The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 436: The Unexpected One

Creak.

Creak.

A crisp sound, like all things being slowly ground under a millstone.

The entire gray ntal space split apart into abyssal cracks, centering on the rising black sun.

A pure-white corona surrounded that black sun, rotating gently, seemingly mild and radiant—yet carrying the power to annihilate everything.

“Ah... what... what is this? In the intel, that witch didn’t have anything like this beside her—”

The black-robed man stared blankly, unable to stop himself from wanting to kneel.

His pale face was twisted with terror; along the edge of his pupils, a scorched crimson spread outward, and thick blood-tears stread down from his eyes.

How pitifully small.

The spiritual power he’d once been so proud of—before that black sun—was nothing but an insect’s flutter.

Like an ant on the ground, daring to defy a supre god, throwing its fragile life into a scorching wind that tears all things apart.

But that was a difference in level—how could flapping one’s wings ever bridge it?

He felt his soul being slowly torn apart by that dreadful power.

Everything warped under the black sun—gray space twisted into grotesque lines, crushed, and finally devoured by that darkness.

Yet he couldn’t look away.

Even knowing he had trespassed against a forbidden existence, he couldn’t even crawl, kneel, or beg for rcy.

He could only watch—watch as that black sun, that pure-white corona, that cold and burning fla looked down upon him with indifference, consuming everything he was.

The black-robed man’s body swayed once, then collapsed weakly to the ground.

His hood fell away, revealing a bloodless, twisted face—and a pair of hollow eyes, as if burned clean through by fire.

It wasn’t only his eyes that had been incinerated. His soul was gone too.

......

“Phew... So there really was a mole inside the Church?”

Muen exhaled deeply, barely able to stand, leaning weakly against the sacred palanquin.

Putting on a show was fun and all—but the aftermath wasn’t pleasant.

The spiritual discomfort still lingered, no longer the tearing agony from before, but an intense feeling of depletion.

Like being drained dry.

“Damn it, that black sun looks pretty impressive, {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} but just nudging it eats up way too much energy.”

Muen rubbed at his temples with a headache.

Clearly, his own realm couldn’t quite keep up with the level of his power anymore.

Sure, he’d once outplayed the Withering King and mixed together the powers of several Evil Gods to make so terrifying creation—but that black sun was definitely not the kind of cozy little feedback system that returned power to him in balance.

More like a ravenous middle-aged man who’d nearly devoured him whole more than once.

So Muen’s current realm was only mid-Third Rank, maybe soon to reach late-Third. That kind of progress was already lightning-fast for normal cultivation—but it didn’t help that one insane thing after another kept getting shoved into his body, and every ti he used one, it howled for more.

Couldn’t keep this up... couldn’t...

Muen wasn’t even in bed right now, yet he still felt the sa kind of drained, wrung-out exhaustion as if he’d just been.

Utterly, indescribably spent.

This ti, too—if that black-robed idiot hadn’t attacked his ntal space directly, Muen probably couldn’t have finished him off so easily.

After all, anyone assigned as the Church’s backup assassin for killing the Saintess wouldn’t be a simple character.

“You okay...?”

Just as Muen was brooding over how hard it was being the old bull, a soft, trembling voice brushed against his ear. Two pale, delicate hands suddenly slipped from behind the veil and gently wrapped around him.

Warm Holy Light filled the air, easing away his fatigue.

“You—”

Muen’s eyes flicked around warily. In one smooth motion, he ducked inside the palanquin, grabbed those two mischievous little hands, and said sternly,

“You’re not supposed to show yourself carelessly! You’re the Saintess now!”

“Hmph.”

Liya let out two adorable huffs, puffing her cheeks.

“So what if I’m the Saintess? A Saintess can’t worry about you?”

“All right, all right—just saying, don’t be mad...”

Looking at the world’s cutest girl—now with the fully dignified air of a Saintess—Muen could only surrender instantly.

He slipped an arm around her slender waist, helping Her Holiness calm down.

“Good. It should be over now.”

Lifting a corner of the veil, Muen peered through the gap. In the sky, that massive blood-red hand was already collapsing completely.

A short yet eternal thirty seconds was running out.

......

“That is...”

The figure within the blood mirror seed to notice sothing, glancing casually beneath the hand—and his tone grew heavier.

“So that’s another one of your creations? Terrifying... The Church’s gotten this insane while I was gone?”

“Go mad all you like, but watch your tongue.”

The Pope’s voice was cold.

“That thing has nothing to do with my Church. If you want to complain, say it to that old bastard himself.”

Even as he said so, the Pope—standing in his exalted place—couldn’t help but cast a distant glance toward that damned brat.

A vein throbbed visibly on his forehead.

Even at a ti like this, still sneaking hands into the cabbage patch... bold, aren’t you.

“I see. So that one made his own choice too?”

The figure paused, then chuckled.

“Heh... In the end, you all deny the inevitable destruction and end to co, yet secretly prepare for it anyway. Don’t you find that ironic, Your Holiness?”

“But all of you—these futile struggles—in my eyes, are nothing but self-deluding, childish acts of cowardice.”

“You will all fail.”

The figure inside the blood mirror laughed softly.

Even as the blood-red hand he manifested began to crumble under the Pope’s relentless advance,

Thirty seconds had passed, yet his true goal remained unfulfilled.

“A little unfortunate, but no matter, I can still—hm?”

Just as he was about to withdraw, the figure suddenly let out a startled noise.

He looked down in surprise, as if sothing wholly unexpected was happening—even to him.

......

......

“It’s over.”

Muen dropped the veil and smiled at Liya.

“It should be safe no—”

Clang!

Before he could finish, the smile at the corner of his lips turned into a cold blade of killing intent.

His gaze sharpened. Elizabeth was already in his hand, stabbing rcilessly toward the swaying veil not far away.

A faint wind stirred the white gauze. It fluttered—and between the shifting folds, a shadow cloaked in black mist appeared out of nowhere!

He couldn’t see the person’s face, couldn’t sense their realm—but Muen’s danger instinct was screaming at full volu.

Far beyond that earlier black-robed attacker!

No ti to hesitate. Muen thrust his blade forward instantly, then turned and pulled Liya tight into his arms.

He didn’t know how the enemy would strike, but at least this way—he’d take the first hit instead of her.

No ti for regret over his montary lapse. His eyes stayed locked on that figure hidden in the mist.

Suddenly—the figure moved.

A flash of silver cut through the darkness.

A longsword—standard issue, probably snatched from so knight.

Though unremarkable in design, in that person’s hands it burst with fierce precision, deflecting Muen’s hasty strike.

Then the small, agile figure darted within the cramped space of the palanquin, moving with sharp, serpentlike grace. Finding a lethal angle, they aid the longsword straight at Liya—thrusting like a viper!

“Don’t you dare!”

Muen roared, slashing toward the black mist with his blade while tightening his hold around Liya.

“Eh?”

Just as the sword was about to pierce Liya, a clear feminine exclamation rang out from within the mist.

The motion halted—slightly.

A pair of confused eyes seed to glance out from the haze—first falling on Liya’s delicate, adorable face, then on Muen, who was clutching her tightly.

A brief flicker of confusion, thought, realization.

Then—

The sword that had been aid at Liya’s arm suddenly swung around and, with even fiercer montum, drove straight toward Muen.

An enraged, feminine voice echoed through the confined space:

“Lecher! Take your filthy hands off her!”