A Villain's Will to Survive novel Chapter 241

Chapter 241: Sylvia (4)

Sylvia pressed her hands to his chest, trying to push Deculein away from her shoulder, but Deculein didn’t move an inch; his frame was solid as stone, and she struggled against him with all her strength.

“Let go. Let go of me. Let go,” Sylvia said, not because she wanted to—but because she had to.

With a slight nod, Deculein let her go, and Sylvia looked up at him, resentment flickering in her eyes like a fading ember.

"If there's no paradise made only of happiness, then there shouldn't be a hell made only of pain either," Sylvia added, her teeth clenched. "Because that's where I am—hell."

The knife rested in her hand, and she raised it slightly, shaking it as if to threaten him—enough to draw a line between them.

"I hate you—for killing my mom. And I hate you even more for telling me to live on with that hatred, as if it should be my anchor. I don’t even know what you're hoping to get from me anymore."

Deculein said nothing but cast the Cleanse spell, wiping away the grease and scraps of meat from her knife as if they offended him.

“Are you kidding me?!” Sylvia yelled before she even knew it, the words leaving her lips like a flame, the storm of frustration that had been building inside her finally cracking open.

“Sylvia,” Deculein called.

It wasn’t just that Deculein said her name again, but the unshaken calm in his voice that made Sylvia’s blood stir with restrained anger.

“I’m not asking anything of you.”

“Then why—”

“You have my sympathy,” Deculein added in a low voice.

At that moment, Sylvia froze—her lips parted in quiet disbelief, and the knife in her hand stopped shaking.

“Let’s leave it here for today,” Deculein said, his sigh barely audible.

Deculein wiped his mouth, then removed Sylvia's knife and placed it beside her plate. With a flick of his fingers, her attire adjusted itself, the wrinkles smoothing out into perfect alignment through his Telekinesis.

“Be it tomorrow or the day after, I’ll be back when you’re ready. This journey won’t take long.”

Thud, thud—

Sylvia remained frozen in place, her eyes following Deculein's back as he disappeared beyond the restaurant door.

***

... Deculein is poison, Sylvia thought.

Alone in her room, Sylvia lay on her bed, and that single thought echoed again and again.

Deculein is poison.

Deculein is poison—foolish enough to think I’d stoop to poisoning his food.

Deculein is poison...

Lost in her thoughts, Sylvia sat up in bed and looked around her room. Among the rows of books crowding her shelves, one caught her eye. Deculein’s name glimmered on the cover—his work on magical theory, written by his own hand.

On the Floating Island, The Magic of Probability, The Compendium of Spells, and The Theory of Magical Space were sought after by every mage. However, Deculein granted access to only a chosen few, and Sylvia was one of those rare few—though she still didn’t know why to this day.

What could Deculein have been thinking—what could he have felt—when he granted these to me, ones that only a few were ever meant to see.

Knock, knock—

At that moment, the knock broke the silence, and Sylvia rose, opened the door, and there stood a familiar face.

“I was told Deculein is here.” Idnik said.

Idnik, my mentor in magic—though calling her a mentor felt generous, as I had learned most of it on my own. Idnik was more like a part-time tutor from a magic academy. But, anyway.

“Yes,” Sylvia replied.

“It’s time we head back,” Idnik continued, nodding.

“How.”

"Deculein must have the answer to it. The rest depends on whether you'll take it or not."

Even in a world where magic held the threads of reality together, one law remained untouched—nothing could bring back the dead.

Therefore, Sylvia had come to understand that the island she lived on was nothing more than an illusion, and the weight of that truth hollowed her out from within.

Would I find happiness in disappearing into forgetting, Sylvia thought.

“If I go back, the Voice will find its way into the continent.”

Sylvia told Deculein a lie.

I haven’t defeated the Voice, and it still lives within me. If I go back to the continent, it will become a land of ruin, where the dead rise and the living fall. Because now, I am its source.

“To save me, my dad let the demon loose upon the world,” Sylvia said, mentioning the Letter of Fortune to her.

“Right,” Idnik replied, pushing her lips out with a dry look.

Having extracted the information through the torture of several Intelligence Agency agents and now elevated to Ethereal grade, there was no knowledge on the Floating Island beyond her reach. However, Sylvia offered Idnik a fabricated explanation.

“But I don’t want to do that, Idnik,” Sylvia said, her eyes searching Idnik's.

Idnik scratched her temple.

"If I could, I'd rather forget it all."

“... Then, do you really intend to spend the rest of your life on this island?”

“If only I could.”

“Is that why you’ve been designing Deculein on this island?”

At Idnik’s words, Sylvia said nothing, her lips drawn into a firm line.

“This is Deculein we’re talking about—not someone you can just manifest by designing him into being,” Idnik said, shaking her head.

Sylvia remained silent.

“You’re a strange one, Sylvia. Deculein killed Cielia, yet you want to keep her close and can’t bring yourself to let go of him as well?”

Sylvia wished to draw Deculein with her talent, within the canvas of her world.

“I can do it.”

In her world, if Sylvia were to manifest a different Deculein and let herself forget that truth, she could finally be saved from the weight of grief, with the darkness of the past fading like old paint, and she could learn what it meant to live.

“... Do you love him?” Idnik asked.

“Yes,” Sylvia replied.

“Then, do you hate him?” Idnik asked again.

Once again, Sylvia’s answer remained unchanged.

“Yes.”

Love and hate, affection and bitterness—Sylvia had once thought these feelings meant she was broken, but to her relief, the world had already given them a term in the dictionary. It wasn’t just her; others had felt it too, and it was called ambivalence.

“Get some rest,” Idnik said, shaking her head as she turned and left the room.

Without a word, Sylvia took up her diary and pen, sat at her desk, let her eyes wander to Bearbie Panda—sleeping, its tiny head resting on an eraser like a makeshift pillow—and then began moving her pen across the page.

This piece is complete—aesthetically, artistically, and in terms of popularity. 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. It’s all quite to my taste.

Sylvia wrote his words down in her diary—the rare compliment Deculein had spoken.

***

The next morning, I stood at the island’s highest point, watching Cielia with Sylvia, the two of them hanging laundry in the wind. I tilted my head as I looked at her—still the same gentle face, exactly as Deculein remembered in his memories—the face of someone who had lived for Sylvia and her husband, but not for herself.

"Is that Cielia?" I inquired, turning to Idnik—Sylvia’s mentor and once a protégé of Rohakan—who was standing at my side.

"Yes, are you planning to kill her now?" Idnik asked, as she licked her ice cream.

I only shook my head.

“Why?”

Rohakan must have left her with a few things to say, I thought.