A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 240: Sylvia (3)

Together, Sylvia and I walked through the island, and she guided me from place to place.

“That’s the curry place. Always busy,” Sylvia said.

The island looked almost Mediterranean, like something from the modern world—so much so that it felt like someone had modeled it after a postcard, with the same brilliant blue waters and the same sunlit rooftops of a peaceful town.

“Professor! Sylvia said she killed you!”

Then, Epherene's words from earlier came to my mind once more.

Because of my attribute—Villain's Fate—my death had become something of a tradition. It happened so often in different timelines that I've lost track of how many times I've died and survived again.

"That one's a gallery. An art hall," Sylvia added, her finger pointing to the small wooden building.

Sylvia said nothing more as her steps slowed, then stopped, and for a long moment, she silently looked up at me.

"... Is there something you wish to say?" I inquired.

"My paintings are in there."

“And?”

"Do you not want to see it," Sylvia asked, puffing out her cheeks like a child denied a treat.

I took in the gallery with my Sharp Eyesight, and there were no traps, no threats.

"Let’s go inside.”

“Okay,” Sylvia replied with a small nod.

We made our way to the gallery, and Sylvia reached for the door—a small one—and stepped through first.

Thud—

I stepped into the gallery and looked around at what the place offered in its collection in silence—landscapes blurred by distance, portraits heavy with thought, still lifes that didn’t move, and abstracts that did.

“What do you think,” Sylvia asked.

At that moment, I was caught in a forgotten kind of nostalgia, like dust unsettled by light. The paintings on the gallery walls—Sylvia’s work—were perfect through the lens of my Aesthetic Sense.

“You’ll be a fine painter."

Sylvia shrugged in silence.

My footsteps whispered across the gallery’s carpet as I took in the paintings—sunflowers blooming in a still life, a distant Empire’s mage tower framed in morning haze, and Sylvia’s self-portrait, her golden hair and eyes rendered onto the canvas.

“There was a time, long ago, when I too dreamed of being a painter,” I added.

"You had a dream too?" Sylvia asked, walking a step behind me.

"At some point, everyone dreams of something."

“Dream.”

“Indeed.”

At that moment, I turned to Sylvia, and she had matured like a painting, even though it had only been a year since she left the mage tower.

"Becoming a painter used to be my dream. Watching you now, I find myself looking at you with envy."

“You envy me,” Sylvia repeated.

With a quiet smile, I looked at her painting and took it in with my own eyes.

"This piece is complete—aesthetically, artistically, and in terms of popularity."

Sylvia remained silent.

“Your brushwork shows precision guided by instinct. The color palette is restrained but rich, and the way you translate what you see onto the canvas,” I added, turning my eyes from the canvas back to Sylvia. “It’s all quite to my taste.”

With a slight nod, Sylvia met my eyes before raising a new canvas and easel from nothing. Without hesitation, her brush met it, and color began to move like thought turned to shape.

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

Sylvia's eyes held mine while her hand moved across the painting.

“Sylvia,” I called.

Sylvia's face popped out from behind the easel, and she said, "I have already told you not to say my name with that mouth—"

"It’s time to go back."

At those words, Sylvia’s brush paused.

“I can't go back,” Sylvia said, clearing her throat before returning to her brushwork.

"And your reason?"

"Because this island is a wave—that spreads from one point."

Something in Sylvia’s words held the faintest clue, and I found myself knowing without needing to ask.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t come,” Sylvia added.

Click.

Sylvia placed the brush aside and turned the easel, revealing what she had painted.

“You were the center of the Voice,” I said, staring at the painting of myself on the canvas.

***

The concept of a wave was a phenomenon—a vibration spreading from a center, transmitted through substance or space—meaning that the Voice was more than just sound; it was both a phenomenon and a concept.

However, the Voice longed for more—a way to exist in physical form, in ways it never could alone. For that, it needed a medium, and it found the perfect one in Sylvia, who accepted it and became the Voice’s anchor and center.

Fizz—! Fizzzzzz—!

One by one, the lights lining the darkened street flickered on, and in that golden shimmer, the crowd gathered with cheerful smiles and delighted applause, as if touched by something magical.

“Their technology is still waking up. Even a streetlight is a miracle to them,” Sylvia explained as they applauded in delight.

Being a young island, the community here celebrated even the humble illumination of streetlights, which brought heartfelt joy to its residents.

"Some of them must’ve come from the continent,” I replied.

“They’re busy because they’re after what’s left of the demon’s power buried on this island.”

“To them, it must feel like a treasure hunt."

"Yes. Grimoires, attribute tomes, forbidden texts on the undead, necromancer's robes, and more. They’re hidden all across this island. Are you interested in finding them."

"I have considered it, but I’ve come to understand that there’s no merit in power gained from a demon’s hands," I replied, shaking my head.

“Hungry,” Sylvia asked with a small nod, then looked up at me.

I looked toward Sylvia, and in her pair of golden eyes, flat as polished metal, and lips pressed into a firm line, there was no sign of emotion.

“I suppose a meal wouldn’t hurt.”

At my words, there was the faintest change in Sylvia’s eyes, trembling ever so slightly—just enough to suggest a quiet happiness.

"Okay. Follow me," Sylvia said, spinning on her heel.

I followed Sylvia as she walked down the twilight road, without saying a word.

“Sylvia,” I called her name.

At that moment, Sylvia stopped short, glaring over her shoulder with a furrowed brow, and said, “You’ve done it three times. I won’t let there be a fourth.”

“Sylvia.”

However, Deculein had never been the kind to stop just because someone told him to. Not commands, not threats—none of it worked on someone like Deculein.

“Whether you hold back or not, it is none of my concern,” I replied as I stepped in close and loomed over her. “Why don’t you go ahead and not hold back at all?"

Sylvia remained unreadable, and I kept my eyes on her, just to see if something might break through.

We said nothing for a long time, then Sylvia broke the silence, curling her lips into a smirk and saying, "The demon won't be coming out of me."

I felt the muscles between my eyes draw together, a silent reaction to her words.

“You really did swallow the Voice, Sylvia,” I called her name, knowing full well what it meant.

Sylvia’s shoulders tensed and trembled, but she held her tongue.

“How interesting.”

Sylvia had confessed the truth in the gallery—that she was the anchor and center of the Voice. And because of it, she could never leave this island; or rather, she must not. To do so would be to let the Voice spill outward, drowning the mainland in its wave.

However, just before the moment slipped away, Sylvia added one last thing—she had swallowed the demon within herself.

"Yes. I didn’t lose—it was my win."

Sylvia wasn't of Yukline; therefore, the purpose of exterminating demons was never hers to carry. However, Iliade was no lesser house of their bloodline, and she accepted the Voice into her body, never kneeling to it; instead, she swallowed it whole.

“There’s nothing left for you to do here,” Sylvia said.

I nodded.

There was no demonic energy in this place, which meant maintaining the island and everything that held it together—everything that brought those extinct races back to life—was Sylvia’s ability alone.

"The echo phenomenon will fade from the continent soon. I’ll see to that myself."

At that moment, we arrived at the restaurant, and as soon as we opened the door, a waiter welcomed us and showed us to our seats.

"One venson steak and red wine," Sylvia said as she sat down.

“Yes, Miss Sylvia.”

"That server was once an adventurer from the continent, but she chose to stay here," Sylvia said, pointing toward the server as she stepped into the kitchen.

“Is that so? I suppose she’s left her ambitions behind.”

"I won’t let the outsiders step foot on this island," Sylvia said, as if laying down a line in the sand.

I let my eyes fall on Sylvia without saying a word.

“I’ll make sure nothing else threatens this island.”

Then, Epherene's words from earlier came to my mind one last time.

“Professor! Sylvia said she killed you!”

And somehow, the reason made itself known to me.

"So, just leave me be."

Soon enough, the meal was served—a tender cut of steak. I sliced mine with my knife through the grain, but Sylvia struggled, her grip too weak, not from inexperience but from exhaustion in that body of hers. I switched our plates without a word, and Sylvia glanced up, surprise passing briefly through her golden eyes.

"Practicality matters. You don’t seem to have much strength left, so if I handle yours and we trade plates, I’ll be able to cover all the possibilities—even poison."

My words triggered a reaction, her face twisting—the first real change in expression I’d seen from her.

"Crazy," Sylvia said, then took a bite of the steak. "There’s no poison."

"To answer your earlier request," I said, placing a slice of steak in my mouth, chewing, and swallowing before adding, "my answer is no."

Sylvia remained silent.

"No matter what it takes, I’ll find a way to completely exterminate the Voice, and I’ll bring you back to the continent where you belong."

Sylvia shook her head and said, "No—"

“You are saying nothing would make you leave,” I interrupted. “Is it because Cielia’s here?”

At my words, Sylvia gripped the knife a little tighter, and her hand began to shake.

“Then let me ask you this.”

Sylvia stiffened, her breath growing uneven with emotion, and the blame in her eyes locked onto mine, as if she’d already heard the words I hadn’t said.

“If I were to kill her—”

Bang—!

Sylvia slammed her palm against the table and rose to her feet, her face wet with tears that had been waiting too long.

"... Why won’t you let me go. There’s no demon on this island anymore."

“No—the demon still remains inside you. And when I find a way to dismantle it, this island will fall. The extinct races, the dead it shelters, the Voice, and Cielia—they will all perish, as they were always meant to.”

Sylvia remained silent.

“Sylvia,” I said as I got to my feet and looked straight into her eyes. “Don’t run from reality.”

Sylvia remained silent.

"Cielia is already dead."

“You killed her.”

For just a moment, a wave of pity passed through me—for Sylvia. It was true. I had killed Cielia with my own hands, and I had no intention of offering a single excuse.

“You killed her,” Sylvia muttered, her jaw tight as she bit back the anger, each word tasting like blood.

“... Indeed.”

“It’s your fault. Because of you—”

"Then why didn’t you just keep hating me from where you were," I interrupted.

For reasons I couldn’t name, sympathy welled up inside me.

“Why did you run away?”

It was a feeling that belonged to the part of me that was Kim Woo-Jin. In Sylvia, I saw the boy I used to be—the one who tried to run away. Sylvia's breath trembled, sadness carried in those deep eyes. Behind her, the server closed the kitchen door.

"Did you not want to run away," Sylvia said.

When Sylvia asked if I did not want to run away, I gave myself a few minutes to think, as the question was meant for Deculein, not Kim Woo-Jin—but it belonged to both of us all the same.

"Because of Iliade, you lost the one you loved."

Sylvia already knew, of course; she was too clever and bright not to.

“Fleeing is the most effortless of choices,” I replied, “I’ve always understood that.”

It was something I’d never shared—not even with Yoo Ah-Ra—but Sylvia carried a loss not so different from mine.

“There were moments when I wanted nothing more than to run.”

It wasn't long, but it wasn't short. Every moment with the coffin felt like it belonged to someone else. None of it felt real. I slipped into sleep over and over, from dream to dream, trying to outrun reality.

"But in the end, I came to terms with it, as there was no denying it anymore, along with everything it meant."

And now, standing before me was someone trying to run just a little farther than I had.

“I met it without turning away—and laid it to rest, deep in my heart,” I continued, stepping closer to her.

However, I’d never thought that a simple conversation would be enough to persuade her.

"It must have been because of me that the demon brought Yuara back to this place."

Sylvia flinched, her body trembling.

“It is cornering me to choose, the way it once did you,” I said, a scoff tugging at my mouth as I shook my head. “But Sylvia, I will not run away, not ever. If I must end her a hundred times, I’ll carry every memory as my blade falls.”

Sylvia gasped as if she’d forgotten how to breathe.

"And so, I will kill Cielia here."

Sylvia took a step back, her face pale in a way she couldn’t hide.

“Let that grudge against me fuel your fire for the rest of your life, and let it burn for as long as you need to keep you alive.”

“No,” Sylvia muttered under her breath.

Sylvia's voice faded like mist, and I caught her by the shoulder—the same shoulder that had tried to run away a second time.

"So, do not run away."

Sylvia remained silent.

“Take this to your heart,” I said.

Then, I passed on the unquestionable truth I’d earned through both lives—from living as Deculein and remembering life as Kim Woo-Jin.

“There is no paradise that offers only happiness, not in this world or any other.”