A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 32: Berhert (3)

Chapter 32: Berhert (3)

... The hawk's limited vision couldn't capture all the details. However, Deculein had killed the knight, who then fell off the cliff. To be precise, the escort knight had first attempted to kill Deculein, who then acted in self-defense. In truth, Deculein had tried to save the knight, so in a way, the knight had caused his own death.

Sylvia saw all of this through the hawk's eyes. She heard every word of their conversation. Using the hawk's vision, she saw Deculein standing alone on the edge of an endless cliff. It was a miracle he hadn't fallen.

The meeting would start in less than half a day. Could he reach Berhert in time from there?

At that moment, Deculein looked up at the sky. Startled, Sylvia quickly recalled the hawk. The snowstorm was intensifying, making further observation impossible. More importantly, she didn't want the hawk to get hurt. It was her first creation, and she planned to take care of it for a long time. She would recharge the mana stone whenever it depleted.

"Come back," Sylvia said, opening her eyes. Her vision returned to Berhert.

"Oh! Miss Sylvia?"

She sighed and turned around, only to bump into someone. They were from the kingdom, just as Sirio had mentioned.

"There you are! I've been wanting to meet you!"

"Seeing the Novice Mage of the Year in person is such an honor!"

"I'm from the Leoc Kingdom, from the Judra family..."

Their fawning reactions made Sylvia uncomfortable.

***

Meanwhile, on the platform of the express train track, a high-ranking official was being saluted by the staff.

“It's an honor, Deputy Director!”

Lillia Primien, the Deputy Director of the Ministry of Public Safety, was camping in the mountains of the Northern Region when she heard about the train terror incident. In her capacity as Deputy Director, she decided to investigate the scene.

“An explosion and an attack? Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma'am. It happened about two or three hours ago. Incidents like this are quite common on the way to Berhert. The compensation from Berhert is usually ten times more, so it's typically not a big deal,” the staff said, who seemed to be the general manager.

Primien glanced down the cliff and asked, “Were there any casualties?”

“It’s not confirmed yet, but Professor Deculein and the knight Veron are currently missing. For more detailed witness accounts, you can speak to that man over there...”

Primien followed the staff member's gesture and saw a blond man with a mustache and Allen. Allen seemed to be sleeping on the track, while the man spoke animatedly.

“Yes, Professor Deculein and Sir Veron saved me, but when I regained consciousness, the entire train had already fallen. It seems the assassins launched a second attack...”

Primien approached and pointed at the camera hanging around the man's neck and asked, “May I see that for a moment?”

“Sorry? Oh, sure. But I make my living with this...”

“I'll return it promptly.”

“Oh, alright.”

The man developed the film immediately. As Primien examined the photos, she found herself momentarily speechless.

“...Huh?”

She laughed in disbelief. The magical film captured one or two seconds before and after each photo, like a short video. In the images, the train floated in midair. The caster was, of course, Deculein, and Primien recognized the magic.

Using Telekinesis, Deculein had lifted the train effortlessly, calmly reading a book as if it were a trivial task.

As Primien admired the photos, she suddenly received a message from someone somewhere. A magical signal pricked her back. She stood still, interpreting the signal.

— Knight Veron is dead. Veron attempted to kill Deculein under someone's orders, but Deculein survived.

Primien sighed softly. She knew Knight Veron; he was one of the Scarletborn, like her. Though a bit unhinged, he had been somewhat admirable. His death was bittersweet yet also a relief. Like Lokhak, he had been a ticking time bomb, destined to cause trouble eventually.

“What do you think of the photos I took? Quite a sight, wouldn't you agree? As a magic analyst, I'd say Professor Deculein's skills are—”

"That will suffice," Primien said, handing the photos back to the man.

"Oh my! A ghost!" one of the staff screamed.

Primien followed their gaze. Someone who hadn't been there before was now standing on the track. She recognized him instantly as Head Professor Deculein. No one had seen him climb up. He stood silently, gazing at the cliff he had ascended.

He pondered his limits. Despite his proficiency in Telekinesis, he couldn't penetrate the knight's aura. The power of a mage seemed inadequate without ample mana. Even with all his attributes and characteristics, half-hearted effort couldn't surpass innate talent.

He felt a distinct barrier between them. The fixed capacity of his mana at 3,375 frustrated him. Without the mysterious help from someone, he would have been the one falling off the cliff...

"Professor," Primien said as she approached Deculein. "Your assistant is safe over there."

Deculein looked at Allen on the track and asked, “He's unharmed?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

That was all he said before turning his gaze to Primien. It struck her then how incredibly handsome he was.

“What time is it now?”

“Three-thirty.”

“... Six hours left?”

He seemed to be assessing his chances of making it to the meeting. Without a train, climbing the cliff would take at least a day, given a mage's typically poor physical condition.

"Professor, I need to formally ask what happened to the escort knight."

“... He's dead.”

"Was it due to the sudden attack?"

The professor paused briefly, then nodded.

"Professor, could you clear the track?"

At her words, Deculein tilted his head and looked down at Primien with the haughty gaze of a noble addressing a subordinate. For a moment, anger flared up inside her, but she forced it down.

"If you clear the track, I can authorize sending another train."

If we clear the track before the snowstorm worsens, we can call a train and increase your chances of making the meeting. So, Professor, this benefits you. Why are you glaring at me like that? It makes me want to rip your eyes out... Primien thought.

“This should be a much better option than walking—”

“I refuse,” Deculein said firmly. “Move.”

Primien clenched her jaw. He had an uncanny ability to get under her skin.

In truth, Deculein was already exhausted. He had no energy left to cast any more spells. His flawless external appearance had misled Primien, but internally, he was completely drained.

“... Yes, sir,” Primien said, bowing slightly before turning to one of the staff members. “Since he’s not helping, so clear the track before the snow gets worse.”

“Yes, ma'am. Right away.”

"One more thing. Is this the only route to Berhert by train?"

“No, there’s another route that goes by land and sea, though it’s much longer and on the opposite side.”

“Hmm...?”

As Primien conversed with the staff, she sensed something amiss and turned around. Deculein had already vanished.

“Did he use Haste?”

He must have decided that using supportive magic to run up the cliff was more efficient than clearing the track. Assuming the intense winds would make it possible by borrowing the energy of the elements.

“Just how much mana does he really have?”

His skills are beyond my imagination. No, they are nothing like the reports. He stopped the train's derailment with his Telekinesis, fought off dozens of assassins, defeated Veron, climbed the cliff unscathed, and even used the high-level spell Haste... Does he have an ocean of mana? Primien thought, clicking her tongue.

"Ugh..." the assistant professor said, and woke up groggily.

"You, your name is?" Primien asked, approaching the dazed assistant professor as he looked around blankly.

"Sorry? Oh, um, where is..."

"Your professor is gone."

Allen's eyes soon filled with tears.

Primien frowned and added, "He's gone to the Berhert meeting, not to the afterlife. Now, your name is?"

“Oh, yes! Phew. I’m Allen.”

Primien wrote down the spelling of his name and showed him the notebook, asking, “Is this correct?”

Allen nodded and said, “Yes, that's right.”

“Your age?”

“Twenty-four. But I’m an assistant and need to get there quickly—”

“You’re already late. You should wait for the next train.”

***

At the moment, it was 9:30 p.m. The Berhert meeting was scheduled to start at 9:53 p.m., the time known as the Gathering of Stars, leaving just twenty-three minutes until it began. Sylvia walked through the corridors of Berhert's Fourth Gate.

The paths in the Fourth Gate were as intricate as the rumors said. The passage split into right and left paths; the heads of families like Glitheon took the right while their assistants took the left. This arrangement was to prevent any issues with Blood Coagulation among blood relatives.

"Miss Sylvia, how’s life at the Mage Tower of the University?”

“You should try going to the group blind dates. They’re quite an experience.”

People kept approaching her with questions as she walked.

Sylvia responded briefly, “I see.”

Attention like this was inevitable, drawn to her as moths to a flame, and she was used to it. Her exceptional potential as a future Archmage made such persistent interest unavoidable.

“By the way, I heard the head of Yukline hasn’t arrived yet,” Penha said, an assistant from the Billyon family of the kingdom.

Sylvia's attention sharpened at the mention of Yukline.

"If that Yukline doesn’t show up and gets excluded from future meetings because of it, that would be a significant incident."

"A significant incident? I think it was somewhat expected," Jaelon said, an assistant from the Empire’s Rewind family. "The current head is far less capable than his predecessors. His accomplishments halted three years ago, and rumors about his lack of talent are widespread."

Mediocre people envy geniuses, but geniuses recognize each other, Sylvia thought, biting her lip but staying silent. Deculein’s talent might be lacking compared to mine, but he's certainly not someone to be dismissed by these people.

“Oh, there it is.”

As they talked and walked, they finally arrived at the door of the Elder Gate. The gate was a grand temple, carved from an entire mountain peak, resembling the dwelling of ancient giants.

Creak—

As they approached, the door opened as if waiting for them. Nineteen assistants entered, each tense. The vast conference room could comfortably seat 400 people, but only nineteen family heads were present at the expansive round table.

The only empty seat belonged to Yukline. Sylvia stood next to Glitheon, who smiled at her. The assistants who had been pestering her took their places beside their respective families.

Bong— Bong— Bong— Bong— Bong—

The five chimes echoed, marking the time as 9:50 p.m. Only three minutes remained. Sylvia felt a pang of bitterness. He wasn’t going to make it after all.

"... Before we begin the meeting," a powerful voice suddenly reverberated through the conference room.

The intensity of the mana and the solemn tone made Sylvia's heart race.

"I extend my sincere gratitude to all who have answered the summon to gather."

At the head of the table sat Drjekdan. Once the most promising candidate for Archmage, he had withdrawn from the Mortal Realm and become a legend. He occupied the Great Elder's seat, shrouded in darkness, unable to see the family's round table, and equally unseen by them.

Sylvia felt immense pressure looking at him and thought, Is reaching that level the only way to challenge for the title of Archmage? ... Maybe it's possible.

"We will now commence the roll call," Drjekdan announced. His voice echoed through the Elder Gate like a majestic drum, resonating throughout their bodies. “Glitheon of Iliade.”

"Glitheon, head of Iliade, responds with honor to the call of Berhert," Glitheon said confidently. Sylvia felt proud of her father’s presence.

“Bethan of Beorad.”

"Bethan, the sixth head of Beorad, bows to the Great Elder."

Drjekdan called upon the various families, and each responded with a unique slogan reflecting their family's identity. But when it was Yukline’s turn, an unusual silence fell over the Elder Gate.

“Deculein of Yukline,” Drjekdan’s voice echoed from the darkness. Silence filled the room. “Has Deculein not arrived yet?”

Everyone swallowed nervously as an unknown tension crept up from the depths of their consciousness. The potential exclusion of Yukline was unexpected but eagerly anticipated by many. Given Deculein's arrogant behavior toward other families and his reliance on his family's prestigious name, his downfall was a welcome thought to most in attendance.

"Since Deculein of Yukline has not yet arrived, if he does not respond after being called three times, he will be considered to have ignored the summons."

Drjekdan's solemn voice weighed heavily on the assembly. Ihelm, the head of Rewind, who had once been Deculein’s friend but was now his enemy—a man Deculein had once called rotten cheese—allowed himself a hidden smile.

"I will then proceed to exclude Yukline from the traditional Twelve Magic Families."

His voice echoed through the round table, vibrating through the room. Sylvia glanced at the giant clock on the ceiling of the Elder Gate. It was already fifty-three minutes past.

“Deculein, head of Yukline.”

If Deculein failed to appear by the third call, Yukline would face exclusion from the traditional Twelve Families for the first time in 200 years. Such an event would be a monumental disgrace for a family of their esteemed magical lineage.

“Deculein, head of Yukline.”

Sylvia looked around. Some stifled their laughter, others laughed openly, while her father remained impassive, showing no emotion. No one seemed concerned. Sylvia thought Deculein had lived his life wrongly, and she felt a pang of pity for him.

“Deculein, head of—”

Just as the third and final call was about to end, a scraping sound filled the room. Sylvia, startled, looked toward the door. The conference room door was slightly ajar, letting in a gust of snow. Everyone’s gaze shifted to the entrance, seeing the late arrival of Deculein of Yukline.

Head Professor Deculein entered, covered in snow. His suit was torn in places, and his hair was disheveled. He looked like a beast that had returned from hell, a stark contrast to his usual pristine appearance. It was a rough but highly impressive entrance. No one spoke as they watched him.

“Deculein. Is that you?” Drjekdan asked.

Deculein silently scanned the room with his piercing blue eyes. Laughter ceased, and those who had hoped for his exclusion averted their gazes.

“Deculein, you are required to respond,” Drjekdan repeated.

Deculein slowly straightened his suit and slicked back his snow-damp hair. With that simple gesture, he was once again the Deculein everyone recognized.

"... Yes. I, Deculein... von Grahan-Yukline," Deculein said, stepping confidently into the room. His steps were proud and assertive as he declared, "have arrived as the head of Yukline."

He neither bowed his head nor acknowledged the summons. Instead, he arrogantly announced his presence in the Elder Gate. Some family heads pursed their lips or clicked their tongues in displeasure, while a few naive assistants stared at him, mesmerized by his appearance and demeanor.

"I apologize for my late arrival. An incident arose, causing my delay."

"You are not late. You may take your seat."

Deculein walked to his seat at the round table. Sylvia felt a strange sensation. Although the round table had no head seat, it felt like the entire room's focus had shifted to him the moment he entered.

“However, since your assistant has not yet arrived, your speaking rights will be limited to three times before the adjournment.”

Deculein scanned the room, his gaze fixed on those avoiding eye contact, his anger clearly visible as he searched for the cause of the current situation.

"I understand," Deculein said, his nod tinged with weariness.

He was too exhausted to speak further. His mana was depleted, and his body was spent from the frantic journey. He had pushed beyond the limits of his Iron Man attribute. Only his unique, almost manic personality allowed him to maintain his composure.

The heavy atmosphere around him was mistaken for anger by everyone at the round table. Even Ihelm, who usually mocked him, straightened his posture subtly. Despite Yukline's recent challenges, it remained the continent's leading magical family. While snide remarks were typical in social scenes, there was no need to draw unnecessary suspicion in such serious matters.

“Now, with all twelve traditional families and eight new families present, we will begin the Berhert gathering meeting.”

The meeting commenced in a weighty silence.