Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 41

The group, leaving the Crown Prince behind, climbed back into the carriage.

Inside the rattling carriage, Evan, his eyes slightly unhinged, looked at Vivian as if making a vow to himself and spoke.

“Help me. Even if I don’t understand the theory, you’re better at reciting spells and controlling power than I am, Vivian.”

Vivian neither nodded nor replied.

Having just witnessed such a scene with her own eyes, she couldn’t fathom what this man, acting as if nothing had happened, was about to request.

After all, Evan was the kind of fool who locked the stable door only after the horse had bolted.

“What are you planning now…?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll find a way to create even a tiny interference with the past.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“If I pour my entire life into it, I have to hope for something to come out of it.”

“Why… Why is everything changing so suddenly? Evan, I’m struggling. Can’t we talk about this later?

Right before my eyes, someone I thought was my friend—well, maybe I was the only one who thought so—shot themselves in the head and ended their life… ugh…!”

Was it from nausea or the jostling carriage?

Vivian pressed her hand to her mouth, suppressing the rising urge to vomit.

Though it nearly spilled out, she quickly conjured fire to burn away the offensive smell, leaving nothing visible behind, a small comfort in an otherwise dreadful situation.

“Why? Why is it always stories like this with you?

Can’t you let me collect myself, even for a moment, to grieve?

We need time to wish for peace, to mourn.

Show some respect for the dead!!”

Vivian’s emotions boiled over, and she forgot her usual formal tone, speaking in a harsh, informal manner without realizing it.

In her eyes, Evan appeared alien, irrational—a madman with not even a shred of respect for the deceased.

Evan’s view of Vivian wasn’t far off either.

“What respect? Erica isn’t dead.

You saw it too. She’s just… shifted to somewhere different from us.”

“But will we ever see her again… here?”

“……”

Evan couldn’t answer with confidence.

He was still piecing things together in his mind.

“Evan, then that means Erica is dead.

At least here, she’s dead! How can you say she’s alive?

By that logic, my father, who passed away long ago, must also be living well in heaven—or hell, for all I know!”

To Vivian, whether Erica had traveled back in time, died and reincarnated with memories intact, or something else entirely, the outcome was the same: she was dead.

At least, as far as this world was concerned, they’d never meet again.

The difference between Evan and Vivian was that Evan was willing to delve into forbidden magic—though he detested necromancy—to reverse time and send a message to Erica or even go back himself.

Vivian, on the other hand, believed Erica was gone, destined to return to dust. She chose to bury the memory of the dead in her heart and move forward.

No matter how dear the deceased was, digging into the past like Evan intended was nothing short of disrespectful to the dead. She thought it was natural to accept the inevitability of death, cherish the memories, and live on.

When the dead occasionally came to mind, she would feel sorrow. But she believed that enduring that sadness and reminiscing about the happy days spent together was the proper way to grieve.

“But, but you saw it too, didn’t you, Vivian?

Erica is alive. Carrying the memory of shooting herself in the head.

She’s living with that awful memory she once whispered to me—those unbearable, traumatic experiences etched into her brain.

She’s alive, but with memories of dying horrifically and slowly, suffering miserably.

In truth, we might have gone through the same thing as Erica countless times already. That’s how it is! You saw it too!”

The difference between the two was that Vivian had already moved on after losing someone dear to her, burying them in her heart.

Evan, however, had spent over ten years with Erica, someone who felt like family, to the point where he had taken her for granted and pushed her away. Now, his mind was twisted with guilt and regret, making it impossible for him to think like Vivian.

“So, what makes that different from being in heaven looking down on us…”

Vivian wanted to ask what difference it made whether Erica was in heaven or hell, or stuck in a timeline reliving her horrific experiences.

But before she could, Evan, as if caught in a fit of mania, began ranting like a convert renouncing his faith, waving his index finger erratically and cutting her off mid-thought.

“There’s no such thing as heaven. It’s unclear whether God even exists.

Oh, maybe there’s something transcendent.

But whether it has free will is another question.

If Erica rewound time, then something extraordinary might exist. But this world is all about human will.

An all-powerful deity doesn’t exist.

If such a deity did exist, how would I, someone who says these things, be able to use healing magic? How would necromancers, black mages, and heretics exist?”

To Vivian, Evan was completely deranged.

Denying God? Then what were divine healers and the radiant light of holy knights supposed to be?

Even human will, she believed, was the creation of God, and thus God’s will.

Did that mean human will was God’s will?

Vivian momentarily fell into confusion.

She had never considered such heretical thoughts in her life and had always taken the existence of God as a given.

“Th-that’s…”

If it had been anyone else, someone who wasn’t a mage,

Vivian would have pointed her finger at Evan and screamed that he was a liar and a dark mage.

But as a mage, who explored and replicated the tangible realities of the world, she hesitated.

“See? Even you can’t answer with certainty like I can.

Certainty doesn’t exist in this world.”

To Evan, Vivian seemed insane.

She spoke of Erica as a friend but had already dismissed her as dead and abandoned her, even though Erica might be trapped somewhere in time.

The two couldn’t understand each other.

Had it been a story of romance, they might have adjusted their differences, communicated, and reconciled.

But death was too overwhelming, too intense.

Especially when both had seen a friend, someone dear to them, collapse under the weight of suffering and take their own life before their very eyes.

And intense, shocking events—be it death, words, or actions—often bred extremities.

“If God was so omnipotent, he wouldn’t have left Erica like that.

He wouldn’t have left a fool like me by her side.

He wouldn’t allow anyone to suffer in agony but would instead let them live happy lives.

People used to think heads were only there to help you speak and look forward until a dark mage revealed the brain’s structure. That turned out to be true.

So this must be true as well.”

Evan uttered a paradox that, if said before paladins, would have them drawing their swords on him in an instant.

“Is God willing to prevent evil but not able? Then He is not omnipotent.

Is he able but not willing? Then he is malevolent.

Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil?

Is He neither able nor willing? Then why call Him God?”

“Evan, you…”

“I know. If I went out and said this in public, I’d be stoned to death.

Or they’d label me a necromancer, a black mage, or a demon. Whatever nonsense they could think of before trying to kill me.”

Evan’s expression hardened as he spoke.

“Is there any way for us to see Erica again? Unless it’s through resurrection, it’s impossible!”

The moment those words left his mouth, Vivian had already fallen for Evan’s argument without even realizing it.

The paladins of the Church were taught from a young age to never respond when engaging with heretics or non-believers.

Engaging in dialogue with them, they believed, would plant seeds of evil within the heart—what they called the “dark thought”—that would inevitably lead to corruption.

From the perspective of a devout believer, Erica’s death had sown the seed of corruption in Evan’s heart, and now that seed had spread to Vivian.

“There’s a way. So promise you’ll help me later.”

Caught up in the moment, Vivian nodded almost unconsciously.

After returning to the academy, Evan attended Erica’s funeral with Vivian once before retreating to his room, only making appearances in class.

His room was packed with so many books that there was barely any room to step.

Time marched on.

A year, two years, four years, eight years…

Evan continued his relentless research, neither inheriting a suitable position within his family nor challenging for the role of family head. He simply remained at the academy, consumed by his studies.

To facilitate his research, he became a professor, gaining access to even more books.

News of the woman he once loved—Vivian—marrying a lowly man with the blood of a slave reached him, but he paid it no mind.

By then, love, duty, even his feelings for Erica, had all been reduced to faint traces. He moved like a machine, fueled by the vivid memory of staring into the abyss of death.

Turning back time, or sending a message to the past, was far more difficult than conventional magic—far harder than even the magic used to destroy an entire city by moving stars.

After all, it went against the laws of the world.

And those most adept at defying such laws were the corrupted mages known as necromancers.

Realizing there was no answer through conventional means, Evan abandoned his professorial title and withdrew to the mountains.

With his exceptional magic, he built the cabin Erica had once mentioned wanting to live in, one she had seen in a book.

Like many necromancers before him, Evan began experimenting on the locals—slaves, peasants, and even minor nobles.

Finally, though he couldn’t send his entire mind or memories back, he discovered a method to send even the faintest thought to the past.

He gathered the necessary materials and prepared the spell.

And then, he encountered familiar faces: Vivian and knights with faces he recognized.

Beside Vivian stood her husband, a former slave wielding an aura-infused sword.

“Vivian, it’s been a while.”

“It has, Evan.”

“I’ve figured it out. A way to send even the smallest thing to the past.”

Evan spoke with jubilant excitement, but Vivian’s face was contorted with disgust.

“So, for that, you sacrificed everyone around you as offerings?

Even your family sent people to deal with the disgrace you’ve brought upon them.”

“For that? Ah, I see.” Evan’s eyes darkened. “I suppose your indulgence with that black-skinned bastard next to you has fried even your pleasure centers.

Well, it makes sense. When you’re obsessed with carnal desires, there’s no coming back. Black men might not have much else, but they’re well-endowed, aren’t they?

So, how’s that festering waste you’ve been fermenting for ten months coming along?”

Vivian, enraged, hurled a spell at him to silence him.

Evan casually dispelled it, glaring at her with a venomous gaze.

“You promised to help!

But you… you just went off and found your ordinary happiness.

Not that I tried to stop you.”

With that, he softened his expression into a smile—one of a man truly unhinged.

“Love makes for a great escape, doesn’t it?”

The knights raised their swords and advanced toward Evan.

But he neither attacked nor fled from them.

Thunk.

The sound of steel piercing flesh echoed through the air.

“E-Evan…?”

Vivian and the knights froze, staring at Evan in shock.

Even as blood dripped from his mouth, he smiled brightly.

“My worthless emotions, my body, my escape… that’s all there is.”

He collapsed to his knees.

Everyone stared at him, their faces frozen in disbelief.

“Ah, Erica. I’m sorry. Heh.”

Once again, Evan ran away.

This time, into death.