Chapter 72
If I can’t die in a world where no one understands me, then the only answer is to get rid of those who refuse to listen.
I’m tired of lying, pretending everything’s fine while trembling inside.
In the end, I just want to run away—to where Alicia is, where my existence is accepted without question.
Dying is terrifying, but I know I’ll return. And yet, a part of me is scared—what if this time is truly the last?
"Ellen, how many times have we done this?
Isn’t it about time to stop?"
"…Polite threats mixed with violence can be effective—just not on me."
My throat still aches.
If I look in the mirror, his handprint will still be there.
"There’s no meaning to this. Even if you go back, nothing will change.
You’ll never save your sister. It’s already decided."
"Of course. If you can’t save her, who can?
You’re the all-powerful protagonist, aren’t you?
The one who cuts down enemies and demons with a single swing. Why do you keep emphasizing this?"
As always, he avoids answering difficult questions.
He always has.
"…Why the hell is it only Alicia who can’t be saved!?"
Why am I the one who always survives?
Why is it only me and Theo who return?
Theo looks at me, his voice laced with scorn.
His words are drenched in contempt, making it nearly impossible to hold back my emotions.
"Hah. Maybe it’s because the people you’ve killed are clinging to you, cursing you.
You accept your own death in the end, but you can’t handle it when others die."
Ethel. Even when Isabel died.
He adds that as an afterthought.
I don’t remember.
I can’t remember.
Because I never did that.
No.
No, I didn’t.
Shut up.
If I say it didn’t happen, then it didn’t. Stop talking.
I don’t remember anything.
Even if I did kill Ethel, it was an accident.
I thought she was a demon.
She lunged at me—I thought she was a demon.
If I had hit her anywhere but the head, I would have poured a potion on her immediately.
So, it doesn’t count.
No, that never happened.
"You always pretend you’re fine, like you’re in control, but you’re rotting from the inside out.
That fake smile of yours—it’s disgusting. Just give up, like you keep telling everyone else to.
Stop lying. You always say you want to die, but you fight harder to live than anyone."
"…Shut up."
"Even that stiff, formal speech—you only talk like that because your parents forced you to."
"Don’t act like you know everything."
I throw a punch, but he blocks it effortlessly.
"You told me yourself. What am I supposed to believe?"
I would never have told him that.
I want to sew his mouth shut, but I don’t have the strength.
Thinking back, it’s always been Theo’s fault.
Every time I tried to wipe out the demons, I did it carefully, making sure he wouldn’t notice.
But he always found out, always got in the way, and I ended up dead.
Even when he claimed to help, he stopped me from killing the young demons.
He was the problem.
I did nothing wrong.
I’m not the problem.
Yes. It’s the world that’s broken.
Even my trash parents said it.
Lunatics who can’t be understood should be eliminated or sent for counseling.
"Ellen, you’ve never once told the truth.
When you approached Ethel to befriend her, when we met at the café for the first time, when you helped Isabel feed the slums—everything you said was a lie.
Maybe I’m no different, but at least I don’t lie all the time like you do."
Maybe my first words were lies, but my time at the academy felt like a sanctuary.
The only places where I could truly relax were in front of Alicia and at the academy.
Was that all a lie?
Even if it was, I refuse to accept it.
I want to shut Theo up.
Even if I have to kill him.
But my gun is already warped beyond use.
How the hell does a human bend steel with their bare hands?
I swing my dagger, but he dodges effortlessly, grabbing my wrist.
Or he twists my arm, making it impossible to attack properly.
Like he’s watching a child’s tantrum.
"You said this before.
I’m asking seriously—don’t you feel guilt?"
"Guilt? What for? You helped me kill demons too."
"Yeah, I did. But no matter how many times we repeat this, I can’t slaughter people like livestock the way you do.
I’m not criticizing you—I just don’t understand."
I look into his eyes.
His voice no longer carried the sharp edge of mockery or condemnation. It was the same expression he always wore.
As if he was genuinely trying to understand.
Why couldn't he understand?
"If your family suffered at the hands of demons, then surely you—"
"They did. I rushed to your estate, and when I returned, they were already dead.
Some were laughing while violating my already-dead sister, and my father—he was being eaten alive."
His voice, unlike before, dripped with hatred.
Then he should understand me.
If his family was butchered like that, how could he still see demons as people?
How could he see the things that stole his life’s meaning as equals?
"Then…!"
"So I helped you. I killed them. But even as I did it, I didn’t understand.
I still can’t see it the way you do. Just because a person kills another person doesn’t mean they stop being human."
He asked if I ever felt guilt, if this was all some form of punishment.
As if I could feel guilt.
I don’t.
I won’t.
I was simply using my abilities—just on a larger scale.
I was doing something positive, cleaning up the filth of society.
Better than some useless bastard leeching off their parents, screaming about the unfairness of life in their room.
Better than some coward who, after one setback, decides everything is meaningless and kills themselves.
Or was I supposed to have died?
No. That wasn’t it. Living to exterminate demons was the right answer.
Those creatures—murderers, criminals, rapists—killing them wasn’t a crime.
And yet, despite everything I’ve done, the so-called protagonist just stands there.
"At least do your job as the protagonist. Save someone, damn it.
I was born a worthless piece of trash, but you? You were born strong. Why the hell can’t you save anyone!?"
"Answer me. Stop dodging with bullshit."
Have I repeated these words to him before?
The thought alone was unbearable.
If no matter how many times I tried, nothing changed, then this was truly hell.
Why did this keep repeating?
Just end it already.
If someone asked me whether I wanted to live or die, of course, I’d say live.
But only if it meant living as a person, not this.
I guess I wasn’t the kind of person who could find happiness in warm meals and a soft bed.
"Why is it always me?
Why am I the only one suffering?
Demons, you, that damned church, my parents—all of you.
I was born into this miserable world, forced to live like this, and now I’m wrong for killing a few demons?!"
"When your sister was killed by humans, you still blamed demons and only killed demons."
"Poor demons, huh? Getting caught up with some crazy bitch."
"Shut up! They were demons!"
I screamed, and he slapped me.
"Too loud."
I swung my knife, but as expected, he twisted my wrist in the opposite direction.
It hurt like hell, but I refused to cry out.
"So what if someone is born strong?"
Was he angry that I had swung the knife?
Or was he just sick of my whining?
Theo kicked me hard in the gut.
I gasped, unable to breathe.
Bile dripped from my mouth, my eyes felt like they were about to burst.
I lay there, wheezing, until I slowly came back to my senses.
Theo spoke quietly.
"I can’t even control the person in front of me."
He pressed my head into the ground.
If he added just a bit more pressure, my skull would crack.
"I’ve tried everything—coaxing, persuading, helping, beating you down, pushing you to the brink.
And none of it has worked."
He lifted his foot and kicked me in the face.
The knife I had been gripping finally slipped from my grasp.
"So let’s just stop. Like you said, I’m tired."
He picked me up and laid me back on the bed before muttering a simple healing spell.
It was clumsy. I had no idea when he had learned it.
"I won’t even ask what you want.
Because saving your sister is impossible."
Not yet.
It’s too soon to say that.
I’ve only tried a few dozen times. If I try a few hundred more, maybe I can save her.
I hate dying, but still…
I always come back.
I can live without Alicia.
But if I give up on the person who kept me alive in that hellish mansion, is that really living?
To give up now and surrender?
The fact that it even sounded tempting made it all the more terrifying.