A Villain's Survival Guide

"I never knew you cared this much for me... Leo."

At Rosay’s mansion, Leomaris sat slumped in a chair while Rosay looked on with a teasing expression. Hazel worked quietly on his injuries, pulling out every shard of wood and applying alcohol to clean them properly.

Leomaris let out a sigh, his expression heavy with disappointment.

"Is this how you thank someone for caring about you... teasing them?"

With a reluctant eye roll, Rosay spoke.

"Oh, please. Do I look like someone who can tease? You were the one standing by the collapsed building with tears in your eyes."

Her words hardly settled before Leomaris’s mind drifted elsewhere. It was still the dead of night, and he reckoned news of the Laughing End’s run-in with the Black Arms would be doing the rounds underground by morning.

Given that the Sovereign of the Black Arms had scarpered by blowing his own headquarters to bits, the man would carry the news everywhere himself. And for good measure, Leomaris had taken it upon himself to have Hazel spread the word as well.

As the Laughing End’s name spread, so too would Mercy of Death. That was enough. Having a Philosopher of the Jester of the End’s calibre in his faction would be more than sufficient to keep his father off his back, at least for now.

He glanced toward Rosay, who hadn’t moved from the doorframe of his room.

"Did you obtain any answers from the Sovereign before he escaped?"

Rosay looked disappointed for a second, but soon a soft smile tugged at her lips.

"Honestly, no. But I didn’t need to. His reaction to seeing me was enough."

Leomaris’s expression went deadpan. "Reaction?"

Rosay nodded. "He didn’t recognise me. This means whoever used my identity only provided a description based on my notorious personality."

Leomaris’s eyes went wide with the realization. The Sovereign had been utterly clueless when Rosay stood before him.

He’d been told she was hotheaded, edgy, and arrogant, someone who sorted everything out with their fists. But this Rosay was calm and reserved. Nothing like what he’d been led to believe.

Which meant only one thing: whoever wanted to disgrace her was only familiar with the worst of her reputation.

"Yes... I do not use my notorious personality beyond the academy walls. The individual is within my class."

She stretched her body a little.

"I only have two days before my hibernation. I must find them before then."

Leomaris felt a soft smile pull at his lips, his mind already drifting toward what he was owed for his trouble with the Black Arms.

"Don’t you think I deserve something? Three things, actually."

Rosay’s expression remained neutral. Leomaris hadn’t expected that. She usually had plenty to say to him in moments like these.

Rosay shrugged her shoulders.

"There’s something I need from you as well. Do it, and I’ll give you whatever you want."

Leomaris grimaced. Whenever Rosay spoke like this, whatever she asked for always found a way to outweigh even a blank cheque. But he swallowed it down and chose to stay optimistic.

"What do you want?"

"It is said that the Jester of the End belongs to your faction, Mercy of Death... correct?"

Leomaris shivered a little. That had come out far too smoothly, and the whole of it made him uneasy. He hadn’t told her, and he was certain Hazel hadn’t either. But that wasn’t what was really eating at him. It was what she might ask.

’Is she going to ask about this identity?’

She massaged her brow. "I don’t need answers on how you managed to get a Philosopher to join your faction... but if you convinced him, then your ambitions are something I’m interested in."

Leomaris was confused. "You are saying?"

Rosay let his words hang in the air for a moment. "I am stating that I intend to join Mercy of Death."

"Huh?"

A soft smile tugged on Rosay’s lips as if Leomaris’s confusion amused her.

"I want to be in a position where I can be exposed to powerful individuals. You already have a Philosopher under your command, and that alone suggests that in time, you will command even greater leaders."

She adjusted herself slightly, leaning her sluggish body against the wall.

"Your goal is to gather powerful leaders from the underground community beneath your banner, is it not? That grants you access to multiple clans within your faction and gives those organizations a unified advantage in pursuing their goals."

Leomaris swallowed bile. He wasn’t ready to trust others enough to have them join his faction, not yet. But that was the whole point. Building Mercy of Death into something powerful enough to keep him safe.

"So your goal is to join... for more opportunities?"

Rosay gestured affirmatively. "I do not believe this is something you should refuse. After all, you have yet to understand my reputation within the underground world."

His eyes narrowed. He’d had his suspicions the moment he asked her about the Lady of the Cross, back when she’d helped him reach the Crimson Order. Rosay said nothing as though those words hadn’t reached her at all.

If she were the Lady of the Cross, then he most certainly couldn’t afford to let her go.

He smirked. "Very well. You are now a member of Mercy of Death. However, I cannot introduce you to the others within such a limited amount of time."

"Okay... okay... after my hibernation."

Rosay said and began leaving.

"I need to rest... tell me what you want during the day."

As soon as she was gone, Leomaris pressed his fingers to his brow. He was the Jester of the End, and they had barely any members to speak of, and the ones they did have were all weak as well.

Three months... that was how long Rosay’s hibernation would last.

Three months to build Mercy of Death into an actual faction, get Raine, Charlotte, and Ren strong enough to carry organisations of their own, and more importantly, to make something more of himself. He’d consumed the Abyssal Cube, and it still wasn’t enough.

It was doable, at least. Hazel could handle the Laughing End, and the other three had more than enough in them to become a Sorcerer within three months.

But what gnawed at him most was his academic duties and the very real likelihood that the Crimson Order would come after him. He’d nicked their items and threatened them, after all.

And on top of that, he had to keep himself safe from whatever enemies might come crawling out of the woodwork over the Abyssal Cube and the hymn, Le Mythe des Quatre.

He exhaled deeply.

’I’m fucked...’

—

The room was dim, its walls covered in spent potion shells and books. Opposite the door, a large circular glass window held the moon like a painting.

At the window sat a young man, dark-haired, wearing a magician’s hat and an elegant monocle. His hand was stretched out slightly, a small black raven perched on his index finger, and a soft, almost innocent, smile played at his lips as he toyed with the bird.

By the entrance, a man stood in a decent gentleman’s suit, cane at his side, his bearing almost like a bow of respect.

"I believe the Abyssal Cube has been consumed, Sire... my search led me to Chatenham."

The man by the window’s smile held. His brown eyes spoke volumes, lit up as though the incident had genuinely delighted him.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Sire."

With a gentle shake of his finger, the bird took off, wings beating once before it disappeared completely into ashes.

He adjusted his magician’s hat and straightened up. His hand had barely settled at his side before his body lurched forward slightly, as though an invisible hand had shoved him.

From his body, grey ash drew itself out and wasted no time taking shape. It started at the legs and climbed from there, forming into a massive skeleton that loomed nearly as tall as the ceiling.

The skeleton’s eyes lit up crimson. The man turned toward it, wearing that same calm, innocent smile as though nothing in the room was out of the ordinary.

"Send my warmest welcome to this individual... would you, Ashmond, Walking Strings?"