The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 477: Ability

“Good evening, sir.”

Through the faint evening mist, Sineel saw the figure remove his top hat and greet him with impeccable courtesy.

The flickering candlelight from a nearby window cast a dim glow on the man’s face, and Sineel caught sight of sharply contoured, almost rugged features.

“A Slav?”

Sineel let out a quiet exclamation of surprise.

As the most prosperous tropolis on the continent, Belrand naturally gathered people of all races—especially in the chaotic Lower District.

Slavs from the north, Herman people from the south, ascetics from the west... people from every region converged here, weaving together this city’s splendor and its darkness.

But he had not expected to et a Slav here. According to what he knew of the Lower District, those people who loved sticking in tight-knit groups rarely operated in this area.

“I’ve heard Slavs are all brute-force worshipping barbarians whose favorite pasti is stripping naked and dueling in the snow. I didn’t expect soone like you—soone skilled in magic.”

“...No, you misunderstand. I’m not good at magic.”

“Heh. A clumsy lie.”

Sineel glanced at the shattered ornant on his waist, pain flickering across his eyes.

“To push a magic arrow to that level of power, and you still claim you can’t use magic?”

“...With all due respect, that was just a rather trivial trick.”

Muen chuckled silently.

“But compared to , what’s really odd is that a dignified Royal Mage like you—soone of such exalted status—would run around the Lower District in the dead of night instead of sleeping. So? Who hired you? Who told you to do this?”

“You think I’m an idiot?”

Sineel stared at the strange man in front of him like he was looking at a fool.

If such information could be casually spoken aloud, he wouldn’t need to hide every trace of his identity and cloak his features in concealnt magic.

His identity as a Royal Mage absolutely could not be exposed; otherwise, resignation would be the least of his worries.

“It seems verbal communication is sotis utterly useless.”

Muen sighed regretfully.

“In that case, I can only be forced to use a little trick.”

Sineel’s expression sharpened.

Although fighting this strange man was not part of his plan—

Now that he’d co this far, the bow had been drawn and the arrow couldn’t be taken back.

Without hesitation, he raised the flute in his hand.

An imnse tide of magic, accompanied by lodious notes, instantly spread around him.

On the white bone flute, faint runes flowed—this was the “gift” the robin had given him, and also an extrely powerful magical instrunt.

For Sineel, its effect was no different from that of a mage’s perfect wand. With the flute’s support, his chant speed increased by a whole thirty percent.

But...

The mont the magic unfurled, Sineel was stunned to realize—

The man in the black formal suit... had suddenly disappeared?

Invisibility?

Illusion?

Sleight of hand?

Sineel’s thoughts spun rapidly. At the sa ti, another magic—one specialized in probing and tracing—was chanted in parallel, catching up to his main spell.

With both spells triggered at once, he finally managed to track the agile shadow within the night’s darkness—

Along with another incoming arrow!

Clang—

Sineel lifted his flute horizontally, already prepared.

A third spell—one requiring no chant—flared instantly.

The air before him seed to turn into a bottomless mire. The arrow was slowed again and again, and by the ti it reached Sineel, it had expended all montum and floated to a stop midair.

Even the explosive magic stored within it showed no reaction.

“As expected. Just so back-alley stray mutt.”

From the shadows, Muen pressed down the brim of his hat irritably as he moved quickly, using ti dilation to keep Sineel’s magic from fully locking onto him.

Sotis the difference between people was greater than the difference between a person and a dog.

And in the field of magic, this gap was especially brutal.

Self-taught mages who fumbled around with who-knows-what shabby manuals, who couldn’t even afford proper materials for experints—even if they trained for a lifeti—couldn’t reach even one hair’s breadth of a formally trained mage who had conducted countless experints and been guided by experienced seniors.

This was why the Origin Tower could grow to its current height. Magic was a profession built entirely on vast knowledge and accumulated experience. Strictly curated textbooks, knowledgeable teachers, thoroughly tested magical materials—these all saved students from countless detours.

Their combat power, naturally, was incomparable.

“My opponent is a seasoned, well-trained mage. And right now, I can’t even draw a blade.”

Muen murmured.

To hide his identity, there were many things he couldn’t use.

Like the glaringly conspicuous Elizabeth.

At most, he could deploy her alchemy domain to block the standard trio of spells mages were so fond of—sleep, dizziness, and shock.

But without drawing his blade, he sorely lacked proper ans of directly attacking a mage.

He couldn’t seriously just charge in and throw punches. In real combat, being reckless against a properly-positioned mage ant being drowned beneath a tidal wave of spells.

“In monts of crisis like this, I can only fully lean on my own strengths—bring out the fruits of my hard work—and deal with you in another way.”

Muen slipped past Sineel’s increasingly dense magical locks once more and raised the military repeating crossbow.

Thunderous blue light again flickered faintly along the muscles of his arm like coiled dragons.

Then, with a twist of his wrist—

He swiftly replaced the standard arrow with a single-use, specially-made magi-tech arrow that cost several million Aimier apiece.

Without hesitation, # Nоvеlight # he pulled the trigger.

“What?”

Sineel’s chanting froze mid-note.

As if sensing sothing, he didn’t even marshal his magic—he simply swung his flute with force, activating every remaining defensive artifact on his body in one instant.

“Boom!”

What he saw this ti was not an arrow.

It was a damn light cannon fired from who-knew-what corner!

A blazing column of light and fla—almost solid—burst forth, illuminating half the Lower District.

Sineel’s eyes went bloodshot as he watched every precious life-saving tool he had painstakingly accumulated over the years shatter in the beam’s impact.

The losses already rivaled the price of the very reason he took this job—the costly magical bone flute.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it! Bastard! And you dare say you can’t use magic?!”

Sineel completely lost his usual composure, roaring with the fury of a wild beast.

“My apologies, sir. Although you do look very angry right now, I must correct your mistake.”

On the night wind ca the slightly solemn voice of the “Slav”—

“This isn’t magic. This is money-power.”