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

The so-called death premonition wasn’t some metaphysical trick; it was a hyper-acute danger sense forged through countless brushes with life and death.

Like a spider that can feel the faintest tremor on its web and thus sense the prey’s movement at the far end.

But when even that faintest tremor didn’t exist—no Battle Aura, no magic, not even killing intent—and what seemed to be an utterly ordinary person simply stumbled in front of him, there was no way Muen’s death warning could trigger in advance.

Thus, only when the dagger-like claws sprang out from between the man’s swelling fingers did Muen fully react—his Alchemy Core whirred in an instant.

But it was already too late. Those razor claws were practically touching Muen’s chest, and the slowed time still wasn’t enough for him to Shadow-Step out of danger.

A professional assassin.

A sharp gleam flashed through Muen’s eyes as his thoughts spun madly.

Without long-term special training, it would be impossible to achieve such perfect concealment with such explosive release.

This was a premeditated assassination.

Within the time-dilation, Muen could even see the assassin’s eyes erupt with volcanic ferocity, cruelty, and killing intent all at once!

However—

It was like trying to pass security with only a plastic knife.

Sure, you’d gain concealment; but a plastic knife... can it kill?

“Coming to kill me without using magic or Battle Aura—who do you think you’re looking down on?”

A vicious glint surfaced on Muen’s face and, in that instant, he did not retreat but advanced—choosing to ram himself straight into the assassin’s claws!

Blood sprayed!

His chest garments tore open; the claws plunged hard into his flesh.

But those claws that had been streaking toward his heart were clamped midway—locked fast by pectorals trained to iron hardness and reinforced by Battle Aura.

A flicker of panic finally showed in the assassin’s eyes as he stared at Muen in disbelief:

“H-how... how is this possible? According to intel, you weren’t this strong!”

“Heh. I see. You came to kill me with outdated intel. You really do look down on people.”

Muen sneered, leaning in and grabbing that swollen forearm.

Then—thunder!

Shockwaves roared; the assassin’s engorged musculature twisted in an instant.

Without the reinforcement of Battle Aura, beastialization still amounted to mere flesh and blood.

Blood sprayed again.

This time, the assassin’s.

Crimson spurted, forced out from under muscle and skin. Guided with ease, Muen’s shockwaves bored straight into the assassin’s vulnerable organs and shredded them.

“Guh—”

The assassin coughed up fragments of viscera; more than half his life was stripped away in a heartbeat.

His eyes dimmed, losing focus.

He knew he’d failed. Despair rose in his gaze—then quickly hardened... into vicious resolve!

He bit down savagely, aiming to crush whatever was hidden between his teeth.

But—

Right before him, the duke’s son described in intel as “around Second Rank, fierce techniques, adept with twin blades” didn’t even draw a blade. His figure simply blurred for an instant—

A big hand appeared without warning, clamped his jaw, and—crack—snapped it.

“Whether it’s dramas, novels, or real life—why do you people always hide your suicide poison in your mouths?”

Ignoring the blood still flowing from his chest, Muen gripped the assassin’s neck one-handed and hoisted him up, speaking with a half-smile:

“Are the ones who hired you really that stingy—couldn’t even spring for a curse failsafe?”

The assassin dangled limply in Muen’s grasp. His limbs were shock-broken, his organs shock-mauled; he could do nothing now.

Not even kill himself. The thought of having failed, falling into the target’s hands, and the interrogation and torture to come filled his blood-streaked, trembling face with thick terror.

That was how it should have been.

Yet Muen didn’t see fear on his face; instead, at those blood-smeared lips... he saw a strange smile.

He’s smiling?

Why?

Don’t tell me—

“Careful!”

“Young Master Muen!”

Two cries, and Muen’s death warning, rang out in perfect sync—

Like needles, stabbing his nerves.

Muen’s pupils snapped sideways—and then he saw the other person at his side.

The one he’d neglected.

The waiter.

The same waiter who, to Muen’s senses, was also just an ordinary person.

But with a sharp crack, an unremarkable bracelet on the waiter’s wrist shattered.

In that instant, a terrifying aura—long suppressed—erupted all at once!

Third Rank!

Unlike the first man’s “dumb method” of dumping his inner magic and Battle Aura to mask himself, the waiter had used an expensive magitech device to hide power a whole major realm above Muen!

In other words, that first assassin had only been a feint.

The real act was this waiter—the one who pulled out Muen’s chair, poured his wine, bustled back and forth at his side again and again—who hid and hid without striking, waiting until Muen’s attention was diverted, until he was at his most relaxed...

Only then did the waiter strike!

And when he did, it was swift as thunder.

The razor dagger in his hand reached Muen’s chest in a single instant, once again angling straight for the heart!

Unavoidable.

“Mother—!”

Muen cursed under his breath. The Alchemy Core burned hot at his back; time dilation ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) was slammed to the limit—sixtyfold.

He was ready to go all out.

But right then, the air gave a barely audible hum.

Muen froze mid-movement.

Because a faint holy gold radiance lanced across before the waiter, arresting his motion for one brief beat.

One beat was enough.

Muen’s features twisted; his figure blurred.

As if a video had been punched into fast-forward, his movement looked almost comical.

But in that split-second spark, he managed to twist aside from the fatal thrust, turning what should have been a killing stab into a slash that scored across his chest.

It still left a clear wound, and Muen roared in fury:

“Goddammit—you people—

just how the hell obsessed are you with my pecs?!”

A pure white arc flashed in the candlelight—Elizabeth appeared in Muen’s hand and, in the same motion, drove into the waiter’s chest.

...

The waiter collapsed to the floor, life completely gone.

No third assassin surfaced.

Shaun reacted quickly, summoned men, and sealed off the entire restaurant at once.

A terrifying assassination attempt finally came to an end.

Muen slumped into his chair, panting.

He lowered his head to look at his chest and let out a wry smile.

What the hell was this.

Go out for a meal, run into assassins—fine—but the weird part was that while he was fine, his pecs had almost been diced into eight pieces.

Are you all that jealous of the pecs that even Her Highness the Princess can’t stop praising?

“Y-you... you’re hurt!”

He was in the middle of griping when a voice—so flustered she forgot to disguise it, clear as a lark—sounded right in front of him.

Muen looked up in surprise and saw the violinist standing before him, eyes fixed anxiously on the blood all over his chest:

“D-don’t move. I’ll heal you right now!”

“Wait, there’s no need—”

Muen meant to refuse. The injury looked frightening, but to him it wasn’t much at all.

But the violinist didn’t give him the chance. She crouched in front of him, extended both hands, and from those slender ten fingers poured an incomparably pure holy radiance.

“This level of Holy Light Art...”

Watching the wound knit at a speed visible to the naked eye, feeling the serenity that pure holy light brought, Muen lowered his head and gazed at that face still veiled in mist.

He couldn’t help but sigh softly.

“So it was you after all, Liya.”