The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

Knock knock.

A knock echoed from outside the room.

Celicia’s “farewell forever” was cut short. Her gradually tightening jade-white fingers froze mid-movement, and she turned toward the door, an unmistakable flicker of irritation crossing her eyes.

“Tell them to leave,” Celicia said coldly to Muen.

“I can’t.”

Muen shook his head vigorously.

“This room is soundproof. Besides knocking, no sound gets in, and nothing inside gets out.”

“......”

Celicia’s brows furrowed ever so slightly as she stared at him, as if weighing something in her mind.

In the end, though, she withdrew the hands that could’ve brought Muen instant death at any moment and slowly rose to her feet.

“I’ll spare your life... for now.”

“Th-thanks?”

“Get dressed. Open the door.”

“R-right.”

Muen, who had already flirted with death more than once tonight, felt as if he’d been granted a royal pardon. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the pile of clothing nearby, frantically trying to throw it on.

The outfit—a formal custom-tailored ceremonial suit weighing a full twenty kilograms—was a nightmare to wear. If Muen hadn’t personally watched the maid put it on him earlier, he probably wouldn’t have been able to dress himself at all.

Even so, he was so flustered and panicked that he nearly put the lining on inside-out several times.

It took longer than expected.

And while he was fumbling with the buttons, he heard the sound of fabric rustling behind him.

The noise brought back memories of just a moment ago...

“If you dare turn around, even with someone else present, I’ll kill you on the spot.”

Celicia’s voice rang out behind him, as cold and emotionless as ice.

“......”

Muen shuddered and bowed his head lower, focusing entirely on his battle with the dress uniform.

...

Once he finally got everything on, the sounds behind him had gone completely silent. Unable to resist, Muen turned to steal a glance.

Celicia now sat with poise on the sofa, elegantly combing her silver-white hair through a surface of conjured ice, as if it were a mirror.

The pure-white formal gown clung to her exquisite figure with a noble grace, not a trace of dishevelment visible. Her beauty was enough to stop the heart.

If Muen’s legs weren’t still wobbly, he might’ve believed the last few minutes had been nothing but a fever dream.

“Wait.”

Just as Muen reached for the door, Celicia called out and then casually pulled out an intricately designed bottle of perfume. She sprayed it several times into the air.

After sniffing carefully and confirming that none of that strange scent lingered, she nodded.

“Go.”

...

Muen approached the door.

After the whirlwind of events—and surviving death more than once—he finally felt some measure of calm returning to his chest.

But there was no joy at having survived.

Because the plot was already completely off track. He was hurtling down the road of self-destruction at full throttle.

At this point, Muen’s future options were limited to:

Being killed personally by Celicia

Being hanged by an enraged king

Or—as foreshadowed by the prophetic dreams—being butchered by an unknown figure in a thousand cuts

Every path was a dead end.

“So tell me, dear protagonist, what good is it for you to show up now?”

Muen opened the door.

He thought it would be the main character, Ariel, finally arriving.

But it wasn’t.

It was a maid, holding a tray of tea and cakes.

Only, her face was hidden beneath the shadow cast by the door, hard to make out.

“Young Master Muen,” the maid said politely, “Madam saw that you and Her Highness have been talking for quite a while and thought you must be hungry. She specially asked me to bring refreshments.”

“Oh, oh—”

Ah, Mother. So she did see me inviting Celicia to a private room?

Of course she did. Her timing was impeccable.

Muen didn’t think much of it and stepped aside.

“Just set them on the table over there.”

“Yes, sir.”

The maid nodded respectfully and entered, carrying the tray.

As she passed by Muen, the soft lighting of the room illuminated her face.

“Wait.”

Muen suddenly froze.

“Why don’t I recognize you?”

The maids of the Campbell ducal estate underwent rigorous vetting and training, most having been raised in-house since childhood to ensure loyalty and prevent infiltration.

Even if Muen had only transmigrated yesterday, the memories of the body’s original owner should still allow him to recognize every maid’s face.

At the very least, he should feel familiar with them.

But this woman’s face rang no bells at all.

“Young Master Muen wouldn’t recognize me,” the maid replied without stopping.

“Because I was only selected to join the estate last night.”

“Last night...”

Muen’s expression shifted. “You were brought in for the banquet?”

“That’s right. Just here to help.”

She walked over to the central tea table and set down the tray of cakes and tea.

“Though, I do have... another task.”

“Another... task?”

Muen was still processing her words when he saw her draw something from under the tray—a dagger gleaming with cold light.

The motion was so fluid that it took Muen a full beat to register what he was seeing.

His heart and pupils contracted at once. A rush of blood surged to his head, forcing his thoughts into overdrive.

—She’s not targeting me.

—She had the perfect chance when she walked in, but she didn’t strike.

Which means—

“Celicia!!”

Muen couldn’t help shouting.

The maid’s form vanished.

Like a mirage shattered in sunlight.

When she reappeared, she was already right in front of Celicia.

“So fast!”

Muen gasped.

The room wasn’t small by any means. The tea table had only recently been overturned and righted [N O V E L I G H T] again, so it sat several meters away from the sofa.

Yet that distance might as well not have existed.

In the blink of an eye, the dagger in the maid’s hand was arcing toward Celicia’s pale, delicate throat.

Death raised its scythe.

...

Clang.

The blood-spattered scene Muen had envisioned didn’t happen.

Celicia’s expression remained cold as ever. Faced with the sudden assault, not even a flicker of panic crossed her icy gaze.

At some unknown moment, she had raised her hand—and in it, an ice-blue rapier had formed from the reflective surface she was using as a mirror. It blocked the dagger with flawless precision.

Where blade met blade, invisible shockwaves rippled outward, splintering the tea table and sofa, and leaving sharp gouges in the surrounding walls.

“Let me guess.”

Celicia stared the maid down and asked icily:

“Did my fool of a brother send you?”

“Sorry, Your Highness. Client information is strictly confidential.”

The maid swiftly pulled back, but her eyes held no hint of retreat. She was just repositioning for another attack.

But Celicia had no intention of giving her the chance.

With the tap of her toe, a thin sheet of frost raced across the floor toward the maid. It latched onto a few scattered droplets of water and surged forward with terrifying speed.

As the maid dodged, she muttered, frowning, “Where the hell did all this water come from—?”

“......”

A flicker of shame and anger crossed Celicia’s face—normally as unchanging as a frozen glacier. A hint of pink flushed her cheeks.

She stomped the floor hard.

Spikes of razor-sharp ice burst up in a deadly bloom, impaling upward toward the airborne maid with no chance of escape.