A Villain's Will to Survive

Chapter 271: God’s Meaning (1)

From the darkness of the volcanic cave, I watched as God appeared without warning, his face shadowed yet smiling.

“I wonder if you should go with him,” Carla said from behind.

At that moment, a system notification appeared—a new quest.

[Main Quest : God’s Meaning]

◆ Mana Point +200

No matter what, He was the final boss—the one destined to close out the game’s last chapter, whether by ending the act with a closed curtain on the play or by destroying the stage entirely.

Therefore, our meeting had always been inevitable—and the conversation that would follow, just as necessary.

“Come with me.”

I stepped toward Him.

“Let us begin a journey—to the Holy Era, my homeland,” He said, smiling as He gestured.

One word from him, rich with mana, transformed the dark volcano, altering the background and warping space itself—naturally and effortlessly, as if the world had always been waiting for his voice.

***

… Chirp, chirp— Chirp, chirp, chirp—

As birdsong swelled and sunlight poured from the sky, I let my eyes fall shut, and when I opened them again, the world had changed—replaced by a distant past lost to time that filled my sight, a village older and wilder than any the continent remembered.

There were no signs of concrete or cement—only earthen homes with thatched roofs and huts fit for a tribal society. Buildings shaped by nature stood among forested hills, clear mountain streams, and gentle warmth. Between them, villagers moved with easy smiles, in harmony with it all.

“This is the village of God, where I have long made my home.”

It was humbler than the world I knew—even shabby at a glance—but overflowing with transcendent mana, for this was the Holy Era.

“Come with me, Deculein,” He added, His hand pointing to the sanctuary—the largest in the village.

I nodded.

“We begin each day in our village with worship.”

He walked without haste, his eyes sweeping the village steeped in memory—as if he still lived among them, unchanged by time, still calling this place home.

“In this hall… no, the sanctuary, we receive God’s revelations.”

Creeeak—

The door of the hall creaked open, and inside, they waited—rows of followers, eyes shut in silent prayer, their silence filled with expectation for a revelation.

“I, too, am right there.”

Where he gestured stood Sophien—her long hair blazing like fire flowing down her back, and eyes stained a wine-dark crimson—completely unblurred by years or memory.

“Don’t I resemble your Empress?”

“… Indeed,” I replied.

“Your Empress was crafted in the image of my former flesh,” He replied with a smile.

I looked at him, confusion blooming inside me—no, the entire village confused me, since everyone was remarkably beautiful, yet not one bore a single sign of gender.

“We do not die, so there is no need to define gender,” He added, as if he had heard the question in my heart. “What purpose would it serve to divide ourselves by gender and have descendants when eternity stretches before us? All is as God has written. We live not through blood, but through belief.”

At his words—spoken as if they were gospel—I let out a scoff while something sickened me, crawling beneath my skin, and I turned away with a shake of my head.

A life denied human choice and bound solely to the will of God—what else could that be but fatalism, the very thing I’ve always loathed. No, it was fatalism itself.

“The life of a puppet,” I replied.

“Do you see a life of faith as no more than a puppet’s?”

“To me, there is no difference.”

“Hmm… I’ll respect that,” He replied with a puff in his cheek as he gave a nod. “However, we have lived without crime, without law, and without passion turned bitter. But I would not call that the life of a puppet. There is a connection among us. Beneath the grand will of God, we laugh, weep, we grow angry, and indeed, we love.”

Snap—

With a snap of His fingers, the world obeyed, and suddenly we were standing inside a hall of scholars, voices rising like wind through paper. The villagers gathered around a few sheets of paper filled with revelations—discussing and debating, their voices rising and curling like smoke.

“What follows worship is the work of interpreting God’s revelation,” He said.

“הפרשנות של משמעות זו דומה לגילוי הקודם.”

“לא. אל תיתפס יותר מדי בגילויים קודמים.”

I couldn’t understand a word they said. The language was so complex, so subtly structured, that even my attribute, Comprehension, strained to follow. However, I absorbed it all—every sound, every phrase—committing it to memory in full.

“We analyze the revelation, commit it to study, and through that journey, encounter the divine. Through this, we inscribe the course of history—and with each stroke, draw nearer to our origin, and…”

As He murmured on, He suddenly fell silent with His face tightened with sorrow, His lips curved in a smile, but His eyes—watching the world—trembled as if bearing the weight of tears never shed.

Would that be what longing looks like, if sorrow ever took a face? I thought.

“This… is our era. The word of God becomes our duty, duty becomes devotion, and through each passing day, we rediscover His grace anew in gratitude…”

I clicked my tongue as I watched Him sink into sentiment, pathetic being the only word for it.

“… However.”

Without warning, the air around him changed as His hands closed into trembling fists, His teeth ground together, and hostility burned in His eyes, drawn tight as wire.

… Did he just peer into my thoughts? I thought.

It seemed that wasn’t the case, for instead He added, “One day, God died.”

His tone barely rose above a whisper, yet it echoed like a scream held between clenched teeth, and fierce emotion burned beneath the surface, with the anger—slow as embers glowing with every word—still not faded, not even now.

“… And it was His followers who killed Him.”

The moment he spoke and his voice faded like a sigh, the world around us collapsed into darkness. The calm from before was gone, and in its place came a scream—no longer calm, but filled with rage, hatred, and murderous intent.

“האם עשית את זה!!!”

“דברים כמו זבל. האנשים שיש לשנוא ששכחו את חסדם!!!”

I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but one thing was certain that they were casting blame on each other, their emotions rising faster than language—felt long before the meaning ever reached me.

“We searched in torment to learn who had done it—who among them, so devoid of gratitude, so animal in heart, would murder the very God who created them, and for what reason? And in that search…”

Crackle—

From within the absolute dark, a lantern flared its faint, flickering red flame like a heartbeat in the silence, bleeding color into the void.

“I became the sinner.”

It was a prison housing Him, with Sophien’s face, and in that village of nothing but thatched huts and trees, the very first iron bars had been born.

“Our sin was that we failed to read the revelation for what it really was.”

“Revelation?” I repeated.

“Indeed, a revelation—one in which God foretold His own death,” He replied, meeting my eyes as words shimmered into being in the air.

Your indulgence shall lead to My death.

“From a single line of revelation, we each interpreted it differently, and we walked separate paths. I, in my blindness, thought it a call to deeper worship—to serve God with greater faith.

“But He had warned us of heresy. We were meant to seek it out and cleanse it from among us, and I… I failed to see,” He continued, his lips trembling as he closed his eyes, a storm of silent angers brewing beneath them.

“And after that, what followed next?” I inquired.

“… We warred for what felt like an eternity. Immortal as we were, we spent all our years searching for a way to kill one another. In time, we scattered—each to a corner of the continent,” He replied with a note of regret.

Then, as if reciting a verse, He added, “The greedy became the forebears of giants. The disillusioned became the seed of the fairies. And the heretical ones—those I once named godslayers…”

Suddenly, his eyes—steeped in hatred—locked onto me.

“They became human?” I said, nodding with a cold smile.

“Indeed, but that was not the whole of it. Most of the heretics, as you said, became the root of humanity—but a few became a certain tribe you now know by another name,” He replied.

As if offering a riddle, he waited for my answer, but to me, it was a simple problem—nothing more.

“Demons, then?” I said.

“Indeed, humans and demons share the same origin. Even the demons you so deeply loathe are but a branch of your own kind. Should humanity perish entirely, it is they who would be called human.”

“… Is that the whole of it?”

“Hmm?”

“There is one more that has not yet been mentioned.”

“Are you speaking of me?” He asked, a smile on his lips as he pointed to His own chest.

“Indeed. Then what of you? What did you become?” I inquired.

“Haha. You already know the answer, but do you wish to hear it from my lips?” He asked, laying His hand on my shoulder, tapping it twice, and pressing His forehead against my chest. “I tried to resurrect God from death. Even in His absence, I remained a follower myself.”

Then once more, the world transformed into the same village of God, but this time, a wholly different disaster had taken hold of the land.

Fwooooooosh—!

A whirlwind of ash and sand howled through the village like divine wrath rebuking a godslayer, and in the center of that furious tempest—so intense one couldn’t keep their eyes open—a voice cried out, loud and desperate, its scream tearing through the storm.

“This must not be! Come back, all of you! You must not turn away like this!”

The one who looked exactly like Sophien—no, to be exact, it was Him, the man now standing at my side.

“Did we not say—if we joined our strength, we could bring Him back?! Believe in me! I will resurrect God!”

He cried until his throat gave out, reaching for those who were leaving—but the sandstorm swallowed him whole, erasing even his voice.

“Come back! You were His followers once! You can’t just walk away—not like this! It was God you killed!”

Even as he cried until blood spilled from his throat, no one looked back, leaving him behind without a single person turning to see what they abandoned. Instead, what came back were harsh jeers—mocking Him as a fanatic, telling Him what use is a follower when God is already dead, as if His faith were a stain to be ridiculed.

“Come back! You fallen heretics! Come back—return and make right the sin you’ve forsaken! C-Come back! come back to Him—!”

He tore at His own hair, crying in the most desperate voice He had left, and when even that voice failed Him—shredded to silence—He stumbled after them, grabbing at pant legs and begging those walking away.

Even as they kicked him down and stepped over him, he threw himself in their way, blocking their path. But when not a single one spared him a glance, he finally picked up stones and threw them at their backs.

Plink— Plink— Plink—

The stones fell to the ground with no strength.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go…”

However, nothing changed, and He was alone, tears streaming down His face as he sank to His knees and stared out at the abandoned village with vacant eyes—like a soul unmoored, lost in a world that had already left Him behind.

“… If we could find in ourselves faith just once more—to offer true repentance—then surely God would come back to us.”

Watching Him mutter to himself with blank eyes—like the world had emptied out of him—hurt more than any silence ever could.

“I’m telling the truth. I swear it’s not a lie. But why can’t you…”

Eventually, He pushed Himself up—if only for Himself—and stepped back into the sanctuary. It was empty now, the floor strewn with shredded parchment and burnt revelations, as if they had been set alight and left to ashes.

“… The revelation must be preserved for the day He returns… for that day to come…”

Even as He stumbled like a doll with its threads undone, He bent to the broken floor, gathering scraps of torn revelations by hand and fitting each piece together with care before using spells to shield them from time and returning to the sanctuary.

Beneath the roar of the storm, He prayed without end, offering up all His hours and all His faith to a silence that never answered.

“… That He might return to me once more and accept the boundless offering of my repentance…”

Snap—!

With the snap of His fingers, the world collapsed in an instant, the scenery peeled away like smoke, and when the haze cleared, I was once again standing inside the volcano’s cave.

“However, God was never resurrected,” He said. “Though I knelt in prayer through ten thousand years of time.”

“… Ten thousand years?” I inquired.

“Indeed, I spent all those years in prayer,” He replied, a bitter smile touching his lips. “Waiting for Him, alone in that place.”

I met His eyes and said nothing.

“The sanctuary where I kept my prayer was slowly separated from the world. That was my death, though I did not know it then.”

… Perhaps that’s what made Him the final boss—His conviction wasn’t just stronger, but something my mental strength couldn’t even stand alongside.

“Now tell me, does Comprehension come at last?” He asked, His hand reaching out toward me. “Deculein, this continent was wrought from the sin of godslay itself.”

His hand moved up and down as if teasing me and waiting for me to take it.

“Therefore, this continent is in need of faith. Even the descendants of the godslayers deserve the chance to be forgiven. Though God did not return, I will rise in His place—I will be their God.”

I remained silent.

“Even God would have wanted this—for I was the truest of His faithful. I hold both the right and the strength to stand in His name as God.”

Boooooom—!

In that instant, magma burst from the depths, casting light through the cave’s gloom, and a crimson glow clung to his face like the kiss of fire itself.

“You already know the answer. How can you claim the name of God without even knowing my heart?” I replied, shaking my head with a sigh.

Even when I threw sarcasm his way, he only nodded with strange serenity—then pouted his lower lip like a child.

“Indeed, I know. But I felt the need to speak to you. You seem a talent far too rare to waste,” He replied with a shrug and a smile, raising a finger. “But Deculein, there’s one thing I’d like to ask you.”

I remained silent.

“What is a being like me, in the eyes of one like you as a human?”

“… Laughable,” I replied without hesitation as I didn’t need to think—no matter how mighty His power was, or how faithful a follower He was.

If I am being honest and think about it realistically, He is, after all, just a character inside a game. In that light, if we’re speaking purely in terms of hierarchy of existence, then Kim Woo-Jin—who is from outside the game as part of the company that built this world—may well be the superior being to Him, I thought.

Therefore…

“It’s laughable. You died a follower—never became God, never resurrected Him—and yet you dare to entertain the fantasy that you could ever take His place.”

His face stiffened for a heartbeat, but he shook his head with a smile, as if brushing it all away.

“Human, no—Deculein,” He said my name with calm deliberation. “I would like to see the expo—the place where all the magic and technologies of this continent are said to gather. It has been less than a week since I came into possession of this puppet. I would like to see more of the world.”

He mentioned Yuren’s Magical Expo, his eyes lighting up with excitement and a boyish smile spreading across his face.

“Furthermore, I would like to witness the humans of this continent, to know whether their original sin still binds them or if they are worthy of forgiveness, and I want to feel it through this body.”

“… And what if they are not to be forgiven?”

“Why ask what’s already clear?” He replied, brow furrowed as he gave my shoulder a tap with his fist. “They are to be cleansed. Faith is a promise reserved for the worthy. You, Deculein, are one of the few. If you ever choose to change your mind, you need only speak.”

And in that moment, I understood once more why he was the final boss and what made him the final boss.

“… Oh, I nearly forgot,” He continued, stepping forward as he raised his hand toward the volcano. “This volcano will soon erupt—not by magic, nor by tools of war—but by the design of nature. Neither you, Deculein, nor she are to alter its course.”

He motioned with his chin toward the bed where Carla was asleep.

“All I did was give her something to believe in, for she too was among the deserving.”

I turned to Carla, her breathing thin and fragile, as if she could slip away at any moment, ready to snap with the next exhale.

“Therefore, leave while you can. No human—no matter how bold—can stop what is to come.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“… Indeed,” I replied, lowering the suitcase from my shoulder. “Perhaps this eruption is the will of nature…”

I spread out the mountain of materials I’d dragged out from the shops in the Ashes.

“But even nature does not forbid tempering its consequences.”

Then, his brow twitched ever so slightly.

“I am not one to bend so easily, and if one calls it the design of nature and accepts disaster without resistance, then they have forsaken even the right to be called human and become a failure.”

As I began designing and assembling a Ductility spell on the spot, using the mediums and catalysts I’d gathered from the Ashes…

“It’s just a volcano. I should’ve had one more bite before coming.”

“I agree. There’s really nothing here, is there?”

“No, there’s something beneath us, and I can feel it.”

I heard them—Epherene, Rose, and Arlos—speaking as they walked down from above.

“Haha, your companions are here,” He said, a smile playing on His lips as He turned to me.

I cleared my throat.

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