A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 252: Sacrifice (2)

There’s so much I want to ask. There’s so much I’m desperate to hear. There’s so much I want to give, and just as much I hope to receive. I want to stay beside you through all the seasons to come. But… maybe loving someone doesn’t mean you’ll always be loved back. Did I understand this too late, or was I too afraid to know? Sylvia thought.

… Even now, Deculein continues to kill himself. Because of my selfishness, he lives every day in the agony of letting himself die. Watching him die—over and over again—feels like my heart is being ripped to pieces. It’s all because of me. Everything is, because of me…

“No, sweetie.”

Sylvia turned her head, drawn by the sudden, tender weight of Cielia’s voice and words, as if unseen arms had gathered her into their warmth.

“Deculein said it himself, Sylvia—it’s not your fault,” Cielia said, her smile as light as a breeze as she wiped the tears from Sylvia’s cheeks.

However, Sylvia still found herself doubting, even at this very moment.

“Mom, Cielia,” Sylvia called.

“Yes?”

“… Cielia, are you really real?”

Cielia once told me that she was real—not something fake I created, but real, Sylvia thought.

“Yes, of course. I’m real,” Cielia replied with a blooming smile.

“You’re lying,” Sylvia said with a slight narrowing of her eyes.

“I’m telling you, I am real~ You don’t even believe mommy anymore?”

“… It’s okay. I’m not running away.”

“Sylvia, mommy won’t run away too.”

Sylvia still wore a face clouded with doubt, while Cielia, playing along, chuckled and flashed a knowing smile.

As the moment passed, a small wave broke against the shores of Sylvia’s heart.

— Sylvia.

It was the voice of a demon imprisoned within Sylvia, spreading like the faint ripples of a silent lake, its tone hauntingly similar to Deculein’s. Sylvia, however, pressed it down and turned away.

— Sylvia.

You’re too late, you foolish demon, Sylvia thought.

And with that, the Voice fell silent.

Sylvia looked back at Cielia, who was already waiting with open arms. Without hesitation, Sylvia stepped into her arms, and only then did she raise her eyes to the window—for the first time that year.

“… It’s so clear,” Sylvia muttered.

For a year, only snow had fallen, but she noticed how much the island had changed now that spring had come—flowers bloomed, bees took flight, new plants sprouted, and migratory birds crossed the skies. Sylvia had never brought such life into the world herself. It could only mean one thing—the Voice was beginning to awaken.

“It’s almost time for him to come,” Cielia said.

“And it will be a goodbye,” Sylvia replied, a faint smile touching her lips.

At Sylvia’s words, Cielia’s eyes rounded in surprise, only to melt a moment later into a radiant smile of pride as she hugged Sylvia even tighter, pressing her daughter close to her heart.

“Yes, it will be a sweet goodbye…”

***

Swoooosh…

“… Hey, Idnik, when’s he coming?” Jukaken asked.

Along the island’s golden shore, the waves whispered against the sand as Arlos, Jukaken, and Idnik stood waiting in the calm between tides, watching the horizon for someone they knew would soon arrive.

Because the real Deculein is coming across the sea.

“Soon, since the Voice hasn’t been opened completely for long,” Idnik muttered.

“But Idnik, why would Deculein hide the fact that he was taking his own life from everyone?” Arlos asked, briefly glancing at her.

“Because that’s how you make it dramatic,” Idnik replied.

“… Dramatic? What is this, a performance?” Jukaken asked, tilting his head.

“Yes, Deculein planned all along to be found out, as it was his plan from the beginning—because his only purpose was to persuade Sylvia,” Idnik replied with a shrug.

“… That makes sense,” Arlos said, nodding.

Though it was Deculein who drew the magic circle, without Sylvia’s cooperation, its manifestation would have been nearly impossible.

“Between being found out after a few dozen deaths and after a thousand, the latter is far more convincing. With that, he coerced Sylvia.”

It was through Idnik that Arlos and Jukaken heard the idea of coercion—and they understood its meaning.

“Well, that’s a big problem.”

Because Sylvia had already become one with the Voice, her sacrifice was the inevitable price for the only way to kill it. Also, even if the Voice were successfully exterminated, Sylvia could never leave the island—and under no circumstances could she ever return to the continent. Not for a long time, and perhaps, never.

“So, does that mean Sylvia has to watch over this island—managing the place as if she were some kind of lighthouse keeper?” Jukaken muttered, glancing up at the tall lighthouse at the island’s center, where Sylvia lives.

“Yes. Sylvia may not die, but she will have to spend her years on this island—until she can retrieve the Voice spread across the entire continent, until she can tear away the last of the Voice latched onto her.”

Now, Sylvia had become the Voice itself—the inevitable price of a moment’s loneliness that had led her to swallow a demon whole. The demon’s power was so tenacious that even if the magic circle succeeded in exterminating its original form, the remnants would haunt her, tormenting Sylvia for at least ten years to come.

“Deculein knew it all from the start and coerced Sylvia into sacrificing herself—for if she would not sacrifice herself, there was no choice but for him to kill her.”

A kind of threat—if Sylvia refused to accept her sacrifice, Deculein would continue to take his own life without end.

“… It really was the best that could be done,” Jukaken said with a nod.

Arlos turned her eyes back to the sea.

“Oh, hey, look. Sylvia—she’s over there.”

At that moment, Jukaken pointed toward the breakwater, where Sylvia sat alone, silently staring in their direction.

“Holy shit. Did she hear everything we said? Is she going to rage again?” Jukaken asked, a shudder running through him.

Then, Sylvia’s brows drew together as if Jukaken’s words were too pathetic to deserve a response.

Wham—!

Idnik smacked Jukaken on the back of his head.

“Argh! Oh, you motherfucker.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sylvia is ten times smarter than you, so she already knows. Sylvia’s just waiting for Deculein—and keeping Gerek in check.”

“… Ahem,” Jukaken murmured, clearing his throat.

As Idnik had said, Gerek was hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for a chance to strike at Deculein—who, to be fair, had achieved this result without lifting a finger.

After all, it was the fake Deculein who’s been taking his own life.

“Over there!” Arlos said, pointing into the distance.

Jukaken and Idnik both widened their eyes as splashes broke across the distant horizon, heading toward them.

Wait, no—that’s not just splashing.

“Whoa, what the hell? Is he a whale or something?”

Deculein was tearing through the sea, storming toward them at a speed almost too fast for the eye to follow.

Fwooooooosh—!

The waves of the sea grew rougher, stirred by nothing more than a single man forcing his way through the water. In silence, Idnik, Arlos, and Jukaken watched the Professor thrash toward them, looking for all the world like a fish.

Splaaaash—!

Riding the crashing waves as if to overturn the sea itself, Deculein stepped ashore, planting both feet in the sand like some merman, yet there was no sign of exhaustion upon him, and his soaked clothes flowed neat and smooth, draping over him like flowing silk.

Bathed in sunlight that settled like a blessing, Deculein straightened his attire, casting Cleanse to dry away the last drops of seawater, and surveyed those waiting for him with his piercing blue eyes.

Arlos tensed as the words of the previous Deculein flashed through her mind, now standing in her original form—and there was no puppet to replace her.

“Arlos,” Deculein called as he looked upon her.

Arlos nodded, the thundering of her heart loud in her ears—but she stood her ground, not running from him.

Did I make the right choice? Arlos thought.

“Let’s begin,” Deculein added with a nod.

“Right now?” Idnik said, her eyes widened.

“There is no need for rest, as it seems the mana of my existence has already scattered throughout this island.”

“No, I mean,” Idnik said, pointing toward the breakwater. “Aren’t you going to meet her?”

Deculein looked toward the breakwater Idnik had pointed out, and there, crouched between the tripods, Sylvia hid—her face peeking out, with embarrassment and shyness coloring her every breath.

“It’s fine; there is no need for us to meet,” Deculein replied.

“Oh, what?” Idnik muttered, a bitter laugh slipping from her lips.

Sylvia lowered her head, hiding her face in disappointment.

“I will activate the grand magic,” Deculein announced, placing his hand on the ground.

As if sensing the touch of its master, the remnants of an ancient existence stirred deep beneath the earth.

“The Bursting will proceed in three stages. First, the souls of the dead shall be sent back to the afterlife, and the living who have forgotten themselves shall regain their memories,” Deculein continued.

“Alright, sure. You understand the magic circle better than any of us…”

Listening to Deculein’s words, Arlos found herself nodding—until a sudden thought burned through her mind, and the question slipped from her tongue before she could stop it.

“… Wait a second. How do you know that? I have not yet passed the magic theory on to you,” Idnik said.

Deculein offered no reply and cast the first spell in silence.

“Professor.”

Deculein remained silent.

“Professor.”

Arlos called Deculein, while Jukaken and Idnik turned toward him, their faces unreadable, somewhere between surprise and confusion.

“Hey, this, the magic theory,” Arlos said, shaking the box she held in her arms.

Shake, shake—Shake, shake—

Ruuuuuumble—!

At that moment, a deafening roar swept over the island, shaking it to its core. After the first stage of Deculein’s grand magic passed, the professor pulled himself upright from the sand.

“Though all the imperfect iterations of myself died without knowing, their memories remain with me,” Deculein said. “Each time an imperfect iteration of myself died, the memories were passed to me. I lived and experienced their ends as if they were my own.”

On the other hand, the listeners stood frozen in stunned silence—especially Idnik, who shook her head and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“I have died one thousand five hundred thirty-three times.”

The island’s wind swept across the sands, and the sea answered, its waves splashing against the shore.

“… Really? Was it really necessary to remember all of that?” Arlos asked, swallowing hard.

“Necessary, is it?” Deculein replied, his hand reaching for Arlos.

Arlos stiffened, rooting her to the spot.

“It was worth every moment.”

However, Deculein’s fingers were surprisingly gentle as he brushed each speck of sand from Arlos’s hair, strand by strand.

“To remember her was the respect she deserved,” Deculein concluded.

“Sigh~” Idnik murmured, breathing out a long breath.

Jukaken turned his head away.

“Though the one you met was not my complete self, the memory of you that the incomplete self remains within me,” Deculein said, looking into the distance.

Though the place where Sylvia had crouched now stood empty, Deculein’s words reached out into the air, breaking the silence she left behind.

“I will not forget you.”

Maybe that was all it needed to be.

Whooooooosh…

In that moment, the veil of time that had cloaked the island fell, but the Voice’s echo and its gathering wave, already unleashed by the demon, had spread across the continent and remained.

Of course, there was nothing to worry about, as Sylvia Von Josephine Iliade would remain on the island, just as Deculein had before her—no matter how long it took, no matter what sacrifice was demanded, she would carry the responsibility and reclaim what was hers.

***

Rogerio’s ships and dozens of airships from the Adventurer’s Guild landed on the Island of the Voice, the ships loading tens of thousands of adventurers onto their decks and lifeboats, while the airships gathered the rest as everyone was finally ready to leave.

“… It’s a relief,” Sylvia muttered, watching from the lighthouse.

Sylvia kept vigilant, her eyes sweeping the island’s fading shores—making certain no harm would touch them before they crossed the sea safely.

Crackle— Crackle—

Out of nowhere, the crystal orb crackled by Sylvia’s neck—a necklace made from Deculein’s own crystal orb, in the form of an accessory—and Sylvia blinked, staring down at it.

— Do you hear me?

The sound of Deculein’s voice, clear through the crystal necklace, drew a smile from Sylvia, but within moments, her expression settled with resolve, and she replied, “… Yes, Professor.”

— Is Cielia there?

“No, Professor,” Sylvia replied with a slightly gloomy expression as she shook her head. “She already left.”

As Deculein set foot on the island, Cielia was already gone, having left without saying goodbye to Sylvia. But her mother had only kept her promise—and for that reason, Sylvia had no reason to be upset.

“But…” Sylvia muttered, fidgeting with the crystal orb. “I wonder if Cielia was actually real or if she was something fake that I—”

— Cielia was real.

With a certainty that did not waver, Deculein answered Sylvia’s question in a single breath and declared that Cielia was real with confidence, as if it had never been in doubt, while Sylvia blinked, her lips parted with words that never found their way out.

— Cielia was real—and my words are not meant to offer you comfort.

Sylvia remained silent.

— There are moments on this continent when phenomena arise that defy even my comprehension. Whether born of human will or wandering spirits, I cannot say. The closest name we have for it is attribute.

In the game’s system, the concept of attributes existed—just as Deculein had his Strong Mental Fortitude and Sylvia had the Primary Colors.

— Perhaps Cielia, too, bore such an attribute, allowing her to keep her memories intact as she waited in the afterlife for the day she could meet you again.

Sylvia remained silent.

— Because that’s how much she loved you.

Tears blurred Sylvia’s vision, and Deculein, his voice low, continued speaking.

— A detailed explanation of the mechanism is unnecessary—whether it is magic or something that transcends even what magic could reach.

As Sylvia looked over the empty house, the nine years spent with her mother had mended the broken pieces of her lost childhood—but now, with Cielia gone, the house felt hollow, though the traces of her memories remained everywhere.

There’s so much… It’s everywhere as if she meant to leave it all behind for me, Sylvia thought.

— Sylvia, you shared true moments together with Cielia.

There, in the kitchen, Cielia’s snack recipes remained, along with the fairy tales they had written together and the sweater she had knitted for Sylvia one cold winter’s day. Sylvia could see them—no, she couldn’t, because the more she tried to see, the more the tears smudged everything from her view.

— However, she left before I could place my regrets in her hands.

Deculein’s words carried the weight of regret—and something almost resembling an apology.

“No, it’s okay,” Sylvia replied, shaking her head with a smile breaking touched by the taste of tears. “Mom said it too—that it was not your fault, Professor.”

Deculein remained silent.

“And you told me too, Professor—that it was not my fault.”

Deculein fell into a longer silence.

“… That’s enough… more than enough.”

As Deculein fell in silence, searching for something to say, Sylvia stepped ahead and said,

“Then, I will take my leave, Professor,” Sylvia said.

There was one last knot remaining for Sylvia, a thread waiting for her hands alone, and one she was strong enough to handle…