A Villain's Will to Survive novel Chapter 220

Chapter 220: Assassination of the Empress (1)

“The written exam will be divided into theoretical questions and specialized sections, and the practical test will follow the same structure,” Deculein said.

That day at Roteo Hall, the university’s admissions briefing unfolded exactly as before. Every step followed the same pattern—the Shamanic Barrier of Complete Detachment swallowed the space midway through, yet even within it, Deculein resumed his briefing as if nothing had changed.

The only difference this time was the minor commotion of Epherene rushing to the university hospital to treat her wounded forehead.

"Upon entering the Mage Tower, will we be able to attend Head Professor Deculein’s lectures right away~?"

“No.”

"Oh my! Why, why? But I want to attend Head Professor Deculein’s lectures~!"

Seeing the day repeat itself before her eyes, Epherene still couldn’t comprehend it as her mind wandered in a daze, lost in the weight of the unreal.

As Epherene let time slip by, lost in its current...

"A pleasure to meet you."

As the moment repeated itself, Epherene heard the voice flowing to her ears through the air, its chilling mana pressing down on her. Yet this time, fear did not take hold—only a deepening sense of curiosity.

Epherene quickly turned, her eyes locking onto Murkan—a mage draped in a tattered robe, his eyes dark as ink.

“Excuse me!” Epherene yelled.

For a moment, Murkan's pupils widened in surprise, but the reaction faded just as quickly—as if he had understood the situation in an instant and saw through it with precise perception.

"What in the world is going on?!"

Murkan remained silent.

Frustrated, Epherene stood on her toes and grabbed Murkan by the collar and said, "I’m in serious trouble right now! Not just because of my thesis—"

"Has a bomb detonated?" Murkan asked.

"Sorry? Oh—yes!" Epherene replied without hesitation.

Epherene had no idea what a bomb was, but something had definitely exploded. And now, here she was—no, she had been sent back to the past.

"It seems the repeat has already begun."

“... Repeat,” Epherene muttered.

Murkan gave a slow nod before reaching into his robe and pulling something out.

"... A Pocket watch?"

"This is a creation of my nephew," Murkan said.

"That o-old man, Rohakan, did?"

"Indeed. My nephew—though only three years younger—always saw me as nothing more than a friend, having grown up by my side. Even now, after his passing, I refuse to accept such nonsense," Murkan said, handing Epherene the wooden watch.

Epherene released his collar and accepted it.

"He had entrusted that to me and told me to give it to the Child of Time when the moment was right," Murkan said, his voice tinged with sorrow, before falling into a brief silence and turning back to Epherene. "Not once in his life did he ask me for a favor."

"... The Child of Time? What does that mean?" Epherene muttered, avoiding his eyes.

"You were born on the day the meteorites fell from the heavens."

"Oh? How did you know that?"

"The Falling Moon. Your fate is bound to time itself—your visage, your mana, even your very name."

Murkan's words held no proof, nor were they grounded in science. Strip away his name, and he was nothing more than a perfect fraud. Yet, because he was Murkan, every gap in logic was simply answered with one word—magical.

"Then what was that bomb about?" Epherene asked.

"My nephew called it the Altar’s declaration of war. With the bomb, they sought to strike first—to erase the Empress entirely. Yet somewhere along the way, fate wavered, and the course of destiny was thrown into disarray."

"Oh!" Epherene muttered, nodding as she reached out and took Murkan's hand instead of his collar this time. "Then please, help me!"

"I do not interfere in the matters of the human world. That oath was sworn long ago, and I am bound to it still."

"What are you talking about?! You've already gotten involved!"

"I have merely passed on my nephew’s request," Murkan said as he released Epherene’s hand. Though his touch was light, an unseen force seemed to naturally push her back. "The answer is yours to find. For now, time remains on your side."

After speaking his final words, Murkan disappeared in an instant—just as he had two months earlier.

“Oh? The barrier is gone!”

As relieved sighs escaped throughout the admissions briefing hall, Epherene blinked, momentarily dazed by the sudden change. But as her eyes fell on Deculein, now stepping down from the podium, her scattered thoughts snapped back into focus. Deculein, too, seemed puzzled by the sudden dissolution of the barrier.

But this time, Epherene did not approach him; she merely stood in place, unlike before.

"Epherene," Deculein called. Unlike two months ago, he was the one to approach first. "Did you meet someone?"

Epherene remained silent.

***

“... How strange,” Sophien muttered.

Meanwhile, Sophien looked out the window, a crease forming between her brows. A strange sensation wrapped around her body, and an inexplicable feeling crept over her. The sky remained as clear and blue as ever, yet something felt... empty. As if, from this world—and from within herself—something had quietly disappeared, leaving only a hollow absence behind.

"Your Majesty, are you well?" Ahan asked.

"It’s nothing. But, Ahan," Sophien said, shaking her head.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

"Shall we place a wager?" Sophien said, spreading the knights’ files across the desk. "Which of them will be the first to complete my trial?"

"... But, Your Majesty, I am unaware of the trials given to the knights—"

"This one—Jaelon, the Mountaineer," Sophien said, tapping his file with a finger. "I ordered him to hunt down a Basilisk."

Ahan’s eyes widened.

The Basilisk, a rare beast on the same level as the Daeho, was far more dangerous in direct combat. Unlike the Daeho, it was a territorial creature, making a head-on confrontation an even greater risk.

"For this one, the Rezetal—a flower that blooms only in the Land of Destruction. And for this one..."

Sophien listed one daunting trial after another—treasure hunts, journeys across continents, and claiming the title of the Colosseum’s strongest warrior. Each was a feat worthy of legend.

"And lastly, Yulie," Sophien said, a faint smile playing on her lips. "To this knight, I have given a task—to uncover the one who was behind my attempted poisoning."

At that moment, Ahan’s mouth fell open in shock, and she muttered, "Poisoning..."

"Indeed. Of course, I have a vague idea of who was behind it."

The power struggles between noble houses, the changing alliances, the developing situations, and all the underlying conditions—piecing them together with careful reasoning would have made the answer obvious. But Sophien couldn’t be bothered as she had no desire to waste her time disentangling a conspiracy buried in the distant past.

"If you already have an idea, should you not deliver judgment at once, Your Majesty?"

Sophien merely smiled at Ahan’s question, offering no reply. Instead, she looked out at the lake beyond the window and said, "... I have tended to all matters of state for the day. Perhaps I will go fishing."

“Fishing, Your Majesty?”

"Indeed. I believe I am beginning to understand why the late Emperor enjoyed fishing."

Then, with the fishing rod Deculein had gifted her in hand, Sophien rose from her throne.

***

... Late at night, as the capital lay silent, I trained alone in the underground crystal cavern, honing my control over mana. I pushed myself to master Telekinesis with absolute precision, yet the process was twice as grueling as I had anticipated.

Even with endurance, discipline, and mental strength beyond the supernatural, this trial pushed me to my limits. My fists tightened on their own, my teeth clenched as I endured the strain and agony of intense effort.

"... This is pathetic," I muttered.

A curse slipped out before I could stop it—an inevitable reaction to this unforgiving training method known as Grain by Grain.

The task was as maddening as it sounded, transferring a sack of sand, one grain at a time, without breaking a single one. If even two grains stuck together or one crumbled in the process, everything had to be undone. And by undoing, it meant returning every grain I had already moved back into the sack—a complete reset. Tonight alone, I had failed 937 times.

“Not yet...”

This was acceptable. The pain was proof that the training was working. I smoothed back my untidy hair, willed away the sweat sticking to my body with Cleanse, and straightened the creases in my wrinkled suit. Even in the smallest of actions, dignity had to be maintained, refinement ingrained into every gesture. And so, grain by grain, I continued.

Szzzzz—

Crunch—

One grain failed to withstand the force of my Telekinesis, crumbling under the heat of mana and turning to dust. I stared at it for a moment, then raised my head, drew a deep breath, and closed my eyes.

Chirp— Chirp, chirp—

Sssssssssssss...

“... Hmm.”

... Stood in this moment before? I thought.

Chirp, chirp— Chirp, chirp, chirp—

“Hmm...”