The Baddest Villainess Is Back - Chapter 53

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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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Episode 53
* * *
“Rozelin, Rozelin…… I’ve failed you, Rozelin.”
A man, drunk to the point of senselessness, sat hunched by a grave and murmured softly to himself.
Eyes that had once been as blue as the sky were now clouded with alcohol; his clothes hung disheveled; and his low, slurred voice was thick with curses.
“…… I never stopped looking.”
The man—Arma—whispered the words into the silence.
Arma had not loved Rozelin. That’s what he’d believed.
Nothing more than an amusing companion, nothing less—or so he’d convinced himself. He’d grown fond of the way she yielded only to him as time passed, and that fondness had bred a kind of arrogance. He was certain of it now.
“I never wanted to be Emperor.”
That was all there was to it.
The man carried the blood of the sun that held this nation aloft, yet he had never received the sun’s love; his mother’s embrace had been torn from him as well…
And so he could love nothing.
Arma could not love anything born of this kingdom, and so he’d sought to escape through a coward’s path.
Through death.
Or rather, through the appearance of death.
……
He ran his fingers slowly across the tombstone, worn smooth from daily handling, its surface discolored on one side from constant touch.
The dead could not inherit the Imperial Throne.
It was laughable for him to say it, but Arma had believed there was no one else worthy of succession besides himself.
The Second Prince was hot-headed and not particularly clever; the First Prince was somewhat more composed and intelligent, but still far beneath Arma’s measure.
Even his father, the Former Emperor, had known this. He’d known it, yet he had not stopped Arma. Despite being the one person in the Imperial Palace who had truly seen through him.
Or perhaps he had not allowed it precisely because he saw through him.
Better to pass the Imperial Throne to one who loved the nation, however imperfect, than to elevate someone indifferent to its fate.
“My youngest.”
“Yes.”
“If you have no desire to inherit the throne, then die. You are a hindrance.”
It was, in a sense, an Expulsion Order.
A command to abandon the royal surname and leave.
And that, delivered by an emperor dying in the aftermath of war, was the only mercy he could offer.
The First Prince had been hailed as a likely heir apparent, but he had his shortcomings.
And to fill those gaps…
The Former Emperor had quietly eliminated everyone else with a claim to succession—everyone except the Second Prince, who had shown no interest in the throne.
Yes.
Arma’s pretense of death had been necessary.
‘…… But I could have told her.’
I could have been honest with her, told her I would find her no matter where I went.
My father would have overlooked even that much.
Then she wouldn’t have had to bear that infamy, running about as she did, forced to live as though holding her breath…
She wouldn’t have had to die.
‘It was my choice to live…’
And that choice had wounded her.
‘I should have felt nothing about it…’
He had convinced himself he didn’t love her.
Just a somewhat familiar toy. That’s all he’d thought her to be.
A companion more than a plaything—dishonest, troublesome, yet pleasing because she opened her heart only to him as time went on, and he’d enjoyed watching her do it.
An existence he could have discarded without hesitation if ordered to do so.
So when they parted…
“I thought I’d be fine.”
Thud.
He struck his head hard against the tombstone, carved from solid marble.
[Rozelin Bellion]
As he moved, the inscription engraved on the stone came into sharp focus.
“But I wasn’t.”
He wasn’t fine at all.
“I wasn’t fine at all, Rozelin.”
At first, he had been.
He’d needed to settle his affairs as Arma and take up his new position, reorganizing the entire structure.
There was so much to arrange, so much work—he’d had no time to think of Rozelin.
She crossed his mind occasionally, but he’d assumed she was managing well enough without him.
Arma knew that Rozelin held him in her heart. He knew it, yet Rozelin had never once admitted as much.
She had never openly told him that she cared for him, not even once.
When they were alone, she would sometimes offer hollow reassurances about what he’d do without her, murmuring that he’d manage fine.
Which meant……
There must have been some youthful arrogance mixed in there too.
The presumption that he couldn’t possibly be all right without her—that too must have lived somewhere in her heart.
Arma didn’t want to admit it.
He told himself he would be fine without Rozelin.
He was simply curious how she was getting along.
He had never intended to kill her. Never meant to put her in danger.
Yet there she was, that fragile body of hers, playing a game with death stakes.
Hunted by the Imperial Palace.
Hunted by bounty hunters eyeing the price on her head.
So Arma had chased after her, late though it was.
She was no longer leisurely, no longer at ease. She hid so well that even Arma couldn’t find her. The world’s finest tracker came up empty.
The brother who held the dead Emperor’s crown—the one Arma had let slip—was now trying to kill Rozelin.
And Arma bore the false accusation of murdering him.
Arma wanted to stop it.
He chased because he wanted to stop it, yet the faster he chased, the further she slipped away.
With each day he failed to catch her, anxiety gnawed at him; nights when old rumors reached him, he couldn’t sleep at all.
And then one day he realized something.
She had scraped together money while fleeing, while living off others’ trust, only to buy medicine without fail—and now she wasn’t buying medicine anymore.
He was anxious.
Terribly anxious.
The chase had gone on for a long time.
And not long after, word reached him that Rozelin had been caught.
Garen Wilbrid, dispatched by the Emperor’s command, had found her during the prolonged pursuit.
And Rozelin died. She was killed.
“……Garen Wilbrid.”
He ground his teeth.
Garen Wilbrid had murdered Rozelin. He’d burned even her corpse, leaving not a trace of flesh behind.
And then, not far from where he fled, he too was consumed by flames and died.
Why hadn’t he known?
The dead do not return.
What goes unsaid cannot be told to the dead. Even if you try to tell them, it becomes hollow and meaningless. Because death is the end.
No matter how much he longed, no matter how much he begged to a god he didn’t believe in, Rozelin never came back.
Rozelin, who had loved Arma—the one who had laughed and talked beside him—was already dead.
Arma slowly opened his mouth.
* * *
– I’m sorry, Rozelin…….
The voice echoing in her mind, the scene flickering through her thoughts—Rozelin drew a slow breath.
She gave no sign of it, but her body went rigid.
‘……What was that just now?’
The moment Arma touched her, a strange vision flickered through her mind.
His hand brushed her cheek so carefully that Rozelin suddenly grasped what was happening.
Blind as she was, Arma had quietly entered her room. Since then, he had been silently holding her hand and stroking her hair, over and over.
‘……What on earth is he doing?’
Rozelin felt rather at a loss.
She’d committed to pretending to sleep, so now she couldn’t move or speak.
‘What was that memory I just saw…….’
Rozelin recalled what had surfaced in her mind like a dream.
There was a tombstone with her name carved into it.
Rozelin’s eyes moved beneath their lids.
‘Could it be…… my original world?’
Then had she actually been alive back then?
Rozelin lay with her eyes closed, thinking.
“For some time now, I’ve been dreaming of a world where you’re dead. A world where you die and I’m left drowning in regret.”
Startled, Rozelin fell silent.
“I see myself despairing without you. Every night, a pathetic man at your grave, drunk and wallowing in confession.”
“…….”
“I’m afraid of what might happen. In those moments, I feel every emotion from the dream, and it’s so horrible that…….”
Hesitation trembled through her soft voice.
“……I’m also afraid of losing you and becoming like that.”
‘……Is that why he looked that way in Randarin?’
Arma had come searching for her, terror etched into his features, yet relief flooded through him the moment he found Rozelin.
His hand, which had been stroking her hair, moved slowly across her cheek before he withdrew it.
“I……don’t know what to say.”
Rozelin wondered if she should speak at all. It felt dangerous to listen any further.
“Rozelin, I hate the Emperor. I hate the Imperial Capital. I hate the Empire.”
“…….”
“So I thought I could never love anything born of the Empire…….”
Arma’s words trailed away.
“But if you’re in the Empire, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible…….”
Rozelin shot to her feet.
“Perhaps I truly lov—mmph.”
She threw both hands up and clamped them over his mouth.
“You seem feverish. Go to sleep.”
“……Roze—mmph.”
“Sleep.”
Arma’s face flushed with bewilderment as his confession was silenced mid-breath.

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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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