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

Under the pitch-black night sky, searing flames suddenly flared, lighting up half the district.

Deafening explosions and the howls of rioting thugs jolted the sleeping residents awake. But ordinary people didn’t dare even peek outside—only burying themselves deeper in their blankets, shivering, praying to the Goddess for safety.

The Goddess, however, would not bless everyone.

“Bastards, what the hell are you doing?!”

Raylong, the Redfire Gang’s newly installed leader as of yesterday, stood red-eyed from being dragged out of bed. His men, also hastily roused, faced the figures standing amid the rubble and dust with bared teeth.

“You dare launch a surprise attack on the Redfire Gang? Are you trying to start a gang war?!”

“War? No... this isn’t a war. You overestimate yourselves.”

On a half-shattered wall blasted apart by magic, a squat, gnome-like silhouette appeared. His beady eyes swept the courtyard ringed in firelight, and a rodent-ugly face twisted in a sneer.

“This will be a massacre.”

“Rat King?”

Raylong’s pupils constricted at the figure on the wall, but he quickly masked his alarm with a cold, mocking tone.

“A massacre? With just your Rat Society?”

If the Rat Society were attempting a kidnapping, assassination, or poisoning, he might have been troubled.

But a frontal assault?

Was he seriously supposed to believe these rats—who spent their lives skulking in the shadows, shooting from cover—could manage that?

“Who said... it was just the Rat Society?”

Sam’s smirk deepened.

At his words, more figures stepped into view beside him.

And with each one, Raylong’s face lost more color.

“Cerberus...”

“The Brotherhood...”

“The Trading House...”

His lips trembled as he named the factions each shadow represented. The more he spoke, the less he could believe it.

Why... why would they join forces?

What kind of sick joke was this? These were the same people who, on a normal day, would be happily humiliating each other’s female relatives while trying to chop each other to pieces. Yet here they were, shoulder to shoulder—and apparently even getting along?

Was he dreaming?

What in the hell had happened overnight?

“I was just wondering why you weren’t invited, Redfire Gang. Looks like there really was something off.”

Frangi of Cerberus stepped forward, his gaze locking on Raylong.

“Where’s Lorenzo? Haven’t seen him. And... isn’t your crew missing quite a few of its elites?”

“None of your damn business!” Raylong snarled. “Boss Lorenzo just had something—”

“Lorenzo is dead.”

A calm voice cut him off.

“Along with dozens of the Redfire Gang’s top elites.”

“Bullshit! Boss—”

Raylong’s head snapped toward the man in the black formal coat who had spoken—and the words died in his throat.

His heart kicked into a faster rhythm. A cold, snake-like fear began to coil around it.

Because he noticed that the moment this man appeared, every single gang leader, and even the armed thugs below, fell silent.

Like a wolf pack going still when the alpha howls—this man instantly became the center of everything.

And when he spoke, the gangsters actually grew more restless, eager for action, as if it never crossed their minds that he could be lying.

Lorenzo was dead.

“...Who are you?” Raylong’s voice held a note of fear now, without him realizing.

Anyone who could command this much respect from all these gangs—how had he never even heard of him?

Muen didn’t answer.

A dying man had no need to know his name.

His gaze drifted across the courtyard, to the fires burning along the Glein River docks, then arced across half the city to return to Raylong’s enraged, humiliated face.

As he’d guessed, the slaughter of the Redfire elites had been kept under wraps.

Of course—it made sense. He was a duke’s son, after all; butchering dozens in the street would reflect poorly on the Campbell name. The ducal estate would do its best to cover it up. And the Redfire Gang would hardly advertise the loss.

All as predicted.

The only problem...

“Too quiet,” Muen murmured.

“Quiet enough to be just an ordinary gang.”

“What?” Sam, distracted by another nearby blast, hadn’t caught it.

“I said,” Muen replied evenly, “continue.”

Just like that, he decided the fate of one of the Lower City’s largest gangs.

The assault pressed on.

Even without Lorenzo and their elites, the Redfire Gang still had enough strength to stand in the Lower City—but not against the combined assault of multiple major factions.

Blades flashed as thugs surged forward, crossbow bolts from above cut men down, mages unraveled the wards over the courtyard. Hidden chambers were breached, treasures flashing gold were hauled out by the chestful. Anyone in the way was cut down.

The Redfire fell back step by step.

The dead piled up, blood slicked the ground. That blood began to trace strange, childish-looking scrawls—or the kind of sigils used to summon demons.

Muen’s cold eyes stayed fixed on the scene. Still... nothing happened.

Just the screams echoing into the night.

“Was I wrong?” His grip on his cane tightened, irritation creeping in.

Then he noticed it.

In the shifting shadows of firelight, everything looked like snarling ghosts—but if you lowered your gaze and studied the blood patterns on the ground, you saw it: the marks were fading.

Blood didn’t dry that fast.

Which meant... underground?

He tapped his cane against the ground, then lifted his head just in time to spot a figure in the Redfire ranks slipping away from the main fight.

His eyes narrowed. He thought for a moment.

“Sam.”

“Here.”

The Rat King immediately reined in his fury, hurrying over.

“Got everything I gave you ready?”

“Of course.”

The thought of those items set Sam’s blood alight. His eyes on Muen grew even more respectful.

“Ready to deploy anytime.”

“Good.”

Muen adjusted his hat brim, his figure blurring into a shadow that slipped past the fighting, tailing the furtive figure.

His last words lingered in Sam’s ears:

“Get everyone together. Wait for my signal.”

“Yes.”

...

...

“Damn it... why are they all ★ ★ going crazy? And even joining forces?!”

In an underground passage, Raylong staggered forward.

His face was twisted with hatred, one eye burning red with rage. The other was a ruined mess—blood streaming from the socket, a torn eyeball dangling.

A stray arrow had caught him in the chaos; if not for the wards slowing it, it would have punched straight through his skull.

“Damn it... and how did the news about Lorenzo’s death get out? A traitor? No... all the non-core members should’ve been purged...”

His mind boiled with questions, fear and fury grinding together. He wanted to kill someone—several someones—just to vent it.

He’d barely had time to enjoy the thought of finally being boss after that arrogant bastard Lorenzo dropped dead.

And now, before a single day had passed, everything—everything—was gone.

“It’s not over... it’s not over!”

He slammed a fist into the wall, growling low. “This can’t be over!”

Past a narrow hallway, the space opened up into a wide chamber.

And with it came...

Corpses.

Corpses.

Corpses.

Desiccated bodies hung from the ceiling like a forest of meat, swaying and rotating with creaking ropes. When they turned face-forward, they revealed expressions of hatred and despair.

Some were still alive—their dim eyes tracking the living man who entered, split lips moving in broken moans.

Every one had their abdomen slit open, exposing the webbed fascia of their innards. Blood dripped from them—drip, drip.

More blood seeped from the ceiling itself, falling into a reeking pool in the center. The surface of the pool churned, shadows gliding beneath. ℯℯ𝘭.

“Jeros, don’t look at me! Don’t!”

“It wasn’t me who killed you, I just held you down!”

“And Mael—if you’d just embraced the Lord, we could’ve eaten and drunk together forever!”

“Wenlanka, you bitch—so you were pregnant with my kid? You thought you could threaten me?!”

Raylong kept his eyes down, avoiding the dim stares.

Some were street beggars, abandoned whores, homeless drifters.

But many more were... “comrades.”

Brothers he’d once fought beside. Some even his wife—people he’d personally consigned here in the recent purge.

It couldn’t be helped.

All of this was necessary... for immortality.

Lorenzo had failed, lost the Lord’s favor. The one worthy of eternal life now... was Raylong.

“Lord! Lord!”

He crossed the narrow causeway over the blood pool to a circular platform at its center.

There, a pitch-black heart pulsed slowly.

Raylong dropped to his knees, knocking his head to the floor again and again.

“Lord, as you foretold, the day of the Redfire Gang’s destruction has come. Please—grant me eternal life! Grant me limitless holy power!”

The heart writhed, a single eye opening in the fibers of its surface to gaze coldly down at him.

Moments later, a soft, icy voice spoke.

“Granted.”

“Thank you, Lord!”

Overjoyed, he bowed several more times before rising and cradling the heart in his hands.

The eye had closed, but it still looked monstrous, still beat like something alive—though the touch was cold as ice.

“At last... immortality!”

Ha! Lorenzo—we fought for so long, and in the end, I win!

The gang was gone, but with the Lord’s blessing, nothing was beyond his reach.

Hands trembling, he lifted the heart to his mouth. Just one bite, and everything would be his—

“Sir, you shouldn’t eat just anything.”

The mocking voice stopped him.

A man in a black wide-brim hat appeared where moments ago there had been no one.

“Who?!”

Raylong jolted—he’d been sure no one had followed him.

“As you see.”

Muen stood not far away, one hand on his hat brim, chin tilted, a small smile curving his lips.

“I’m just an ordinary passerby.”

“You—it’s you!”

Raylong recognized him instantly. The man every gang leader bowed to.

Fear surged. Without hesitation, he tried to jam the heart into his mouth—

But it didn’t reach.

His eyes went wide as the heart—and his hands—fell away from him.

Blood sprayed from clean-cut stumps. His hands were gone at the wrists.

“Told you,” Muen said lightly, twirling a white short blade and whistling, “unsanitary.”

“You’d stop me from gaining immortality?!” Raylong roared.

The agony should’ve broken him—but he didn’t seem to notice.

He lunged at Muen—then spat a silver needle from his mouth, grazing Muen’s cheek. It was a feint; he twisted toward the falling heart—

“How’re you gonna eat with no hands?” Muen thought—then froze.

Raylong’s coat split, and from the writhing flesh of his torso, a new arm burst forth, reaching for the heart.

“Damn it—does every cultist grow a spare arm these days?”

Muen’s eyes hardened. Heat flared behind him, magic flooding his alchemy core—

And then stopped.

The heart’s surface split into a gaping maw that screamed, a sonic shockwave blasting through the chamber.

Muen’s motions stalled. He could only watch as Raylong swallowed the heart whole, the lump traveling down his throat.

He didn’t choke.

Flushed with triumph, Raylong shouted, “At last! The Lord’s holy power! Eternal—”

It cut off.

Agony worse than amputation twisted his face. Black veins crawled over his skin, swelling him into a grotesque mass.

“This isn’t holy power—Lord, you lied—”

A pair of slender hands reached out from his throat, prying his jaws open.

“What the hell—some kind of capsule girl?” Muen blurted.

The hands gripped his mouth and ripped. Flesh tore from lips to cheeks to ears, down his neck, arms, side—

And in the spray of blood and meat stood a devastatingly beautiful woman, holding his bisected corpse, sucking in the blood-fog with bliss.

“Idiot. I don’t have immortality—why would you?”

She tossed the halves aside, licking her lips, then spotted Muen.

“Surprise~ Scared? I prepared this just for you—wait. You’re not Muen Campbell?”

Her eyes narrowed at his altered face—but then she laughed.

“No, you are. That glare could never be faked.”

Muen closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. “Didn’t expect you to show up in person... no. You’re weaker than before.”

“A clone?”

“Oh my, sharp! Yes, just a clone—only half my full strength. You could probably beat me.”

“Heh. How flattering.”

“Can’t be helped—my real body’s tied up by the Silent Bureau’s hounds. But I’m not underestimating you. Quite the opposite—I fear you more than anyone.”

“What—” he began, but then felt it.

The hanging bodies shook violently; ropes snapped. One by one, they fell into the pool.

The surface roiled, then a bloody, skeletal hand gripped the edge, and corpse after corpse dragged itself out, surrounding him.

“Just sacrifices,” she said sweetly. “Weak, but in numbers... a problem for you. And that’s not all.”

She snapped her fingers.

The pool exploded in waves, revealing a monstrous, worm-like beast, tentacles writhing beneath its bulk, countless maws shrieking.

“A Moonbeast,” Muen breathed.

Tainted by the Silent Moon—power at a late-Tier-3 level.

And that wasn’t all.

From the shadows stepped a tall figure in a black raincoat, bloody cleaver in one hand, chewing on a twisted shadow in the other.

The Shadow Butcher. The real one.

“Oh, this is... bad,” Muen thought, scanning the clone succubus, the horde of undead, the Moonbeast, and the Butcher.

“An absolute death trap.”

She spread her arms, smiling. “Exactly. I knew you’d come for the Redfire Gang—so I waited. And you walked right in.”

Muen sighed. “Quite the honor, wasting this setup on a mere Tier-2.”

“No choice—you might be the biggest threat to our plans.”

She smirked. “Now—beg for mercy? Maybe I’ll leave your body whole.”

He touched his hat brim, lips curling. “And now you’ll say that next, right?”

Her eyes narrowed. Something was wrong—he wasn’t afraid.

“You have a way out?”

She blocked every exit with her minions. The Butcher took position.

“Heh.”

“If I were the old me, I’d die here. But...”

He gripped Elizabeth’s white blade. His eyes went cold.

“...I’ve lost too much to die now.”

“Kill him! Now!”

The minions surged—

But it was too late.

A light tap on his blade sent a note ringing far beyond the chamber.

Boom!

The wall blew apart. Light flooded in. Blood-stained thugs peered in.

“Holy crap—cultists.”

“Holy crap—monsters.”

“Holy crap—hot chick.”

Sam cuffed the last speaker. “Quit yapping. You’ve all got your new toys—what’s to be scared of?”

He brandished a sleek, deadly new crossbow: the 5th-Gen Mandrake Military Magi-Repeater—compact, concealable, with explosive enchanted bolts. A true army’s weapon.

And then...

A massive siege-class Magi-Cannon rolled in, glowing runes crawling its metal skin.

Even the succubus clone flinched.

“Royal Research Institute prototype—255-caliber unified magic-modified siege cannon!”

Yes, it could explode and kill everyone. But it could also blow a hole in a city wall.

“...Did you drag in an armory?!” she yelled.

“Just a little gift,” Muen said with a smile.

Who else but the Campbell family could smuggle front-line military stock into the black market?

He bowed with theatrical grace.

“Do enjoy, dear lady.”

And under his breath: “...I never said who would say hi to your father.”

“Sam!”

“Here!”

“Aim.”

“Yes!”

“Fire. Blow them to hell.”

Every monster roared, the Butcher lunged—

And then, in the roar of the cannon, everything was light.