A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 249: Loss (3)

The wind blew softly across the shore, waves melting into the sand, salt riding the breeze. Gulls called through the sky, and the waves spread infinitely over the Island of the Voice, where the dead and the living lost the memories of themselves. And there, with Sylvia, I walked.

"I have noticed that the island has been expanding day by day," I said.

"... How did you notice that," Sylvia said.

Today’s walk took the place of our lesson, as Sylvia said it was the reward she had wanted.

"But it shouldn't cause any trouble."

"No, it will cause a problem. If the island continues to expand, it may eventually consume the entire continent," I replied.

There were four great problems in the Voice: first, it brought the dead back; second, it swallowed memory whole; third, it followed its own sense of time; and lastly, it had the nature of a wave—always expanding and never-ending.

Of all the Voice’s problems, the most dangerous was its nature as a wave; the demon, desperate to become the world itself, had tried to swallow the continent with its island, and though Sylvia had consumed it whole, the instinct survived.

"I can take care of it."

“No—”

"I really can," Sylvia said, leaning her weight into my shoulder, her cheeks puffed up like balloons.

I curled my fingers, readying them for a flick.

"It’s part of the clause," Sylvia added, flinching as she noticed my fingers curl up for a flick before presenting the contract to me.

As Sylvia had said, the clause existed—right there, sealed in the contract between us.

[Tutoring Contract]

◆ This Tutoring Contract is entered into between Tutor Deculein (hereinafter referred to as "Party A") and Student Sylvia (hereinafter referred to as "Party B"), under the following terms and conditions:

Article 1 [Curriculum Details]

Party A agrees to tutor Party B according to the specialized Primary Colors Completion curriculum with...

.......

Article 9 [Special Clauses]

1. Should Party B demonstrate a complete and objective understanding of the assigned theory, Party B will be granted unrestricted free time.

2. Tutoring sessions are scheduled daily at three o'clock in the afternoon. However, in the event of natural disasters or emergencies concerning Party B, sessions may be canceled without prior notice.

3. During all tutoring sessions, Party B is required to address Party A with proper formality and title.

My eyes rested on the special clause in the contract.

“Sylvia,” I called.

"Yes, Professor," Sylvia replied, her hands slipping behind her back.

"Mana pools from the place where the previous iteration of myself had fallen."

“Mana pools.”

Whether she is questioning me or agreeing, I cannot tell, I thought.

"Indeed, I could see the traces of my previous iteration, and I had died at your desk."

Through my Sharp Eyesight, I saw the trace of my previous iteration—the body long since dissolved—but the mana of its presence still lingered, flickering in the air. That, too, must have been a product of Deculein’s unshakable mental strength.

"I wonder what I must have thought as I looked at you," I added.

I knew the truth—the demon still lived inside Sylvia, and she had not overcome the Voice. It had wrapped itself around her soul and blended with her until she couldn’t tell where she ended and it began.

However, that was exactly why the solution was so simple—the Voice could be exterminated if I killed Sylvia and brought the island down with her.

“I don’t know, Professor.”

My previous iteration had known and had the clear thought, and so did I. Without death—or more precisely, without my own hand bringing it—there would have been no possibility left for this island.

"Let’s sit over there. My legs are tired," Sylvia said, pointing ahead.

It was a curbside bench, and Sylvia slipped her fingers around my sleeve, leading me there, and the two of us sat down together.

"... It’s already been ten days since you came, Professor."

When I looked at Sylvia, she turned to face me, and in her clear golden eyes, a flicker of sadness and determination rooted itself.

"Will it be goodbye soon?" Sylvia asked, her fingers curling into my sleeve as she leaned her head on my shoulder.

"That may well be," I replied, making no move to push Sylvia away as she leaned against my shoulder.

"... I think I’ll be the one to win our wager, Professor."

However, I remained still, allowing the silence to give me time to gather my thoughts.

... No—I hadn’t needed to think at all. From the moment I arrived, my magic theory had always been centered on that one purpose, and since I had already made my determination, all that remained was to follow it.

“Professor.”

At that moment, Sylvia looked up at me, her face lightly touched with emotion.

"You were trying to teach me what it means to lose someone, and I know that now."

The wind caught her golden hair, setting it flowing like silk in the breeze, and her eyes shimmered like stars scattered across the sky. Sylvia looked so achingly beautiful that my heart ached with pity for her.

"But it is very strange," Sylvia continued, her finger brushing my lips as a faint smile bloomed across her frozen features. "Even if the current iteration of yourself dies..."

Sylvia’s voice trembled like a ripple on still water.

“And if the next iteration of yourself dies...”

Sylvia's words reached only me, full of meaning meant for no one else.

"And if the next, next iteration of yourself dies again and again, and if the next, next, next iteration of yourself dies more and more, no matter how many times... I will only end up loving you more each time instead."

Sylvia’s confession was pure—so fragile it trembled like a tear that had not fallen.

"Which means, I am certain in saying that I’ve already won our wager."

Sylvia's emotions seeped into me like drizzle soaking into the earth.

"... I see," I said, nodding as I met Sylvia's eyes.

"... Yes, it is," Sylvia replied, snuggling into my chest and slipping her arms around my waist, her breath steady and peaceful against me.

"It may well be so."

... This is sufficient for me—words more than enough to move toward the end and seal my determination, I thought.

“I love you. I really love you.”

From now on, I will need to bear only what I must endure.

***

The sixth iteration of Deculein died—a natural death, no different from the one before. Sylvia accepted it with difficulty, as she always did. But the seventh iteration of Deculein that followed was different. Even Sylvia and Idnik found it strangely unexpected.

“By his own?” Idnik asked.

"Yes!" Sylvia replied, the exclamation slipping from her lips as she nodded, a bright light dancing in her eyes.

"So... what you're telling me is that Deculein came into being on his own? On this island?" Idnik repeated, scratching her temple at Sylvia’s rare—and perhaps first—display of such spirit.

"Yes, Deculein wants to live here too, Idnik. Deculein's mental strength remains on this island, using my power to raise himself back to life here on his own."

Idnik remained silent.

"So that he can live with me. I think he likes me," Sylvia said.

"... Don't you think you're pushing it just a bit too far?"

At Idnik's words, Sylvia narrowed her eyes at her.

Idnik cleared her throat and turned her eyes away, only to land on Deculein as he stepped out of the sea.

"I’ll be waiting at home. Show Deculein around the island properly, Idnik."

Ever since, it has been Idnik who took the lead in guiding Deculein on the island. In its own way, it was Sylvia's game of push and pull with Deculein.

It seems she finds herself too shy to meet him so soon, Idnik thought.

“Sure.”

"Okay," Sylvia replied, turning on her heel and slipping away.

"Hey, Deculein! Seventh iteration of Deculein! Welcome!" Idnik said, waving her hands as she approached him.

The seventh iteration of Deculein stepped onto the shore, his brow furrowed as he looked her way. Memory resets—always more exhausting than they appeared—were always like that for her.

***

Idnik and I stepped into the guild room, and I couldn't shake the question of whether I really was the seventh iteration of Deculein, as Jukaken and Arlos greeted me as if no difference had existed.

"Here he comes again. Oh, so are we starting over?" Jukaken asked.

"Here is your magic theory. There are about a thousand pages," Arlos said, paying no mind to Jukaken as she offered the large box.

Before I could think of anything else, it was Arlos's beauty that struck me first—but I let it pass without a word.

"Your desk and chair are over there," Arlos added, pointing to a spot where a decent set had been prepared.

"Idnik and I will be off to work, so you two should cooperate, alright~? Especially you, Arlos~ Or I’m guessing that pretty face of yours is already doing half the work," Jukaken said with a chuckle.

“You motherfucker.”

I opened the box Arlos had given me, and inside were thousands of pages—the collected theories of the previous iteration of myself. Not a page out of place, not a speck of dust—just as I would’ve expected from my obsessive-compulsive disorder.

"You wrote an unbelievable amount," Arlos muttered, as if she were amazed.

I turned to the very first page of my theory and began reading fragments of the magic circle, and from that moment on, time began to race ahead and slip past me.

Rustle— Rustle—

While Arlos was munching on something sweet and stretching lazily, I buried myself in the theory—from the first page to the three-thousandth three-hundredth page—and half a day slipped away unnoticed, absorbed in what the previous iteration of myself had left behind.

What I found there was clear—a magic theory cold as iron, a will darker than I had ever known, and an absolute determination capable of cutting through any question.

"Professor," Arlos called the moment I leaned back in my chair.

“What is it.”

"Is there anything about me on there? I heard there used to be," Arlos asked.

Arlos’s face—a work of art, a beauty that calms the storms inside me the moment I see it.

“Indeed, there is,” I replied, nodding.

"What? What does it say this time?"

In the corner of the magic theory, I found a trace of magical handwriting—something only I could have written and understood, a message left by the previous iteration of myself.

"Arlos," I said, as I read her name off the page.

“What.”

"It says I will need your trust and your help."

Arlos stared with eyes as clear as gemstones, her head tilting in slight confusion, and I offered no further words.

***

On the third day, Deculein left the guild room to give a lesson to Sylvia. Left behind in the room, Arlos, Jukaken, and Idnik sprawled out across the sofas, raising their drinks for the first time in years. Thanks to Deculein, and with Sylvia by his side, the Island of the Voice could finally afford a moment of calm.

"This sofa is actually well-made," Arlos said, offering her compliment.

"Hehehe. Of course, what’d you expect? It's my handiwork. Man, only if I could’ve purchased mana stones, it would’ve been even better," Jukaken replied.

“Hahaha...?”

Idnik, who had been laughing with Arlos and Jukaken, suddenly furrowed her brow, and the smile slipped from her face.

"Wait, you couldn't buy mana stones?" Idnik asked.

"Yeah, inflation is crazy. Even with all those coins over there, I'd barely get a scrap of a mana stone," Jukaken said. "They were way more expensive than I expected."

Where Jukaken pointed, Deculein's coins were piled high, a mountain of gleaming metal, but Idnik's face, watching them, turned serious, as if she saw something no one else could.

"... If there is no mana stone... mana stone..."

"What, cat got your tongue? Finish your words, Idnik."

Without further words, Idnik pushed herself to her feet and moved toward the box containing Deculein's magic theory.

"Hey, hey! What are you thinking?! If you mess with that and it goes wrong, you're fucked—and so are we!" Jukaken said, staggering drunkenly.

Idnik ignored him—or maybe she never even heard what Jukaken said at all.

Rustle—

Idnik picked up the box, drew out Deculein’s magic theory, and began reading from the first page. Years spent studying with Rohakan had taught her well—enough that even the most difficult theory surrendered, in part, to her understanding and interpretation.

As she read through Deculein’s theory, Idnik found herself drawn to its brilliance—the artistry stitched into every line. But somewhere along the way, admiration gave way to a simple question that took root in her mind—whether a spell of such grandeur could be manifested without a mana stone.

Even if every coin on the island were spent, it wouldn’t be enough to buy the mana stones needed for this grand magic... Idnik thought.

At that moment, Idnik snapped her head up, her eyes widening in an instant, but it wasn’t the theory that had startled her—it was a mana signal brushing against her mind.

"... What are you doing over there?" Arlos asked, watching Idnik cause a scene.

Darkness pressed against the walls of the guild room, and Idnik, immersed in Deculein’s theory for hours and long since shaken off the haze of drink, turned her head, her eyes moving between Jukaken and Arlos.

Gulp—

"... Deculein is dead," Idnik said, after swallowing hard.

"What?" Jukaken said, his face twisting in disbelief.

"But it’s only been three days," Arlos said, questioning Idnik's words.

"Exactly. It’s far too soon for him to die of natural causes—unless someone killed Deculein..."

Then, the words caught in Idnik's throat.

“... Unless someone killed Deculein," Idnik muttered.

Then, someone's face brushed across Idnik’s mind—the person they had all chosen to forget, all in the name of maintaining peace.

“Arlos, where is Gerek?”

“... Oh.”

Arlos and Jukaken, sensing the change in the air, allowed their expressions to fall into the same silence.

Bang—!

Idnik burst through the door first, running hard, with Arlos following, her puppet scarecrow dragged by invisible strings, and Jukaken trailing behind on foot, both feet pounding the ground.

Together, they arrived at the cage—the place where they had locked Gerek in. Then, they fell into silence, the sight stealing away whatever words they might have had.

"... He’s gone," Arlos muttered.

A stunned laugh slipped from Idnik's lips.

"Yeah, and it's not even working hours... He could’ve just walked out without blowing everything to pieces," Jukaken replied, scratching his neck.

The underground cage that had held Gerek in the center of the forest was reduced to mangled wreckage—completely destroyed and no longer resembling anything built by human hands.

"... What the hell’s wrong with him all of a sudden? Gerek was working fine with me just before," Jukaken added, running a hand through his messy hair.

Leaving the island was supposed to be our one common goal, and that’s what we agreed upon. What had changed him so suddenly? Idnik thought.

"Must be because Gerek probably couldn’t stand it anymore. From the start, Gerek didn't give a fuck about getting out of this island—all Gerek ever wanted was to kill Deculein. That motherfucker," the Scarecrow said.

"We’re screwed," Jukaken said, smacking his forehead.

"Idnik, do you know where Deculein died?" the Scarecrow asked.

"Do you really think we can find where he died? He was nothing but paint," Jukaken said, cutting in.

"Mana remains, you fucking idiot. If we record it, maybe we can track where Gerek is. Or are you just gonna sit there and watch Deculein die, you fucking squid-headed dumbfuck?" the Scarecrow replied.

"... Fair enough. But fuck off with the cursing, you dumb fucking bitch. You think you're the only one getting fucked here? Anyway—Idnik," Jukaken said, turning to her. "You can track it, right? You better, because if you can’t, we’re fucked."

As Idnik carried Deculein’s crystal orb—the catalyst tied to him—she could sense, at least faintly, where he had died.

Idnik gave a nod after a moment of silence, and Jukaken and the scarecrow both let out a breath of relief they hadn't realized they were holding.

"Then let’s go find Gerek."

"... Wait," Idnik said, calling after the Scarecrow and Jukaken before they could dash off.

Both the scarecrow and Jukaken, their bodies poised at the edge of motion to run, turned their heads toward Idnik, waiting for her next words.

“What is it?”

“What do you want.”

"... Nothing," Idnik added, giving a slight shake of her head.

"What the fuck? Brain dead or something? Move your ass and show us the way," Jukaken said.

Idnik remained silent.

"Hey! Idnik! You gonna stand there all day?! I said hurry your ass up and show us the way already!"

... At that moment, Idnik was lost in deep thought. Bringing Deculein’s grand magic to life would require an ocean’s worth of mana—something even the combined strength of hundreds of mages could never hope to match, like droplets against the sea.

... Therefore, manifesting Deculein’s magic was impossible—at least, here on the Island of the Voice—since even if the mana of Sylvia, Idnik, Arlos, and Jukaken were combined, it would never be enough. However, there was only one method remaining—if Sylvia were to be killed...

If Sylvia, along with the demon inside her, were offered up as a sacrifice, the resulting torrent of mana could drive Deculein’s magic circle to life, tearing apart the island and drowning Idnik, Arlos, Jukaken, Gerek, and every soul that breathed within the Island of the Voice—and only then could the demon be exterminated.

“What...”

It was a way to exterminate the demon in the most demonic manner imaginable, as if he were the demon himself—a thought, without question, that only Deculein could conceive, and no one else could.

"... Hey, you two. Come here for a second."

However, whether Idnik’s speculation had hardened into certainty—or even if it already had—Sylvia could never be allowed to know, nor must she ever learn the truth that, in Deculein’s design, her place was written in sacrifice, with her death.

"I've got something to say," Idnik concluded.