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

The night was deep, the rain torrential.

In the pouring threads of rain, Muen turned into a shadow, streaking swiftly through the complex and dim streets of the Lower City. The cold wind skimmed his brows and eyes, sharpening his outline into something a bit severe.

Silent streets, empty of people—save for... a viper-like killing intent flowing about.

A cold gleam severed the hanging strands of rain without warning, and as if practiced ten thousand times over, stabbed without a hair’s breadth of error toward the lethal point of Muen’s heart.

Muen twisted his body. Just like he had practiced ten thousand times over, he slipped past that long-gathered strike, letting the sharp dagger only scrape his coat’s hem. He turned his head and glanced at the figure in the shadows.

A woman.

Wearing a maid outfit.

Her expression was as cold as if a steel mask had been set over her face.

In eyes that reflected no light, there was not a trace of feeling.

The ambush failing to land didn’t change her gaze in the slightest; not even the rhythm of her breathing shifted a hair.

—Just like when she’d been alive as an assassin.

The woman did not retreat; she advanced.

The tiny dagger flipped nimbly in her hand like a fluttering butterfly, then with even more ruthless form, stabbed for Muen’s throat.

Ding.

Blades met.

The sparks that burst from Elizabeth and the dagger lit the faint smile at Muen’s lips.

“Looks like...”

Muen flicked the dagger aside.

He stepped in.

Pressed forward.

The woman blurred into an afterimage, retreating several meters in an instant.

But when she lifted her head, Muen was still pressed right before her.

A pure-white short blade traced out a brilliant arc of steel; in this pitch-black night, it bloomed all at once.

“My craft already far surpasses yours.”

Muen lowered his eyes, letting the blood on his cheek be washed by the rain, quietly watching as the headless maid-assassin before him toppled, ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ then turned into black motes and vanished.

“Farewell.”

Muen murmured softly.

Countless swings of the blade, countless deaths and lives.

From being insta-killed at the start to now defeating her with the very technique learned from her—unnoticed, more than half a year had passed.

And that span of time was enough for a man to undergo a rebirth.

“But it’s still not enough...”

Muen drew a deep breath and let Elizabeth in his hand dissipate.

Then—

He clenched his fist.

Swung!

Boom—

It was as if thunder splashed in the downpour. Under that colossal crash, the rain turned to fine mist, spreading outward all at once from the two colliding fists as a center.

For a short time, within several meters around Muen, a “vacuum” took shape that the rain could not enter.

Feeling the tingling pain traveling up his fist, looking at the naked man before him whose entire body exuded a beastlike ferocity, Muen bared his teeth in a feral grin.

“Come!”

He shouted.

He threw his fist forward again!

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

One punch.

Then another.

No fancy frills—just the simple collision of fists between man and man!

But that wasn’t how it had been at first.

When Muen first faced this naked man, he couldn’t force out the other’s full strength at all; with just a bit of casual technique, the man had tormented him until he wished for death.

That sensation of every bone and every muscle in his body being dismantled by bare hands—Muen still remembered it vividly.

But anything that is a technique can be learned.

And when your strength is lacking, you pay more attention to using technique to make up for it.

In countless life-and-death bouts, what Muen learned was not just Thunderclap.

By now, everything the naked man displayed had already become Muen’s nourishment!

But—

The Black Book’s records were not merely puppets copied out.

Aside from lacking emotion and the ability to think, they were almost no different from when they had been alive.

So when this seasoned adventurer discovered that technique could no longer affect Muen, he immediately and instinctively chose another style of fighting, tailored specifically against Muen.

Namely: breaking force with greater force!

When techniques are nearly matched, realm and power become the true keys to victory.

With the man’s realm and strength still far beyond Muen’s even now, crushing him should have been easy.

Yes—should have been.

“So you really are worthy of the name, Teacher Meladomir!”

Muen laughed aloud.

From his fist burst a deafening peal.

Abrupt and brief, like thunder boring through rock.

But if one stretched that instant out, one would find it wasn’t a single peal.

It was several peals stacked within a single moment, erupting into a force several times Muen’s original!

The instantaneous stacking of multiple layers of force naturally imposed a far more terrifying burden on Muen’s body.

As his fists hammered the man’s flesh, every one of Muen’s bones keened, every one of his muscles shuddered.

His skin cracked like porcelain. Scalding blood squeezed and spattered continuously from flesh, dyeing him into a man of blood.

But even bathed head to toe in blood, Muen had no intention of retreating.

On the contrary, his eyes grew ever brighter; his qi and blood surged; his adrenaline spiked; the ferocity on his face burned ever hotter!

Come!

Keep coming!

Not enough yet!

Make me happier!

After trading he couldn’t tell how many blows, he saw the naked man suddenly draw back, five fingers slightly curled like a beast’s claws.

“Haha, I can do that too!”

Muen mirrored the naked man’s motion.

Thunderclap.

A duel.

Thunderclap.

And... fivefold!

A full five peals gathered in Muen’s palm and then, in a single instant, exploded!

Like heaven’s thunder of creation, it ripped this silent night apart by sheer force!

...

When the aftershocks faded—

Muen glanced at his arm, nearly twisted into deformity, and sighed lightly. “I looked up your identity...”

“Your name is Rod—Rod Kazel, right.”

“Today is the first time I’ve called your name.”

He paused, placed a hand over his heart, and with respect, spoke softly:

“Then, Mr. Rod—please allow me, with sincere gratitude, to say to you... goodbye.”

In the stone dust gradually washed away by the rain, the naked man still stood straight.

Only, in the night’s silhouette, his entire left arm, along with half his chest, had vanished completely.

The outcome was decided.

Muen raised his head.

He didn’t know if it was just his illusion, but the man who should have existed only in memory gave him a slight nod.

Then turned into a soft glow and disappeared.

“So brief, and yet so long.”

Muen exhaled lightly, something unnamed brewing in his chest.

An opponent he once couldn’t even look up to—now defeated by his own hands.

At a time like this, what was he supposed to do?

Cry?

Laugh?

Celebrate with abandon?

No.

None of those were right.

This tiny bit of progress wasn’t worth pride.

The enemies he would face in the future would not give him the chance to respawn countless times, nor would they wait patiently while he stood still.

Therefore.

He must.

Keep moving forward.

His thoughts returned. The death crisis in his mind rang out at the same time.

Muen dodged sideways on instinct, but that flash of blade light kindled from the darkness still landed accurately on him, leaving a massive wound across his abdomen.

He had only managed to avoid the vitals.

“Fuck.”

Muen cursed, glaring at the seductive lamia swaying out of the dark.

“Even dead, you’re each sneakier than the last.”

“Whatever. It’s not like it’s the first or second time you’ve cheap-shotted me. I’m used to it.”

Muen let out a light sigh, shoved the intestines spilling from his wound back in, drew Elizabeth, and crossed the blade, cold light flashing.

“Come on—let’s keep going.”

Muen laughed loudly:

“If I haven’t died even ten times tonight, I’m nowhere near... satisfied yet!”