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

“Two Fourth Rank warriors, one Sublimation Rank mage, and... one ordinary man. You people really think highly of me, a mere Second Rank warrior.”

Faced with the four surrounding him, Muen sighed helplessly.

Up until now, the toughest opponent he had beaten head-on was only that Third Rank peak banshee.

And yet every single one of these people before him radiated an aura more terrifying than hers.

Maybe they hadn’t offered themselves wholly to an Evil God the way she had, gaining that undying vitality where even decapitation didn’t matter—but the bloodlust and murderous stench hanging on these people proved they weren’t cowardly creatures who relied on divine corruption and nothing else. They were true desperados, the kind who hung their heads on their belts.

That sort of person... was often even more frightening.

And then—

Muen turned his eyes toward the priest who hadn’t looked at him once, who still had his back turned and was praying devoutly.

No matter how he probed, this one was an ordinary man, without the slightest trace of magic or aura.

—He might as well have written across his forehead: I’m the weak point. Break out through me.

But in stories, wasn’t it always this type that turned out to be the most terrifying?

For now he didn’t want to overthink. Muen turned his head back.

“So? Since everyone’s so enthusiastic, aren’t you going to introduce yourselves?”

“Haha, does the Duke’s son want to die an ‘informed ghost’?”

The grim man grinned wide. “Fine, I’ll let you carry my name down to hell, make the devils there tremble too. Listen well—my name is Barton. Barton the Corpse-Severer!”

So damn chuuni...

Muen’s mouth twitched. His eyes shifted.

“Fular.”

The woman gave only her name, then fell silent.

“Hyena, honored Ten Billion.”

The crazed man’s voice was hoarse. “That’s what everyone calls me. As for my real name? Long forgotten, hahaha, forgotten, forgotten!”

“Great Lord...”

Alright.

One chuuni.

One woman.

One lunatic.

And... one zealot.

A perfect little lineup. Pity there seemed to be nothing useful he could draw out of their mouths.

“Muen.”

At that moment, Liya quietly tugged his hand, whispering into his ear:

“I know these people.”

“Hm?”

“I saw these names in the papers. They’re terrifying—wanted across the Empire, even the continent.”

Her voice trembled.

“Corpse-Severer Barton, who loves to drink fresh blood and has a necro-abuse fetish. The younger of the Basha sisters, defectors from the Origin Tower—she personally killed her teacher and numerous imperial pursuers.

“And Hyena the Man-Eater, said to come from a secret imperial laboratory, a monster with hands drenched in blood.”

“I see...”

Muen curled his lips in a stiff smile.

“Pretty much what I thought.”

Because besides true desperados like these, who else would dare take a contract to hunt down the Duke’s own son?

But guessing right didn’t make it any happier.

“Seems a straight fight won’t work.”

Seeing their smug, mocking looks, Muen suddenly spoke:

“Gentlemen, how about we talk?”

“Talk?”

Barton sneered.

“What’s there to talk about with prey? Does the noble Duke’s son want to pick his manner of death? Fine. Do you want to be hacked apart alive, or skinned first then have your tendons pulled?”

“Sorry, neither. I was pampered since childhood—I’m very afraid of pain.”

Muen shrugged, put on a spoiled young master’s frightened look, and winked.

“How about this. You want money, and I don’t want to fight. Whatever your employer offered, I’ll pay double!”

“......”

Silence fell.

Fular’s eyes snapped open, staring at him in shock.

Even Barton, about to jeer, was caught off guard by Muen’s sheer arrogance.

Hyena was muttering to himself, words like “twenty billion” slipping from his mouth.

The tense air suddenly eased.

“Gulp...”

Barton swallowed.

“Really?”

“Of course. What good would lying do me now?”

“Can you pay now?”

“Not now. No one carries that much money on them, right?”

Muen spread his hands.

“You have to at least let me walk out first.”

“How do we know you’re not lying?”

Barton sneered.

“I’m not stupid. You’ll run to your Duke father the moment you’re out. I’d never trust a noble’s word!”

“If you don’t trust nobles, why accept a noble’s commission?”

“We don’t know who hired us. And... they gave a deposit.”

“......”

“In that case, since you seem so sincere, just give us a deposit too, and we’ll trust you. How about it?”

Barton’s eyes turned sly, landing on Liya.

“You seem to care about this young lady. Why not hand her over? Bring the money later and ransom her back.”

“Barton!”

Fular frowned. But Barton didn’t care, continuing smoothly:

“Don’t worry. We’re not like you hypocrite nobles—we keep our word. As long as you bring the money, we’ll return this lovely young lady... completely intact.”

His gaze slid over Liya’s figure, her perfect curves still obvious even under a man’s oversized coat. His eyes burned as he emphasized the words “completely intact.”

“What do you say, noble Duke’s son?”

“...Is that so. Sounds like a decent proposal.”

Muen pretended to ponder, then smiled at Liya.

“What do you think, Liya?”

“I...”

She stared at Muen’s gentle face, unable to find a trace of falsehood. Her eyes flashed with indescribable light. Suddenly she lowered her head, hands clutching the hem of her coat tightly.

“I... I can do it. If it can help Muen, being a hostage is nothing.”

Her voice strained to stay calm, but still trembled. Her knuckles whitened from how hard she gripped.

“...Very good.”

Muen paused, then turned back, still smiling warmly.

“Since Liya herself agrees, there’s no need to hesitate. I’ll entrust her to you for now. I’ll fetch the twenty billion—this little money I can manage. But in return, you must guarantee her safety... and her being completely intact.”

“Haha, that’s what I like! Don’t worry, she’ll be safer with us than with a useless waste like you.”

Barton laughed, casting another heated glance at Liya. At the same time he extended his hand toward Muen.

“Then... a happy partnership?”

“......”

Muen fell silent for a moment, then sighed lightly, as if convincing himself. He sheathed Elizabeth at his waist, showing harmlessness, and slowly stepped forward.

He extended his hand as well.

“Mm, a happy... partnership—”

In an instant.

His voice stretched unnaturally long, like the after-echo of a broken recording.

And what met Barton’s hand was not friendship.

But—

A thunder-wreathed iron fist!

Expressionless, Muen drove his near-instinctive technique into the strike. Shockwaves coiled, carrying crushing force, slamming straight for Barton’s face!

The air tore, the wind roared!

At this range, even a Fourth Rank warrior could hardly react in time.

But Barton’s sneer only widened.

Clang—

A dull roar, like steel itself growling.

Muen’s fist halted mere centimeters from his face, lightning snarling uselessly.

At the same time, blood sprayed before Muen’s eyes. Pain surged through his hand; his brows knit.

It was like punching a steel blade.

“Ha, haha, hahahahaha!”

Barton’s grin spread fully, mocking with unrestrained glee.

“Ha! Duke’s son! Ha! Campbell blood! Hahaha! Boy, did you really think I’d fall for that? Did you think I’d believe you’d spend twenty billion for a woman?

“Deceit, betrayal, abandoning companions, revenge afterward—those are tricks I’ve long since worn out!

“And besides...”

He licked his lips grotesquely. “Once you’re dead, can’t I do whatever I want with this woman? Why should I play along with your naïve game?”

“......”

“Haha! Fooled you, tricked you! My acting is flawless! You damned nobles are as stupid as ever!”

Barton stared hard at Muen, expecting shock, anger, fear—the things he loved most. His title, Corpse-Severer, came from watching victims crawl forward on half a body, intestines spilling, crying for help.

That sight gave him ultimate joy and ecstasy...

But—

Muen’s face showed none of it.

Instead—

The same mocking smile.

“Your acting is impressive, Mr. Barton.”

Muen still smiled, the same unchanging smile. But this one made Barton’s face twist.

“After all, didn’t you just fool... your companions?”

Muen’s eyes glinted with the same ridicule Barton himself had worn.

Huh?

Barton whipped his head around—only to see Fular and Hyena dumbstruck, unable to process the sudden turn.

Of course. Everyone was acting—how could they tell what was real?

And that—

Was the chance Muen had been waiting for!

“Liya!”

His roar burst from his chest, nearly shattering Barton’s eardrums.

In an instant.

Like a tide breaking, holy light poured down, flooding into Muen’s body from every pore.

The emptiness filled him, like standing atop the clouds.

He drew Elizabeth, the pure white dagger thrumming joyfully beneath the kindred radiance!

The suppressed fury flared in his eyes. Time slowed to a crawl. His blade became a galaxy descending from the heavens!

Thunder.

Slash.

Tenfold!

Boom—

Blade light crashed into the invisible sword before Barton. The storm shook the air.

But how could mere aura steel stand against Elizabeth, fed by holy light?

Blood scattered. A cut split the ground from Barton’s feet out a hundred meters.

“Damn!”

Like a clown’s mask torn away, pain wiped the mockery from his face. Rage boiled.

“Bastard! You think this matters? You’re still just a Second Rank ant!”

His body warped. Vast battle aura surged, condensing into a solid wall.

The sword light pressed down, but was blocked at last, dissipating.

Muen sighed faintly.

Stacked so many buffs, and still blocked. Such was the insurmountable gap of realms.

Teacher Meladomir had warned him: the stronger the technique, the more it required Fourth Rank to unleash true power.

Because at Fourth Rank came the first transformation—condensed aura.

Aura that could take shape—into sword, into shield.

Ridiculously powerful.

No amount of tricks could erase a gap in level.

But Muen didn’t falter.

Because once the rhythm was his, he’d decide the dance. Disco or cha-cha—the bumpkin had no say.

He gripped his twin blades. Slash. Slash. Slash again!

Tenfold!

Tenfold!

Tenfold!

Blood spattered, his skin split—but Muen ignored it.

Thunder roared, shockwaves raged.

Bathed in holy light, he was like an unyielding ox, unleashing storm after storm.

The aura barrier weakened.

After only a few breaths, Barton staggered back a step.

Then another. And another. Forced to retreat.

Finally, the barrier shattered. Barton spat blood, pale, and roared:

“Fular! Hyena! How long will you sit and watch?!”

“......”

A long chant rose. A flaming serpent coalesced, lunging at Muen.

He didn’t flinch.

Holy light flared, blocking the spell.

But then the stench of blood wind hit. Razor claws tore through the light, raking a gash down his back.

“Waaah! My twenty billion!”

Hyena howled, tears streaming, even as his twisted claws shredded barrier after barrier.

Each rake left bloody wounds and green venom.

Poison. Deadly.

Muen coughed blood but his face didn’t change. He kept slashing.

“Useless!”

Barton scrambled back, laughing, sneering, trembling.

“Hyena’s claws will rip you apart! Fular’s next spell is almost ready! You can’t kill me, Muen Campbell, you can’t!”

“Is that so?”

Muen’s eyes flicked around. His motions paused. He sighed.

“Seems I really can’t kill you.”

“Yes, yes!”

Seeing him stop, Barton exulted.

“Muen Campbell, kneel and beg! Maybe I’ll be merciful and leave you whole. Otherwise you’ll taste agony worse than hell—”

“Ah, no helping it. At this point, I’ll have to...”

Ignoring the threats, Muen calmly sheathed Elizabeth, speaking lightly.

“Use my ultimate move.”

“What... ultimate move? You have one?”

Barton froze.

“Of course.”

Muen sneered.

“Did you really think I, a Duke’s son, could beat you half-dead at just Second Rank without keeping a trump card?”

At once, the powerful spell about to swallow him recoiled, reforming as a shield before the grim-faced Fular.

And Hyena, eyes wild, also leapt back, shrieking:

“Ultimate move! Twenty billion’s ultimate move! Scary!”

Barton almost spat blood. Both of them retreating at once—

But it made sense.

What they thought was an easy job turned out to be hell. Muen Campbell was far more terrifying than they’d imagined.

If he could batter Barton like a dog with “ordinary” skills, then what of his trump card?

He might really drag one or two down with him. His display wasn’t fake.

So self-preservation was natural. One less ally meant more pay to split.

“You idiots! He’s lying! He has no ultimate move!”

Barton’s eyes bulged, retreating frantically, shouting:

“Kill him! Kill him!”

“Oh, Mr. Barton. If you don’t believe I have an ultimate move... why are you so afraid?”

Muen blurred forward, palm outstretched toward him.

“Stop running. Accept my wrath, Mr. Barton!”

His face was cold iron. Vast magic gathered in his hand.

Barton’s terror peaked.

Yes! He’s gathering all his magic. That’s the trump card!

He really has one!

Fear became despair.

He shut his eyes tight, awaiting death.

The others also braced, shields strong.

And in that despair, Barton heard Muen cry the deafening name of his move—

“Take my ultimate—Holy Light Alteration: Ultimate Demon-Piercing Flash—Illumination Spell!”

“Eh?”

They all blinked, stupefied.

What?

Illumination Spell?

And then, like a rising sun, blinding light burst from Muen’s palm.

Enveloping everything.