A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 187: Southern Advance of the Demonic Beasts (4)

Crackle— Crackle—

The campfire crackled, its flickering light casting faint shadows across the silent training grounds. Most had already left, leaving behind Yulie and a few of her close knights. Gwen observed her, head bowed in silence, while Raphel and Sirio exchanged glances.

“... Maybe he used magic. A trick. Or, you know, something, don’t you guys think? But who would ever throw a kick in a sparring match between knights? ... Oh, right, he’s not a knight,” Gwen muttered, breaking the silence first and shooting a pointed look at Raphel and Sirio, silently prompting them to share their thoughts.

“Magic... I’m not sure. But didn’t we all see how Deculein handled his sword? It looked full of gaps, yet somehow, it wasn’t. I might have even fallen for it at least once. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before—a completely new style of swordsmanship,” Sirio replied.

“Hey, what are you even talking about?” Gwen said, her brow knitting as she fixed Sirio with a sharp stare.

“I’m just saying how I felt. It was like the wind—though not quite as swift as I am, of course. Hahaha.”

Deculein’s swordsmanship was better described as a movement than a technique. It carried the elegance of a waltz, never losing the poise of nobility. Each step and swing unraveled Yulie’s blade as though he were dancing through the battle.

“That’s true,” Raphel said. “And besides, Deculein’s physique is unquestionably strong. Even for you, Yulie, overcoming such a physical difference without mana would have been nearly impossible.”

Even the most skilled knight would find it nearly impossible to overcome an eight-inch reach disadvantage without mana. Yulie wasn’t wielding an unusually long spear but still tried to force her way in, only to expose herself, allowing a critical blow to land.

“... I am fine,” Yulie said, though her voice betrayed her words. “I admit it. The sparring match is mine to lose. The professor completely deconstructed my basic stances.”

Yulie closed her eyes for a moment, replaying the sparring match in her mind. Every motion Deculein made—from the subtle movement of his sword tip to the precision of his hand—was seamless and natural. However, the path of her blade had been predicted, and her basic stances were completely neutralized.

“... Haah,” Gwen murmured, letting out a sigh.

Sirio and Raphel remained silent as Yulie rustled through her coat, pulling out a sheet of paper filled with Deculein’s detailed critiques.

“Overreliance on foundational techniques is apparent. While initial impressions suggest some variation in execution, a closer examination reveals a predictable pattern. For instance, following a horizontal slash, the next move invariably targets either the upper-left or upper-right quadrant,” Yulie said, quoting a portion of the text.

Gwen, Sirio, and Raphel flinched, the reaction rippling through them like a shared instinct.

“Additionally, there is a clear tendency to rely on the physical dominance characteristic of Freyden, especially that of Zeit. This reliance manifests in repeated use of aggressive tactics, such as charges, rushes, and headlong assaults—”

“Oh~ That’s exactly it. Deculein must have known that already and thrown his shoulder into the move. No wonder his response was so fast. That shoulder check must’ve hurt a lot, didn’t it? Haha,” Sirio added, clapping his hands.

Yulie bit down silently on her lower lip.

“Shut up. You,” Gwen said, her glare cutting toward Sirio like a blade.

“Oh, sorry. My bad.”

At that moment, Yulie suddenly rose to her feet, turned her back on the others, and began walking away without a word.

Gwen slapped Sirio’s back with a smack as she stood up and asked, “Yulie, where are you going?”

“... I have a matter to discuss with Professor Deculein. It’s nothing of concern, so please don’t follow me,” Yulie said without turning back.

***

Crunch, crunch.

In the backyard of the mansion, blanketed in snow, where thick flakes settled softly, I swung the broadsword in fluid arcs. There was no trace of formal swordsmanship or basic stances—only the most efficient way of my body moving as one with the blade.

Whoooosh...

The arc of my sword, neither a precise downward strike nor a sweeping horizontal slash, carved through the air with a pull that seemed to command the wind itself. Nineteen fragments of Wood Steel danced and scattered like petals, tracing the blade’s path.

It seemed like a promising application. By combining Iron Man and Iron Bone with this approach, it could become more than just a dance of the sword or a sparring technique—it could prove itself invaluable in real combat.

... Honestly, it still seemed unreal to me. How Yulie managed to withstand the raw force of my legs and shoulders, tougher than titanium—without mana or armor to shield her—was beyond comprehension.

"It’s not bad," I muttered.

The training of my sword and body felt reliable, and it would certainly prove useful in real combat. However, the true challenges remained—the finite nature of my mana and the flaws ingrained deeply within my personality.

As a mage, manifesting techniques like aura or Sword Qi was nearly beyond reach. Though this limitation might one day be addressed through the refinement of Metal Enhancement, the very idea of sweat flying or bodies colliding was a thought I could hardly tolerate.

For now, Metal Enhancement had stalled at 99% mastery—a frustrating standstill. It was as if progress had hit an invisible barrier, trapped in the grip of some inexplicable bottleneck.

Hearing the faint sound of footsteps approaching, I stopped my swing mid-motion.

“... Deya,” I murmured, turning toward the shadows. There, Yulie stood, shrouded in darkness.

“Yes,” Yulie replied, her head bowing slightly.

“What brings you here?” I demanded, hurling my broadsword into the thick snow.

“For a balanced reflection, it’s important to consider the opponent’s perspective,” Yulie answered after a moment’s hesitation.

“You’re not wrong, but is there really anything worth reflecting on? Your basic stance was already in my thoughts, and your movements were entirely predictable,” I said. “Even the subtlest quiver of your blade betrayed your next move. It’s a weakness you cannot afford to ignore. No—your entire swordsmanship is flawed at its very core.”

Yulie clenched her fists but held her tongue. Instead, she let the question lingering in her heart slip out, asking, “... Professor, how can you be so certain? So certain that I’m wrong?”

“You’re right—I’m no knight. But the search for knowledge isn’t bound by titles or professions. I chose to embrace my ignorance, and by accepting it, I opened myself to learning. Through that learning, I found understanding.”

Yulie repeated my words under her breath, a faint sigh slipping past her lips. She was never one to argue for the sake of it, and deep down, she must have felt it more than anyone else.

“If that’s so—”

“I’ll compile a complete analysis—your habits, your patterns, all of it—and send it to you. While many knights could gain from such insight, most are too blinded by pride to admit that I understand the art of their swordsmanship more completely than they ever could.”

“... Yes, Professor,” Yulie answered, barely above a whisper.

"However, before you go," I said, sweeping my eyes over Yulie from head to toe. I already knew she stood at five foot eight. But knights were, more often than not, built like living fortresses of muscle, making it nearly impossible to estimate their weight by appearance alone. "Do you weigh around one hundred forty pounds?"

Yulie clamped her lips shut, her eyes widening as she stared at me, shocked by the question. I waited for her response, but as the silence stretched on, a faint furrow formed between my brows.

"Speak," I pressed.

Finally, Yulie mumbled, "One hundred... forty-seven... point six."

“Speak clearly, and give me the exact numbers.”

I listened as she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, the numbers slipping out so softly they seemed to vanish into the air.

“You weigh more than I expected. Well, that’s to be expected of a knight. Now, you’re free to leave,” I said.

Yulie shot me a glare, then dropped her eyes to the ground before looking back at me. She repeated the cycle—glare, drop, glare—before turning and trudging away with slow steps. Then, I made my way back into the mansion, my thoughts lingering on her height, weight, the proportions of her arms and legs, and the strength I had assessed during our sparring.

However...

"Hey, you’re here," Ihelm said.

"Oh, Professor’s here," Epherene added.

"Hello," said Louina.

The three of them were sitting around the living room table, each with a glass of wine in hand and light snacks before them.

“The Red Moon has risen. I figured this might be our last chance to share a drink and some chat with everyone,” Ihelm said, gesturing toward the window.

Glug glug—

“Ah~ This wine really warms me right up,” Epherene said with a chuckle as more wine poured into her glass.

“It seems you’re already drunk.”

"No, I am completely fine,” Epherene said, forcing her eyes wide open.

“Where have the merchants gone?” I asked, shaking my head.

"They are staying in their accommodations. It seems they’re feeling quite anxious,” Louina said.

“... I understand.”

“Is there something wrong?"

I turned to the window, my thoughts wandering back to the merchant guild I had met earlier today. I replayed the conversations with the forty mercenaries and merchants in my memory.

“Tch,” I muttered, a bitter smile curling my lips as the thought escaped me. “... How foolish.”

By this point, anger felt pointless. Instead, I was caught in a haze of disbelief, stunned by the sheer absurdity of it all.

I can’t tell if they’re mocking me with intent or testing my patience, I thought.

“What are you talking about? What are you doing there by yourself?” Ihelm asked.

“Louina,” I said, addressing her instead of Ihelm.

“Yes? What is it?”

Why was it that only this merchant guild reached Rekordak without an issue? Cutting off a supply line like theirs would have been simple enough for the Scarletborn. Was it by some miracle? Or sheer luck that they set out earlier than the rest? Or perhaps the skill of their mercenaries played a part?

No, none of that seems likely. The question, then, isn’t how this merchant guild made it to Rekordak, but why the Scarletborn allowed them through at all.

“... Monitor the accommodations of the merchant guild currently staying. Do so discreetly, ensuring you remain unnoticed,” I said.

The real question is, who among the forty could it be? The leader of the merchant guild? One of the mercenaries? Perhaps a mix of both? Or could it be that all forty are Scarletborn—or perhaps the Altar?

“... Yes, Professor,” Louina said, setting her wine glass down, her movements slowing as she caught the weight in my tone.

Even Ihelm seemed to have caught on, at least to some extent.

"Mmm... tastes like grapes..." Epherene murmured, her cheeks puffed out like buns as she savored the wine on her own.

***

Meanwhile, Yeriel awoke in an unfamiliar place, a bead of sweat trailing down her forehead and slipping between her brows. The body was bound, her mana unresponsive, and a woman with crimson eyes stood silently, watching her.

"... Mmph!"

Yeriel tried to speak, but her lips refused to part, sealed shut by the tape over her mouth.

"Mmph—! Mmmphmmphmmph—!"

The woman observed Yeriel’s resistance in silence, then jotted a note in her notebook.

Don’t worry. We mean you no harm.

Yeriel worked her tongue silently, determined to loosen the tape by wearing it down with her licking.

Rip—!

The woman shook her head with a quiet sigh before leaning forward to peel the tape off Yeriel's mouth herself.

“Ouch!” Yeriel cried, her eyes brimming with tears as she glared at the woman, as if her lips had been torn apart. “Pfft! Who do you think you are?! Do you even know who I am?!”

The woman responded with written words.

You are Yeriel. I am Elesol.

“So you do know. Great. That makes this even worse for you. Do you have any idea what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into?!”

We’ve been in trouble for a long time. But we won’t kill you.

“... What?”

The weight of her words stirred Yeriel with a strange emotion, the way she phrased it, that they had already been in trouble for a long time.

Yeriel took a deep breath to calm herself and said, “You won’t kill me because you can’t—it would only make things worse. Fine. Since you’re willing to talk, let’s cut to the chase. Let me go. If you do, I’ll let it slide this time. Our territory needs me right now, and if you free me, I won’t press charges. That’s a promise.”

Don’t worry. Your place has been taken by a puppet. There won’t be any chaos in Yukline.

“What? Then why did you even bother kidnapping me? No, forget it—just shut up and let me go!” Yeriel snapped, her brow drawing into a sharp furrow.

None of this makes sense. Why are they behaving this way? What was the point of kidnapping me in the first place? Yeriel thought.

A woman named Elesol wrote something down.

There’s something you don’t know, but you need to.

“Ugh... fine. Go ahead, tell me. What is it? Let’s hear it. Will you let me go if I listen?”

I can’t tell you that yet, but I will say this—we need you.

“For what?”

To negotiate.

“To negotiate?” Yeriel repeated.

We’re going to use you as a bargaining chip in our negotiations with Deculein.

Yeriel bit her lip, saying nothing. Whatever else remained uncertain, one thing was clear—she knew the woman’s origins.

“... So, you’re Scarletborn. How unfortunate. Don’t you guys know? Deculein doesn’t care for me.”

This is why I always kept my distance from him—to minimize my value as a hostage and remain as low as possible, should it ever come to that, Yeriel thought.

Yes, I know Deculein doesn’t like you. But...

Tap, tap, tap.

Elesol tapped her pen against the notebook, the motion halting as she let out a quiet sigh.

“Sigh...”

“... You mother—hey!” Yeriel roared, her voice thundering all of a sudden.

Elesol flinched and stepped back. Though she hadn’t heard the sound, the force of it disturbed the air, sending her hair into a wild tangle.

“Now that I think about it, this is ridiculous. Compared to others, we’re practically saints! You ungrateful bastards have no idea what gratitude even means. Our camp didn’t even install gas chambers as they did! We didn’t agree to that! You should have gone to Bethan instead!”

Elesol shook her head, her expression tinged with faint bitterness, before setting her pen to the page and writing a few words.

I know. That’s why I’m still thinking it over. Go ahead and rest until we get to Deculein.

“What... Wait a second. Get to Deculein?”

Only then did Yeriel focus her attention fully on the space around her.

Clunk... clunk...

There was a faint, jarring tremor, barely noticeable but persistent. Perhaps it was a carriage or a train. Whatever the case, one thing was clear—they were in motion.

***

The next day, the training grounds were bathed in the golden light of the rising sun.

“This is from Professor Deculein,” Epherene said, handing the document to Yulie as she continued her training.

“Yes, thank you,” Yulie replied.

“You’re welcome... yawwwn...” Epherene mumbled, her ungroomed hair matched by the sleepy nod she gave.

Yulie looked at Epherene with a fond smile, then reached for the report.

“... Hmm?”

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

It seemed like there wouldn’t be much to read—only two sheets of paper. But they were magical papers, each containing a hundred pages. In total, there were two hundred pages of detailed analysis, and Yulie began reading slowly from the very first page.

Knight Deya possesses long arms and legs in proportion to her height, paired with dense, powerful musculature. While this contributes to a greater overall weight, her agility remains remarkably unaffected, demonstrating exceptional physical balance.

While Knight Deya’s strength, slightly above average, is overshadowed by her exceptional agility, flexibility, and elasticity, these qualities are far superior to those of other knights, making it essential to maximize their potential.

Therefore...

“No, I'm not that heavy—”

“Ah~ Look who it is. Knight Deya, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

As Yulie became absorbed in the report, a mocking voice from Delic, a knight of the Imperial Palace, accompanied by his knights, shattered her concentration.

“A knight who lost to a mage in a sparring match... Hahaha! It makes me wonder if we can really trust someone who has done so with our backs,” Delic said.

“Hahahahaha!”

The laughter of the imperial knights echoed through the air, but Yulie endured it with quiet dignity. The defeat in the sparring match was a fact she could neither deny nor escape.

“Well, from what I hear, it seems your overconfidence left you wide open... At this point, you’re dragging the honor of knights through the mud. Or wait—have you already done that? Hahaha!”

Yulie looked directly at Delic and asked, “Knight Delic, would you be willing to spar with me sometime?”

“Hmm? All of a sudden? The Red Moon is already in the sky.”

“There’s no need for it to be now. We’re certain to claim victory here, aren’t we? Before we leave, let’s settle it with one last match. After all, we stand as equals.”

Delic and Yulie were evenly matched, their record tied at two victories apiece. Despite his bravado, Delic was anything but ordinary—an exceptional knight and a frequent candidate for the position of deputy knight within the knights' order.

“Hahaha. Those two losses? I’ve already told you that I went easy on you. But fine, have it your way. Let’s have a face-off again after we win this wave. I might even teach you a thing or two—at least enough to keep you from embarrassing yourself against a mage again.”

“Yes, Knight Delic. Together, we shall claim our victory.”

“Good, good.”

Yulie bowed her head, letting Delic pass, but as he stepped forward, his eyes fell upon the paper she held tightly in her hand.

“What is it that you’re holding?” Delic asked.

“... It’s an analysis from Professor Deculein for me—”

“Huh, is that the infamous report where the professor critiques and instructs knights? And you actually accepted it?” Delic said with a dry chuckle, disbelief flickering across his face.

“Yes,” Yulie replied, nodding without hesitation.

“Well, well, isn’t this quite something? Just how far will the honor of knights fall... Tsk, tsk. But more importantly, what exactly is the nature of your relationship? Weren’t you supposed to have called off the engagement?”

As Delic clicked his tongue in contempt, a torrent of stones tumbled from the heavens.

Boom—! Boom—! Boom—!

Despite the sudden crash of falling stones, the knights stood resolute, their eyes drawn upward toward the sky.

“... An airstrike! Flying beasts! Prepare for battle!” Delic barked through clenched teeth.

“Yes, sir! In the name of Gifrein!” the knights shouted.

Yulie tightened her grip on her sword and scanned the skies.

Boom—! Boom—! Boom—!

Groooaar—!

The sky swarmed with winged demonic beasts, their cries weaving an eerie dissonance through the air. The ground quaked beneath pounding footsteps, heralding the chaos to come. At the forefront of the southern advance marched trolls and gargoyles, signaling the start of the monster wave.