I glared at Carlos, who burst into a fit of laughter. My butler quickly cleared his throat to mask his amusement.
“What happened then?” he asked.
“Nothing happened,” I snapped. “Why do I, the future heir of the marquess, have to die in the beginning of the second arc? I’m not even a particularly significant enemy. This is an outrage.”
“There’s nothing I can do about that... But it’s no wonder that you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”
“Not only did I die, but my murderer went on to become a king. I was forced to dream it all, with no end in sight. Can you blame me for my annoyance? Oh, and Carlos, you die too. During the second arc with the battle against the Elite Four, you appear as my dark servant and are killed by the main character’s eccentric friends before my final fight even begins.”
“I suppose I would be a mid-tier boss at best. But to think they’d show no mercy even to an old man... That’s rather heartless.”
“Hmph, it’s just a dream.”
It was a silly nightmare, nothing more. I ended this piffling drivel and went about my day as usual. But a mere commoner pushing the nobles aside to become king? I thought. Simply awful.
Unfortunately for me, the nightmares didn’t end. That evening, I saw a continuation of my dream from the night prior; this time, I wasn’t viewing events through the lens of the main character, but myself. A member of the Elite Four, I was surrounded by the main character’s forces, and was tortured to death again and again and again. I fought back with my dark magic, but my enemies wielded weapons of fire and light—my two weaknesses—and mercilessly clobbered me.
I was forced to relive my death over and over again, and the lines between dream and reality began to blur. Am I really dreaming? Why can’t I wake up? I’m getting killed countless times with no remedy to my situation. As my suffering and agony gripped my body and I prepared myself for death, time rewound back to the moment when I had been cornered, only so that I could be killed again while they cursed my very existence.
They called me a traitor to humanity, a devil who shackled and tormented the people as I imposed heavy taxes upon them, a man with a petrifying gaze, a pessimist, a man with a lame robe. There was just no end to the creative insults hurled my way. That first one made sense, but the others sort of felt out of left field. I was killed in the story’s second arc, where both the main character and I were upperclassmen within the academy. At this point in time, I had nothing to do with managing the land. I was still a kid.
And so, it struck me as odd that I’d be called a devil who tormented the people with heavy taxation. I couldn’t deny my connection to anything regarding the Lightless fief, but I was by no means directly involved in the governing of the land. Why in the world was I called a devil? Did being a member of House Lightless and the Elite Four mean shouldering the blame for all my peers’ actions?
And the rest of those insults just sound like slander.
I felt like the main character’s side wasn’t really justified in their actions, but maybe I only felt that way because I was being killed by them. For some inexplicable reason, perhaps by the cruel whimsy of God, I felt the pain of whatever I experienced in my dream. Fire magic hurt me a great deal and burned me, and furthermore, the main character’s forces would attack me in a different way each time.
On the other hand, I was only allowed to move in one direction, as though my movements were predetermined. Yet, the main character and his forces had a vast repertoire of actions they could take. I had to call foul play on that; it was cheating, plain and simple. I could accept being vastly outnumbered, so long as I could fight as I liked, but I had this mysterious turn-based combat rule foisted upon me.
Also, there was this blonde sailor woman among the main character’s forces who insulted, mocked, and relentlessly attacked me as she used a water spirit as her minion. I don’t know what I did to deserve your hatred, but I’ll never forget your face, wench!
As I experienced my own death tens of thousands of times, eventually losing touch with my very existence...I woke up. My own bed felt like a long-lost friend as the pleasant chirping of birds trickled in through the window.
“N... Ngh...” I croaked.
I cried. I threw away any ounce of pride I had as a noble and broke into a sobbing fit. I was almost twelve, but I wailed like a little child.
I’m finally awake. No one will kill me.
“Lord Lofus, whatever is the matter?!” Carlos cried.
He rushed into my room, his face pale at seeing me in tears. He knew that this was no simple matter. Usually, I’d yell at him if he entered my room without my permission, but I decided to make an exception this time. I flew into his arms and cried my heart out. He must’ve been smoking a puff earlier, as the scent of cigarettes stuck to his clothes, but that didn’t matter.