...
{3rd Pov}
“FUCK IT!” Ayan screamed as he regained consciousness.
The memories of his torture still clung to him like chains, vivid and merciless.
Subaru might not have known who had killed him, but Ayan did… it was that damn blue-haired maid!
“FUCK YOU, MAID! YOU DESERVE TO BE ERASED AND FORGOTTEN! SUBARU WAS RIGHT TO CHOOSE EMILIA OVER TRASH LIKE YOU!” he roared, his voice echoing through the cold stone walls, until the sound of heavy fists pounding against iron bars interrupted his fury.
“Oi, shut the fuck up, or you’ll be punished for causing a disturbance,” a guard growled, glaring at Ayan with eyes full of menace.
Ayan immediately shrank back, his body trembling in fear as the memory of their brutal beatings resurfaced in his mind.
Wait… remembered their beating? His heart froze. That realization hit him like a blade, he had returned by death again.
But this time, something was terrifyingly different. His new checkpoint had begun inside the prison itself. He couldn’t comprehend why.
If Subaru’s checkpoint had always reset back at the mansion, whether waking up in his room or on the very first day he arrived there and Ayan’s had previously reset after being robbed, then why had his checkpoint suddenly updated to this cursed cell?
Did Subaru’s checkpoint update as well? The thought gnawed at him, twisting his fear into dread.
Not to mention, why the fuck did it have to be after he had antagonized those Knights?
He smiled in an ugly, twisted way, clinging to the faint hope that maybe...just maybe...he would encounter someone like Felix, Julius, or Reinhardt, someone strong enough to drag him out of this living hell.
As he lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, groaning from the fresh waves of pain that tore through his body once again, a thought clawed its way into his mind: Fuck it… I remember someone saying that Return by Death only carries memories, not physical instincts. Because of that, I always lose the pain tolerance I had built up during these endless tortures.
The realization crushed him. He wanted to cry, to let the tears spill and release the agony festering inside, but he knew the risk.
If he cried, if he made even the smallest sound, he would probably be accused of causing another disturbance, and the punishment would be merciless.
'I am breaking… I cannot take this anymore,' he thought, his chest tightening as despair consumed him. He really wanted to cry, but even that fragile act of weakness was denied to him.
There was no meaning to his existence here.
At best, he only carried shallow plot knowledge from the anime, up to season four, and that was all.
Maybe he had skimmed through those Pride If, Wrath If, and Sloth If stories, but beyond that, he didn’t even know what other “Ifs” there were.
His ignorance gnawed at him, yet it hardly mattered in this cursed reality.
It felt as though the very person who had thrown him into this hellhole was no different from his current tormentors.
They didn’t torment him for some grand cause or noble reason, but rather for shallow excuses that allowed them to unleash their inner demons without restraint. Their cruelty was not justice...it was indulgence.
[Oh Lord, I wish you deprive me of the ability to feel pain ever again]
…
Ayan kept wondering, because in this isolated place there was nothing else he could do but think.
He didn’t want to remember those haunting memories of death and torture, the endless cycle of agony that clawed at his sanity.
So instead, he forced himself to think about the plot, to recall fragments of the story, anything that could keep his mind busy and distract him from the suffocating despair.
'Lugunica obviously has a massive problem with its status quo.' Ayan thought bitterly.
'I even saw that healer, who despite having healed me, didn’t care at all when I was thrown into jail over a damn piece of bread.' That was when he finally realized how this brutal nation truly worked.
The higher classes, such as the nobility, could probably walk away from countless crimes unless there was undeniable evidence and someone influential willing to oppose them.
Meanwhile, for commoners, the line was drawn cruelly strict. Once they committed even the smallest act, they were branded as criminals.
Perhaps, out of disgust or fleeting sympathy, some knights might let them slip away from minor offenses, or simply decide it wasn’t worth the effort.
But if someone was unlucky enough to commit any sort of crime during a knight’s patrol, they would be captured immediately and branded as a heinous criminal, regardless of the actual severity of the act.
After all, in this way the knights could parade themselves before the common population and the Lugunican government, claiming they were fulfilling their duty.
And it was the same with the healers. They had sworn an oath to save and heal others, so they would perform their duty, but they would never go out of their way for those whom society had already deemed criminals.
The worst people, of course, were those they considered gutter rats or slum dwellers, individuals so despised that even commoners loathed them.
Whatever crime such people committed was magnified through the lens of bias and prejudice, twisted into something far more monstrous than it truly was.
'In simple words… am I just a number? Just another tally to make up the criminals they apprehended during the week so their record looks good on paper?' he thought with a wry, broken laugh.
He didn’t know if his thinking was entirely correct, if the way he interpreted the entire scenario was accurate.
At the very least, he tried to put it in a neutral way, refraining from outright villainizing everyone. But deep down, only he knew the truth of how much he hated these people, how much venom boiled inside him.
They treated the lives of certain strata of society as worthless, disposable.
He remembered clearly how many in Lugunica despised demi-humans, and how the nobility in particular reserved their hatred for gutter rats as well.
To them, such lives were beneath consideration, beneath compassion, beneath even the dignity of acknowledgment.
“What a pathetic nation. And remembering who their royal candidates are supposed to be, they are just as pathetic,” he muttered in a low, venomous voice.
In truth, except for Emilia and Felt, none of those self‑centered royal candidates gave a damn about the lower strata of society.
Their lofty goals were laughable, hollow ambitions dressed up as noble causes.
Yes, the White Whale Hunt, the Priestella Arc, and even the latest events in Season 4 had shifted some of his opinions slightly, forcing him to acknowledge their goods. But deep down, he knew their true intentions.
Their goals were ultimately self‑centered, designed only to benefit themselves and the people they deemed worthy of being “their people.”
Most of them would probably never care about slum dwellers, gutter rats, or the wrongly accused criminals rotting away in cells. To them, such lives were expendable, nothing more than shadows beneath the grandeur of their own ambitions.
As Ayan was lost in thought, the iron-bar gate creaked open. A shiver ran down his spine as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed closer. He looked up, dread filling his eyes, only to see that same knight, Rodeo, accompanied by another man whose face was twisted into a mocking smile.
“W‑Wait! I apologize! I was a fucking bastard! I am nothing but a slum rat who dared to raise his filthy voice against those who represent justice!” Ayan cried out desperately as he dropped to his knees. The words tasted like poison in his mouth, and he felt sick even as he forced them out.
But he knew the truth that bullies tormented others to satisfy their own egos. If he could somehow feed that ego in another way, perhaps they would stop torturing him. He didn’t have complete certainty, but nothing hurt in trying.
Rodeo halted, listening to the pitiful words spilling from the man kneeling before him. A cruel grin spread across his face. Without hesitation, he pressed his boot down onto Ayan’s head, grinding it against the filthy floor.
Ayan instinctively wanted to struggle, his heartbeat spiking as the pressure on his skull dragged him back into the memory of his last death.
'I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!' His mind screamed in repetition, phantom pain and the memories of death replaying mercilessly inside his head.
“At least you now know your place, trash,” Rodeo sneered, scrunching his nose in disgust.
“Let’s go. This place stinks of filth,” he muttered to his companion, who nodded, casting one last mocking glance at Ayan before the two of them left, leaving him broken on the floor.
Ayan took a deep breath, relieved that he had been spared the torture for now.
His dignity had been shattered, trampled into the dirt, but he truly couldn’t endure any more suffering. His body and spirit were already at their breaking point.
He had once been taught that it was both a sin to commit evil acts and a sin to tolerate those who committed them.
Yet now, that teaching felt laughable.
If he had even the faintest trace of strength to stand against them, he would have fought to the death without hesitation. But the truth was he was terrified of dying again, and he already knew he couldn’t possibly resist these superhuman monsters who towered over him.
[Oh Lord, deprive me of my ability to feel fear ever again]
…
After two hours, Ayan finally managed to collect his scattered thoughts.
'This cannot go on… I must do something!', he told himself, though the question gnawed at him, but what could he possibly do? That was when an idea began to take shape.
Subaru should still be a butler, guest, or whatever his role was in the Roswaal mansion. If Ayan could somehow send a letter to him, claiming it was from his twin brother and revealing certain information, then regardless of whether Subaru doubted it or not, he would definitely make an effort to check on him.
'Yes… this could work!'', he thought, his mind clinging to the fragile spark of hope.
In fact, he had considered this idea long before he was enslaved in the previous loop, but back then, how could he have sent a letter with no money, no means, and no leverage? Now, however, he had something...he had a key to success.
He was imprisoned, yes, but there were guards. And those guards were the key.
Even if they didn’t know whether he was a major criminal or just a petty offender, once they realized he was possibly connected to Roswaal, they would likely be willing to send the letter, as long as he offered them enough benefits in return.
'The question is… how do I make them trust me?', Ayan thought for a moment, carefully weighing his options. He decided he would have to choose his words with precision, crafting them in a way that might make the guards willing to trust him.
He waited patiently until a guard finally arrived in front of his cage. Moving closer to the iron bars, he spoke in a low, deliberate voice, “Hey… I have something to ask of you.”
The guard stopped, turning toward him with narrowed eyes, then banged his iron‑clad gloves against the bars with a deafening clang, as if to scare him into silence. “Be quiet, unless you want to be—”
Ayan immediately interrupted, desperation spilling from his lips. “My brother is a butler under Lord Roswaal.”
The guard paused, his expression shifting as his eyes darkened. “Using your family connection to try to get out? As expected of a filthy criminal.”
“Ten Royal Gold Coins,” Ayan said firmly, raising his hands and showing the figure with all of his fingers.
The guard leaned in toward the iron cage, his suspicion replaced by sudden interest. “What do you want me to do?”
Ayan’s eyebrows twitched in disbelief. Even he hadn’t expected it to be this easy.
“I just want you to help me send a letter to him. We can even form a contract so that you’ll have reason to trust me,” Ayan said carefully, watching the guard’s reaction. The man narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face.
“Your crime?” the guard asked, infact he had already forgotten why Ayan was imprisoned in the first place.
“Stealing a piece of bread…” Ayan admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment. The guard’s eyes sharpened immediately. “Are you sure you’re not fooling me? You claim your brother is the butler of Lord Roswaal… and yet you were caught stealing bread?”
In truth, Ayan was more stupefied by how easily the guard believed he had been thrown into this shithole for stealing bread, rather than believing he could possibly be the brother of someone serving under a noble.
“My family history is complicated,” Ayan replied quickly, forcing himself to stay composed. “But think about it. We can make a contract. If I’m lying, you’ll realize it in a few days and you’ll probably beat me half to death. But if I’m telling the truth, you walk away with ten royal gold coins.”
The guard’s expression shifted, his suspicion giving way to temptation. He looked genuinely tempted.
“Fine, I will bring a quill and paper. But it will also cost money to send them… so if you are wasting my time—” his eyes grew cold, and Ayan instantly understood. This man would probably slice off limbs or even kill him without hesitation if he thought his precious money was being wasted.
'Here, the life of a human being is worth less than a scrap of paper,' Ayan thought sadly, the bitterness gnawing at his chest.
“You will need to deliver the message fast. My brother has private matters to take care of at this time of year. I fear the letter might arrive on his day off, and Lord Roswaal could end up reading it instead,” Ayan explained, his voice trembling with urgency.
The guard narrowed his eyes again. “You sure have a lot of demands… but fine. Even a fast delivery for a letter would be worth it, considering the… service you’ll provide.” He chose his words carefully, his tone laced with caution.
He knew the other guards wouldn’t mind his dealings, but if they discovered the amount he was being offered, they might demand a share of the pie.
Soon, Ayan had written the letter with the paper, ink, and quill provided by the guard. Now, all that remained was to wait.
Thinking back on how the guard’s attitude had shifted in an instant the moment he mentioned the amount, Ayan laughed quietly in his mind.
'Corruption is bad… but only if I’m not involved in it. If I am involved in it, then I’ll defend it!', He recalled the old joke from his previous life and couldn’t help but feel amused at how perfectly it fit the knights of this world.
At this moment, he was forcing himself to joke, because he knew if he didn’t joke now, perhaps he would never be able to joke again.
[Oh Lord, may I never forget my ability to make jokes in worst of times]
...
Days passed, and Ayan began to grow increasingly worried. According to the guard, the letter should take at worst two days to reach Lord Roswaal’s mansion.
That should have been enough time. He had written the letter on the night of the first day, and Subaru was fated to die on the fifth or sixth day. If the letter reached him by the third day, not only would Subaru have the chance to solve everything, but he might even be able to save him.
Ayan also considered Roswaal’s position. Surely, Roswaal would not sabotage this plan. In fact, it would be a perfect opportunity for him to align Subaru more firmly with his camp. Freeing Ayan the Subaru’s supposed twin brother while giving away the ten royal gold coins to the guard that he had made a contract with would create a debt that neither Subaru nor Ayan could easily escape.
It would bind them to Roswaal’s mansion, ensuring their loyalty, or at least their dependence.
By all logic, this meant Roswaal had no reason to hinder him, he should be able to see the obvious benefits and Ayan knew that clown would definitely take this opportunity.
However, as more time passed, Ayan no longer knew what had happened. He clung to the fragile hope that Subaru had read his letter and managed to save everyone including that blue‑haired bitch and her sister pinky.
But as the days dragged on, Ayan grew increasingly nervous, especially with the guard eyeing him every single day. Then, without warning, it suddenly hit him.
He didn’t even have time to scream before the nightmare began.
“This is for your crimes, filthy witch cultist,” Ayan heard a voice snarl. His blood froze as he saw that same blue‑haired maid again, swinging her morning star straight at him.
'Nooo!', he screamed in his mind as agonizing pain tore through his body.
“Aa! Ah, my legs!!” The words spilled from his mouth, Subaru’s mouth, in Subaru’s voice.
Rem struck him again, ripping away his flesh and sanity with every brutal blow. And then, once he was on the verge of death, she healed him. But to Ayan, the healing was not salvation, he knew it was despair. It was a cruel extension of his suffering, because this bitch was going to torture him, like everyone else who did with him in previous loop, torment others to satisfy their selfish desires.
He looked at Rem with eyes full of hatred, burning with venom, but Subaru’s eyes… Subaru’s eyes only gazed at her with despair.
“I love Emilia…” The words spilled from his mouth, Subaru’s mouth once again.
Subaru’s flesh was torn, Ayan’s flesh was torn.
Subaru’s bones shattered, Ayan’s bones shattered.
Subaru was healed, Ayan was healed.
Heal… Tear… Tear! Tear! Heal! Tear! Tear!
The cycle repeated as if it was endless, grinding Ayan’s sanity into dust.
'I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!', With every strike that tore his body apart, his hatred for her grew. With every cruel healing that dragged him back from the brink, his hatred deepened further.
But his words could never reach his own lips, only Subaru’s lips. And as the process continued, his hatred twisted into something else, something more desperate.
“Kill me! Kill me! I wanna die! I wanna die! I wanna die! I wanna die!” Ayan screamed in his mind, pouring every last fragment of strength into his silent pleas.
'Fuck this world, fuck these people, fuck everything… fuck me.'
He wanted to die. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to die. He wanted to die.
And then, as if God finally showed mercy, a wind blade sliced through the air and severed his head cleanly from his shoulders. At last, death embraced him.
…
“Arghh… Ha—Ahhhhh! Aaaaaaaah!” Ayan screamed as he woke, his mind still trapped in the endless cycle—tear it! Heal it! Tear it! Heal it!
“Die! Die! I wanna die!” he cried desperately, his voice echoing through the prison. The guards, hearing the commotion, rushed to the cell. But what they saw inside froze them to their core.
Ayan was smashing his head against the wall with reckless abandon, blood splattering across the stone as he banged his skull again and again. The sickening crack of bone echoed, and then his body collapsed to the ground, twitching in agony.
The guards stood frozen, paralyzed by shock. They didn’t know what to do. Such madness, such violent self‑harm, was something they had never witnessed before. And for the first time, they were… scared.
But Ayan didn’t stop. With the last fragments of his consciousness, he bit down hard on his tongue, tearing it apart. Blood pooled from his mouth, spilling onto the floor as his body convulsed in despair.
His breathing grew heavy, ragged, each inhale trembling as though it might be his last.
'I can finally die,' he thought, his mind clearing in those final moments. Until now, every return by death had been triggered because Subaru died. But for the first time, it was him, Ayan, who was going to die.
And for the very thing he had feared most until now… he felt at peace.
Memories of his childhood flickered before his eyes, warm fragments of his siblings and the woman he had loved.
'Thank you… Papa… Mama… Let’s meet again in our next lives', he whispered in his heart, a peaceful expression softening his face as he exhaled what he believed to be his last breath.
Ayan had no desire to continue living in this accursed world. He should have died by all logic, that was how Return by Death worked, your gameplay was over once you lost your desire to live and had fulfilled your reason to live, having no regrets, and Ayan at this time had no regret of dying to escape that hell.
But instead, his peace was shattered. Ayan could only scream in horror as consciousness snapped back, and he awoke once more inside Subaru’s body, trapped without control, his torment beginning all over again.
“Why?” he asked himself, the word trembling out of his broken mind.
He didn’t even have the strength to observe what was happening around him anymore.
“Why?” he whispered again, his voice hollow. He wished to be deprived of the ability to question ever again. He wished to be deprived of the ability to feel pain or fear ever again. He wished to be deprived of his very life.
Then why… why must he go through this?
Ayan once more felt the agony of his bones being crunched as he fell from a great height. He didn’t care about the heroic speeches Subaru gave. He didn’t care that Subaru forgave his own murderers out of kindness. None of it mattered.
The next moment, he found himself in a completely dark space. His orange soul floated aimlessly, without will or intent, staring blankly at the purple haze that surrounded him, confused and lost.
“I hate you…” He heard it as his eyes widened as the feminine voice echoed through the void.
“I hate you…” The voice sounded again, sharper, heavier, until the figure finally became visible before him.
“I hate you…” It was a dark, feminine silhouette, her form cloaked in shadow, with glowing purple eyes burning with obsession. Those eyes held nothing but hatred for him.
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she repeated, her voice broken and relentless, like a recorder stuck on a single, venomous phrase.
'Do you think I wanted this?', he wanted to scream, but no words came out. His soul trembled in silence.
“LEAVE MY SUBARU!!!” she shrieked, her voice splitting the void as tendrils of darkness surged forward, writhing and twisting, reaching to devour him forever.
But then, just as the abyss threatened to consume him, a white glow suddenly enveloped his soul, encasing him in its light.
Ayan then saw it, a glowing white soul floating above him in this purple haze of darkness. It was Subaru’s soul, the man whose face he now bore.
Then, before his eyes, Subaru’s soul seemed to transfigure into someone else, a figure with white hair and golden yellow eyes. A part of that soul cracked, breaking piece by piece, until fragments submerged into Ayan’s own soul, merging with him.
The Witch’s hands halted, trembling as if afraid to strike him, afraid to harm the portion of him that belonged to that man… the one who was Subaru, yet not Subaru.
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she cried, her voice echoing like a curse.
Those were the last words Ayan heard before he was thrust back into the prison.
'Cry? Blame the world? Ask another why this was happening?', Ayan did none of that. He simply sat there, hollow and emotionless, stripped of everything.
“Hate me?” he muttered, feeling something sharp and bitter settle deep inside him.
He was hated by the world, denied by the Witch, deprived of the people he loved. He had lost everything, his dignity, his sanity, even the faintest reason to keep living.
Then, a chuckle escaped his lips. Before he realized it, the chuckle grew louder, twisting into laughter. His laughter echoed through the prison, raw and unsettling, until it drew the attention of a guard.
The man stopped in front of the cell, glaring at him warily. “Bastard, shut up before I make you shut up,” the guard scowled, his voice dripping with contempt.
Ayan’s laughter froze, his expression shifting into something calm, almost cold.
“The world—no, you all—are truly vile pieces of shit,” Ayan said, his tone steady, almost serene, as if the bitterness inside him had finally crystallized into clarity.
“The fuck you yapping, gutter rat?!” the guard’s lips twitched as he spat the words, glaring at the beaten‑up prisoner. He remembered this one was captured for some petty crime, roughed up not long ago by two respected knights because of his disgusting behavior.
“What do you think life is worth?” Ayan asked suddenly, his black eyes, Subaru’s eyes locking onto the guard’s. The intensity made the man flinch and instinctively step back.
“Nothing. Yes, for you people, life is worth nothing,” Ayan continued, his voice calm but sharp, each word cutting like a blade. “You all want to fulfill your selfish desires, and for that you torment others and sometimes you do it under the guise of your assumptions, sometimes under the mask of moral justification, so you can feel good while doing it.”
Every word carried the weight of memory, the echo of Rem’s torture replaying in his mind as he spoke.
This loop's death was different from the anime, where she merely asked Subaru a few questions and then Ram killed him. No! Here she fucking tortured him, healing him only to prolong the agony, claiming it was to extract information. Her suspicion of Subaru… that was all it took.
And instead of verifying with her Lord, she went straight to killing Subaru. Even if Ayan could have understood up to that point, what he could never accept was the torture.
Getting information? Don’t make him laugh.
The look in her eyes that he saw was pure hatred already told the truth. It wasn’t about justice, it wasn’t about duty. It was simply to vent her own hatred. Because she couldn’t strike at the real, powerful Witch Cultists, she unleashed her rage on a suspected one, someone weak, someone defenseless.
She had drawn her conclusion from mere behavior, clinging to it with such certainty as if she were greater than her own sister, greater than her Lord… not even caring that the half‑elf in their mansion bore the same appearance as the Witch of Envy.
In simple words, it was nothing more than an excuse to vent her dark emotions. If she had simply killed Subaru outright, Ayan might have understood. He really would have.
Was what happened the same in the novels or light novels? At this point, Ayan didn’t care. What happened in those pages didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was only what happened here, in this world which was the real world he was forced to live in.
“Man, what’s going on? Why did you call us?” Ayan raised his face slowly, his hollow eyes meeting the other guards who had come.
“Brother, this man is acting fucking weird! I think he’s crazy!” the first guard said, and the others laughed mockingly.
“I guess we always get one or two of these weirdos. Very well, let’s just beat him up until he regains his sanity,” one of them sneered, his tone dripping with cruelty.
“You all are really the same,” Ayan said quietly, his voice calm yet venomous. The same stupid reason to torment someone.
An excuse to unleash their desires of profanity.
'I hate you,' the words echoed in his heart, the same words once spat by the Witch of Envy.
He didn’t ask another 'why' about how he was summoned, or 'why' he was summoned. He no longer cared. He just knew one thing with certainty: these people didn’t care about life.
“Oh…” Something stirred in his mind as the guards entered.
“Uh… I remember the taboo. I wonder… what will happen if I speak it out loud, syllable by syllable, in Japanese—my dearest Witch?” Ayan muttered, his words intended for the Witch. The guards frowned, exchanging wary glances at his strange rambling.
“This one looks really like a crackhead. He’s even talking weird words to himself,” one guard scoffed.
“Whatever. Both of you, grab his body. I’ll fuck him up,” another ordered, his tone authoritative as he likely of higher rank than these two, if one were to observe carefully some keys rattled by his hip.
“Hmmm… Yesss, Return by Death! I can return by death! I’ve experienced it every fucking time you pieces of shit killed poor Subaru!” Ayan shouted, his voice echoing through the prison. Then he paused. A realization struck him as he felt no resistance in speaking those words. The time stop didn’t happen that would have happened to Subaru. The shadow hands didn’t come to violate him or crush his heart.
Instead, the guards froze where they stood. Blood began leaking from their eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. One by one, they collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud, leaving Ayan stunned.
And then, more sounds echoed throughout the prison. From every cage, every cell, the criminals locked inside also fell silent and dead.
“I see,” Ayan said calmly. “You do not want to violate someone you hate, so instead you would rather kill everyone who hears these words.”
A smile crept across his face.
He now realized everything that the reason his loops were so brutal, the reason his checkpoint had shifted into something far worse while Subaru’s remained fixed on day one. It was the Witch of Envy’s doing.
She was probably trying to force him to forfeit his life, to truly fulfill the requirement of Return by Death and die, leaving her alone with Subaru.
But for some reason, that rule didn’t apply to him. Perhaps there was another rule at play… something deeper, something hidden because he was connected to Subaru than having Return by Death himself.
'Flugel?', Ayan thought suddenly. 'I remember someone saying Subaru was the legendary Great Sage, or perhaps his reincarnation.'
Because the man while resembling Subaru had obvious differences in his facial features. That man’s soul, or at least a fragment of it, had merged with Ayan’s own, ensuring Satella could not harm him even if she wanted to.
He didn’t know if it was voluntary, or if Subaru and Ayan were truly merging because of the strange summoning that had occurred. But whatever it was, it had ensured Witch of Envy wouldn't harm him even if she loathed him every being of her existence, the outsider who came in between her and that crazy forgiving, selfless man.
“Well, no point in thinking about it… Why am I even wasting thought on this?” Ayan muttered as he calmly walked over to the dead guard.
His eyes fell on a set of keys hanging from the man’s belt. He took them without hesitation, unlocked his chains, and stepped out of the prison cell.
“There will be people outside, probably,” he said to himself, his voice steady, almost detached. Then he added with a faint chuckle, “I guess… you succeeded in making me a sinner.”
Only he knew how deeply betrayed he felt, how much his beliefs had been shattered.
“Very well, then I will take this role,” he continued, speaking aloud as though addressing the world itself.
“This world doesn’t need justice, or vengeance, or another madman running around. Though I suppose I cannot be sure I won’t be classified as another madman, considering what I am about to do.”
His words carried into the silence, as if he wanted the world, the living entity he believed it to be to hear him clearly word by word. As if he wanted the Witch of Envy herself to hear his declaration.
“I will be your people's Karma, the natural consequence of the actions of the filthy people of this world,” he declared, pausing as memories surged back. He remembered the slave trader who tormented him, the knight who treated him like the most heinous criminal simply because he had stolen a piece of bread the damn bread that had been thrown away by that very knight.
And finally, he remembered that blue‑haired maid, acting so righteously, as if she were justice itself. The thought alone made him want to vomit.
Would he be a hypocrite? A sinner? He didn’t care. He would let God decide. He would let the Lord judge his sins. If it was Yamraj, then let him burn in boiling oil. If it was Satan, then let him be cursed by the Heavens alongside him. If it was Buddha, then let him never reach Nirvana, condemned to suffer endlessly in the cycle of birth and rebirth.
“God will take care of my sins,” he muttered, aware that he was going mad or perhaps had already gone mad considering the soliloquy he was giving while corpses lay scattered all around him.
“And I will take care of you,” he finished coldly. Now was the time to escape… to leave this hell behind.
[Oh Lord, may you torment me for the sins that I commit.]
To be continued...