I Am a Villain, So What?-Chapter 148: Manual

"...As expected, the legend of that person survived the Great Collapse," he said softly. "But no. I am not the Executioner. I was a Shadow-Blade. I fought alongside them, yes, but I could never reach even the hem of their cloak."

My mind raced. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

If the Great Collapse—the catastrophe that destroyed the Holy Empire—happened over a hundred years ago... how was this man standing here?

Was this Dungeon trapped in a time loop? Or was it a spatial anomaly born from the lingering regrets of the dead?

"This world," the revolutionary gestured to the sickly yellow sky, "feels like it’s blocked by an invisible barrier. Impossible to leave. For the first few years, I fought that tree demon over there. But no matter how many times I cut it down, it rose again. There was no resolution. It was as if the world itself was delaying our final showdown."

He sighed, resting his hand on the hilt of a sword at his waist.

"So, we formed a silent agreement not to interfere with each other. The demon corrodes this forest, burning it in an endless cycle, and I’ve been observing it. Like a hamster running on a wheel."

"We call this place a Dungeon," I explained, lowering my rifle slightly. "We entered through a spatial tear in the Fern Kingdom’s Ecological Park."

"The Fern Kingdom..." The man murmured.

"It’s been over a hundred years since the Holy Empire fell, old man."

"...Ah. I see."

He fell silent. There was no shock, only a deep, profound resignation steeped in regret. He looked at his pale, slightly translucent hands.

"Then I am already dead. I am merely a component of this Dungeon. An echo."

The Holy Assassin reached into his tattered robes and pulled out a thick, leather-bound folder. He held it out to me.

"Please, deliver this to the Executioner."

"I’ve only heard the legends," I replied, shaking my head. "I don’t know where they are. Besides, I can’t take physical items out of a Dungeon anomaly like this. Once the boss dies, the space collapses, and everything native to it turns to ash."

"So many restrictions," he chuckled bitterly. "It would’ve been nice to meet the Executioner in person one last time."

He shook his head and moved to tuck the folder back into his robes.

But my gut screamed at me. That folder was a hidden piece of lore. A legacy item. I couldn’t let it slip away.

"Wait," I said quickly. "There’s someone you might know."

"Hm?"

"Someone who, under his mentor’s orders, denied all the morals and beliefs he’d learned his entire life. He acknowledged ’evil’ just to barely escape the Church’s purge. The former Chief Researcher of the Lumeveil Dimension Research Institute... Merle."

The revolutionary’s eyes widened. A genuine, warm smile broke through his weary facade.

"Merle...?" He exhaled a shaky breath, pulling the folder back out. "It’s a relief that young friend survived. I owed the Institute’s Director so much. It weighed on me that I was adding to that debt without even paying the interest."

He looked at me, his gaze piercing.

"The will of the dead is carried on by the living, isn’t it? Faith never falters."

"It doesn’t," I agreed.

"Sorry for burdening you. Since you can’t take it out, it’d be good if you could at least memorize it. What is your name, distant descendant?"

"Lucien. Lucien Ashborne."

"Alright, Lucien. This manual compiles my martial arts and training methods. Its origins might be lost to history, but it will surely help you... a man who has already awakened the Divine Force."

I flinched.

He noticed.

Then, the puzzle pieces clicked together. The "familiar yet unfamiliar" presence I had felt when he appeared... it was the resonance of Divine Force.

"You have the spark, but you don’t seem to know how to use it, do you?" the revolutionary asked, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"That’s right."

Thanks to the game, I knew the superficial mechanics of Divine Force. But in Asteria Online, there was no system setting to actually learn how to manifest it properly, because the only people who knew how were wiped out a century ago. It was a lost art.

"Well, referencing this manual will be a good experience for you. Seeing a comrade wielding that light after so long puts me in an excellent mood."

He tossed the folder. I caught it.

"While you handle that," the nameless revolutionary drew the twin swords from his waist. The blades hummed with a brilliant, blinding white light. "I’ll go put an end to this endless cycle."

FWOOSH.

With a flash of pure light, he vanished.

He didn’t run. He teleported. It was the Holy Empire’s supreme secret footwork: [Flash (Blink)].

[GAAAAH! MY NEMESIS!]

The Treant’s roar shook the earth as the revolutionary materialized directly above it, his twin swords glowing like miniature suns.

"Let’s end this, old friend!" the ghost shouted, diving into the fray alongside the stunned Protagonist Party.

With him joining, the raid was going to end in minutes.

’I have to hurry.’

While the sky lit up with explosions of holy light, ice, and fire, I opened the leather folder.

My eyes scanned the ancient, handwritten pages. The text burned itself into my retinas, the diagrams and mana pathways downloading directly into my brain.

As I read the first few pages, my breath hitched.

"...My God."

****

The battle against the Primordial Blight-Root lasted nearly an hour, turning the rotting valley into a cratered wasteland of ice, fire, and acid.

Mariella summoned torrential storms to douse the corrosive green flames, while Elisha’s arrows relentlessly targeted the Treant’s weak points—the glowing, sap-filled hollows that served as its eyes and mouth. Even as the enraged giant swung its massive, whip-like roots, Bordon’s Earth Avatar held the frontline, allowing Kael and Celestia to tear into the monster’s hardened flesh.

And then, the vanguard was joined by a ghost.

The nameless revolutionary moved like a streak of pure starlight. Wielding his twin swords, he bypassed the physical defenses entirely, his blades slicing through the corrupted mana cores hidden deep within the wood.

[Ahhh! It burns! It burns!]

The Blight-Root let out a final, agonizing shriek that shook the very fabric of the spatial anomaly.

[Even if I die... my kin aren’t here to see the rot spread! Aaargh!]

With a blinding flash from the revolutionary’s cross-slash, the colossal Treant imploded. It collapsed in on itself, turning into a mountain of gray ash that blew away in the suddenly still wind.

"Haa... haa...!" Bordon dropped to his knees, his shield dissipating. "That was... tough!"

"We protected the frontline well today, too!" Mariella cheered weakly, using her staff to stay upright.

"We... we actually did it," Elisha breathed, lowering her bow, her hands shaking from mana exhaustion.

As the party prepared to savor their hard-fought victory, Kael’s focus remained fixed on the sudden ally.

’That person...’ Kael thought, his grip on his golden sword tightening.

Though dressed in shabby, soot-covered clothes, Kael couldn’t miss the fabric’s once-noble quality. More importantly, he recognized the faint, glowing embroidery of the crossed guns and the sun—the lofty crest of a forgotten belief.

Kael approached the figure, who was slowly sheathing his twin swords.

"Are you, perhaps... a Holy Assassin?" Kael asked cautiously.

The revolutionary paused, turning his weary eyes toward the young swordsman.

"Hm? You recognize this crest, young man?"

"How could I not?" Kael’s voice trembled with a mix of reverence and hidden sorrow. "My grandparents were from the Holy Empire."

And I am a Crown Prince without a country, inheriting the Imperial bloodline. Kael swallowed the latter part. It was a secret he couldn’t reveal, not even to his closest friends.

"It’s classified," the ghost chuckled softly, "but with the Empire gone, there’s no need to hide it anymore. Yes. I was a Holy Assassin. I served the Executioner. And I heard... you are from a hundred years after the Great Collapse?"

"That’s right," Kael bowed deeply. "I am Kael Ardyn. My grandparents escaped the Holy Empire during the Great Collapse and sought refuge in the Aurelian Empire."

Kael hadn’t been born during the Empire’s fall. But through his grandparents, who had lived through the apocalypse, he inherited the Empire’s spirit—its radiant glory, its martial arts, and its unyielding faith in the grand cosmic order of the Divine.

"Hm. I see," the ghost smiled, a look of profound peace settling over his translucent features. "Today is a special day. To hear news of my homeland, and to meet its descendants twice in one hour."

Kael flinched. Twice?

Now was the time to ask.

"Um...!" Kael took a step forward. "You were talking to Cadet Lucien earlier, weren’t you? Is Lucien also from the Holy Empire? Is he... is he the Executioner’s successor?!"

RUMBLE!

The question was cut off by a deafening roar. The ground violently shook.

"Eek!" "Whoa?!"

It was a tremor so intense that even seasoned warriors like Bordon lost their balance. It wasn’t just an earthquake; the spatial walls of the Dungeon were crumbling. With the boss dead, the pocket dimension was collapsing to return to reality.

"It is time," the Holy Assassin said, his legs already turning into motes of golden light. "Time to part, young heroes of the future."

Kael reached out desperately. "Wait! I have to know! Who is Lucien Ashborne?!"

The revolutionary looked at Kael, his form fading into the wind.

"Ask that Lucien fellow himself."

With those final words, the nameless revolutionary vanished like smoke, ascending after completing his century-long mission. Into eternal rest.

Kael stood there, lowering his hand. He deeply regretted not getting a straight answer, but in his mind, he was already completely certain.

’Lucien is a member of the Executioners. Or a direct descendant of the Executioner...

Kael offered a silent prayer for the loyal servant of their fallen homeland, his respect for the "Trash of the Academy" skyrocketing to dangerous levels of misunderstanding.

The world trembled as it began to reconstruct.