocking gears, probably picked up somewhere at the expo.

“Epherene’s talent is more than most humans could carry without breaking.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, what she lacks is the mental strength to hold herself together.”

Quay was right—Epherene’s greatest weakness had always been her mental strength.

Of course, she had a unique determination, she ranked above average among mages. But even that wasn’t nearly enough to contain the kind of talent Epherene possessed.

“Epherene might not even know what time she belongs to—or end up lost outside the timeline altogether.”

Thud.

“The grand tour of the continent—still underway?” I inquired, stopping to glance over my shoulder.

“Mm-hmm.”

There was a strange lightness in Quay’s response, and perhaps influenced by the continent, even the way he spoke had changed—just a little.

Perhaps he’s grown this way from spending so much time at Epherene’s side, I thought.

“What were your impressions of the continent?” I inquired, my brow furrowing.

“… It wasn’t pleasant,” Quay replied with a smile, shaking his head. “The human class system turned my stomach—and their greed was no better. I knew that, of course. That’s why I arranged my body for the Empress. But knowing it and seeing it with my own eyes were two different things.”

Quay’s eyes tightened, a small wrinkle forming beside them.

“I witnessed a rich man beat a child for soiling his shoes with mud, a coachman treated with less dignity than the horse he guided, humans stealing from humans, killing, and violating without guilt, and nobles—those who believe they were chosen—wearing their superiority like birthright and their privilege like skin.”

Quay fell silent for a moment and raised his hand to point directly at me.

“Deculein.”

Without a word, I started walking again, and Quay matched my pace, keeping a distance by my side.

“The continent has to be made new. I will become God, and I will cleanse it—down to its roots. This land, soaked in arrogance and unforgivable evil… I alone will be its salvation,” Quay concluded.

It was Quay’s definitive declaration being the final chapter of this world, but the way the story had played out felt inevitable. After all, humanity had always been rotten at its core, perfect equality like in the Holy Era was never possible, and—as I once told Sylvia—there was no paradise that offered only happiness.

“Quay,” I called.

“Yes.”

Thud— Thud—

“It seems we now stand as our own enemy,” I said as we moved through the corridor.

“We weren’t enemies before?”

“We might not have been—if you had walked away from your will.”

“That’s unfortunate. But the door hasn’t closed, Deculein. Even in our society, there were classes—ours were called the High Priests. If you ever change your mind, that seat is yours, and even if you don’t, your soul will still be preserved,” Quay replied, smiling as though nothing had changed.

Quay walked up to the wall of the expo and pinned something to it—a large bulletin titled Revelation.

“And what exactly are you doing?” I inquired, my brow furrowed in disbelief.

“Spreading my prophecy across the continent. It begins with the volcanic eruption—but this year holds far more. I’ll reveal every disaster to come.”

It followed the main quest I already knew—once the game entered its final stages, copies of this Revelation began appearing all over the city. Terrified of impending catastrophe or seeking hope, people flooded the Altars in feverishly growing numbers as part of one of those scripted events.

However…

“I should place one there as well. People will see it better from that spot.”

I never expected God himself to be the one walking on two feet, pasting those things up by hand.

“I’d suggest you reconsider that tone,” I said.

“Hmm? What’s wrong with my tone?” Quay asked, tilting his head slightly as he pressed another bulletin to the wall.

“It seems both your tone and behavior have begun to mirror Epherene’s.”

“Oh~ I am keeping my eye on the child. But it’s nothing to worry about, as my soul exists elsewhere—what you see now is only a memory. Anyway, I heard you’re presenting something at the expo?”

“It will be presented soon.”

“Okay, I’ll watch it from afar—”

Wheeeeeee—!

Then a whistle was blown in our direction, and Quay turned toward the sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?! You can’t post that here! Are you a peddler?!” the guard said, rushing over and pointing to the bulletin.

“You should read it as well. There’s something in it for everyone—especially if you’re from Yuren,” Quay said.

“Enough of that and let me see your identification card!”

The sudden commotion pulled everyone’s attention at the expo toward us, eyes snapping to Quay and the guard before, almost too naturally, being drawn to the bulletin board—just as Quay had planned.

“… Tch,” I murmured, clicking my tongue as I passed by without a glance and turned toward a corner of the expo hall.

Deculein von Grahan-Yukline

It was the stage prepared for the Magicore—assigned in the Yukline Hall, the grandest and most extravagant space in the entire expo. Right now, it bore nothing but my name, completely empty, yet undeniably the centerpiece for all to see.

I stood in silence, imagining Decalane’s Magicore placed on that stage—what it would look like and what it would mean. Though it had always been his accomplishment, I would be the one to present it to the world now, and I held that image in my mind.

“Oh, can you stop posting that?! I just took it down—why are you posting it again in the same place?”

“You can take them down, and I will keep putting them back.”

“Oh, come on! Somebody get this man out of here!”

… I paid no mind to the commotion behind me, letting it fade into the background.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Decalane were standing here, whether he would launch into a grand speech, proudly revealing his invention to thundering applause, gather every last member of his house and turn it into a national celebration, or perhaps present it by crushing his rivals beneath the weight of his brilliance.

No—it wouldn’t have been either, for thinking back to the Decalane I remembered now as both Deculein and Kim Woo-Jin, the man in my memory would have done something else entirely…

***

The next day, I sat in the airship from Yuren back to the Empire.

“Are we really leaving like this?” Epherene asked, her voice tight with frustration. “We haven’t even caught the thief who stole the transformation formula, and we haven’t told anyone about it. I helped with the Magicore, too. Also, Berbaldi—what is that, anyway?”

“What about it?” I replied, shrugging.

“Berbaldi—what is it? Whose name is that?”

“I do not know.”

The name I used to submit the Magicore was Berbaldi—a no-name mage on paper, like a second account—I borrowed Arlos’s identity and even had one of her puppets handle the submission.

However, I had no doubt the Magicore was now attracting a crowd—not in the Grand Hall, or even the Intermediate Hall, but tucked away in some corner of the Basic Hall. That, without question, was Decalane’s style to show high impact.

If I submitted this Magicore under another mage’s name, it wouldn’t matter, as reporters and rival houses would still scramble to plaster Decalane’s name across the headlines, desperate to ride the shockwave of his legacy—a no-name mage who surpassed Decalane himself, overtaking the Head of Yukline’s magical legacy and dethroning him in a moment of brilliance, and so on.

Watching it all play out—the stirring of the pot and savoring the chaos—that was Decalane’s delight, and I suppose I’ve inherited a taste for that kind of troublemaking.

“And why am I going? Let’s say you’re satisfied, Professor. But I should be standing in the light, right next to my aircraft, with the crowd cheering.”

“Then you may go back.”

“So, I need to… sorry?” Epherene muttered, blinking as if unsure she’d heard right.

“You may go back,” I said. “To stand next to your aircraft and let the applause from the crowd wash over you.”

Epherene hesitated for a moment, then glanced out the window of the airship, which was still on the ground, before clearing her throat.

“No, I’ve things to do on the continent as well,” Epherene said. “I think I’d rather go now.”

Perhaps Epherene had seen a future where the aircraft received condemnation instead of applause, so she slumped back into her seat, and I watched her, lost in thought.

“Epherene might not even know what time she belongs to—or end up lost outside the timeline altogether.”

Quay was right—time was not something a mere human could command, and the greater Epherene’s talent grew, the more time itself would try to shape her instead. That’s why she needed mental strength—stronger and sharper than when she overcame Decalane.

However, the question remained—how one developed that kind of mental strength and whether it could even be taught—as I considered this, one word that surfaced was pressure, bringing to mind graduate students worn down by unforgiving professors, who endured brutal pressure and stretched their endurance to the breaking point.

Of course, mental strength might not have grown from pressure alone, but since pressure came in many forms, Epherene—at least then—was the kind who no longer ran, standing her ground, and as the volcano incident had shown, leaving her to her own devices only made her complacent.

For the longest time, Epherene had done nothing but struggle—time after time, regression after regression—barely scratching the surface of the thesis, never really understanding it, not even halfway, and I know she spent most of those cycles running. But the moment she stood before that volcano, determined to prevent her own failure, something inside her finally awoke.

“Oh, I’m starving. The first thing I’ll do when I get to the Empire is have some Roahawk,” Epherene said.

“… Hmm.”

I watched Epherene for a moment longer and said something.

“… Shut your mouth.”

“Sorry?”

As she was reading with her mouth hanging open.

“Shut your mouth,” I said. “It hangs open so wide, you’ll invite a fly inside.”

“… Sorry? What was that for?” Epherene replied, staring as if the words had come out of nowhere.

I had to admit—even to myself—that this one was a little shameful.

“Ahem, nevermind.”

One way or another, the moment would come on its own, and Epherene was already thumbing through a magazine on science and chemistry—practically inviting it.

“Oh, I should definitely cite this in my thesis.”

Watching her now, it was clear that I wouldn’t need to apply pressure, as sooner or later Epherene would face a breaking point of her own and, when that moment came, she would have to overcome it alone.

“Let’s see…”

If she so much as hinted at integrating science with magic, every mage across the continent’s Mage Towers would attack her like wolves, making her a target the moment she opened her mouth…

***

At that same moment in Yuren, the magical expo was in full swing.

“Is this really all there is to see? … There’s nothing worth remembering,” Magic Professor Louina said, her eyes skimming over the Grand Hall with clear disappointment.

The Floating Island, the Mage Towers of the University—have none of them brought forth any technology worth the name? Louina thought.

“Exactly,” Ihelm replied, his lips twisting into a sneer. “There are a few new spells, sure—but nothing you’d call innovation.”

Because of that, Maho, Rose, and Charlotte—pretending to be nothing more than visitors among the crowd—felt their pride corroding as they listened to those words.

“Since it’s being held in Yuren, perhaps the participants decided to hold back anything that might look like real innovation,” Louina said, unaware that they were standing near her.

“If the expo were held in the Empire, no one would dare present something this underwhelming.”

“… Can’t argue with that.”

“Hmph. What about you, then?” Ihelm asked, glancing toward Louina.

“Our team’s project wasn’t quite prepared for it,” Louina replied, clearing her throat.

“Unprepared, are you? If this expo were in the Empire, you’d have killed yourself to meet the deadline.”

“Okay, fine. I admit it. It’s because it’s Yuren. There. I said it. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

At that moment, Maho buried her face in Charlotte’s arms and wept.

“Sniffle… sniffle…”

From somewhere nearby, a weeping sound stirred in the distance, causing Ihelm and Louina to both turn and tilt their heads slightly.

“But what about Deculein?” Louina asked.

“Deculein withdrew his entry,” Ihelm replied, shaking his head.

“… Deculein withdrew his entry?” Louina asked, her mouth falling open. “Why? What reason could he possibly have? He had the best spot on the floor and no one to share it with in the entire hall.”

When word spread that Deculein would present his invention, Yuren arranged the grandest stage in the entire expo for him alone.

But to withdraw in the middle of the expo? Isn’t that a bit much? Louina thought.

“Then that grand space is just sitting there, empty? I want to see it with my own eyes.”

“I already went. It’s empty—completely. It felt intentional—like he wanted to shame Yuren on purpose. I wonder what Yuren ever did to him?”

Louina dashed toward Yukline Hall, and as she moved ahead, Ihelm followed close behind.

“… It really is.”

Soon, Louina reached the center of the expo, and when her eyes rested on the sight before her, her lips parted in disbelief at the real, no-exaggeration centerpiece of it all, placed exactly where every visitor would inevitably pass through the expo.

Deculein von Grahan-Yukline

Withdrawal of Entry

Right where the invention should have been, a nameplate sat in its place displaying withdrawal of entry along with his name.

“Wow… How could he really do this?”

“Hmph! How could he?”

At that moment, an authoritative voice cut through the air between them. It belonged to Jektaine, one of the elders of the Round Table and one of Deculein’s most vocal critics.

“His invention must have fallen short of his own expectations—he wrapped the failure in pride, withdrew the entry, and let Yuren take the bruise. That’s Deculein in full, no doubt about it,” Jektaine added.

“… Oh, is that so?” Louina replied, offering a polite nod that invited no further questions.

“Without question, of course! Following his father’s legacy, does he? In the Magical Realm, such conduct is near sacrilege. Withdrawing his entry on the day of the expo—is beneath even the least of us. The act of a wayward mutt kicked loose from a market alley? That’s what he calls the legacy of his father?” Jektaine continued, shaking his head.

It was as if Jektaine had been waiting for this very moment, and he unleashed a blistering condemnation without hesitation.

“Haha…” Louina murmured, offering the kind of smile one gives when words are no longer worth the trouble.

“If you say so,” Ihelm replied, giving the kind of agreement one offers to avoid prolonging a conversation.

At that moment, they caught the murmur of a crowd—too strange to name—a chorus of gasps, astonishment, and maybe even tears—a blend rising not from the Grand Hall but from the far end of the Basic Hall.

“… Hmm? Why is there such a crowd in the Basic Hall?” Louina said, turning to look, her eyes widening.

Then, both Ihelm and Jektaine turned toward the source of the sound.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had reason to visit the Basic Hall,” Ihelm replied.

“Commoners are easily impressed by the simplest of things,” Jektaine said.

… Although their words suggested otherwise, the sounds spilling from within were far too captivating—so much so that Louina, Ihelm, and Jektaine found their legs moving on their own, as if pulled by the crowd’s awestruck silence.

“I’ve… never seen anything like this before.”

“Wait—what is this… the name Berbaldi? Who is this mage?”

They hadn’t walked far before the murmurs sharpened into voices, and with each step, the haze of curiosity crystallized into something undeniable. The three quickened their pace toward the farthest corner of the Basic Hall and stopped in their tracks, speechless—not just Louina, but even Ihelm and Jektaine, ever prideful, stood frozen and at a loss for words.

“Excuse me, Curator—do you mind if I ask which mage created this? Who is Berbaldi?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about who this is either. A mage arrived without warning, set it down, and left—without so much as a name…” replied the curator.

Again, in the dimmest and most insignificant corner of the Basic Hall, where space was cramped and eyes rarely wandered, a core of mana floated in silence.

Whoooooooosh…

It shimmered like a planet—or no, like a star—radiating pure blue particles that seemed composed of nothing but mana itself. The invention was so complete, so breathtaking in its purity, that those who saw it could only stare in respectful silence, mouths open in amazement.

Nevertheless, the one name that came to mind—the Art Mage Decalane—felt insufficient, for this creation had already surpassed even him.

“T-This is…” Elder Jektaine muttered, shoving through the sea of people until he reached the edge of the display.

Before him, within arm’s reach, the no-name mage’s invention—named Star of Mana—shone in all its brilliance, and without realizing it, Jektaine found himself reaching out, as if drawn to the light by something.

“Forgive me—but that mustn’t be touched.”

The curator’s intervention brought Jektaine back to himself, reminding him that no matter how high his station as an elder, laying hands on another’s invention without permission was out of line.

“… Who was the mage behind this?” Jektaine asked as he looked toward the curator.

“A mage by the name of Berbaldi,” the curator replied.

“Who…?”

Exhibitor : Berbaldi (Independent)

Neither gilded in gold nor cast in silver, the nameplate was carved from simple wood.

A nameplate like this… for the creator of such an invention? That someone with the talent to outshine Decalane should be honored with nothing more than this scrap? Jektaine thought.

“It was a no-name mage, not affiliated with any Mage Tower, as far as we can tell. It was a personal submission, and they pleaded for it to be displayed, even if it meant placing it in some forgotten corner—”

“Find them,” Jektaine muttered, his eyes locked on the nameplate.

“Pardon?” asked the curator of the Basic Hall, tilting his head.

“I said find them! I am Elder Jektaine of the Round Table!”

Jektaine’s voice thundered through the expo hall, rolling off the walls like a shockwave no one could ignore.

“This is no talent to be left to rot in Yuren!” Jektaine shouted. “This invention stands beyond Decalane himself. No—this is the kind of genius that could shatter his name to pieces. Find out who the mage is right now!”

Jektaine’s thunderous shout tore through the magical expo, and in its wake, the footsteps of the realm’s most famed mages changed—drawn not to the grand stage, but to the forgotten corner of the Basic Hall.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!