Never Die Villain

Niflheim, an everlasting winter, a desolate wasteland of endless ice, the complete opposite of the flames of hell, and yet, in that regard, it was no different.

Hell was not defined by fire, nor by the unbearable heat that reduced everything to ash, but by despair itself, and if that were the case, then Niflheim had always been a frozen hell from the very beginning.

Looking back, Ilya often found himself wondering when it had all started.

Perhaps it was the moment he realized just how mistaken he had been, or perhaps it had begun even earlier, from the instant he convinced himself that transmigrating into another world meant escaping the life he once lived.

Like countless others who suddenly found themselves in a similar predicament, his first instinct wasn’t to question where he was, but to believe that everything would somehow work itself out simply because stories had taught him that they always did.

Naturally, the first thing he did was try to invoke the one thing every transmigrator expected to have.

"System."

Nothing happened.

At first, he assumed he simply had to wait.

Maybe there was a condition that hadn’t been fulfilled yet, maybe he had spoken the wrong keyword, or maybe, like in some novels, it would only appear after encountering a life-threatening situation, so he patiently went through every possibility he could think of, trying one cliché after another in the hope that at least one of them would respond.

"Status."

"Inventory."

"Quest."

"Save."

"Load."

Not once did anything answer him.

It didn’t end there, either.

He searched for hidden old men trapped inside rings, wondered whether a forgotten bloodline would suddenly awaken upon reaching adulthood, entertained the ridiculous possibility that a beautiful goddess might descend from the heavens to explain everything to him, and even found himself half-expecting an ancient academy principal to suddenly proclaim him the chosen one after discovering some absurdly rare aptitude.

None of it happened, and reality continued exactly as it always had, indifferent to his expectations and utterly unwilling to bend itself into the kind of story he had hoped he was living.

Even so, Ilya considered himself fortunate.

Of all the families he could have been reborn into, he had awakened as the son of the Northern Grand Duke, the head of House Belozersky, a family whose authority was second only to that of the Imperial Family itself.

Wealth, status, influence, and opportunities that most people could only dream of had all been placed before him on a silver platter, and compared to the countless others who struggled simply to survive, he had been dealt an extraordinarily fortunate hand.

——It seems... I’ll have to leave this world before you after all. I’m sorry... for being such a horrible parent...

——It’s your fault... You cursed child... If I didn’t have you... Diane would’ve...

——It’s always you. Always you! Everything you touch ends up ruined, so don’t ever... and I mean ever... call me your sister again!

"...."

Fortunate?

Ilya had never once coveted the position of heir.

From the start, he had accepted that everything belonging to House Belozersky would one day pass to Anastasiya, and he had never harbored even the slightest resentment over that fact.

So, he devoted himself to becoming useful in whatever way he could, believing that if he worked hard enough, proved his worth, and stayed within the place that had been given to him, then perhaps that would be enough.

——You’re a disappointment.

It never was.

No matter how diligently he trained, no matter how many expectations he met, and no matter how desperately he tried to avoid becoming a burden, the conclusion remained exactly the same.

He had arrived in this world with stars in his eyes, believing he had been granted a second chance to live a better life than the one he had left behind, only to discover that some things did not change simply because the world around him did.

Crack——!

The ice had never formed overnight.

It hadn’t frozen him the moment he was born into this world, nor had it appeared after a single setback.

Little by little, disappointment after disappointment, it spread throughout his world until, before he had even realized it, the ice had long since wrapped itself around his heart so completely that there was no longer any possibility of it ever thawing.

The Abyss continued to drag him deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper.

Every failure, every harsh reality, every moment that reminded him this world cared little for hope became another layer of ice, until the endless winter he had once believed to be nothing more than a metaphor had become his reality.

"...."

...Until his entire world had become a frozen hell.

Crackle——!

Ilya slowly opened his eyes.

The crimson flesh wrapped around his body immediately froze over. Thin layers of frost rapidly spread across the veins that had cocooned him before turning them as brittle as glass.

"Haa...."

Misty white breath escaped his lips as the ice continued to advance without stopping, consuming the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and everything else the Crimson Lily had assimilated into itself.

"Niflheim..."

Crackle——!

The next moment, the frozen veins shattered one after another before dissolving into nothingness as Ilya pulled himself free from the remains of the cocoon that had tried to embrace him.

"...."

Ilya looked up.

There she was.

Helene remained seated upon the Crimson Lily, tragically beautiful as though she had become the final bloom of the very place that had stolen her future, somewhere along the way becoming another part of it in return.

So unbearably lonely.

So far beyond salvation that even hope no longer dared reach for her.

There was something profoundly wrong about the sight before him, and yet the further Ilya looked, the less he found himself seeing a monster.

In the end, all he could see was a girl who had continued falling into the Abyss long after everyone else had stopped reaching for her, until the Abyss had finally reached back.

Any other person would’ve been frozen in place.

Any other person would’ve stared in fear.

After all, faced with a Distortion that had already become one with the Crimson Lily, terror would’ve been the only natural response.

Step——

And yet, Ilya took that step forward.

——Pfft. Sneak out? You’re crazy. We’re already failing.

Because Helene had been a friend.

——Aaah! Look at this bastard Adrian!

A friend who laughed louder than anyone else despite her circumstances.

——Ilya, ah—ew! You reek of sweat!

A friend who teased and got teased in return, just like any other.

——That girl from the Magic Department... Elise, was it? You damn fool. Fumbling a beautiful girl like that... don’t tell me you actually don’t like her. Are you sure you’re in your right mind?

A friend who stubbornly smiled after another failing grade.

——Ilya.

A friend who laughed whenever she managed to catch him off guard, no different from any ordinary girl spending another uneventful afternoon with her friends.

——Ilya.

Looking back now, Ilya wondered if those carefree smiles had been nothing more than another way of convincing herself that everything would somehow be alright.

"Ilya."

"Helene."

Ilya slowly reached out his hand.

The crimson flesh radiated enough heat to melt steel, yet before it could scorch his fingertips, frost bloomed across its surface.

Niflheim advanced, attempting to cover the crimson flesh in white until it looked less like ice...

Crackle——!

...And more like snow reclaiming the last crimson flower blooming alone in a frozen hell.

Shatter——!

And so, the Crimson Lily shattered like frozen glass.

The heartbeat that had echoed throughout the mansion ceased, leaving behind a white silence so complete that even the crackling frost seemed deafening.

Ilya’s hand remained outstretched, his arm a grotesque mixture of charred flesh, blood, and frost that had already climbed past his elbow.

He made no attempt to withdraw it, for before his fingers could even move, the strength left his body, and he collapsed onto his back with a thud.

"Goddamn it..."

He tried to push himself upright, but his body refused to answer.

Somewhere along the way, the pain had already disappeared as numbness took root, spreading through his limbs until even his ruined arm no longer felt like his own.

"...Heh."

A dry laugh escaped his lips.

So this was how it ended.

How anticlimactic.

After resisting for so long, after struggling against a fate he had known from the very beginning, he found himself lying upon the remains of the Crimson Lily, unable to muster enough strength to so much as lift a finger.

It was almost funny in a way, for despite everything that had happened since he had transmigrated into this world, his end was no different from every Fallen Wizard who had come before him.

"Hoo..."

Every breath felt colder than the last as the freezing air entered his lungs.

"Haa..."

Perhaps this wasn’t so bad.

He had long since accepted that one day he would die.

Ever since Vera had spoken those words on the bridge, ever since he learned what it truly meant to become a Fallen Wizard, death had become something not even worth fearing.

"Hoo..."

His consciousness dissolved into an endless white silence, while the freezing cold that had once sought to devour him now felt strangely gentle, as though Niflheim itself had finally broken free.

"...Good enough."

...But at least, Helene was free.

Whoosh——!

In the next instant, a wave of scorching heat swept across the Crimson Lily, melting the endless frost in an instant as though the ice that had refused to thaw until now had never existed in the first place.

Flames surged with terrifying ferocity, forcing back Niflheim’s relentless winter, while the heat licking his skin felt so foreign that Ilya wondered whether death itself had finally come for him.

"Second time you try to break your promise."

His eyes slowly opened.

Beyond the sea of flames that consumed everything in its path, a lone silhouette approached him.

Each step sent embers into the air as the unbearable cold retreated further and further with every passing moment.

"...Senior."

Vera Adelheid Lischke stopped before him and looked down without a hint of amusement in her eyes.

———!

Then, she drove the pointed tip of her high heel into the center of his chest, forcing a pained groan from his lips as she leaned forward.

"Who gave you permission to die, huh?"