A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 294: Emotions of the Desert (3)

Hidden deep beneath the desert’s floor lay the Ant Nest—a sprawling underground village where the Scarletborn clan had made their home.

“I can never get used to this,” Idnik muttered, raising a brow as her eyes roamed the place.

The cave, though dug into the unstable depths of the desert, was complete—everything the Scarletborn needed was already there.

There is a school, a dining hall, a training ground… and a farm. How did they manage to build a farm underground? Idnik thought.

“It is well made, right?” Allen said with a bright smile. “That farm stands because of a spell I learned from the Professor.”

“What sort of spell would that be?”

“It’s called an artificial sun, and it was originally part of a midterm assignment. With a mana stone valued at around one hundred thousand elne, it can sustain a farm large enough to feed three hundred people for an entire year, and there’s groundwater beneath it all.”

The artificial sun wasn’t anything elaborate—just a mana stone device positioned above the farm.

“What about the money?”

“It’s sustained through sponsorship.”

“Hmm, fair enough.”

The Scarletborn had built their fortune on the clan’s distinctive abilities, and lately there had been reports of sweeping inspections of the Scarletborn, but evading them wasn’t impossible, and since their money hadn’t disappeared, they weren’t likely to face hardship anytime soon.

“But what if there’s a spy among those people?” Idnik asked.

“It’s nothing to worry about. There are dozens of villages like this one. Even if one is exposed, it won’t trace back to the others. They’re completely isolated—structured as a cell organization,” Allen replied with a smile.

“… Then this place isn’t where your high command is either, is it?”

Allen understood what Idnik was trying to say and without speaking, he placed a hand on Idnik’s shoulder.

At that moment…

“It is here,” Allen said.

It was a new space, deeper underground than the last cave, where the very air felt transformed and a woman sat beneath the glow of an oil lantern writing a ledger who showed little surprise when Allen and Idnik appeared without warning, merely adjusting her round glasses and staring in their direction.

“… Is that Elesol?” Idnik muttered, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Elesol glanced at Allen through her narrowed eyes.

“Yes, that’s right~ Then I’ll be going now—please speak with the elder,” Allen replied, then made her escape as if fleeing the scene.

“Read this,” Idnik said, handing the sheet of magic paper to Elesol without another word.

The moment she glanced over the magic paper, Elesol found herself facing overwhelming geometry that made her vision blur, some alien patterns far too immense and complex to comprehend immediately.

— What might this be?

“Hmm? Oh—well, I suppose it’s not the kind of spell that’s really in your league. One needs to be at least my level to understand its purpose and scale. Mmhmm, that’s right,” Idnik muttered. “I stole it from Deculein.”

Elesol’s shoulders gave a startled twitch, and she raised the lantern to illuminate Idnik’s mouth, as if her inability to hear made her question the lip movements she had just witnessed.

“You understood correctly. I stole it from Deculein.”

The source of information was tightly sealed, and Idnik did not tell the Scarletborn leader any knowledge that could prove to be Deculein’s weak point because this grand magic had to be something Idnik had stolen from him, and if she revealed that Deculein had given it to her, he would become a traitor to the Empress and the Empire.

“It’s a grand magic powerful enough to destroy the desert and even parts of the Empire itself, and it is a perfect weapon built for mutually assured destruction.”

Elesol remained silent.

“Even I was taken aback when I stole it—who could have imagined a bomb with megaton power crafted with such precision and artistry?”

Elesol looked at the magical paper once again.

“If this spell is deployed in the desert, then at the very least, it will prevent war from ever reaching it,” Idnik concluded.

— To bring such a grand spell into form, surely it would require a great number of mages.

“Yes, that’s right. At least three hundred mages—Lumiere-ranked or higher—and every one of them trusted to keep their silence.”

— That won’t be possible. A Lumiere isn’t something you stumble across like a household pet.

Fifth rank Lumiere represented the minimum standard for elite mages, yet even those three hundred at that standard existed only on the Floating Island.

“Of course not—I never expected as much. But with two mages worth a hundred and fifty, could we at least gather thirty who know how to keep their silence?”

At Idnik’s words, Elesol’s brow furrowed slightly.

— Two mages worth a hundred and fifty? I imagine one of them is you.

“Epherene is the other.”

Did she just say Epherene? Elesol thought.

Elesol was shocked and immediately began using sign language.

— That thief, Deculein’s former protégé, has made her way here as well?

“Huh? Allen didn’t tell you? Epherene’s been with me for some time now.”

Elesol’s teeth scraped against each other with a grinding sound.

That bitch Ellie—why does she always skip the parts that actually matter? Elesol thought.

— But I heard her relationship with Deculein took a bitter turn.

“That’s exactly why she’ll be of use. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Elesol considered it for a while, but that hesitation was unnecessary.

— I will get them ready.

Mutually assured destruction was the only logic of power that could oppose the Empire that Elesol had consistently championed, both when the Scarletborn Great Elder was in sound health and now when he was little more than a coma.

***

… By the temporary Imperial Palace in the desert, the battle between Keiron and Ria was halted by Sophien’s intervention, and thereafter a subdued afternoon settled.

Scribble— Scribble—

Ria was seated directly before Sophien, her hand moving as she scribbled letters across the page.

1. Horseback riding

2. Reading

3. Intellectual discussion

4. Sailing

Watching the letters that Ria was writing, Sophien questioned with her eyes what exactly it was supposed to be.

“Oh, they are a list of things the Professor likes,” Ria replied.

According to Deculein’s setting, these were hobbies he would inevitably favor—horseback riding, sailing, hunting, and other blatantly noble sports.

“And why are you writing that down?” Sophien asked.

“I thought you might want to know about it.”

“… Would I?”

Sophien was no longer confused but in disbelief because she couldn’t recall how long it had been since Deculein that someone had acted brazenly composed in the presence of the Empress.

“Yes,” Ria replied, bold as ever and without hesitation. “You said you liked the Professor, didn’t you, Your Majesty?”

Sophien remained silent.

“I’ll help you. I’m an adventurer—someone who does whatever they’re asked when something is given, and right now, I’m a house guest of Yukline, so I know more than most.”

“… Haa,” Sophien murmured, closing her eyes for a long moment.

This little spy dares to eavesdrop on the Empress’s private musings and then recites them back as if it’s something to be proud of? Hmph, though I suppose it’s better than whimpering… Sophien thought.

“Ria, the only reason I’m not punishing you is because your help in interpreting the Holy Language proved invaluable.”

Though Sophien spoke as if it meant nothing, her eyes remained glued to the paper Ria had written, and for some reason, there was an inexplicable sense of anticipation that Ria might somehow understand the intimate depths of Deculein’s inner nature.

“That much is already known,” Sophien concluded.

“… Oh, really?” Ria replied.

“Indeed.”

“Hmm…”

Then Ria fell into thoughtful silence because Deculein was a man of unshakable conviction and the things he would appreciate were all too clear.

“Then…”

Then, maybe with a change in thinking and considering the personality of Kim Woo-Jin, the model for Deculein—not that Deculein has any of his personality—but if it’s something he would like, it is… Ria thought.

“It would be…”

Then it must be flowers. Woo-Jin was an artist—a painter who loved to paint, and he admired Gogh. Most of his still life works were filled with flowers—sunflowers, dandelions, roses, cotton, lilacs… I didn’t name Deculein’s former fiancée after a flower for nothing.

Yuara von Vergiss meinnicht’s Vergissmeinnicht was the original word for the forget-me-not.

“It would be…”

But for some reason, I don’t want to speak of it.

“It would be? Speak what comes next,” Sophien said her words with a tone edged with impatience, as if urging a response—but the more she pressed, the more firmly Ria kept her mouth shut.

“Ria.”

Ria remained silent.

“If you speak of it, I shall forgive your act of eavesdropping,” Sophien continued.

I remember how you drew a dandelion on my cheek while I was asleep, and when you completed your military service, you gathered flowers from the roadside—dozens of them—and gave them to me, saying they were your version of flower shoes.

You apologized for having nothing right now, saying you’d make it up to me with something better someday, but honestly, I thought the real gift was just you—that honest heart of yours was already more than enough. I was really thankful just knowing that you were mine… Ria thought.

“… Ria, speak.”

Of course, I know Deculein isn’t Woo-Jin… but I don’t even want to share that part of him.

“Ria.”

I don’t want to say it. I don’t want anyone else to hear it. I just want it to be mine, Ria thought.

Thud—

“You little one,” the Empress called, knocking once on the table.

“Sorry?” Ria murmured, flinching as if waking from a dream, then raised her head.

“If you speak of it, I shall forgive you.”

“… Oh.”

But the past is the past, and keeping it all to myself won’t make it come back.

“It would be unexpected… but he might actually like flowers,” Ria replied with a bitter smile.

“Flowers?” Sophien replied, her brow furrowing.

“Yes, flowers,” Ria said, nodding as if a weight had lifted from her chest.

“You may go. Since you’ve spoken, I’ll forgive you,” Sophien said, wrinkling her nose as she dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

“Yes, Your Majesty, he might actually like flowers—”

“Did Yulie ever give the Professor even a single bouquet of flowers? Or did she ever gift him an island made of them?” Sophien interrupted.

Now that I think about it, that may be true. The chance that Deculein likes the same flowers Woo-Jin did is probably unlikely, Ria thought.

“Then—”

“Leave. I will not tolerate another word.”

Sophien never repeated herself, and at that, Ria stood up at once and bent at the waist in a formal bow.

As Ria walked away with dragging steps, Keiron observed her in silence, something indecipherable in his eyes.

— That adventurer child is strong, Your Majesty.

“Are you telling me that you weren’t just taking it easy on her?” Sophien inquired.

— Though my strength remains scattered across many fronts, even should it return to me in full, I fear victory is not something I could claim with certainty, Your Majesty.

Considering the level Keiron had attained, it was a remarkably generous assessment—yet such things held no interest for Sophien at the moment.

The word flower felt the most out of place against the harshness of the desert.

“Flower,” Sophien muttered.

“Your Majesty!”

Suddenly, from beyond, there came a shout—one that did not belong alongside the word flower.

“Your Majesty—Count Yukline has succeeded in recapturing all those prisoners who had escaped!”

Before she realized it, Sophien had clenched her fist.

***

Fwoooooosh—!

In the heart of the scorching desert, where the wind howled like fire, Empress Sophien stood still, silently surveying the line of prisoners who trembled as if trapped in the frozen reaches of the polar north, despite the heat searing their skin.

“Eyes to the ground! Even looking up is a punishable offense for the likes of you!” Bell barked.

General Bell roared that every last one of the tribal prisoners should be put to death, and Sophien said nothing—but behind her eyes, her heart was no less merciless.

“Your Majesty, how would you have them dealt with?” asked a man in a hushed tone behind Sophien.

“What is there to ask? Have you forgotten the consequences the prisoners would face for a failed escape?” Sophien replied as she glanced at the man.

It was Deculein—once a damned Professor, and now the Chairman.

“I shall see them all put to death—whether buried beneath the sands or stripped and chained here to meet their end.”

However, Deculein showed no visible reaction and merely spoke as if placing a routine order at a café.

“I ask that they be given an opportunity, Your Majesty.”

“… Hah?” Sophien murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching into a sneer.

“Your Majesty, there are no Scarletborn among them. They are a tribe attuned in tracing underground water sources, a resource of high strategic value. For that reason alone, I ask that you could grant them even a sliver of an opportunity to serve.”

“… An opportunity.”

It was Deculein’s idea of mercy, if it could be called that, as Sophien looked down on the prisoners kneeling deeply it seemed the sand was swallowing them whole, and a sudden wave of anger rose within her, though she knew it wasn’t aimed at them but at Deculein.

“Did you just speak of an opportunity?” Sophien continued.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“… You fucking idiot.”

At that moment, a ripple of noise ran through the Elite Guard standing behind her.

Sophien’s words were sufficiently severe that, spoken in public, they were sure to carry political weight and, with such open profanity, even her position might be exposed to criticism.

“Get lost.”

However, Sophien paid it no mind, stepped forward, and instead of calling Deculein, spoke another name.

“General Bell.”

General Bell was thrashing the prisoner with such rage it looked like he meant to kill them, and when Sophien called out, he didn’t even realize it at first but only blinked in confusion.

“Do you mean to test my patience?” Sophien continued, watching him like a hawk.

“Oh, y-yes, Your Majesty! I remain deeply honored by your favor!” Bell replied.

“Take it,” Sophien said, throwing the armband toward him.

Bell caught the armband Sophien had thrown—just barely, before it could fall into the sand.

“I have heard you were the one who swept away those wretches and seized the oasis. That deserves recognition.”

“Oh! I remain deeply honored by your—”

“Therefore, I name you commander of the expedition to the desert,” Sophien concluded.

“Oh… Eh?” Bell murmured, his lips parting in disbelief.

Bell looked as if he were still trying to make sense of what he’d just heard and then, without hesitation, he bowed his head to Sophien.

“Your Majesty! I-I remain deeply honored by your favor!”

Sophien turned without another word and walked into the building, never once looking back at Deculein.

“Damn it,” Sophien muttered.

Sophien felt an ache in her heart she couldn’t explain, like a heavy stone pressing against her chest that was suffocating, but she knew it would pass just as it always did.

— Your Majesty.

The moment she lay back on the couch inside the building, a voice echoed out from the statue standing tall in the room—from Keiron.

— Your Majesty, might I suggest drawing a clearer line between crown and heart?

At that moment, a vein pulsed visibly in Sophien’s forehead.

“Keiron, if I had drawn the line between crown and heart, the Professor would’ve been executed the moment he opened his mouth to speak of such a thing to me,” Sophien replied.

The Professor had committed treason and confessed to the attempted murder of the Empress, declaring that he would accept every charge listed at the hearing without resistance, yet Sophien neither sentenced him to death nor told anyone because the reason was simple.

“Because I do not draw the line between crown and heart—no, because I could not.”

Keiron remained silent.

“That is the reason Deculein is alive,” Sophien concluded..

Although Sophien had a voice that was as flat and cold as ever, something in it trembled like she was holding back something from breaking, and even Keiron, in that fragile moment, stayed silent as if he understood.

Sophien stared up at the ceiling in silence and reached out with one hand, but her arm trembled and then sank back down, drained of strength.

— Your Majesty—are you unwell?

“… Indeed, I have no strength left—not even enough to walk to my bed. The same strange weariness has returned, and my body refuses to move.”

Sophien felt an ache in her chest from something she couldn’t name, and though she wouldn’t show it, a part of her was afraid.

“Keiron, no matter how hard I try… I cannot read that damned man’s next move.”

Deculein, that damned Professor, what if he means to die in Yulie’s stead? What if he gives up his own life for hers, even though he knows her time is already running out? Sophien thought.

“Therefore, if I were to be the one to end Yulie before he makes his move…”

With a heart aching like thorns pressed to her chest, Sophien sank into a sleep as her head lowered softly and her body went limp like a doll with its threads undone.

At that moment…

Creeeeak—

The creak of the door echoed through the room.

… Thud, thud.

Each footstep echoed gently across the floor as someone entered the room.

— You are here.

Keiron turned to greet the man stepping into the room.

“Yes, Her Majesty is in a deep sleep.”

The man who knelt before the couch, before Sophien, was Deculein, who raised a hand and placed it on her forehead with the same care one might take when reading a pulse.

“There’s a fever,” Deculein added under his breath.

However, what burned through Sophien wasn’t just a fever—it was a blazing heat that refused to break.

— It seems Her Majesty is greatly distressed, and you, I suspect, are the weight upon her mind.

“Is that so?”

— Do not make the mistake of underestimating Her Majesty.

Keiron spoke with the weight of words edged with gravity.

— Her Majesty is more than capable of ending your life. Do not let yourself be blinded by not seeing the sword hanging above your head.

The words that Keiron was speaking were about death.

“I’m well aware of that, Keiron. I’ve walked beside Her Majesty for over a century,” Deculein replied, without so much as a look in Keiron’s direction, but only to Sophien.

— … I couldn’t care less what happens to you—because if you die, it would only trouble Her Majesty.

“There’s no need to worry,” Deculein replied as he slipped an arm under Sophien’s back and lifted her in a bridal carry, then laid her upon the bed. “… From this moment on, the lesson I offer Her Majesty.”

Then, Deculein lay beside Sophien and smoothed her hair with his hand as if brushing it one strand at a time.

“Will be suffering,” Deculein concluded with a hint of teasing smile playing at the corner of his lips.

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