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

At this moment, in the wide underground space, all the flames along the surrounding walls that served as lighting had been snuffed out amid the surging turbulence.

But darkness did not fully descend. On the contrary, under the countless tides of churning mana, the entire space seemed placed within a delicate glass vessel, stained with the colors of glazed glass.

Gorgeous—and yet carrying a desolate killing intent.

“Hurry, fill the gap—don’t let these damned things break through!”

“Left side, the left line’s broken! Where are the warriors? Warriors, where are you—can you meatheads put your backs into it?”

“Fuck—weaklings hiding in the back going biu with magic, quit yelling! I don’t have four hands here, I can’t do everything!”

Amid chaos and noise, blood spattered.

After several rounds of magical bombardment, the massive pack of magic hounds finally launched an overwhelming physical assault.

Densely packed hounds charged like a swarm, calling to mind those bone-chilling bug hordes from certain fantasy tales.

Even those qualified to gather here—the treasured prodigies and elites of various factions—could only barely form a defensive line under such terrifying numbers, gritting their teeth to hold.

“This won’t do!”

Seviel lopped off a hound’s head with one stroke, her face paling.

These hounds not only cast magic; most terrifying of all, even after being transformed into living things by divine power, their bodies still retained metallic properties.

Her hands were already numb from chopping.

Her magic sword had sprouted hairline cracks too fine to see.

At this rate, forget three minutes—they wouldn’t last even one.

“Why do these hounds feel like they were made specifically to counter warriors?”

Seviel gnashed her teeth.

Those hard, metallic bodies were a jaw-breaking bone for close-combat warriors; no matter how strong your flesh, if you’re fencing hard against a heap of metal, you’re always going to feel just a bit softer.

Compared to that, long-range mages were far more composed—and far more useful.

Thinking this, Seviel trembled with angry chill—how come even this broken place had anti-warrior setups? What about warriors—aren’t warriors allowed to stand up too?

Meathead warriors have basic human rights!

But...

A golden-haired figure flashed through Seviel’s mind...

He was also a warrior—and so handsome. Even if he was an enemy, even if she had to bow her head beneath him—he was that handsome, so warriors actually...

“Ow—”

Seviel was in the middle of her thoughts when a cry of pain sounded beside her, yanking her out of her brief distraction.

She turned. A man whose face was even paler than her well-maintained one seemed to have been caught by a nearby blast and plopped onto the ground.

“A mage?”

Seviel frowned and snapped:

“Why aren’t you helping—what are you doing?”

She herself had pulled back temporarily to recover because of backlash from attacking; mages didn’t have backlash like that. And though the hounds’ assault was scary, there was no way he’d burned through all his mana this fast.

To show up in this spot—trying to run?

“I... I can’t. I can’t do anything.”

Sitting on the ground with a bitter face, the man waved helplessly.

“My magic doesn’t work on those damned things.”

“Doesn’t work?”

Seviel blinked—then noticed the badge on his chest.

“Illusion School?”

“Yes.”

The man—Ailag—smiled ruefully and nodded.

“If they were ordinary magical beasts, fine. But they don’t even have the most basic intelligence—they’re operating purely on set procedures. My illusions are completely useless.”

“I see.”

Enlightened, Seviel promptly curled her lip in disdain.

“Even if your magic doesn’t work, don’t tell me you’ve got nothing tucked away. As a mage of the Origin Tower, you didn’t prepare any trump cards?”

“I... of course I have, but...”

Ailag’s face twisted with bitterness as he lowered his head in dejection.

“N-no... it won’t work. We’re finished. This is a trap to begin with—we’ll just be trapped here to die. Rather than suffer, we should rip the scroll and teleport out. Yes... just teleport out.”

“You!”

Seviel’s eyes flared. “Trash! You’re giving up without even trying? And you call yourself a genius of the Origin Tower?”

“Heh... what kind of genius am I? I got beaten in my best field, and in a situation like this I’m useless—just watching others get teleported out. What kind of genius is that?”

Thinking of the teammate who had been ambushed by a hound while protecting him, Ailag’s eyes reddened.

His once-strong confidence had been whittled down to almost nothing by the chain of events.

“You...”

Seviel spat in contempt.

“So you got beaten—so your teammate got eliminated—so what? You think you’re the only one who’s been through that?”

Look at her—her teammates were already out; she alone was left.

Not only that, she had to suffer the humiliation of following behind the academy’s and nation’s enemy!

If not for that man being too handsome—no, wrong—if not for her unwillingness, how could she endure this humiliation?

But she had never given up. One day, she would defeat that big-chested woman and get that transmission-stone frequency—no, wrong—win back face for her academy and nation!

At that thought, a surge of boldness welled up in Seviel’s chest. She couldn’t help but bark at the man before her:

“Are you really willing? After all you’ve gone through—after all this pain—and finally making it here, are you really willing to give up like this?”

“Willing...”

Ailag froze for a moment, then his expression grew complicated.

“Right... am I willing?”

“I’m the hope of reviving the Illusion School—my teacher’s proudest, most prized student.”

“And most importantly, to get here, I paid so much.”

“I... I even—”

He seemed to remember something. He squeezed his eyes shut; his body trembled.

To keep going forward, he’d even been forced to do that kind of thing.

So how could he give up?

Ailag opened his eyes; a blazing light burst forth within.

“Right. I can’t give up!”

“You’ve figured it out?”

Seviel’s eyes lit up.

“That’s right, I’ve figured it out. I can’t give up—I still have [N O V E L I G H T] a trump card!”

“Trump card?”

“Yes. My bottom-of-the-chest trump card!”

Ailag sprang up and pulled something from his breast.

“The trump card my goddess gave me!”

Goddess?

Which goddess—he was a believer too?

Seviel’s heart skipped. She couldn’t help looking with expectation at the thing in Ailag’s hand.

Then her face froze.

“This is... what your goddess gave you?”

In that instant, Seviel realized this goddess was not that goddess. Her neck turned stiffly as she asked.

“Of course.”

Ailag nodded hard, voice thick with emotion:

“This is what she gave me after my one hundred and seventy-fourth confession to escape singledom—she must have been moved. It represents our love!”

“I even thought, as long as I shine in this trial, I’ll go back and marry my goddess!”

“But there’s no helping it. At a time like this, even if it represents our love, I have to use it. Forgive me, my goddess!”

Saying so, Ailag tossed the thing overhead.

Seviel watched blankly as it left his hand—and couldn’t help blurting a curse.

“Are you fucking... sure this is your goddess’s love?”

Of course she recognized it.

Heart of Destruction.

A famous alchemical item on the black market—tremendous power, easy to use, hence extremely precious. Few could afford to buy one, let alone give it away.

But it was likewise near the top of contraband lists in every nation.

As for the reason... the name says it all. Once triggered, it brings total destruction to everything around it—

Friend or foe alike.

Therefore, it was also a famous user-killer, best known for one use: when you’re at the end of your rope, drag your enemy down with you.

And the “goddess” he spoke of had given him this—the meaning... went without saying.

Damn it—a simp never gets a house.

Seviel shut her eyes. Then the violent blast swept over her.

...

A few seconds later, Seviel—barely not sent off in one wave—crawled out of the smoke and dust with difficulty. Seeing the golden-haired figure not far away, the hot-blooded zeal in her chest hadn’t yet found release before tears streamed down her face.

“Muen, sir... I’m counting on you.”

...

“Alright. That’s enough.”

Feeling the gale of the explosion whipping at his back, Muen looked at the scene ahead where several people were jointly suppressing the prisoner. He snapped his pocket watch shut and smiled.

“It should be my turn.”