A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 143: Words in a Letter (1)

Chapter 143: Words in a Letter (1)

I ascended to the top of the lighthouse, taking in the view of the lake below. Snow fell gently, covering the vibrant green below with a pristine layer of white, transforming the scenery into something almost magical.

Primien, who had followed closely behind, commented, "If your thoughts are correct, then this is certainly remarkable."

The idea was simple—somehow, the book seemed to be exerting some kind of influence over reality itself.

"Is such a thing even possible?"

"It isn’t out of the question," I replied.

It seemed absurd that a single book could hold such power. Yet, if enough people had read it, the story itself might transform into an origin—a kind of source that could manifest through magic, almost like a miracle.

"So, the mage called Demian in the story would actually be you, Professor Deculein. It appears that you’ve become the main character. Congratulations."

The real issue, though, was how the book ended.

... She gave herself to him completely, then pierced his heart with the sword.

It was the last line of volume one, a subtle hint of what was to come.

"Discovering who she is in the novel would hold the key," Primien remarked.

The book’s main character was known only as she, her true name left unspoken, just like the identity of the mage she struck down.

"Primien, have you ever taken a moment to question the remarkable popularity of this book?" I asked.

"Could you clarify what you mean by that?" Primien asked.

"Even the Empress, though beset by ennui, read it through to the very end."

The book spanned roughly one hundred and fifty pages, and while it was undeniably well-crafted, even from the perspective of my Aesthetic Sense, its rapid rise to bestseller status was unusual. There had to be something else behind its success...

"I can sense something off about it—there's mana in the text, especially in the way the sentences seem to flow."

The Empress was right to have given me this book. The text carried a mana-laden enchantment that mesmerized its readers.

"I have never encountered a phenomenon quite like this before," I said.

The story itself held mana, drawing readers irresistibly toward it. As more people read, the tale gained a tangible power that began to reshape reality, creating a cycle of ever-growing influence.

"Is it possible that this is the work of a demon?" Primien asked.

"No. If that were true, my veins would have responded."

It wasn’t the work of a demon, but the source and purpose behind it remained a mystery.

"It will be fascinating to witness how this develops."

"Enough with the speculation. Remain here and keep watch over the lake," I commanded.

"Yes, Professor."

At that moment, a boat appeared on the far side of the lake, and I noticed Primien starting to read from the book.

"... Demian stood beside the lighthouse, eyes locked on the lake as a boat carrying two mages glided closer," Primien murmured.

From the boat, two figures stepped off the boat—Epherene and Drent.

"Two mages stepped off the boat, and one of the foolish pair stumbled clumsily as they made their way forward."

“Ah!” Epherene cried out as she stumbled and fell flat on the lakeshore.

"Ugh... pfft!" Epherene sputtered, spitting out the gritty sand as she struggled to her feet.

"They appear to be part of the story as well," Primien remarked. "It’s possible that one of them will meet their fate with a sword through the heart."

"Drent is not the one," I declared.

"On what basis do you say that?"

"He does not hold the status of a named."

"... Are you saying he lacks the distinction to be considered a main character?"

"That is more or less correct."

If this was an unexpected event, the target was likely one of the named characters. The most likely candidates were the mentors present—myself included—or Epherene.

"Do you think it necessary to inform everyone of this?" Primien inquired.

I shook my head and said, "That won't be necessary."

"On what grounds?"

"Simply a story from a novel will not determine my actions. I will deal with this on my own," I stated.

"... You appear rather confident. Are you aware of where she might be?"

"She is here," I said, tapping the cover of the book.

Although I still didn’t know her identity, the timeline suggested that she had recently crash-landed on the island.

"What is your destination?" Primien asked.

"To her."

"Hmm, if a sword does end up piercing your heart, do let me know."

"Will do," I said.

As I stepped outside the lighthouse, I unfurled my Wood Steel in every direction.

***

... Sylvia crash-landed on the island near the lake, her body soaked in sweat and her mana completely depleted. She had flown thousands of kilometers, all the way from the Nameless Island of the Floating Island to Yukline's territory. Weary from the journey, she stumbled over to a nearby boulder and collapsed onto it.

“... Achoo!”

A shuddering sneeze escaped her as she took stock of her condition. Mana exhaustion had clearly set in, and it would take time for her drained reserves to recover. Yet her stamina was not entirely spent. Years of rigorous training had granted Sylvia physical strength nearly on par with an average knight—an impressive feat for a mage.

“It’s getting chilly,” Sylvia murmured.

As her sweat dried, a chill settled into her bones, and snow began to drift down. Using the last remnants of her mana, she created a small flame, basking in its warmth as she waited for her strength to return. Half a day should be enough. Once she recovered, she would set out for Deculein, ready to face whatever awaited her.

But then...

Whoooooooosh—!

A sudden gust of wind, carrying snow, surged through and extinguished the campfire. Sylvia stiffened in alarm.

“Ah.”

Before she could say a word of frustration, a blizzard swept over her, quickly covering the ground in snow. She struggled to move, but with each step, the drifts grew deeper—rising from her ankles to her knees, and then to her waist...

At last, she was swallowed up, a figure lost in the white. She closed her eyes as the biting cold, strangely soothing, settled over her. It felt like a dream, the warmth of exhaustion spreading through her limbs. She had pushed herself too far. Just a moment of rest... a brief pause, and then she would keep moving...

Crunch, crunch—

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder as the figure moved effortlessly through the deep snow. Reaching her side, he leaned down and lifted the half-buried blonde mage into his arms.

Huuuuum...

A faint hum vibrated through the air. With a fluid motion, he invoked Ductility, molding the snow and earth around them into a snug shelter within the frozen landscape.

***

... Fifteen minutes earlier, snow had started to fall over the lake, with thick flakes swirling softly to the ground.

"Wow..."

Epherene, who had slipped into the lakeshore just moments earlier, quickly forgot about it as she wandered, captivated by the sight. Though it was unmistakably summer, with the lake reflecting the season’s warmth, snow continued to fall, transforming the landscape into a world entirely unlike itself.

"Miss Epherene, this is where you will be staying," the attendant informed her.

"... Pardon?"

The attendant halted, prompting Epherene and Drent to pause in confusion.

"But there’s... nothing here?" Epherene said, looking at the spot the attendant had indicated. It was just an empty stretch in the snowy forest, with no trace of a building or shelter.

"Yes, Miss Epherene, this will be your accommodations. Mister Drent, if you would kindly follow me.

"Um, okay... if you say so," Drent replied, casting a puzzled glance at Epherene before following the attendant.

"... What is going on?" Epherene murmured.

Now alone, Epherene used Ductility to craft a chair and sat down to take in the view. But the snowfall soon grew heavier, shifting from serene to troublesome.

"Ugh, pfft."

A large snowflake slipped into her mouth, while the wind-driven flurries pricked at her eyes.

"Ugh, this isn’t going to work," Epherene muttered.

Using Ductility, she formed a small earthen hut. It was rough and unrefined compared to the professor’s creations, but it would do well enough.

"Hmm, let’s see..."

The space measured roughly ten square meters. She shaped a door and a window, then fashioned a bed frame, though it lacked a mattress. As she busied herself with the finishing touches, a voice suddenly echoed across the island.

— Ah, ah.

The voice echoed through the air above the lake, and Epherene instantly knew who it was.

— Some of you may be feeling a bit disoriented. Allow me to introduce myself—I am Yeriel of Yukline.

Yeriel, the acting lord of Yukline and sister to Deculein, introduced herself.

— This marks the beginning of our first training program.

Her voice was soft and melodious, like a gentle stream flowing over smooth stones. Epherene, now accustomed to Yeriel, rested her chin on her hand and listened closely.

— As you are aware, esteemed mentors are here to guide you, including Elder Luhkara of Berhert, Imperial Mage Ihelm, Professor Louina, Ethereal Mages Gindalf and Rogerio, and Head Professor Deculein, representing each of the eight categories.

Hearing their names recited made them seem even more formidable—each a towering presence in their field, well-equipped to shape the future of the industry.

— Moreover, this island itself will offer you great advantages, providing everything a mage could require—leaves, fish, dew, and even the magical snow that is now falling.

"Oh, I see. So we’re supposed to make use of nature," Epherene mused, a faint smile crossing her lips.

— Therefore, I encourage you to remain here for at least a day, for nature is, after all, the wellspring of magic.

"Okay~" Epherene murmured softly.

— Yukline has always been a steadfast supporter of the path of magic, offering you mana's blessings—older than the oceans and more radiant than the sun.

Yeriel's mana-infused message signaled the beginning of the training program.

"Well then," Epherene whispered as she sprang to her feet, opened the hut door, and stepped outside.

Whoooosh—!

"Whoa, blehhh!"

A fierce gust of wind lashed her hair in every direction, while snowflakes stung her face.

"Ahh!"

Epherene hurriedly shut the door with a sharp slam.

"W-what's going on?" Epherene muttered, brushing the clumps of snow from her face. "When did it become a blizzard... or maybe an avalanche?"

Peering out the window she had just created, she watched the snow tumble from the sky, like a full-blown avalanche.

***

Sylvia slowly opened her eyes. The gentle warmth of the crackling fire enveloped her, and the softness beneath her hinted that she was lying on a bed. Indeed, she was resting on a real bed, surrounded by a serene and comforting atmosphere.

As she took in the room, she noticed someone sitting in a chair beside the bed, absorbed in a book titled Blue Eyes. Sylvia's attention drifted blankly to the cover.

At last, the man spoke, "You are awake."

That voice.

That voice.

That voice.

The voice was unmistakable, one she knew all too well.

Sylvia sprang upright, fury blazing in her eyes as she leveled a hard stare at him and whispered, "Deculein."

"Yes. It has been some time," Deculein replied.

Without hesitation, Sylvia tried to summon her mana, though it was more an effort than a success.

"Ow."

A sharp pain shot through her as the circuits ruptured, turning her skin a deep shade of purple.

"You are experiencing mana exhaustion," Deculein stated. "It is the consequence of overextending yourself on the long journey from that distant island."

How could he have known? Had he been monitoring me as well all along? Sylvia thought.

"It was written in this book," Deculein replied, gesturing toward Blue Eyes. "Your writing is distorting reality, Sylvia. What desire did you embed in its pages when you wrote it?"

Sylvia remained silent, unsure if it was a wish, a desire, or perhaps even a grudge. Whatever it was...

Crackle— Crackle—

The flames in the hearth swayed and shimmered, casting restless shadows across the room.

Lost in the dance of the flames and the rippling heat, Sylvia murmured, "I know everything."

Deculein responded with a single word, "Of?"

"The fact that you killed my mother."

Sylvia waited in silence, yet no answer followed.

When she turned to face him, Deculein gave a slight nod and said, "Yes, that is true."

He could sense the memory, the surge of emotion that had flooded Deculein when he killed Cielia. It was as if the turbulence of that moment had seeped into him, growing more vivid with each word exchanged with the child.

"It was the Letter of Fortune," Sylvia said.

Sylvia had already uncovered most of the truth from Idnik and conducted her own investigation using the spell Wind. Whether Deculein chose to respond or remained silent made little difference; she had plenty to say.

"As the letter spread across the continent, both Yukline and Carla sprang into action."

"... Indeed, we did," I responded.

"And one of the victims happened to be—"

“My fiancée," Deculein interrupted her words.

His own words hit him hard, stirring the emotions etched into his very being. The name Yuara—Yoo Ah-ra—echoed within him, the sole thread binding Deculein and Kim Woo-Jin together.

"Someone delivered a Letter of Fortune to my woman, and in the end, she was gone, her life slipping away like sand through my fingers, leaving nothing but a hollow sense of loss."

Sylvia's expression stayed calm, though a subtle tension played in her fingers.

Observing this, Deculein spoke, "You don't have to worry, your mother had no part in it."

Sylvia shook her head, as if correcting Deculein's assumption, and said, "That's not what I'm worried about."

Sylvia met Deculein's blue eyes. His distant expression, untouched by time, remained as cold and implacable as ever. The familiarity cut deeper than she anticipated, awakening a quiet unease that settled within her.

I hate him, I really do. But why... Why does it cut so deep when I can't even understand why?

Pushing the question deep down, Sylvia said, "I know what happened that day."

Deculein held his silence.

"And who was behind it."

Deculein looked at Sylvia, and she met his eyes. She hesitated, aware that the truth she was about to reveal could cut him deeply.

"And who sent the letter to your fiancée."

... No, I want to hurt him. I need to. So why am I hesitating like this?

"You already know, don’t you?" Sylvia said in her usual monotone, leaving it unclear whether she was posing a question or whispering to herself.

Deculein kept his eyes on her and offered a faint nod.

That probably means he’s fine, Sylvia thought as she closed her eyes softly, then opened them again, slowly.

"Decalane and Kagan Luna," Sylvia said.