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

Amid the morning mist, the rising sun, and the light breeze, the inverted city seemed to have just awakened.

Dong.

The bells of the Belrand Grand Cathedral tolled. Worshippers clasped their hands in prayer, bowing devoutly under the radiance of the Goddess.

High atop the soaring Origin Tower, apprentice magicians diligently practiced their Flight spells—but the training soon turned into a spirited game of chase, ending with a hasty scramble as their instructor’s scolding rang out.

The Adventurers’ Guild opened its doors, and adventurers stretching and yawning poured in, ordering the first beer of the day in the gentle morning light.

Everything felt so real, as if...

“Is that truly Belrand?”

For the first time, Archbishop Canterbury Enger lost his composure. He abruptly rose to his feet, staring at the inverted city, his aged eyes now bursting with boundless holy light.

Under the Goddess’s bestowed Holy Sight, all illusions were meant to be pierced.

Yet no matter how brilliantly that holy light flared from his eyes, the vibrant, bustling city hanging overhead remained wholly real... and alive.

“That is Belrand.”

“If that’s Belrand, then where are we now?”

“Naturally, we’re also in Belrand—another Belrand.”

Hatherway Field pushed up the gold-rimmed spectacles on her nose. None of their reactions surprised her; she had expected them all.

“Everyone, look over there.”

With another wave of her hand, the gray mist cloaking the great hall fully dispersed under the ripple of some unseen force. Beyond the gutted walls, from their high vantage, they could look down upon the entire city.

It was a city fallen into nightmare. With every color and every trace of light stripped away, the silhouette revealed in the /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ mist became unspeakably grim and twisted—like a demon gnashing its teeth and sucking blood in the dark.

Yet this too was Belrand—a pitch-black Belrand, the complete opposite of the suspended city above.

“What... is that?”

Someone at the round table let out a trembling gasp.

They were Crowned ones—beings beyond mortal limits, near-divine. They should not have feared a mere darkened city.

Yet even now, Archbishop Canterbury Enger’s thin hands could not stop shaking.

His gaze traveled over the blackened districts, past the blood-streaked River Glein, past the Lower City where ghostly shadows seemed to roam, until...

He saw the edge of the city.

There was an ocean there—an utterly black ocean that did not exist in reality, as if it could swallow the city whole at any moment.

And where sea and sky blurred together, a half-disc of an ominous pale-blue moon rose from the waters, like the weary, indifferent eye of some colossal being, gazing coldly down on them all.

An Evil God.

The Silent Moon!

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

Hatherway lowered her eyes, as though unwilling to look directly at that blue moon, and spoke softly:

“Welcome to the Shadow of Belrand—a shadow city, constructed through the divine authority of a god, born as the prototype of a divine kingdom.”

“Impossible...”

The fetid sea wind from afar jolted them from their shock, but even the Crowned could not keep the blood from draining from their faces.

“Impossible!”

Archbishop Canterbury Enger roared in fury:

“How could the Silent Moon be here? Under the Holy City’s surveillance, it was supposed to be approaching the Withering King—how could it possibly appear here!”

“Calm yourself, Archbishop.”

Aldrich III still rested his cheek against one hand, his expression languid, as if long accustomed to that blue moon’s presence.

“It’s only a projection.”

“But even a projection...”

The Archbishop murmured in disbelief, “At such a critical moment, to divide its strength... does it truly not fear losing to the Withering King? The two of them are near equals—any external factor, however slight, could sway the outcome entirely!”

“I thought the same at first.”

Aldrich III glanced at Hatherway, signaling for her to explain.

She gave a small nod, clapped her hands to draw all eyes back to her.

“I understand how baffling it is for the Silent Moon to cast a projection here. But after my own research and the Special Disaster Bureau’s full analysis—factoring in its previous assault on Saint Maria Academy—we’ve reached one conclusion:

From the very beginning, the Silent Moon may have believed it could not defeat the Withering King. So it has been... searching for a way out.”

“You mean... the Silent Moon wants to run away?”

“That’s right.”

“But how would it escape?”

Most still found such a notion absurd. An Evil God, thinking of escape before even fighting—how could that be?

“Based on the intelligence we’ve gathered,” Hatherway continued, “its plan should be... to use its authority to evolve a divine kingdom from the Shadow of Belrand, then—using a divine kingdom’s properties—bypass the barriers of the world itself...

and descend fully into the mortal realm.”

A sharp hiss of indrawn breath swept the hall.

A divine kingdom—a realm shaped by a god’s own laws. Within it, the god controlled everything. Using such a realm to bypass the world’s barriers... perhaps it wasn’t impossible.

“I have a question.”

Dodge Slore suddenly raised his hand.

“Go ahead.”

“You just said—even with the Silent Moon’s authority—it can only form a prototype of a divine kingdom here, not a true one. And from what we can see, it hasn’t even fully mastered that prototype, or else we wouldn’t be sitting here now.

In essence, the plan is unworkable. If divine kingdoms were so easily evolved, every Evil God would’ve descended in full already.”

“You’re correct.”

Hatherway habitually pushed her gold-rimmed glasses, the reflection hiding the weariness in her eyes. Even so, she stood straight on ten-centimeter heels, her tone grave.

“As Mr. Dodge said, the Shadow of Belrand remains under our control for now. The Silent Moon’s dream of descending via a divine kingdom is nothing but fantasy.

But—”

Her voice sharpened.

“If this place were to fall into the Silent Moon’s grasp... and it used it to reverse-corrupt the real Belrand, making millions of people its sacrifices...”

She left the rest unsaid—but everyone knew what that would mean.

In the blood of millions and the wails of their souls, the divine kingdom would be completed in full—and the Silent Moon would become the second Evil God in history to successfully descend.

For humanity, it would be annihilation.

Just like the first time.

...

The cold, blue moonlight grew even more sinister.

Waaah—

A shrill, infant-like cry rang out.

The black tide surged violently as countless long, hideous shadows rose from the sea.

They were scaled from head to toe in plates that reflected cold light, their thick, powerful serpent tails lashing through the waves as if they could grind steel to powder.

Their scale-covered faces were twisted with ravenous, fanatic hunger—as if they were heading to a feast of flesh and blood.

“Serpent-men...”

The sea suddenly split apart, as though an invisible blade from the heavens had fallen, carving a chasm into the waves.

From that abyss, monster after monster the size of Godzilla rose upright, the moonlight tracing jagged silhouettes along their armored shells.

“Moon Beasts...”

The crying stopped. A new sound—long and resonant, like the song of a whale—echoed over the shadow city. It was like a divine hymn from the heavens, yet no one could locate its source. Only far out in the dark sea did they glimpse a vast shadow, drawing steadily closer.

“A Calamity-class monster—the Sea Demon, Leviathan. It’s following the Silent Moon as well.”

Like a gambler revealing one chip after another—each one capable of wreaking unimaginable disaster in the outside world—the appearance of these horrors finally snuffed out the last shred of hope in their hearts.

The Silent Moon was serious.

They would face an Evil God, lashing out in mad desperation before death.

...

“Even Evil Gods... can be afraid?”

Someone asked without thinking, in the cold, wordless air.

“Heh. If they weren’t afraid, they wouldn’t be called Evil Gods—would they?”

The reply came not from Hatherway, but from Aldrich III.

He finally rose from his throne, no longer lazy, extending one hand as if to seize the city that belonged to him.

Lowering his gaze, his eyes seemed to hold the rise of a mighty sun. Even Archbishop Canterbury dared not meet them.

Beneath his feet, in the deathly still shadow city, a sudden roar of activity broke out.

“Move, move, move—First-Level Defense!”

The city rang with a deep hum. Massive steel plates rose with a crash, driven by precision magitech devices, locking into an impregnable wall.

Atop it, the Royal Knights stood in silver armor, already in full formation. The old magic ballistae had been replaced by new “Magical Cannons” developed by the Royal Research Institute—cold barrels gleaming as they aimed at the approaching beasts.

Behind the walls, more people hurried to and fro, moving supplies, shoring defenses, carving out a second line of fortifications.

The nobles, dressed impeccably with gleaming family crests on their chests—even pale as paper, shivering like they’d run naked through a winter’s night—still grit their teeth and refused to flee. While cursing the damned Silent Moon, they ordered their retainers to haul out treasured heirlooms, each act killing them with heartache.

They had no choice. When Aldrich III had, under the pretext of cracking down on smuggling, sealed every exit from Belrand, they’d all become passengers on this same doomed vessel.

If Belrand sank, they’d sink with it.

So the Silent Moon had to be sent to hell.

“A rare and beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

Catching a glimpse of the scene below, Aldrich III smiled faintly.

Then his expression hardened.

Step by step, he strode to the far end of the hall.

His gaze passed over the shadow city, over the walls, over the monsters and the black sea, to meet the pale-blue moon’s cold stare without flinching.

“My lords, behold—this is why I summoned you.”

He drew the sword at his waist. Under the silent stares of all present, he leveled it at the grim, merciless Silent Moon and declared, his voice like a thunderclap:

“The war... begins now!”