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

”I can’t die! I can’t die! I still haven’t obtained the eternal life I want—how can I die?!”

Lorenzo crawled through the dim street like a mangy dog with shattered legs. And indeed, his legs were broken.

Blood poured constantly from the clean cuts, leaving behind two long, straight red trails. If he could retrieve his severed feet now, maybe magic could reattach them—but he didn’t dare look back. Fear alone drove him forward, onward and onward.

Images flashed through his mind. People he had killed. People who had died because of him. People who wanted him dead. They all stood in the flames, faces twisted with hatred, arms outstretched as if trying to drag him into hell.

”Get away! Get away!”

Lorenzo screamed and swatted at the air, desperately trying to banish the visions.

”I won’t die—I won’t die!”

That’s when he heard footsteps. Calm, almost leisurely footsteps, like someone out for a stroll. But to Lorenzo, they sounded like the slow, closing steps of a demon.

“Mr. Lorenzo, can you answer my question now?”

That calm, composed voice echoed behind him—polite, even noble, like a gentleman gently inquiring about his impending death.

”Stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

He kept crawling. His palms were torn by the sharp stones on the ground, but he didn’t notice. He turned his head toward the sides of the street. It seemed like someone had been startled—dim light flickered behind a window. Hope flared in Lorenzo’s eyes. He scrambled toward the house and pounded on the door.

”Help me! Please help me!” He was babbling now.

”Even if you won’t save me, just call the guards! Arrest me! Lock me up—I don’t care! Just don’t leave me out here with that monster! Please, save me!”

But the firelight vanished. In the darkness, a man let out a startled cry and slammed the window shut.

At night—don’t go outside.

At night—don’t trust anyone.

At night—no matter what noises come from the street, don’t react.

That was the law of survival for ordinary people in the Lower City.

“See, Mr. Lorenzo? Even the Lower City you’ve relied on for so long seems to hate you.”

Muen’s short blade sliced through Lorenzo’s armor with ease, leaving wound after wound across his body. The cuts weren’t deep, but they bled steadily. Muen drove him forward, letting him bleed out little by little.

Let him feel death’s approach—wasn’t that the best ending for a man like this?

”I won’t die! I won’t die!”

Lorenzo screamed, as if in some final burst of defiance, despite his body being on the verge of collapse.

”I still have the Lord! The Lord will save me! I’ve done so much for you—you can’t just abandon me! You promised me eternal life!”

“The ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Lord?”

Muen frowned. This guy had been saying that word for a while now—Lord, and something about eternal life. He had no idea what it meant, but just in case, he decided it was better to end this quickly.

He stepped forward, ready to send Lorenzo straight to hell. He raised the pure white short blade. Under the moonlight—just peeking again through the clouds—Elizabeth shimmered with a ghostly silver glow. To die beneath such a beautiful moon... Muen thought to himself, what a damn luxury.

The blade fell. But in that moment, the world suddenly dimmed again.

The moon still hung high, cold and indifferent. So where was this darkness coming from?

Muen’s heart clenched. He looked up.

A tall, thin figure had appeared in front of him—no idea when it arrived.

The figure wore a thick, heavy raincoat, smeared with filth in garish colors. On its head sat a bizarre mask, as if made from congealed blood and flesh. That meat split open suddenly, revealing a twisted, bloody grin.

A jolt of deathly fear exploded in Muen’s mind. He immediately redirected his strike, intercepting the massive cleaver swinging toward him.

“What the—”

The terrifying force behind the cleaver numbed his arm—he nearly lost his grip on his weapon.

What the hell kind of monstrous strength is this?

His thoughts spun as he used the impact to leap back, quickly pulling distance. He fought the tremors in his arm, eyes fixed on the towering freak in front of him.

“Who are you? Why did you attack me?”

The creature didn’t respond. It held a lump of twisted shadow in its hand... and was chewing. Crunch, crunch.

“The Lord! The Lord! You’re finally here!”

Lorenzo looked at the monster like a lost man stumbling into an oasis. He grabbed its foot with trembling hands, ecstatic.

“Please save me! Please!”

Still no reply. The creature only lowered its head and looked at Lorenzo.

But it wasn’t the gaze of someone looking at a person. It was the gaze of someone eyeing a meal.

”Divine mercy! Divine mercy! Please save me—I can do more for you! I can catch more people for you! You want more blood? The dragon’s heart blood—it’s on him! Divine mercy! Divine mercy!”

Lorenzo dropped to his knees in front of the thing he called ”Lord,” kowtowing like a fanatic worshipping a god. His forehead slammed into the pavement over and over. Soon, blood marked the stones.

“Divine mercy. Divine mercy.”

The monster tilted its head, watching for a long time. Then it reached out—and grabbed Lorenzo’s shadow.

Muen froze in place—shocked, horrified, utterly disbelieving.

The thing had lifted Lorenzo’s shadow... right off the ground.

What the actual hell? How do you grab a shadow? This wasn’t just unscientific—it was wrong. But before Muen could process the absurdity of seeking science in a magical world, the creature raised the shadow to its mouth—

Crunch.

It bit a chunk right out of it.

A visible tear appeared in the shadow. But what made Muen’s hair stand on end was—it wasn’t just the shadow.

In the exact same place on Lorenzo’s real body, a piece of flesh vanished. A messy, bloody gouge—like something had taken a bite right out of him. The shape was unmistakable. Teeth marks.

But Lorenzo didn’t even flinch. He kept bowing.

”Divine mercy. Divine mercy.”

Crunch. Crunch.

”Divine mercy.”

Crunch. Crunch.

”Divine mercy.”

Bite after bite, the creature chewed slowly—like a well-behaved child listening to instructions. Each bite, precisely twenty chews. No more, no less.

And with each chew, Lorenzo’s flesh disappeared, piece by piece, like a pancake being eaten from the edges inward.

Finally, in Muen’s nauseated vision, Lorenzo stopped chanting. Stopped begging for eternal life.

All that remained was a pile of bones—picked clean. Bones so spotless, it was like every one had been sucked dry.

BUUURP—

The monster stomped on the pile, crushing it, then let out a satisfied belch.

“...Tasty,” it said.