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

Under the Pope’s calm gaze, Muen couldn’t help but have his breath catch.

That discomfort—so close to feeling as if his entire being were seen through—rose again from the bottom of his heart, just like when facing Professor Meladomir and that natural disaster.

But unlike those times, all the secrets on his body—whether the Divine Favor of the Withering King, or the Holy Sword that had been completely reshaped into his form thanks to Professor Meladomir’s “train-your-student-by-digging-pits” strength—none of these were things he could lay out before the Church of Life.

If this Pope gave face to Professor Meladomir, that would be fine; but if he were the sort who hated evil with a passion, and for the purification of this world, for the world peace brought by the Goddess, for a bright future and the children...

Anything related to Evil Gods must die.

Muen had already begun to imagine himself being miserably tied to a stake and burned alive, then his senior, the princess, and Professor Anne charging into the wicked Church with a sword in one hand and his urn in the other to avenge him, beginning a grand, tear-stained epic of revenge...

Wait, isn’t that tone a bit off?

Why is the premise that I have to die.

Wouldn’t a sweet, loving rom-com be better?

“Kid, you’ve got guts.”

Just as Muen was trying to wrench his thoughts back onto the rails, the Pope gave a faint smile—but no matter how Muen heard it, that smile grew ever more meaningful.

Muen immediately straightened his back, lowered his head, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“No, I truly am praising you.”

The Pope suddenly raised his hand.

But what fell was not thunder, it was gentle dew.

That broad, utterly dry hand patted Muen’s shoulder, and the voice that came with praise was like a cool breeze brushing past:

“I’ve seen many so-called geniuses who are all show and no substance, but a young man like you, who can still hold a brave heart even before me, is rare indeed.”

You could just say my ability to court death is above average.

Muen’s mouth twitched.

Still... does this mean ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) he’s passed?

Muen wiped away his sweat, lifted his gaze a touch, and sneakily sized up the Pope.

On that kindly face there wasn’t the slightest trace of the so-called disgust or hatred—only the sincere admiration of an elder for an outstanding junior.

Professor Meladomir did not deceive me. This trip to the Church isn’t as dangerous as I imagined!

“Your Holiness flatters me. I’m just a coward who’s afraid of dying.”

Suppressing his inner joy, Muen hurried to be humble:

“It’s Your Holiness who differs from what I imagined.”

“And what kind of person did you think I’d be?” the Pope asked with curiosity.

“Hmm...”

Muen thought for a moment, gesturing:

“I originally thought that, as His Holiness the Pope, you should be... more imposing. Yes—imposing. But I didn’t expect you to be so kind, so kind that I’m... somewhat overwhelmed.”

“Oh?”

The Pope suddenly raised an eyebrow, smiling-not-smiling:

“In your eyes, I’m just the kind of old man who ought to be immediately buried in the ground, stiff and decayed, am I?”

“No, no, no, I didn’t—”

“—Of course I am.”

“...”

The sudden twist almost threw out Muen’s back.

The Pope, unbothered, went on:

“For an old man like me who’s had the cheek to live for several hundred years, I should have been buried long ago. It’s only for a certain obsession that I cling to a hope that may not even exist. ‘Stiff and decayed’ is indeed the most fitting description for me.”

“Come on, compared to a certain old loli, Your Holiness is still quite young!”

Without hesitation, Muen shoved his unscrupulous teacher out as the backdrop.

“True.”

The Pope nodded, smiling:

“After all, that Meladomir—already a thousand years ago was—”

Seeing Muen’s eyes suddenly sparkle with gossip-light, the Pope cut himself off mid-sentence, reached out, and at last accepted the letter from Muen’s hands.

But he didn’t open it; he set it casually to the side.

“Um... Your Holiness won’t open it for a look?” Muen blinked and asked.

“No need. I already know why you’ve come.”

“Your Holiness has the power of foresight?”

“It’s not foresight. It’s that our roads are fundamentally similar—only our goals differ.”

The Pope said blandly:

“So with a slight look into the distance, one can know how far the other has gone.”

“Our roads are fundamentally similar?”

Muen rolled the words around.

Could it be that the Church of Life also...

“A trifling matter, pay it no mind. However...”

The Pope looked Muen up and down again, as if peering straight through the surface to observe the complex patterns and the core behind his body, and sincerely praised:

“To push that to this extent in such a short time—you truly exceed my expectations, Muen Campbell. No wonder that dead... that most venerable Grand Archmage chose you as her disciple.”

“Overpraise, overpraise.”

Muen scratched his head. Being praised again and again by the most exalted person in this world—even he couldn’t help feeling a bit lightheaded.

“So...”

The Pope’s tone swerved. “Will you participate in this Hallowing Rite?”

“The Hallowing Rite? Of course I—”

Muen almost blurted it out.

But his eyes shifted, and suddenly a certain instinct—formed automatically by having suffered too many ‘encounters’—began to attack him.

He forcibly swallowed the second half of the sentence.

Something’s off.

Very off.

Even if he had worked hard for so long and could be considered a little excellent, did this elderly man before him—as the dignified Pope—really need to praise him again and again?

Because he was Professor Meladomir’s disciple?

But this Pope didn’t look like the sort to praise a child just to give an adult face—and he had no need to do so.

He was acting almost as if...

A chill shot through Muen. Although the Pope still wore a kindly expression, Muen seemed to see him warmly sling an arm over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling into an evil smile as he pointed ahead.

Look.

There’s a pit here.

Hurry up and jump.

“Um... may I be so bold as to ask one question?”

“Ask.”

“If I don’t participate, then I can’t receive the Holy Light Baptism, right?”

“Under normal circumstances, no.”

The Pope glanced at the letter and smiled:

“But considering her face—and the price she has paid—I can arrange an extra baptism for you.”

“I—I see?”

Muen’s eyelid twitched.

Professor Meladomir!

Though she insisted I must participate in the rite, she’d actually already paved another path for me in secret?

Domineering, tsundere, sharp-tongued, soft-hearted, white-haired old loli—I adore you!

I’ll be sure to properly show my filial piety later!

“Then I’ll pass.”

Muen wiped a line of cold sweat and mustered his courage:

“My purpose in coming to the Holy City was never to attend this rite. There’s no need to join the crowd.”

“Really?”

The Pope did not seem surprised. With a kindly smile he said, “Though it’s called a rite, the so-called rite only truly lands in the final moment; thus ‘trial’ would be a more fitting description. For you young people, it’s a rare opportunity—otherwise so many wouldn’t flock to it.”

“No, no, no—forget it, truly forget it. It’s not like I’m short on trials.”

What trial is more effective than being hunted by an Evil God.

He’d already fulfilled his mission of meeting the Pope and delivering the letter. Next, as a guest, he could attend as a spectator, slack off a bit, buy a few local specialties—doesn’t that sound great?

Why insist on joining a dangerous trial where people fight to the death?

Those eligible to participate were the elites of elites from every nation and faction!

Even if the rewards were generous, to a salted fish like him whose every decision was based on preserving his own life, there wasn’t much appeal.

Besides—

Just traveling with him had already thrown Liya into such upheaval. Who knew how much the original plot would skew if he even went to that Hallowing Rite.

Even if he didn’t team up with her, he couldn’t take that risk.

That girl’s lifelong pursuit could not be warped by the intrusion of someone outside of fate like him.

Better to wait for Ariel.

In any case, she should soon make it out of the forest.

That was the stage suited for her.

As for the Academy—later he’d invest more in the Academy in the name of House Campbell. Professor Prang and the Headmistress would probably forgive him.

His thoughts raced, and Muen quickly settled on his operating plan for this event.

In short, as for this Hallowing Rite—Muen Campbell would rather starve to death, jump from here, and absolutely not participate!

“Seems you’ve already decided.”

The Pope shifted his gaze, took a pouch of fish feed from his robe, and scattered it into the pool. Countless ink-colored fish swarmed in, like bold strokes of a splashed-ink painting.

“In that case, I won’t try to persuade you. I trust you have your own plans.”

“Thank you, Your Holiness.”

Muen breathed a sigh of relief.

Yet he couldn’t help feeling a bit puzzled—was he really being let off this easily?

Could it be he was overthinking? PTSD born from too many persecutions?

Perhaps His Holiness the Pope hadn’t intended anything like that at all?

“You may withdraw. I’ll have them begin preparations for the Holy Light Baptism you require. You can reside at the cathedral for now.” The Pope waved his hand, his calm face betraying little extra emotion.

“Yes—then I’ll trouble Your Holiness.”

Muen didn’t bother with meaningless thoughts any longer. He bowed once more and respectfully took his leave.

As he gently closed that ordinary door, peace returned to the room; only the happy splashing of fish could be heard.

The Pope gazed at the little fish drawn by the feed. Reflected in the rippling water remained the same kindly, benevolent face.

Only the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Heh. Want to stay out of it? But since you’ve already stepped in with half a foot, how can the word ‘cause-and-effect’ be so easily shaken off?”

With a flick of his hand, the school scattered at once—like fate itself, unfathomable.

“Besides.”

The Pope raised his head, as if peering through layer upon layer of walls to see that lightly stepping figure walking away. His time-worn eyes narrowed with pleasure as he sneered:

“Fleecing us once is one thing—but coming back for seconds? The things of my Church aren’t so easily taken.”