A Villain's Will to Survive novel Chapter 237

Chapter 237: Name (4)

"This is the man, Professor," Bethan said.

Bethan visited me at the Yukline mansion with someone he called a whistleblower, their face covered behind a mask.

“This is the man who sought me out from the desert—”

“Bethan, move ahead. If this man’s words hold true, there’s no room left for hesitation,” I ordered.

“... Yes, Professor.”

"What you’ve done will not go unnoticed, and it will reach Her Majesty’s ears."

"Yes, Professor!" Bethan replied, rising at once with a formal salute, and as he turned to leave, a bright smile spread across his face.

Soon after, the attendants stepped out, and in the silence that settled over the sitting room, I used Telekinesis to lift the mask from their face.

“Agh!”

Pale skin. Long blond hair. Blue eyes, as clear as ice. There was nothing that aligned with the signs of the Scarletborn in him. But that’s what he was—indistinguishable from any other citizen of the Empire.

“Your name?” I inquired.

“... Lumenil, sir,” the man replied, his voice taut with nerves.

“Is that your true name?”

"Yes, sir. It is my real name."

Although his voice shook, his eyes remained clear. There was no doubt in them.

"So, Primien is Scarletborn?" I inquired, nodding.

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“On what grounds?”

"Lillia’s real name is Yurine. Like me, she’s a Scarletborn from the Northern Region. We’ve known each other for fifteen years."

"Is this how you choose to betray fifteen years of camaraderie?" I said, meeting his eyes with a faint smirk.

"... This isn’t betrayal. The Scarletborn have no future. And to be honest, I’ve never believed in them—not as a kind, not as a people. So shouldn’t I at least try to survive? I wasted ten years of my life in the desert. Ten years," Lumenil said, his voice loosening, looking as if the weight on his shoulders had already made peace with his choice.

Then, with the look on his face—it wasn’t just disillusionment but an unfiltered hatred—Lumenil continued, “Just like you said, Professor—the Scarletborn are nothing but vermin. They’re the kind of people you can’t count on. Filthy, crawling things. All of them."

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. I blinked, then kept my eyes on him.

“I wanted to leave there as soon as I could. Even a day sooner would’ve been a blessing. However, the Scarletborn’s desert is basically a death trap. Once you fall in, there’s no way out. No escape, no second chances. That’s why I kept pretending to be loyal all this time. But,” Lumenil added, his voice trembling with anger, as if the words were tearing their way out of him.

Then Lumenil reached into his chest pocket, pulled out a capsule no bigger than a fingertip, and said, "Here is the Scarletborn’s list—and a map of the desert."

Craaack—

The moment Lumenil cracked the capsule open, a compiled list and an oversized map spilled out.

“Is that your talent?” I inquired.

"Yes, sir. This capsule can store anything by miniaturizing it down to size. To begin with, this list holds the names of Scarletborn agents who have infiltrated the Empire. I only had clearance to record five thousand of them, and time was tight. But wouldn’t capturing five thousand be considered a worthy achievement?" Lumenil asked the question as if seeking acknowledgement.

I nodded.

“And more than anything—this map of the desert. With it, the entire Scarletborn can be brought to their knees. Even the Great Elder could be captured and put to the sword,” Lumenil added, a confident smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmm, is that so?"

"... I would like to request a single island."

The man's request came out of nowhere—so strange that I felt my brow tighten before I even realized it.

“An island, and perhaps two hundred attendants—I would like them all to be women, though I wouldn’t mind a few pretty looking men among them. A grand mansion built on the land, enough elne to live out my remaining years in comfort, and, of course, the guarantee of my status would be more than enough,” Lumenil added with absolute conviction.

I remained silent.

“Professor, if you look at me, I don’t look anything like a Scarletborn. And if someone like me—a whistleblower—is given proper recognition, their downfall will only come that much faster. The fate of my people? Tell them to go fuck themselves. I’m not a Scarletborn—I’m not one of them. I’m just a man who wants to succeed.”

... Was this man's name on the named character's list, or is he just another desperate soul running for his life? I thought.

I had to admit, he was a strange one—so strange, I couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time someone had made me genuinely laugh.

“Haha.”

Lumenil’s face brightened at that—and after a moment, he laughed with me.

“Ha, Haha. Hahaha.”

“You’re an entertaining one,” I said

“Pardon me? Oh... Oh~ Hahahaha! Thank you, sir—hahahaha! Motherfucking Scarletborn. Hahahaha—!”

As the man laughed loudly, I reached for the Wood Steel and set it into motion.

***

In the Deputy Director of the Ministry of Public Safety's office, Primien pulled the curtain back just enough to see outside, where many were waiting in the shadows.

“... Hmm.”

Perhaps it is time, Primien thought.

Primien stayed composed, gathering her thoughts—and what little she needed to take. There wasn’t much, just stocks and bond certificates, some cash, and a stack of classified documents from the Ministry of Public Safety. All of it slipped into a single bag.

From here, she just needed to follow the plan. Primien wasn’t a fool, and as a Scarletborn, being prepared had never been optional. Of course, the weight in her chest slowed her down—just long enough to waste a little time. One last time, Primien turned to the window, looking out at the wide expanse of the Capital and letting the view settle in her eyes.

“... Is it really not possible to just live together in peace?” Primien muttered, the question blooming from the quietest corner of her heart.

The Capital had always been a good city. For Primien—who hated the cold and valued convenience—it was a place worth living. Even for the Scarletborn dying in deserts or wasting away in camp fences, it still seemed to offer something like peace.

In the Capital, there were ways to make it—through stocks, the lottery, or a lucky bet at the track. For those willing to work, there were jobs; for the strong, there was the military; for the bright, the civil service exams. That was the kind of Capital Primien liked; she liked the Empire too, for the land was never at fault—it was the people who ruined things.

Primien took her bag, slipped into her coat, and sent a current of mana through the floorboards.

Click—

Beneath the moving tile, a narrow shaft revealed itself—a vent that ran below the Ministry of Public Safety, all the way to its backyard garden. Primien let mana flow into it like a lubricant, and the structure responded without hesitation.

Whooooooosh—

As she slipped inside, her body gave in to the slope, gliding downward in one silent motion until light touched her face again beneath the garden trees.

Rustle—

Primien stood up, the grass brushing her ankles, dusted off the dirt from her briefcase, and then crossed to the manhole leading to the sewers.

“... Hoo.”

Before slipping into the depths, Primien looked up at the Ministry of Public Safety one last time and drew a long breath, the last of the Empire.

"Goodbye. This city was never meant for someone like me."

The continent had never made room for the Scarletborn, as there was no word to draw a line between them and the Altar. Perhaps, then, history had only done what it always does.

The Empire burned with violent demonic acts of terror. But in the eyes of the world, guilt was not given piece by piece; instead, it was handed collectively to the Scarletborn, as if they were one and the same.

Primien could do nothing against the momentum of that history, for the eradication was Empress Sophien’s declared top priority, and no one dared oppose her.

“Fuck,” Primien muttered as soon as her boots hit the sewer floor beneath the manhole.

The stench inside the sewer rose thick and sour, curling into her throat. Primien turned her face away, covering her nose with her hand.

Thud— Thud—

Primien's footsteps echoed through the tunnel, but even that noise was swallowed by the sound above.

“Primien! Where is Primien!”

"Do you mind if I ask what has happened?"

“What happened? I said, where is Primien?! I’m Bethan of the Elite Guard! Out of my way, unless you'd rather be mistaken for Scarletborn scum...!”

Did they really raid the entire Ministry of Public Safety? Primien thought, shaking her head as she moved deeper into the sewer tunnel.

Thud— Thud—

The point where Primien and Elesol had agreed wasn’t far from where she was, and someone with a new identity for her would be waiting there. Running to the desert would have been almost expected; therefore, instead of moving inland, like something hiding in plain sight, Primien chose to go to a port city under a different name once more....

“Hmm?”

As Primien stepped deeper into the passage, a faint outline of a figure appeared at the far end of the tunnel—a silhouette blurred by the murk of shadow.

"You’re early," Primien said, approaching.

No answer came, but something about the face in the shadows was familiar.

“Hey, Lumenil.”

Lumenil was one of the few Scarletborn who had ever known Primien by face, not just by name.

Primien walked closer to him and asked, “Did you bring everything I asked for...”

Clack—

Sniff, sniff—

Lumenil, the Desert’s Messenger. We shared fifteen years together, Primien thought.

“Ah, yes. This man,” Deculein said, curling his lip and giving a slight shake of his head. "He left me with some curious words."

Clack—

Tap—

Swish—

... That vile traitor, Lumenil, Primien thought, her fingers curling into a tight fist.

Thud— Thud—