I’m Sick of the Kind Protagonist, so I Might as Well Just Die - Chapter 15

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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#15
Death after death, and through each repetition, I arrived at a singular conclusion.
‘The greatest problem, as I see it, is that Rowan loves that pretty, half-dried fish of a man far too much.’
That was it. Before I possessed this body, Rowan had already cycled through dozens of deaths. After I claimed her body at what must have been the fifteenth death, three more followed.
Truth be told, I was already exhausted by the second death. Damian was, objectively speaking, quite handsome. But…
‘Perenustus has already spoiled my eyes with his refined, delicate beauty, and Leonas Hagpethar Yuletanis with his bold, commanding presence.’
Against such standards, Damian’s wan, mediocre prettiness—the way he played at being fatally attractive—was utterly unbearable to witness. The fact that he wielded his unremarkable looks as a weapon to shake Rowan felt pathetically contrived.
‘…If Bilateia Fernichiosa Venisike had heard me, she’d have scolded me for not being faithful to the Worlds. But what can I do when I genuinely feel this way?’
I climbed the endless staircase upward, retracing the fragments of emotion and memory Rowan had left behind.
A lifetime spent willingly as a tool, only to die a wretched death on the day of the man she loved’s engagement ceremony—a cycle repeated endlessly. Yet each time Damian begged, ‘I promise I’ll cherish you next time, just give me one more chance,’ she returned from death.
‘What is this? Is this even a life worth living?’
It’s wrong to speak of another’s life this way, but the more I reflected on it, the more absurd this love seemed. The only mercy was that even this absurd love had an ending. When Rowan’s hopes and heart had completely shattered, that’s when I possessed this body.
‘But why do I keep dying and coming back to life?!’
Finally reaching the sunlit upper floors, I quickly surveyed my surroundings. Confirming no one was present, I slipped into the Servants’ Quarters and swiftly grabbed a maid’s uniform.
Three deaths had taught me which outfit fit Rowan’s body properly. I’d also come to know the layout—where things were kept, when people passed through.
‘The fact that death continues even after I’ve possessed this body… that’s deeply strange.’
I’d naturally assumed that upon death, I would return to where Perenustus was. That’s why I could endure it when Damian’s clumsy blade severed my neck in the square that first time. The pain was excruciating, but I believed that if I just bore it, those piercing blue eyes of Perenustus would be waiting for me.
But after a death so prolonged I wanted to bite my own tongue, I found myself back in that Underground Dungeon. That bed, those iron bars, that moment—repeated.
So in my second life, I provoked Damian before leaving the cell, telling him he should practice swordplay if he was going to be a man. It made no difference.
‘Perhaps the greatest reason I despise Damian is this: he’s appallingly incompetent at killing.’
His fumbling technique was so gruesome that merely recalling it made my skin crawl. Shuddering, I changed into the maid’s uniform and hurried into the Corridor.
Walking through the most shadowed passages of the ornate building, my mind remained consumed with thoughts of death. Rowan’s heart was already completely withered away, so why did death continue to repeat?
After deliberation, I reached this conclusion.
‘The true owner of this body, Rowan, must have something she genuinely desires. The system requires me to fulfill it before I can escape from here.’
There was no point in dwelling on a wrong guess. I could simply try different approaches after the fourth death.
With a shrug, I found myself standing in a colonnade leading toward the Garden. Between the regularly spaced marble pillars, the Garden sprawled with meticulously trimmed trees and fountains—a landscape so pristine it seemed like a different world from the brutal reality where I spent every moment killing and tearing at things.
“Rowan.”
Someone called my name as I walked inconspicuously, like a ghost. Without turning, I knew from experience it was the First Empress’s Attendant.
I turned to see a man in an ornate uniform embroidered with gold thread, who nodded toward me.
“Her Majesty awaits you.”
Without a word, I followed the Attendant toward a small pavilion deeper in the Garden. Through the ivy-covered stone pillars, the First Empress came into view. The woman in a deep purple dress had a pallid face and sharp, piercing eyes.
“Sit.”
The Empress gestured with her chin to the chair across from her. I remained standing and bowed my head.
“I am not worthy of a private audience with someone of your station.”
When I refused to sit, the Empress let out a scornful laugh and lifted her teacup.
In my first life, I sat when told and received a slap across the face. In the next, I didn’t sit and said nothing, yet still received a slap. After two such experiences, I’d learned the technique. A punch to the stomach would have been preferable to the unpleasant sting of a palm across the cheek.
“In one week, Damian’s engagement will be announced in the Imperial Palace Square.”
The Empress’s voice was cold and dry. Though I’d heard this declaration more than ten times, Rowan’s heart still constricted habitually at these words, delivering a suffocating ache.
“You must cause an explosion that day. I will gather all the princes and empresses in the guest section—aim for there. His Majesty, myself, Damian, and his betrothed will be on the platform.”
“Yes.”
“And get yourself captured by Damian. Have him execute you for treason before His Majesty. It’s only fitting as a wedding gift, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes.”
I answered curtly, ignoring the way my heart clenched once more. The First Empress’s eyes narrowed, as if she doubted the ease with which my compliance came.
“You truly understand what I’m asking?”
I shrugged and waved my right hand. A brilliant flash erupted, and Basilect materialized, engulfing my entire right arm in silver light. The First Empress held her breath.
“Among all those ‘preparations’ of yours, do you know why I’m the woman who’s survived the longest?”
“….”
“Someone who could obliterate the entire Imperial Palace with this blade—why do you think such a person obeys so docilely?
I leveled an explicit threat, raising the sword. Sunlight reflected off the blade, casting its light across the First Empress’s face.
“It’s because Rowan still loves Damian with unbearable persistence. Because that’s what Rowan wants.”
The First Empress’s brow furrowed at the strangeness of referring to myself in the third person. Regardless, I thrust Basilect closer to her face.
“So I do hope you keep your promise, First Empress. Once I’ve confirmed that my homeland and my family have received sufficient compensation, I’ll put on quite the spectacular performance for you.”
I withdrew Basilect and turned away without hesitation. The First Empress remained frozen, speechless. My heart began to race unnaturally, as if Rowan herself were reproaching me for my reckless actions.
‘What of it? If you have complaints, say them outright.’
I clenched my heart like a fist, delivering a sharp rebuke to my own doubts, and walked toward the ivy-covered wall at the garden’s edge. To any observer, it was merely an ancient, crumbling barrier—but in truth, it was a secret passage that everyone had forgotten.
‘After repeating the same death three times over, gaining this much is only natural.’
I swept aside the vines and pushed the stone. A narrow passage revealed itself, and the stench of dust and mold assailed my nostrils. Walking along the passage, I pondered.
‘It’s strange. Why haven’t Bilateia or Leonas come?’
I know how little Perenustus trusts me. So naturally, I expected him to send Bilateia or Leonas the moment he confirmed which Worlds I’d entered.
‘Yet in this fourth life, I have no allies at all.’
It was as strange in its own way as being unable to die even in death.
‘Though I was planning to manage everything alone regardless of whether those youngsters showed up or not.’
I stretched languidly, and as I reached the passage’s end, a faint light appeared. Pushing open the stone door, I emerged into a narrow alley overlooking the Imperial Palace Square.
A vast plaza of stone. A colossal fountain at its center. Magnificent buildings encircling it. In one week, this would be the very place where Damian’s betrothal would be announced.
‘Damian’s just as ridiculous as his mother. If he’s going to whine and beg for another chance, he should’ve done better from the start.’
Throughout all those deaths, Damian never once managed to stab Rowan. It was Rowan who rushed at him as if attacking, driving his ceremonial blade into her own throat, and then begging for a wedding gift.
‘Unbelievable. There’s not a single thing about that man I can approve of.’
I stared out at the plaza, thoroughly exasperated with Damian. A man who couldn’t properly love his opponent, couldn’t truly hate them, couldn’t keep them wholly alive, and couldn’t kill them without suffering.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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