A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 112: The Record of Regressions (4)

Between the islands, in the gap of the orbit where magical dust floated aimlessly in the void, Sylvia had seated herself on a pile of rocks in the dark, empty space, her gaze fixed on the emptiness before her. The flow of rocks and mana, revolving like planets under the pull of the Floating Island's gravity, was reflected in her eyes.

“Have you collected your thoughts?” Idnik asked, stepping closer with a quiet rustle.

Sylvia gave a silent nod.

A hawk landed on her shoulder—Swifty, appearing even swifter and sharper than before. Meanwhile, Bearbie Panda rested on her thigh, fast asleep.

“So, what course of action will you take?”

Sylvia gazed at the countless fragments drifting through the air. Materials that had once failed to form an island, now shattered, began to take shape in her mind, piecing together fragments of her memories.

... Deculein von Grahan-Yukline. Are his feelings for me just guilt, pity, or sympathy? How can he say he cares for me after killing my mother? Sylvia thought, remembering his blue eyes—brilliant like crystals, yet cold and distant. That beautiful face, stained with her mother’s blood.

“I will hate him until my dying breath. To the very end of this world, with all my strength,” Sylvia said.

Idnik remained silent, merely observing the landscape that Sylvia’s mana had already begun to shape.

Swoooosh...

Fragments of rock, grains of sand, and dying moss that had once drifted aimlessly were now gathering on the small patch of land, slowly expanding. Materials that had failed to form an island were coming together once more.

“Idnik,” a voice called out, its tone mysterious, as if descending from the heavens.

Both Idnik and Sylvia turned toward the source. A blue figure stood before them, its entire body composed of mana, flickering like an illusion. Though only the upper half of his body was visible, he stood nearly six and a half feet tall. Idnik spoke his name.

“... It’s been a while,” Idnik said. “Rodran.”

Rodran, the Divine Soldier, was a transcendent figure in the Magical Realm and the most wanted criminal on the Floating Island. The title of Divine Soldier arose solely from his bizarre form.

“The Voice draws near.”

“I am aware. What of the request I made?” Idnik asked.

Rodran turned his gaze toward Sylvia. She met his eyes, her expression blank.

Rodran looked at Sylvia and said, “You are the one who killed it.”

Sylvia’s expression grew cold, as if a blade had sliced through her heart.

“The creature born from your mana unconsciously consumed the demon known as Néscĭus. The fusion of your creation and the demon resulted in an aberration,” Rodran continued.

“So, the demon shares some of the blame?” Idnik asked, but Sylvia shook her head. She had no need for excuses.

“Then I’m a murderer as well. The one I killed must have had a family... I’m no different from that professor,” Sylvia said.

Idnik sighed softly. The bloodline of Iliade, and the daughter of Cielia—no matter how she considered it, it was not a good combination.

“What is this Voice you speak of?” Sylvia asked, turning to Idnik.

“... A demon.”

“A demon?”

“Yes. It is an ancient demon known only as the Voice. Those that take on human or monstrous forms are at least manageable—you can kill them. But entities like the Voice, which exist as phenomena or concepts, are far more difficult to contend with,” Idnik continued.

Sylvia suddenly rose to her feet and walked toward Rodran. Looking up at him, she asked, “Is Yukline the one who will face that demon? Is he going to do it?”

Rodran met her gaze in silence, his dry golden eyes gleaming like gemstones, deep with swirling mana.

“You hold the potential for Eternity,” Rodran said at last before departing.

It had been high praise from a legendary figure in the Magical Realm. Yet, Sylvia betrayed no sign of emotion.

Instead, she gazed up at the empty sky and said, “On the Floating Island, there is an unspoken rule that whoever discovers an island owns it.”

She stretched out her hand, and mana had erupted from her slender body like a volcano.

Claaaatter—!

The torrent of mana had drawn the scattered fragments toward her, each particle gaining color as she reconstructed them into a fully formed island.

“So, this island now belongs to me.”

“Hm,” Idnik crossed her arms and leaned against a newly sprouted tree. “What will you name it? You’ll need a name to claim it as your own.”

Sylvia glanced back at her and said, “... The Nameless Island will do.”

***

I had arrived at the Imperial Palace. Avoiding any encounters, I walked through the corridors as Keiron’s words appeared on the Message Paper.

The entrance to the underground chambers is now unlocked.

“Sir Keiron,” I said as I approached the wooden door leading to the palace’s underground chambers. Keiron stood beside it, still as a statue. "How does Her Majesty fare?"

"Her Majesty has retired for the night."

I had become certain that the door to the underground opened only when Sophien had fully succumbed to her lethargy.

Keiron inquired, “Will you be entering?"

"And yourself?"

With a blank expression, Keiron rested his hand on his sword, signaling that he would remain on guard.

“I understand. If Néscĭus emerges from this door, I ask that you follow him instead of killing him,” I said, stepping forward and slowly pushing the handle.

“Will do.”

Creeeak—

The heavy door creaked open, revealing a message that indicated the quest's continuation.

[Darkness of the Imperial Palace—Demon’s Mirror: Second Cycle]

***

In the Imperial Palace garden, Sophien strolled by the lakeside, fighting through the pain. Though she had returned to life, the agony that gripped her, as if her entire body were being crushed beneath an ax, remained as unbearable as before.

Chirp— chirp—

“What day is it today?” Sophien asked the vassal beside her.

“June 3rd, Your Majesty.”

Have I truly regressed? It's been half a year since my death, and now I can't deny it any longer. Damn it. At first, I sighed in relief, but soon realized things had only worsened. Time may have rewound, but the sickness lingers, Sophien thought.

With a heavy sigh, Sophien staggered forward before collapsing by the lakeside. She gazed at the clear water, and her eyes widened in disbelief at what she saw. Stumbling backward, she lost her balance and hit the ground with a dull thud.

“Ah!”

"Your Majesty! Are you unharmed?"

“Your Majesty—”

The attendants rushed over in a frenzy.

Once they had helped her to her feet, Sophien shoved them aside and said, “I’m fine.”

“Are you certain, Your Maj—”

"I said I’m fine. Go, and leave me alone."

As the vassals hesitated before retreating, Sophien swallowed nervously, her gaze locked onto the lake. The clear water, reflecting like a mirror, sent the image back to her.

“... You.”

There, she saw a man—the one who had once introduced himself as a professor. A vision conjured by the illness before her regression.

The man spoke, “It is an honor to see you once again, Your Majesty.”

Sophien instinctively turned, but no one stood behind her. She glanced back at the lake and asked, “Are you the professor?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, it is I.”

“... How can this be possible?"

The moment Sophien realized she had regressed, she had drawn a portrait of the professor and ordered an extensive search. Yet, even after combing the entire continent, no one fitting his description had been found. In the end, she dismissed him as a mere illusion born of her madness.

“I have already informed you,” the professor said, his voice as arrogant and composed as ever, his handsome features unchanged. “I will remain by your side through every step of this journey.”

Sophien stared at him in a daze before reaching out and touching the surface of the lake, sending ripples across the water.

“Ah! Your Majesty! Please reconsider!”

“Your Majesty, you must not do this!”

“Even in your suffering, Your Majesty must not consider ending your own life—”

Her vassals, misinterpreting her actions, hurried to her side, and soon after, Sophien was forcibly escorted back to her quarters, where she was effectively confined. Even as this unfolded, her thoughts remained clouded.

"Do you feel well, Your Majesty?" the professor asked, still lingering as a mere reflection—her madness given form. As Sophien remained unmoving, the professor sighed before speaking again. “I am real. If it’s hard to believe, summon someone trustworthy, and I will reveal myself to them—”

“No, it’s fine,” Sophien said, shaking her head firmly. “I believe you, professor. You’re the only one tied to my previous life...”

***

Over the next two months, I stayed with Sophien from the second cycle. The quest’s objective was still unclear, so I had no choice but to remain by her side.

In simpler terms, I had been exploring. There wasn’t much I could do with Sophien, though. Her frail body kept her confined to the palace, so most of our time was spent either in the gardens or inside the Imperial Palace. In this mirror world, my role amounted to little more than being her conversation partner.

During that time, Sophien confided many things in me. Her life had been a series of surgeries and treatments, filled with false hopes and endless disappointments. Though she had only lived for nine years, the weight of those years had been heavier than anyone else’s.

Sophien recounted it all in a flat, detached tone and said, "How cruel this fate is..."

Time passed, and eventually, today came.

“I’m still dying,” Sophien said, lying in bed as death approached. “Even after the miracle of regression... Professor.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Sophien paused, gritting her teeth as her body convulsed with pain, then continued, “If... if I somehow return to life again... ugh... will I see you again?”

“Of course,” I replied without hesitation.

Sophien offered a faint, bitter smile and said, “That’s some relief...”

“What exactly is relieving about it?”

“You’re handsome. If you had looked like the other eunuchs... I’d have shattered the mirror the moment we first met.”

It was a brutally practical reason. Yet, I didn’t laugh. Over the past two months, I had observed this child's steady march toward death. Naturally, pity didn’t sway me. My choice not to laugh came from a sense of respect—dignity, as I had been taught.

“Professor, I’m not afraid of death. It’s the pain that terrifies me...” Sophien continued.

At that moment, Néscĭus appeared beside her. To me, they always appeared as simple skeletons—grim reapers holding scythes.

“Do not be concerned, Your Majesty.”

Though it reflected my own lack of fear, I knew that Sophien was nearing death.

"Once more, I will be with you next time," I said.

"... Good. That puts my mind at ease..."

I can't kill those demons. As long as I'm trapped in this mirror, I can't reach Sophien or help her in any way.

“I hope... I will see you again... too...” Sophien whispered as she closed her eyes.

Néscĭus reached out its hand toward her, collecting the essence of her regression like a bee gathering nectar.

[Second Cycle]

Soon after, a system message appeared before my eyes.

Crackle—

The word "Second" flickered before shifting into a new number...

[... Seventh Cycle]

At that moment, I had opened my eyes.

Keiron's voice rang out immediately after, “Deculein.”

I looked at him before scanning the surroundings. It was the Imperial Palace. The two months spent with Sophien had faded like a fleeting dream, and now I found myself back in reality.

“Deculein?”

My mind was overwhelmed with questions. Skipping directly from the second cycle to the seventh made no sense. Without continuity between the cycles, it would be impossible for me to keep my promise.

“Deculein. Are you alright?”

The veins in my temple throbbed, a clear sign of my rising frustration. Anger swelled within me, yet I turned to Keiron and replied, “... I’m fine. How much time has passed?”

"Not even a day has passed. Have you discovered anything?"

I shook my head and responded, “The objective remains unclear.”

Knock, knock—

I knocked on the wooden door leading to the underground. As expected, there was no reply.

Keiron asked, “Are you still uncertain of its objective?”

“... There are demons that exist physically, those that manifest as phenomena, and others that are concepts. Néscĭus is a low-grade demon with a physical form. However—”

“You mean to say the demon in this underground is a phenomenon?”

"Yes. It exists both as a phenomenon and a concept."

This underground world belonged to Sophien's past—a realm abandoned when she died in a previous life. The Demon’s Mirror doesn’t simply recreate her past; it preserves the worlds she discarded during her regressions.

As such, this underground world isn’t a fabrication, but a genuine piece of reality. Though still a hypothesis, I believed it was likely tied to Sophien’s current memories.

“Deculein, I am currently tracking Néscĭus.”

“That is reassuring.”

The Keiron standing here and the one tracking Néscĭus shared the same soul but inhabited different bodies—such was Keiron’s magical talent.

“When it arrives at its destination, notify me,” I said, striding through the palace halls. After a while, I glanced back at Keiron. “Néscĭus is likely storing Her Majesty’s essence somewhere... Keiron.”

Keiron silently met my gaze, offering no response.

I asked him, “What are you willing to sacrifice for Her Majesty?”

“Everything.”

Keiron’s response was firm.

***

Sophien opened her eyes, a wave of sadness and gloom settling over her—emotions she had rarely experienced in this life.

From somewhere nearby, Keiron’s voice reached her, “Have you awakened, Your Majesty?”

Sophien glanced toward him. Like a metronome, the knight stood as a constant presence, anchoring her to reality.

“Can’t you tell?”

“How do you fare, Your Majesty?”

“... What became of Deculein’s lecture?” Sophien asked, though the question seemed pointless, given that she had fallen asleep halfway through.

“The lecture concluded, Your Majesty, but a cat disturbed the barrier on the 80th floor, causing all the notes to be erased.”

“... I see. And the cat? It wasn’t harmed, was it?”

“No, Your Majesty, the cat remains unharmed, though several mages became agitated. The Chairwoman intervened, and now order has been restored. And now—”

“Meow~” cried the red-furred munchkin as it leaped onto Keiron’s head.

"I see," Sophien said, nodding as she stood up and leaned against the window.

Outside, the Imperial Palace garden stretched endlessly before her, brimming with the rich scenery of spring.

As she gazed out at the peaceful view, she murmured, “... Keiron.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

"Back in my childhood..." Sophien continued, her mind carefully piecing together a vague memory, one that seemed to belong to a time already lost.

“Please, continue.”

“... No. It’s nothing.”

That melancholic past drifted even further away, crumbling into dust, as though the sound of her voice had scattered it to the wind.

"Once more, I will be with you next time," he had said.

The next time, he didn’t come. He broke his promise. But... who was he, again? Sophien thought.

“I had the strangest dream,” Sophien murmured, lowering herself back onto the edge of the bed.

Outside, a gentle breeze drifted through the open window, stirring strands of her hair. A fragrant flower petal grazed her pale cheek.

“I see,” Keiron replied.

Sophien glanced at him and asked, “... Keiron, was it you?”

"More specific details are needed, Your Majesty."

“No. Forget it.”

The Empress returned to the present, burying that unfamiliar memory deep within her. Letting out a long yawn, she shifted back to her usual self and said, “Yawwn... Do I have anything to take care of today?”

“There is a trial regarding the merchants who received mana stones from the Altar.”

“Ah, should I personally cut those bastards’ heads off?”

"I advise against it, Your Majesty. The trial has not yet reached a verdict."

"In any case, I should do something before I get drowsy again. Today, I actually feel like I have a bit of energy..." Sophien said, rolling up her sleeves with sudden enthusiasm, only to sag again, like a limp squid.

From afar, Deculein observed her quietly.