The Boss Wants to Die - Chapter 46

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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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The boss wants to die.
Chapter 46
Michael clutched at his throat, coughing dryly.
Akt, watching with an expression devoid of feeling, turned his gaze back toward the window.
In his black eyes lay the vast expanse of blue sky that stretched before him.
A single bird swept across that sky with powerful strokes of its wings.
Akt followed the bird’s free movement with his eyes.
“Because you act that way, you keep making Iroune cry!”
Michael gripped his throat, breathing heavily.
“You’re deliberately being cruel, aren’t you? Did I seem foolish enough to fall for such affectation?”
……
“You do care about Iroune! Those tears you shed while holding the dead god—they were genuine!”
Moisture gathered in Michael’s eyes.
“They were the tears of someone who lost someone they love!”
“Yes. It was. So what?”
Akt clenched his teeth and shot back.
“Why should my love matter? Did you already forget what I told you last time?”
……
“I said my feelings don’t matter. Iroune is my first priority. For my purpose, I would…….”
Akt’s voice turned harsh.
His eyes, gleaming like black mirrors as they fixed on the god, twisted and warped into something dangerous.
Michael felt as though he was witnessing the true distortion of Akt in this very moment.
“As long as I can save Iroune, nothing else matters.”
“Don’t say such things……!”
“You don’t know her.”
Akt let out a laugh.
“You think of Iroune as merely a kindhearted, doomed god.”
……
“That’s not it at all. Iroune is strong. She endures, no matter what. She’s a remarkably clever, tremendously strong soul.”
Michael gazed at Akt, who seemed to have old resignation clinging to him like oxidized copper.
He appeared to harbor no more regret for his own unattainable feelings.
Rather, he had long since transcended such trivial matters with a composed maturity.
“To face an aloof god, I must show this much resolve.”
Iroune would never miss even a momentary lapse in Akt’s guard, that single crack in his composure.
That was the kind of person she was.
That was how desperate she was.
“There must be another way,” Michael said quietly.
His voice had grown slightly quieter.
“There could have been a method that didn’t require such measures. What if you explained the situation? There must be some reason you’re trying to confine Iroune…….”
Akt sighed and finally turned to face Michael.
“Why are you so desperate to interfere?”
Michael held his breath, his lips trembling slightly.
Akt smiled crookedly.
“What is it? Does it bother you now that you killed her?”
“Akt Hevrenia!”
Michael’s voice erupted in fury.
“Calculating, black-hearted Akt Hevrenia. You certainly thought of me that way.”
“That’s not true. You are—mmph!”
Akt suddenly covered Michael’s mouth with his hand and leaned in close.
His eyes flashed with a dangerous light, as though the swirling torrent of emotion within them would pierce straight through to Michael’s very soul.
“Just say it’s so.”
Mmmph……!”
“Stop digging. It’s annoying.”
Akt shoved him away with the same hand that had covered his mouth, and Michael stumbled backward, lifting his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
“Why…….”
Akt turned his head away coldly.
A stifled sound escaped Michael’s throat.
Michael clenched his fists, then turned and walked out into the corridor.
Akt watched the back of Michael’s head from the corner of his eye as he left, his breathing sharp and angry.
A thin sigh leaked from between his lips, which had been pressed shut with such cruelty.
“Michael Iruber…….”
Michael.
A man of unbreakable conviction.
One blessed by the grace of the divine.
A saint of spotless soul.
His penetrating insight pierced hearts unawares, shared in suffering, and moved him to save those fallen into the abyss.
That was why he had killed the Demon God.
The Demon God Helord was suffering so deeply, so terribly…….
‘In such agony.’
He could not bring himself to ignore Iroune’s plea to end that pain.
Even as he yielded to the pressure from the Holy See that it was right to kill her, the Demon God—he alone grieved for her suffering more than anyone else in the world.
Why she struggled, why she begged for death.
The man who understood most deeply the reproach that he had killed without ever asking why.
And so Akt had pushed Michael away.
Because Michael was the most dangerous person capable of killing the Demon God Helord.
‘Nothing but troublesome opponents.’
He swayed forward, one hand pressed to his throbbing temple.
The empty hallway, devoid of a single soul, shuddered at his anguished moan.
Like the Demon God Helord, Akt was alone.
But that was all right.
‘As long as the plan unfolds as intended.’
He would never let anyone be alone again.
If the plan went awry, he would break Iroune’s legs if necessary to ensure her safety.
It wouldn’t matter if she panicked at his grim obsession and tried to flee.
Things were different now.
His power had grown vastly.
He harbored a force unknown to her, a tremendous power that no one in this world even knew existed.
He intended to use that power now.
To keep Iroune from dying, and moreover, to make her smile.
***
Eritman was a hysterical and temperamental man.
His body was lean as a rail without an ounce of excess flesh, his lips parched and cracked, and he bristled at every meaningless word as though each one bore thorns.
There was a reason for his paranoid suspicion.
He was obsessed with protecting the only son of the Baron and Baroness.
“You said Players couldn’t be trusted!”
Eritman vented his fury on the Information Guild agent who had brought him here.
“I drained my entire fortune, and this is the result you bring back!”
“Calm yourself. As I said, Baron Roman…….”
“That bastard is no baron!”
Eritman erupted, spraying saliva as he ranted.
The agent, worried his eardrums would split, scraped at his ear canal with his pinky finger.
“This is exactly why I said I didn’t want to handle Eritman…….”
The agent muttered quietly, then heaved a long sigh before reluctantly changing his form of address.
“Yes, yes. Eritpid Golzbian.”
“Watch yourself from now on! If I hear you call that bastard a baron one more time in front of me……!”
“Understood.”
The agent cut off his words curtly and drew a breath.
He was preparing to speak in rapid succession.
His eagerness to finish the business and leave was evident.
“Eritpid Golzbian is a Player. He is not someone an ordinary NPC can kill. These candidates represent optimal conditions, so accept that. No matter how much you insist, it will be difficult to find better terms.”
“What do you mean these are optimal conditions! They’re just ordinary Players!”
“Listen. I’m an NPC myself, but if you’re that ignorant about the Players’ world, you’ll spend your whole life as a victim.”
The agent, unable to hold back any longer, spoke his mind.
“Try making an effort to understand.”
“What did you say?”
“This is a Town where Players between Level 40 and Level 60 reside.”
The agent explained calmly to Eritman, who looked ready to strangle someone at any moment, without so much as a blink.
“But do you know what Eritpid’s Level is? 153. Do you have any idea how impossible it is to find a Player in this Town capable of killing him? It’s completely beyond the reach of NPC assassins.”
Only then did Eritman fall silent.
He looked at us timidly while speaking in a cautious, roundabout way.
“What levels are these people?”
“Not all party members are high-level, but the Player Michael has a level of 230.”
“T, two hundred…?”
Eritman’s mouth fell open in shock.
The servant elaborated further.
“You know how the higher your level, the fewer Experience Points you gain, right?”
“So what’s that supposed to mean?”
“A Level 1 can catch up to Level 60 in no time. But going from Level 153 to 230 takes twice as long as it does for lower levels. It’s the difference between heaven and earth.”
The servant, thinking that was enough explanation, excused himself and left us to talk.
As expected, Eritman didn’t try to stop him.
And so we were finally able to face each other and speak.
Eritman kept wetting his lips with water as if he had a phobia of Players.
His hands trembled so badly each time he brought the cup to his mouth that the front of his shirt was soaked through.
“Eritman. Do you know where Lady Iliad’s Locket Necklace is?”
Michael didn’t forget their original purpose and asked directly.
There was no point in dragging things out—it would only compound Eritman’s suffering.
He glanced at Michael repeatedly, his eyes darting away, while his fingers fidgeted nervously.
“Akt is looking for that necklace. You must know why.”
“That necklace is…”
“Stop, Eritman.”
The door at the far end of the guest room opened, and a tall man stepped out.
Eritman gasped in shock so violent he nearly collapsed, scrambling to his feet with a clatter.
I narrowed my eyes, studying the man carefully.
His navy hair was swept back neatly, and every movement he made carried an effortless elegance.
‘No wonder Eritman keeps him hidden away in the Information Guild like something precious.’
He carried the rank of baron written plainly on his forehead.
How much trouble must he have gone through to keep it concealed all this time.
‘Especially from the eyes of that obsessive Player.’
I found myself feeling a strange kinship with him.
“I’ll explain from here on.”

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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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