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

“...Where is this...”

After what felt like his soul being yanked through a rollercoaster ten times in a row, Muen Campbell realized he had landed somewhere entirely unfamiliar.

He lifted his head, scanning his surroundings.

An endless wasteland of crimson earth stretched into the horizon, vanishing beyond what the eye could see.

Dried, withered plants, as pitiful and sparse as the top of a middle-aged programmer’s head, dotted the landscape in scattered patches.

Other than that—nothing. No sign of life.

A dry, scorching wind blew past, carrying a nauseating stench of blood, cutting at his skin like blades.

And above, in the burning crimson flames that consumed the heavens, a massive, grotesque eye floated silently in midair.

Surrounding that pupil was a circular halo, like a sun corona—but when Muen focused, that blinding coronal glow resolved into withered hands. Countless, dried-up hands, packed together, swaying in eerie unison like a grotesque kaleidoscope.

“...What the fuck is this?”

Once again stunned by this utterly sanity-shattering scene, Muen instinctively turned to glare at the Black Book—the damn culprit behind all of this.

The Black Book’s pages flipped rapidly, old records surfacing one after another, until it settled on a particular line Muen had nearly forgotten existed.

A record that documented the name of the existence looming before him.

The God of World Fusion.

The Crimson Sun’s Lord.

The Withering King.

Or in simpler terms:

Another fucking Evil God.

This one had briefly appeared in that assassin’s prayer, the same bastard who’d offered a hundred children’s heart-blood in exchange for power—and the red flame He bestowed could even suppress Celicia’s blizzards.

And now, here Muen stood—face to face with this damn Evil God!

The absurdity of this reality hit Muen so hard that his vision blackened for a second. Clutching the Black Book, he shook it like a madman, baring his teeth as he hissed:

“I told you to tell me how to save Anne, not to drag ANOTHER Evil God into this mess!”

“What, you planning to sic one tiger on another so we can swoop in and clean up? Buddy, I swear, I’ll keel over from cardiac arrest before your plan even kicks off!”

Naturally, the Black Book offered no response.

But it seemed Muen’s ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) frantic outburst had drawn attention. The Withering King, towering above, finally noticed this unexpected intruder.

The grotesque eye rotated, its monstrous pupil locking onto this insignificant little insect.

The instant he was seen, countless deranged thoughts swarmed Muen’s mind like fish drawn to bait.

So hot...

So burning hot...

I want to set something on fire...

I want to drown the world in flames...

I want to lose my mind...

“—Shhhh...”

The sound of pages flipping echoed, cool and clear like a gentle breeze, sweeping away the oppressive heat.

Muen’s reason returned.

But before relief could sink in, dread slammed back twice as hard as he stared at the Black Book.

Look at this shit.

I can’t even survive a glance from that thing, and you expect me to play this game?

It was almost laughable—but somehow, against all odds, Muen remained sane. The grotesque eye above...seemed surprised by that.

Though only faintly.

As if it were merely the reaction to finding a slightly larger ant crawling across the floor at home.

But here, on this eternally barren crimson wasteland—

Even a measly ant could stir...interest?

And so—

It was like countless ancient bronze bells ringing at once—solemn yet unsettling, reverberating across the scarlet earth.

Those sounds wove together, swirling, morphing, until they resolved beside Muen’s ears into something eerily familiar:

Human language.

[Human.]

The Withering King’s voice boomed, regal and commanding.

[Do you desire power?]

“Ah?”

Muen froze, his mouth instinctively falling open wide enough to swallow an egg.

Had he heard that right?

The high-and-mighty Evil God was... initiating a conversation with him?

For one ridiculous moment, Muen actually felt flattered—like his idol had spoken to him gently, personally.

Damn, He’s kinda hot—wait, NO.

An Evil God offering you power? That never leads anywhere good.

Especially when you’re standing here, bare-ass naked in every sense—no bargaining chips, no leverage.

What’s he supposed to offer? His ass? No thanks, they already saw how that played out for Ailuka.

“...So this is your grand plan for saving Anne?”

Muen shot the Black Book a skeptical look. The damn thing never stopped being shady.

“Really now, sir? Sure, I get the whole ‘fight magic with magic’ concept, but swapping one Evil God for another? What’s the point?”

Anne’s still gonna get eaten, isn’t she?

The Black Book shivered faintly, as if responding.

Pity Muen couldn’t understand a word of it.

Instead, the Book abruptly floated upward, pages rustling—and one of them tore free, drifting toward that grotesque eye.

It hovered before the Withering King’s throne.

The Withering King seemed curious, tilting His gaze to inspect what measly bargaining chip a mere human could possibly offer.

And in the next instant—His curiosity soured into unmistakable disgust.

Yeah, disgust. That familiar, human-like expression you get when the same deadbeat friend shows up with yet another IOU they’ll never repay.

Hey bro, spot me again?

C’mon, you know I’ll pay you back... eventually...

I mean it this time, scout’s honor—look, I even wrote it down...

In Muen’s mind, he could practically see the scene—the Withering King staring down at some deadbeat borrower’s bullshit with the same weary loathing.

Honestly, Muen half-expected the Evil God to start swinging those creepy little hands and slap him into next week.

Luckily, no slaps came. No wrathful obliteration. Not even a casual stomp to squash the intrusive little ant.

Instead, the Withering King... pondered.

He fell silent, deep in thought.

But it didn’t last long.

Moments later, a withered hand emerged from the void, snatching the drifting page.

The solemn voice echoed again.

[Exchange complete.]

The Withering King’s gaze pinned Muen in place.

[I can grant you power, free of charge.]

[However—]

A glimmer of amusement flickered across that monstrous eye.

His gaze pierced through Muen, stripping away every facade—flesh, soul, nothing remained hidden.

[Do you truly accept?]

[Accept the power... of what you humans call, an Evil God?]

“...”

Muen fell silent.

The power to change everything stood right before him—and yet, he hesitated.

He had no choice but to hesitate.

He wanted to survive—more than that, he wanted to be happy.

That was the modest little goal he’d set for himself after transmigrating here.

But—

Evil Gods were the greatest source of misfortune in this world.

Getting entangled with Them never ended well.

Even if the Black Book let him borrow Their power without paying the price for now, the karmic ties to an Evil God would never be severed.

A mark would be left—etched into his very being.

A mark like fate itself—nearly impossible to escape.

If he accepted this—

Happiness would slip through his fingers entirely.

Even survival would become far harder than he imagined.

......

“But do I really have another choice?”

Muen chuckled softly, his voice tinged with resignation.