My Choice!

“Leave?”

Ewan’s eyes shot wide open. He stared at the door. It no longer felt like an impassable barrier; it felt like an invitation.

He subconsciously reached for the doorknob, his hand trembling slightly as he pressed down.

Click.

The door swung open. Through the narrow gap, he could see the brightly lit, safe corridor. A spark of delirious joy ignited in his chest. If the door was open, he could leave! He could escape! He wasn’t abandoning Celicia, he told himself, he was just going to get help! That was the only way to save her!

“Wait.”

He froze, one foot already over the threshold. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

“The assassin’s accomplice outside… she must know the door is unlocked. So why would she let me go?”

“She said… it’s almost over.”

What’s almost over?

His head snapped back around, his eyes locking onto the scene inside the room.

And then he saw it.

The assassin, her hand holding the flaming dagger high, like Death itself raising its scythe for the final, reaping blow, poised to descend upon the proud, unyielding soul who, even in this desperate moment, refused to break.

Forward was life.

Backward was death.

Ewan could almost hear the universe flip a coin, the sound echoing in the silent, waiting air.

…

The glint of the blade and the dance of the unholy flames were reflected in Celicia’s eyes.

Despair had completely enveloped her, a crushing, suffocating weight. Everything in her vision slowed to a crawl, as if the world itself were grinding to a halt. But she knew it wasn’t time that was slowing; it was her own mind, racing at impossible speeds in the face of annihilation, a last-ditch effort to process the end.

In short, her life was flashing before her eyes.

How disgraceful, she thought, a bitter taste in her mouth. To fall in a place like this…

Damn you, Ewan Campbell…

She cursed the man she hated most, but the fire of her anger had already turned to ash. At this point, anger was meaningless.

He must have escaped by now… A strange, fleeting thought passed through her mind. That’s fine. He shouldn’t have to die here…

Celicia closed her eyes, calmly accepting her fate.

Shhhk.

The sound of a blade sinking into flesh echoed in the room, just as she had expected.

Hot blood sprayed across her face.

But Celicia felt no pain. Instead, she felt a familiar, warm presence enveloping her, shielding her.

“What—”

Her eyes snapped open in shock, and her gaze collided with a pair of brilliant blue eyes—eyes that were clear and bright, but were now, with horrifying speed, beginning to dim.

It was the same gaze he’d given her when he asked her to dance.

“Cough, cough… isn’t it a bit… too early to give up, my princess…?”

Ewan was draped over her, a pained, bloody smile on his face. He coughed up another mouthful of blood, the spray of it staining her pure white dress a shocking, heartbreaking crimson.

“Why…” Celicia’s eyes widened in disbelief. The glacier within them seemed to crack and melt away, revealing a raw panic and confusion she had never shown to another living soul, the look of a frightened little girl. “Ewan Campbell… why did you save me…?”

“Why? Cough, cough… damn it, I’d like to know that myself.”

Ewan gasped for breath. The dagger of death was currently embedded in his back, having pierced straight through his lung. The unholy flames, which could counter even the laws of a god, were now mercilessly incinerating his body from the inside out, sending waves of agony so intense they threatened to shatter his very consciousness.

“If I had to give a reason… I guess… it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“A spur-of-the-moment decision? Who… who acts on impulse at a time like this?”

Seeing the disbelief in her eyes, Ewan could only shake his head with a weak smile. But he wasn’t lying. In that critical moment, he had been just one step away from life, from freedom, from escaping death. But when he turned and saw that dagger raised, about to fall, every selfish, rational thought in his head had simply vanished. The guilt he felt toward her, the regret for his own weakness, the fear of death, the desperate desire to live—it all dissolved into nothing.

In that one, single instant, he had remembered his past life.

He remembered the life-sized poster of Celicia he had kept taped next to his bed. The girl on that poster was a pale imitation of the real woman’s beauty. But on countless occasions, when he was crushed by the pressures of life, suffocated by the endless, soul-crushing grind, the simple act of waking up and seeing her face had always given him the courage to face another day.

And so, he didn’t want her to die.

And so, he had turned back.

And so, he had thrown himself in front of Death’s scythe.

So that’s what it was.

His so-called obsession, his “fandom”—perhaps it was more than just the self-deception of a lonely man.

“Looks like I really do have a bad case of ‘intermittent brain-aneurysm syndrome.’ And it always seems to flare up at the worst possible times,” Ewan coughed out a bitter, bloody laugh. It was just like that night at two in the morning, when he’d been overcome with the desperate urge to pull on his gacha game, and then, in his ecstasy over a legendary pull, had been promptly flattened by a passing truck.

“Is this really the same ending all over again?”

Well, at least after you’ve died once, it’s not quite as terrifying the second time around.

“But before I go,” he thought, a familiar, roguish glint in his dimming eyes, “I’m going to get one last cool moment in. Otherwise, this would be a total waste…”

With that thought, Ewan fought through the searing pain, forced himself to sit up a little straighter, and tried his best to look like a true, dignified duke’s son as he offered Celicia a graceful, composed, and utterly breathtaking smile.

“So now… do I look like a man to you, my princess?”

“You…”

Unfortunately, Ewan didn’t get to hear her answer.

An endless, silent darkness swallowed his consciousness.

…

【…】

【PROGRESS LOADING…】

【PRIDE: 50%】

【ENVY: 99%】

【GREED: 0%】

【LUST: 0%】

【SLOTH: 0%】

【WRATH: 0%】

【GLUTTONY: -90%】

【…】

【PLEASE CONTINUE TO STRUGGLE】

【EWAN CAMPBELL】

【MY ■■■■】

Deep within Ewan’s fading consciousness, the black book trembled, a faint, dark light pulsing from its pages.

…

“BAS—TARD—!”

Watching Ewan suddenly appear out of nowhere and block her fatal blow with his own body, the assassin’s eyes blazed with a murderous fury. I was so close! I was about to succeed! Why did you, Ewan Campbell, have to interfere at the most critical moment?! You weren’t even my target!

“Do you think this can stop me?! Even if you block this one attack, with the grace of my god, Princess Celicia is still just a lamb for the slaughter!”

“So what?! I’ll just stab her again!”

The assassin gripped the dagger tightly and pulled it free…

Huh?

It’s stuck?

She looked down in confusion, and saw that where she had stabbed him, on that ridiculously ornate suit, a faint golden light was shimmering, clamping down on her dagger with surprising force.

“So the suit is enchanted.” The assassin sneered. It wasn’t surprising that the son of a duke would have a last-resort protective item. But no matter how special it was… it was still just a piece of clothing. How long could it possibly hold out against her?

She channeled all her strength, and sure enough, with a grunt of effort, she pulled the dagger free.

But the dagger that came out… seemed a bit strange.

“Huh?”

The assassin stared at the blade in her hand, her mind going completely blank.

The blade was still sharp, its edge glinting coldly in the dim light.

It was just…

“Where’s my fire?”

My big, beautiful, unholy flame, a sacred gift from my god?

Where did it go?