I’m Sick of the Kind Protagonist, so I Might as Well Just Die - Chapter 25

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

#25
Much as I hated to admit it, the middle-aged man who had seized and hurled me away bore a striking resemblance to Leonas—handsome, undeniably so.
Despite his languid, apathetic voice, his eyes burned with a brilliant yellow madness. Unlike Perenustus’s inexplicable frenzy, this was the gaze of a rabid beast—utterly repugnant.
“Hm. Still the same, I see.”
Aware of his own beauty, he held his head high with infuriating arrogance, looking down upon me with an expression I found deeply offensive.
‘Still the same? What else would you have me be? I could split that hastily assembled Leonas-like skull of yours down the middle with Basilect. I really could.’
How long we stood in silent confrontation, I could not say, before the man’s lips curved into a smirk and he tilted his head at an angle.
“Is your force insufficient to bring the foal to its knees? How troublesome. Then I suppose I must sever the old mare’s neck instead.”
He raised his hand, gesturing toward a point some distance from me. As my gaze followed his indication, the Knights shifted subtly aside.
Only then did I see them—a middle-aged man and woman, dressed in finery as resplendent as my own, their eyes fixed upon me with desperate longing.
‘My… family. My parents.’
The moment I beheld the man who bore such an uncanny resemblance to my reflection, certainty crystallized within me. The middle-aged man, unable to open one eye, blood streaming down his face, read my turmoil at once and offered a faint smile—one tinged with apology.
I answered that faint smile with one of my own and sank to my knees upon the floor.
“Had you commanded me to kneel from the start, I would have done so.”
“What was the name of this insolent foal again? Estella, was it not?”
….
Estella. I repeated the name silently within myself—a name I heard for the first time. When I offered no response, the man let out a derisive snort and flicked his fingertips. With that trivial gesture, my mother’s severed head rolled across the floor toward me.
“I asked. Are you Estella?”
“Yes. I am the Princess Estella. You inquired after the foal’s name so abruptly that I could not answer.”
“Whether it be the old mare who dared plot treason or her offspring—both are equally insolent.”
“To speak of horses and foals before a person of sound mind… your words and deeds lack coherence. Perhaps you intended to establish a new ruler worthy of service? Is that not so, Father?”
My father, momentarily startled by my question, released a hollow laugh. The man who had maintained his composure throughout now bristled for the first time at that sound.
“You dare laugh? A traitor laughs before the Emperor?”
“My Emperor—my nephew and your half-brother—fell by your hand.”
“Silence!”
“Is the one who struck down the legitimate Emperor and wore the blood-stained crown the traitor, or am I, who seeks to return the throne to the Crown Prince the Emperor left behind?”
I swallowed the exclamation that threatened to escape and organized the setting of this world in my mind.
‘So… my father hid the previous Emperor’s son somewhere?’
I searched through Estella’s original memories, but she seemed entirely ignorant of where the Crown Prince was concealed—in fact, she appeared to be hearing this for the first time.
‘The original doesn’t know, so she must not have been told the details. That means the real Estella won’t be much help.’
My displeasure at this realization manifested as a tightening in my chest. I had endured such sensations countless times while inhabiting Rowan’s body, so even this borrowed form felt no true pain.
“Insolent. But I am a merciful Emperor.”
I had never encountered a man who proclaimed his own mercy and actually possessed it. While I inwardly scoffed, the self-proclaimed merciful Emperor flicked his hand.
It was a wordless command, yet the Knight understood as if by divination and brought forth a blade. The Emperor hurled it before my father.
“I grant you this opportunity, in remembrance of our former bond.”
“I shared no such bond with one who murdered my King.”
“Take this insolent foal’s neck with your own hand. Is death by a father’s blade not preferable to the shame of living?”
‘Ah.’
Now I understood. This was the genesis of this world—the fall of a Great Noble House loyal to the previous Emperor. The Crown Prince, surviving hardship to exact his father’s vengeance.
‘What is this. Have I actually managed to align myself properly with the original setting this time?’
While I was briefly feeling proud, my father—dragging that chipped sword behind him—approached me, knelt down, and met my eyes with tender affection.
“Estella. My beloved daughter. I thought you were nothing but a thoughtless child.”
I gazed at his weathered face. A blood relation—something the true me, who possessed only knowledge and will without name or identity, had never known. Even though I knew he wasn’t my real father, seeing his eyes brimming with tears made my nose sting.
“The author was right. I cannot even bear to imagine what you will have to endure in this life.”
“Father….”
“Close your eyes for a moment. I will follow you soon. Forgive me.”
Death came with a sharp, stinging pain—mild compared to Rowan’s prolonged, agonizing demise from that terrible wound.
How many more times would I have to die before I grew accustomed to this sensation? How full was the reservoir of tragedy? As those thoughts consumed me, perfect darkness swallowed me like a swamp.
“Ha… you really are something.”
“…why are you irritated with someone who just died?”
“How could I not be irritated?”
The moment I opened my eyes, Perenustus loomed over me, unleashing a torrent of complaints.
“I don’t know why you’re irritated.”
“You don’t? Truly?”
“No. I just thought… is this world over now? Since we’re not doing a second or third playthrough, just meeting with Perenustus.”
“No. The ‘Worlds’ won’t even progress, so I summoned you temporarily!”
“Huh?”
Perenustus ran his well-groomed hair into complete disarray. My expression, full of nothing but questions, seemed to further unravel his composure.
“Do you have no sense of narrative context whatsoever?”
“Why? I thought I did really well this time.”
“Well? You clawed into the heart of someone you’re supposed to marry and become entangled with in love-hate! And you died before the relationship even began?”
“What? I’m supposed to marry that lunatic who looks like Leonas? And what’s this love-hate thing?”
“Then did you genuinely believe that was the right moment for you to die? Truly?”
Irritation laced his voice. I, who had believed without a shred of doubt that dying at this moment was the correct answer, rolled my eyes and suddenly raised my hand.
“I have a question!”
“Ha…. Let’s hear what this question is.”
Perenustus sighed.
“When I die once, how much does the tragedy cylinder fill? Is there a difference between dying cleanly and dying painfully? Does the cylinder fill even if I’m just injured? Can it be filled by something as simple as a heartache?”
Mimicking the speech patterns of Bilateia and Leonas to change the subject, Perenustus furrowed his brow.
“Surely you didn’t deliberately die just to ask something so trivial?”
“Well… since the entire Worlds are frozen because of me, I’m trying to maximize efficiency.”
“Efficiency?”
Perenustus’s eyes narrowed. I nodded confidently, as if stating the obvious. After staring at me with an expression of utter disbelief for a long moment, he released a deep sigh.
“Fine. There isn’t a fixed rule for how many marks fill with each death. It depends on the circumstances of the death.”
“So there are variations depending on circumstances… Is it different when I die cleanly without much pain like this, versus painfully like Rowan?”
“No. The pain itself makes no meaningful difference. It depends on Aurelia’s emotions.”
“That’s complicated.”
“Second, regarding whether the cylinder fills from injury alone… yes, it does.”
Perenustus looked directly at me.
“And your question about whether a heartache can fill it—that’s the crux of it. Both tragedy and comedy depend on how much Aurelia’s heart aches, how genuinely happy she is.”
Perenustus’s voice dropped lower.
“Do you understand? It’s not about the intensity of pain or joy, but rather how your heart trembles based on what you yourself perceive.”
“Ah… I think I understand it vaguely.”
“…Vaguely understanding is what, exactly?”
Perenustus furrowed his brow even deeper. I nodded eagerly, my eyes sparkling.
“I understand, so send me back now. I’m not entirely sure about that context or whatever, but I’ll show you maximum efficiency!”
“Sigh… I hope I don’t come to regret granting Aurelia such complete freedom.”
“That depends on the trembling of Perenustus’s own heart, not mine.”
I turned his words back on him and closed my eyes. Perenustus clicked his tongue and raised his hand.
“You’re becoming increasingly insufferable.”
His voice, spoken through clenched teeth, followed me like a farewell as light wrapped around me.

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