A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 244: From The Ashes (1)

The next morning, Deculein and Idnik walked side by side through the island’s forest, where fallen leaves blanketed the earth.

"Roaming this island for over twelve hours is dangerous—even for me," Idnik said.

The limit of assimilation was twelve hours. Beyond that, prolonged exposure to the Voice would begin to fade the memory away like rain on stone, and even someone like Idnik was not immune to it.

"It would be wise for you to move around like we do, since we don’t know what might happen," Idnik added.

"How long did I last the time before?" Deculein inquired.

"You were created at four in the afternoon, and by six the next morning, you were gone—fourteen hours, exactly."

It had been Sylvia who discarded him; however, Idnik kept that to herself.

"Indeed. In the enemy's territory, one must move with the silent elegance of a sand dune," Deculein replied.

“What... Sand dune?”

“Like a desert dune, seen only after it has already changed everything.”

“Don’t talk like you know everything.”

Rustle— Rustle—

Without a word, Deculein moved with the elegance of a perfect aristocrat—every step a declaration of who he was. And as Idnik walked beside him, a question began to form in her mind.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Idnik said.

“I don’t mind.”

“... You're not going to see your former fiancée?”

At that moment, a breeze slipped through the trees, and the forest branches rustled in its wake.

“I’ll have to,” Deculein replied with a nod.

"Hmm~ And what exactly do you hope to gain by seeing your—"

“I will have to kill her.”

Whooooooosh—

A stronger wind swept through the forest, and the leaves came down in a golden shower from the sky.

“You make it sound so simple, but can you really go through with it?” Idnik asked, scratching the back of her neck.

"It's nothing but a fake. Killing it is no more than the work of exterminating a demon," Deculein replied, nodding.

“... Would it still mean nothing, even if she mirrored the woman you loved?”

“It’s because I loved her that I must be the one to kill it.”

At Deculein’s words, Idnik’s eyes widened.

“The woman my soul loved above all else,” Deculein continued, brushing a dry leaf from his shoulder before turning to face Idnik.

Just one word. That was all it took for Idnik to feel the shape of his love, and in that recognition, something too deep within her was touched, something she couldn't explain.

“It’s a demon—one that dares to wear her form,” Deculein concluded, his blue eyes quietly burning with cold hostility. “There’s no world in which I let it continue to live.”

Deculein’s voice, burning with thunderous rage, shook the forest to its roots, and its echo spread like a wave of wrath.

“... Then, follow me. Let’s head to where Jukaken is,” Idnik replied, motioning with her chin with a seriousness that left no room for doubt.

“Jukaken, is he still on this island?”

"Yes, unfortunately, he also got trapped. Then I suppose you’ve met Jukaken as well?"

“Often enough. I’ve even taken a commission from him,” I replied.

Jukaken, a leading figure of the Six Serpents and a cornerstone of the underworld, was the one who first gave me the quest to eliminate Cielia and Yuara.

***

— The woman my soul loved above all else.

At the heart of the island, in a tall, narrow house built like a lighthouse watching every horizon, Sylvia heard Deculein’s voice—carried to her ear by the spell Wind.

“The one his soul loved above all else,” Sylvia muttered, her eyes falling closed.

If only it were me. I really wish it were me, Sylvia thought.

And so, Sylvia continued to manifest Deculein in his entirety, longing for the island to mature into something real and offer her a new beginning in which to live.

To be with Deculein, to love him and be loved by him...

“Sylvia!” Cielia called, brushing her fingers over Sylvia's shoulder.

Sylvia flinched as a touch brushed her shoulder from behind.

“What are you thinking about~?"

“Not thinking about anything at all.”

Cielia smiled sweetly as she held out a plate of apple slices—peeled and notched in the familiar shape of a rabbit, each piece tenderly shaped by hand.

“Thank you, they’re so cute,” Sylvia said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Okay. Go on, then. Do your best.”

As Cielia stepped out, Sylvia stared at the grimoire on her desk with a slight pout tugging at her lips before picking up her pen.

Though Sylvia wished to spend a little longer watching Deculein, she knew that this Deculein wouldn’t last and would melt away before long. There was still studying to be done, and if she hoped to perfect this island and draw a Deculein even closer to the real one, her magic—and her theory—had to be impeccable.

Scritch— Scritch—

Writing lines of a complex spell on the blank sheet of magic paper, Sylvia felt something warm begin to rise inside her—an unspoken sense of happiness.

With both Deculein and Cielia here—two people Sylvia loved more than words could express—her heart was filled so completely, and just knowing they were near was enough to make her feel whole...

***

“A shantytown,” I said, as no other word described the place before me in other terms.

“Told you, didn’t I? No one’s got it better than me out here,” Idnik replied.

This was the island's edge, a zone where the remaining adventurers congregated. Dilapidated buildings crowded for space, their disrepair evident. Makeshift stalls, assembled from mere planks, dotted the area, and most adventurers slept directly on the earth, indistinguishable from the homeless.

“At least here, you’re safe from assimilation. The dirt’s real, and even the planks here are real,” Idnik added, giving one of the slumped homeless a nudge with her boot. “... Hey, Jukaken.”

“What now...” Jukaken muttered, blinking drowsily as he rolled over and looked up at us.

I remembered Jukaken as quite a handsome man, but now he was unrecognizable from his former self, with an overgrown, filthy beard and a face covered in a film of sweat and dirt.

“... Deculein?!”

As Jukaken, startled, shouted my name, I braced for the weight of curious stares. However, the adventurers around us, seemingly resigned to their fate, remained indifferent—either asleep or lost in their own worlds, passing time idly.

“Wait... how... No, you’re not real. He's a fake, right?” Jukaken asked, turning his eyes to Idnik.

Though Idnik offered no reply, Jukaken continued to speak, his voice cutting through the silence like an unwelcome breeze.​

“Of course he is, right? That freak at the lighthouse kept getting better, day by day. And now look—that psycho has drawn a Deculein that’s damn near indistinguishable...”

Jukaken's eyes scanned me from head to toe, and Idnik moved her hand, her finger pressing firmly against his eye—a silent reprimand that needed no words.

“Agh—my eyes!” Jukaken screamed, both hands pressed hard against his eyes as if to hold back the pain.

Brrrrr—

Jukaken trembled uncontrollably, and I couldn't help but find it laughable.

“You fuck—what the hell was that?! I can’t see!”

"This one is not a fake. He’s real,” Idnik replied.

“Goddamn it, pops out of nowhere and stabs me...”

Jukaken fell silent, the words caught in his throat before they had the chance to be completed.

“... Say that again? What was that? Fake or real?” Jukaken asked, rubbing his ear, his eyes red and burning.

“It’s real—this Deculein you see now.”

Gulp.

“Are you real—actually real?” Jukaken asked, glancing around before leaning in.

“Believe whatever you like. Just take that filthy face out of my sight—just looking at you is misery,” I said.

“You really are the real one!” Jukaken said, the hairs on his neck standing. “Then you being here—does that mean you’ve come to...”

"I've come to create the passage out."

“... Hah!” Jukaken shouted, balling his fists and spinning in circles like a lunatic dancing in the rain. “Some part of me always believed there’d be a break in the clouds. That I wouldn’t die on this goddamn horror island.”

“Someone fit to carry out orders—that’s what I need. Do you understand what that means?” I inquired.

“Oh, absolutely! This way—there’s a guild room!” Jukaken replied, his smile shining as he sprinted ahead.

I watched his back as he sprinted ahead of us.

“That’s one way to show how badly he wants to leave this island,” Idnik said with a shrug.

Five minutes later, we reached the guild room—a ramshackle hut that seemed to lean into the wind.

Was this how life looked after the Korean War, in those first days, when the country had nothing? I thought.

“Look over here! It’s him—the real Deculein! Professor of Magic! Genius of Spell Interpretation! Yukline’s spear against the demons!” Jukaken yelled.

Jukaken was rambling as usual, filling the guild room with his voice. There were only three others inside, and I glanced over them without much thought—until my eyes caught hers. Something about her didn’t fit, or maybe it fit too well. I found myself tilting my head without realizing it.

“... Professor Deculein, meet Arlos! Although she may not be the same one you remember, make no mistake, it’s her. It’s best to introduce yourselves now,” Jukaken said.

It was Arlos—no, Cynthia. The real Cynthia, her original form, standing before me.

“On your feet, all of you—and bow to this man! It’s Deculein—the one who’s come to save us!”

Arlos’s gleaming beauty, the very attribute that defined her, was dazzling—perfect for my Aesthetic Sense. My eyes, as if by instinct, couldn’t help but look, and she—perhaps sensing it—met my eyes as she looked back.

However, Arlos’s face turned to stone, her jaw tightening as if holding something back as she shook her head—not once, but twice—and said, “You fucking idiot—what the fuck made you think bringing a fake in here was a good idea? Fucking unbelievable, you're a fucking mess. I should’ve gutted you and smeared your insides across the floor, you fucking shitstain.”

Arlos spat out curses like broken glass, each word slicing through the air, and I felt my expression tighten, as if trying to hold back the storm in her voice. Jukaken extended a hand, signaling for Arlos to hold her temper.

"Whoa there—"

“Whoa there? Get your fucking hands out of my face. You think I'm some kind of horse to you—"

"That’s enough. Perhaps this place ruined your spirit," I interrupted, shaking my head. "But what excuse do you have for your language?"

“... What.”

“Is that, too, a disguise for something else?”

At that moment, Arlos’s expression hardened like cooling steel as her eyes moved between Idnik and me, as if she were reading a puzzle she didn’t like.

“... I’m telling you, it’s the real Deculein. Came all this way from the continent, crossing the sea—to kill the Voice,” Jukaken said, rubbing his earlobe.

“Real Deculein?”

“That’s right. This is the real Deculein,” Idnik said, leaving no room for doubt.

However, Arlos’s face trembled, not from rage or doubt, but from the terrible certainty that something was coming. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

“That only makes it worse for you to be here at all. You have to run—”

The moment Arlos screamed at us to run...

Slaaaaash—!

The steel kissed my throat before I even took a step.

Whizzzzzz...

In the split second as my head turned and the world flipped, I saw him—Gerek—and a faint smile touched my lips. A pitiful soul and a contender for the strongest in the world, whose village had been drowned by Deculein—our reunion lasted only a heartbeat.

***

“So, that happened?” I inquired.

That was how I became the third Deculein, and when the second died, Idnik exploded in a storm of anger, tearing through the guild room without restraint. Only after the dust had settled did she explain who I was to the group.

“Oh... And I shouldn’t have lied to you. I lied because I felt bad, but no more of that. Deculein, you aren’t the third,” Idnik said.

“What did you just say?" I replied, the furrow between my brows deepening.

“You’re the fifth. Gerek killed two more in between. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“... That animal—where is he now?” I replied, fighting down the heat swelling in my chest.

Three times. Not once. That’s not crossing a line—that’s stepping over it as if it never mattered to him, I thought.

“Gerek has been locked up,” Arlos replied.

“But does it really matter if you live or die? You’re a fake—and you said it yourself,” Jukaken asked.

"Whether real or fake, it makes no difference—what must be done remains unchanged. To destroy this place, I’ll even accept help from fools like you," I replied, nodding as I spread the map across the desk.

Through the third, fourth, and fifth Deculeins, the magic circle inched forward, barely reaching a tenth of its intended form.

"Mark this magic circle into the island's underground."

"Underground? By what method, exactly?" Jukaken asked.

"Just as a mole tunnels below," I explained, keeping it brief.

“If it’s a tunnel... that could actually work. The vigilants don’t patrol underground.”

"And Idnik, I’ll have you keep an eye on Sylvia.”

“Whatever we do, Sylvia won't be interested. As long as you're finished, that's enough for her,” Idnik replied with a slight shrug.

“Ah, fucking hell. That bitch is absolutely nuts. What kind of fucking psycho loses their mind over one man?”

At Jukaken's verbal assault, Idnik's face tightened, her eyes narrowing as if to shield herself from the sting of his words.

“You, of all people who chase after men yourself, should watch your mouth. So keep my protégé’s name out of—”

“What, like I’m wrong? Doesn’t change the fact that she’s a crazy bitch—”

“Arlos,” I called, letting their argument fade away as I looked toward her instead.

“... Hey there. Been a while,” Arlos replied.

"There’s a newness to you, seen from here."

“Yeah. I’m about to fucking lose myself. The damn Voice comes no matter what I am—original form or puppet, it doesn’t care. I visited here once, and I spent five years stuck,” Arlos said, shaking her head.

“It’s fortunate, in its own way, that I met you and Gerek here.”

"... Well, that's true. Had you met Gerek outside, he would've ripped you apart, piece by piece, across the landscape by now. Anyway, what's my task in this?"

“It’s simple—escort me,” I said.

“... Escort you?”

“Indeed, you’ll be my escort,” I said, pulling off my gloves and reaching out to Arlos with my bare hand.

“Why me? Wouldn’t Idnik be a better choice?” Arlos asked, glancing at me.

“Your task—and the reason behind it—will be explained when the next iteration of me appears, as he won’t be thinking differently. Will you not accept my hand?”

“... It’s fine,” Arlos replied, her expression flattening once again.

As our eyes met, I felt my lips curve before I realized I was smiling.

“Professor? What’s with the smile?” Arlos asked, leaning back as if startled.

“Well,” I replied, my posture softening as I leaned forward.

My voice softened without meaning to, and I couldn’t look away from her—held fast by something I couldn’t name.

“You’re creeping me out. Get out of my way.”

Right now, Deculein’s personality trait was kicking in—just like that, a switch had clicked into place. That damned trait of his, oddly drawing him closer to someone, not in calculation, but in something startlingly close to interest. And here I was, witnessing one of those rare moments myself when Deculein actually favored someone.

“Arlos.”

“... What.”

Arlos stood before me in her original form, just as her setting and design had once envisioned. But time, ever the artist, had brushed maturity across her features, bringing her even closer to perfection.

"Have I ever seen your original form so clearly in a bright place before, or is this, perhaps, our first real meeting?"

“... We must have crossed paths once or twice before.”

Of course, Sylvia and Yulie were stunning in their own right. But this was never about comparison, nor would I ever be so shallow as to reduce someone to mere appearances.

However, there are those in this world whose appearance transcends attraction—who seem to carry with them a beauty not born of chance, but of design, more like a portrait hung in motion.

"Art has always called to me more deeply than most things, and when it comes to beauty, I dare say this without humility—it stands above that of any nobility or imperial family."

“... What are you even talking about?”

My hand moved on its own, grazing a strand of Arlos’s hair. The moment I touched her, her entire body locked in place—no struggle, just shock, like something delicate struck by lightning.

"... How flawless."

Arlos’s hair gleamed with an impossible shine—too pristine to be real, so fluid in its fall that it could only be the result of her attribute. The kind of perfection that didn’t need soap, but only existence untouched by dust or time, belonged solely to her original form.

“Uh...” Arlos murmured, blinking not once, her mouth hanging open, as if the moment had broken every expectation she’d ever held.

“As someone who has always loved and supported the arts above all else, I can speak with certainty.”

According to the system, Arlos’s attribute was simple—Living Masterpiece.

“Arlos,” I called.

Of course, it wasn’t that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, nor was this some improbable tale of love at first sight. Arlos had the presence of a masterpiece—one of those rare works that seem to hold a mystery too distant to touch, as if she didn’t belong to this world at all, but to the space between frames and brushstrokes.

"If the world’s most noble and exquisite art piece existed, you would remain something even finer than it."

Arlos, in the most literal sense, was art, and that form—her presence, her symmetry, the elegant appearance she had—struck a chord in me, in Deculein, deeper than anyone ever had, with my Aesthetic Sense responding with an intensity...