Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 303: If You Live On

Iyana's blade clashed against Wyatt's for the umpteenth time, the sound of steel scraping steel ringing loud.

Her lungs burned from the exertion, her legs moved on instinct, and a sharp sting at the side of her forehead reminded her of the earlier blow—the surge of dark energy that had slammed her into the marble pillar. Blood had been trickling down the side of her face since then, sliding past her cheekbone and down her jawline, but she hadn't spared a second to wipe it.

There was no time. This fight needed to end.

But Wyatt was proving to be as skilled as she was—perhaps more so. Years of experience backed each of his strikes. Every time she tried to find an opening, he would already move to counter. Still, she didn't back down. Not once.

Because backing down wasn't something she ever did—not when someone she loved was still in danger.

In the midst of it all, a sudden gust whipped through the room, stirring her blood-matted bangs into a frenzy.

Her brows drew together.

Wind?

In a sealed banquet hall?

She pivoted mid-step, her eyes drawn across the distance—drawn to him.

Till she no longer saw him, his entire body swallowed by a tornado which appeared from gods know where.

Her heart dropped.

"No—"

Wyatt saw her turned gaze and thought it was his chance. He lunged with all he had.

A fatal mistake.

Because terror didn't paralyze her. It sharpened her.

Quick. Now or never. You have to protect him.

Iyana's aura erupted around her, burning bright white-hot, the full force of her powers igniting like wildfire.

Her silhouette blurred as she leapt into the air, twirling mid-air. Anybody who saw that move would think she was an excellent blade dancer with the elegance of a white swan. Her pristine gown, now painted with dust and blood, swirled like wind-blown silk. Her heels struck the marble with a sharp click as she landed in balance perfectly.

Before Wyatt could even register the danger, her hand shot out. She grabbed his shoulder mid-turn, locking him in place.

And she struck.

A clean stab to the gut.

Twisted it.

Wyatt held back a wrangled scream.

But she wasn't done.

She spun him around, and her sword found its mark again—straight through his chest, impaling him clean into the wall.

Finally, it was over.

Blood splattered out of his mouth in a single exhale. His jagged eyes locked with hers for one brief, terrifying second.

She held his gaze.

Not with pity.

Not with remorse.

But with indifference. Like the icy calm of a storm that had already made its decision.

Slam.

The sound cracked through the Grand Hall like the echo of doom.

Her soul knew it before her mind did.

Vee.

Her heart screamed in silence.

Then came the faint, tortured cough—wet, weak, fragile.

No. No, no, no—please hold on. Just a little longer. Wait— I'll keep you safe. Don't leave… Don't leave me. Don't…

Iyana summoned another sword from the small spatial pouch at her waist, her fingers trembling with urgency. And then she vanished. Her flash step was so fast, it left sparks on the ground behind her.

Because nothing in this world could stop her now.

He needed her.

And she would reach him. No matter what.

She arrived at the scene as two things—for Vyan, as the knight in shining armor, and for Jade, as a whisper of death.

Iyana didn't even need to look—truly look—to know that Vyan was in agony. She could feel it in the air, in the trembling remnants of his mana, in the way the wind had gone still as if mourning him.

But she couldn't afford to fall apart yet.

Because there was someone who had yet to pay their dues.

Jade's black vines were slashing through the air, racing straight toward Vyan with the wicked intent to kill.

Iyana moved.

No sound. No hesitation.

One breath, she disappeared from sight. The next, she was right behind Jade.

The witch had been smiling.

A desperate, deluded, almost victorious smile, finally thinking she had the upper hand, that maybe she could still win.

Then she froze. Her hopes shattered.

Cold steel pressed against her neck.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, breath caught in her throat.

"N–No… no, no, this can't—" she began, voice shaking.

"You have done enough. Shut up now," Iyana whispered, devoid of emotion.

And in one fluid motion, with a grace terrifying in its simplicity, Iyana sliced the sword through flesh and bone.

Jade's head fell.

Her lips parted to gurgle something that would never be heard.

Her body slumped forward, twitching and writhing and holding on to Iyana's skirt, as if still trying to resist death.

But Iyana stood still, bloodied sword in hand, watching with merciless eyes. The sight was nothing unusual for a battle warrior like her, but she had to keep watching till the last of Jade's movement faded into silence.

After all, dark witches were like pests.

They didn't die easily. You had to make them stay dead.

And now that she was sure, now that the threat was truly gone, Vyan should be safe now. No one could hurt her beloved anymore. So, her eyes finally turned back to him—the one who mattered the most.

She had to check up on him.

As she made her way to him, her feet felt heavier with every step. She prayed with a desperation she hadn't dared give voice.

Please let him be alive. Please let him be breathing. Please don't let things turn out like the other timeline. Please just… be here.

And he was.

Barely.

But he was breathing.

A shallow rise and fall of his chest. Weak… so very weak, but it was there.

Relief flooded her so fast, so hard, she almost choked on it. But it lasted only a second.

Then came the pain.

The raw, horrifying sight of him.

Half-buried into the broken marble, blood soaking through his clothes, shards of tile piercing into his limbs, his body battered, bruised, barely recognizable under the wreckage. A trail of blood spilling through the corner of his mouth uncontrollably. All the blood was stark against his pale skin.

Her chest ached so violently that she had to wonder if her heart was breaking in real-time.

But even as her eyes stung, even as her soul shattered, she forced a smile. A soft one. A trembling one.

Because he was alive.

Because this wasn't the end.

Not yet.

Before kneeling down, Iyana's eyes scanned through the burning hall. Her gaze found Althea. Cradled in Clyde's arms, healing herself.

She didn't know what had happened there, how their healer ended up in a similar condition as Vyan, but it didn't matter at that moment.

All that mattered was this:

Althea would get better.

And then she would come here.

And she would heal Vyan.

Carefully, Iyana leaned over, her hands trembling as she touched him as gently as she could. She cradled his head—the back of it so bloodied and wet that it made her fingers tremble—and slowly brought it to her lap. Every inch of him was clearly in pain, but she tried, she truly tried, not to hurt him any further.

"I know it hurts," she murmured and brushed the hair from his face with fingers—that were red and slick from his blood—so that she could see his beautiful eyes. "Just bear with it for a few minutes. Althea should be on her way. She'll fix you up soon," she said it more to herself than him as she watched the red liquid start to soak into her gown.

She couldn't bear to sit still, knowing that her beloved was in so much pain. But she still did. She waited. Patiently. Steadily.

Because he was still here.

And she wasn't going to lose him. She wouldn't have to live in a world without him. Not now. Not ever.

After what felt like eternity, the soft shuffle of hurried steps broke the fragile silence.

Clyde approached, carrying Althea carefully in his arms, her small frame limp, eyes shut in exhaustion.

Iyana was neutral until her brows furrowed the moment she heard some particular words from Clyde.

He had done this. He was responsible for… creating the tornado that landed Vyan in this condition.

The knowledge twisted something raw inside her.

She stayed quiet. She let Vyan talk. She didn't say a word

But her eyes did.

A piercing, furious glare burned into Clyde with so much restrained venom it made him flinch. His steps faltered, and his gaze shifted, nervousness etching into his voice.

He couldn't even look at her anymore.

As Vyan winced in pain all of a sudden, she tore away her glare and scolded him to stop talking and inquired about Althea so that she could heal him.

But Clyde told her next made her even angrier.

"But she fainted after the backlash. She can't heal anyone right now. I'm taking her back to the palace. She needs rest."

The words passed like smoke through a burning battlefield, and still, Iyana said nothing for a beat. But Clyde could feel the weight of her fury crushing the air between them.

If looks could kill… he would've died a thousand deaths on that marble floor.

But she controlled herself. There was nothing Clyde could do if Althea wasn't in a condition to heal. She just had to think like a rational person.

She didn't want to waste time here. Not with Vyan broken, half-buried in rubble and blood-soaked debris.

He needed rest. A bed. Care, potions, ointment.

With one last silent glance at Clyde—one that promised this wasn't over—Clyde went away with Althea.

Vyan, who was dazed and slipping in and out of consciousness, didn't catch any of her murderous glares.

So she moved with calm and gentle precision and slid her arms beneath him and lifted him up.

His weight in her arms was nothing. But the sight of him, barely clinging to consciousness, still hurt in ways she couldn't explain.

And yet… even then… even now…

She caught his eyes widen at the scene around them—at Wyatt's corpse pinned into the wall, at Jade's severed head lying still on the cold ground.

But instead of fear, or even shock, Vyan whispered something only he would.

"You okay?" she asked softly, tilting her head toward him, her voice a quiet oasis in the storm's aftermath.

He blinked hazily at her… and grinned.

"Yeah… just, you know… making a mental note never to piss you off."

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped her.

She raised a brow, the corner of her lips tugging upward. "Smart choice. You better be afraid of me."

But something in her heart squeezed. Was he truly afraid now? Of her?

"Nope, not a chance," he said, smiling through the pain. "Even if the whole world is afraid of you… I never would be."

That made her pause.

Just for a second, her steps slowed.

And her heart remembered why she loved this man.

Why, despite everything—his stubbornness, his sass, his recklessness, his idiocy, his evil streaks—he had been the one. The only one.

Because even when the world feared her... even when the battlefield fell silent at her rage...

He never did.

He never left.

He never looked at her with anything but trust.

And that's why—

That's why it would be okay…

If she died for him.

If he lived on… even if she didn't.

———

"No matter what happens to me, you must live on, Vee…"

As her eyes slowly drifted shut, the final image etched into her soul was the heartbreak in his wine-red gaze, glistening with tears he refused to let fall.

The last sound that reached her—a shattered sob torn from his chest—ripped through the silence like a dying star collapsing in on itself.

And then…

She was still.

Gone.

Resting in a forever that no longer had him in it.