The Man’s 101st Bad Ending

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Translated By Arcane Translations

Translator: FusionX

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“So this is why you needed the hallucinogen?” Arwen asked.

“Because there’s no need to kill her.”

Yuria sat motionless in the chair.

While it was just an illusion conjured by Arwen’s magic and the drug, it was quite effective.

She didn’t respond when I called her name.

Arwen glanced around and spoke.

“She’ll probably wake up in a day. No matter how potent it is, the hallucinogen can only affect reality for so long.”

“That’s enough. She’ll experience years within her mind during that time.”

“I suppose so. I hope it works.”

Arwen looked at me, a hint of concern in her eyes.

I, too, hoped this would break Yuria completely.

It would be best if she lost all her memories and lived as a shell of her former self.

Killing her wasn’t ideal.

Not only because her crimes couldn’t be so easily erased, but because too many people knew we had entered the basement together.

I needed to show them that I was different from the previous heads of the Taylor family.

That I would spare even my rivals, choosing mercy over ruthlessness when possible.

Demonstrating this change in behavior was crucial for gaining the nobles’ trust.

Unknown to Arwen, a part of my mana was infused within the hallucinogen.

After dying 100 times and living through the 101st, I had come to realize that this life was a singularity.

People around me were regaining memories of past regressions.

While I wasn’t certain this would work, it was a theory based on Theresa’s recovered memories.

If my assumption was correct, it meant there was a way to make Yuria experience fragments of my memories.

Whether she perceived them as mere hallucinations or recognized them as reality was up to her.

Within these illusions, I would always appear as the head or Young Master of the Taylor family.

I wondered how she would react to witnessing her own downfall, to seeing me take her place.

It was a thought I entertained only briefly, as I had more pressing matters to attend to.

Now that Yuria was incapacitated, it was time to solidify my position as the head.

I intended to complete the succession before she woke up, the only potential obstacle was my father’s reaction.

But Yuria was a bigger concern.

For now, I wouldn’t dwell on it.

I glanced at Yuria, then turned to Arwen, asking her to keep watch.

I was curious about what memories she was experiencing, whether she could distinguish illusion from reality.

I chuckled softly, dismissing the thought.

I didn’t want to imagine it.

If my prediction was correct, Yuria was reliving my deaths.

I couldn’t fathom what state her mind would be in after experiencing 300 years of suffering in a single day.

Therefore, I was certain of one thing.

By sunrise, Yuria wouldn’t be the same.

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At some point, she stopped keeping track of how many times she died.

Had she counted until she needed all ten fingers?

She smiled faintly as a sword pierced her chest, blood spilling from her lips.

Her spine shattered, and her consciousness faded as excruciating pain consumed her.

Then, she would open her eyes and see that damned bedroom.

Yuria ran a hand over her face, exhaling shakily.

“Ugh, heh heh…”

How many times had she woken up in this room?

She couldn’t recall.

Years had passed since she was trapped in this illusion.

Years she had already forgotten countless times.

She would count the years, then die, only to start counting again.

Each time, the cycle ended with her own agonizing death.

Yuria touched her wounded chest, then began pulling at her hair.

“Rip, rip…”

Blood trickled down her scalp, but she didn’t stop.

Her once sharp, calculating eyes were now clouded, her mind no longer capable of rational thought.

She had to escape this illusion.

Surely, much had changed in the real world.

How long would she be imprisoned here?

“I’ll kill him.”

Once she escaped, she would tear his heart out.

The woman who uttered those words, consumed by vengeance, where had she gone?

Yuria laughed bitterly, her lips twisting into a cruel mockery.

Yes, she would kill him.

She would make him suffer, but first, she had to find a way out.

As time passed, she realized this wasn’t just an illusion.

These were her memories, intertwined with Robert’s.

The deaths she experienced were his, replayed with their roles reversed.

She could now anticipate how she would die next.

This time, it would be fire.

She would be falsely accused of treason and used as a scapegoat.

How ironic.

To be discarded like a pawn in a preordained transaction.

Had she been in Robert’s shoes, she would have made the same choice.

She had abandoned him, and he had abandoned her in return.

Their actions were no different.

No matter how hard she struggled, nothing would change.

Despair gripped her as she realized this.

But she gritted her teeth, glaring at the empty air.

She wasn’t certain if he was watching, but if he was, she would make him fear her.

She would escape this illusion.

She would break free from this endless cycle of death.

Robert couldn’t, but that was because he was Robert.

She could do it.

Yuria rose from the bed and stared at her reflection in the mirror, pulling out strands of bloody hair as she exhaled slowly.

She was 20, 80 deaths away from freedom.

Each resurrected memory made her own demise even more vivid.

She tried to avoid inevitable outcomes, but her attempts only led to more gruesome deaths.

As she burned alive, she vowed to succeed next time.

“This time will be different.”

But she was killed by her own attendant, stabbed through the heart.

As she died, she resolved to eliminate her attendants first.

But next time, she was assassinated by a trusted noble.

She vowed to only trust those she could truly rely on.

Then, the Duke himself ordered her execution.

She was imprisoned in the basement and left to starve.

That was her twenty-third death.

It was fine, she thought.

This was bearable compared to her previous deaths.

She had plenty of time to try again.

This time, she decided to head North.

Yuria attempted to become Adele’s aide, but was caught trying to manipulate her subordinates and beheaded by Adele herself.

She never went North again.

“Damn her.”

Twenty-nine, thirty.

Exhausted, she took her own life, but realized she couldn’t escape the illusion.

She had only died a few more times.

She just needed to break free before Robert did.

She steeled her resolve, a determination that lasted less than three years.

“…I was wrong. Robert, I’m sorry.”

She was imprisoned in the basement, enduring a month of torture, barely kept alive.

Every moment was agony, and she repeatedly wished for death.

She muttered into the empty air, her sunken eyes hollow and lifeless.

She collapsed, sobbing, then knelt and begged.

She prostrated herself, blood streaming from her broken knees, her forehead split open, bone visible as she slammed it against the ground.

But no answer came, Robert was long gone.

Only her desperate pleas echoed in the silence.

“If I become head, I won’t kill you. Please let me out of this illusion. Thirty deaths is enough… right? Isn’t it, Robert? Don’t you agree?”

She babbled until she was declared insane and executed.

That was her fiftieth death.

At some point, Yuria gave up, living each life with resigned indifference.

She was killed, she survived, it no longer mattered.

She was used like a prostitute by homeless men, captured and tortured by demi-humans.

Her confidence in surpassing Robert had long since evaporated.

She was killed every time she tried.

Nothing changed.

The Crown Prince always sought to eliminate her, and Robert and her father abandoned her.

The irony was that this mirrored her own actions in his memories.

“…Please, spare me.”

Thud.

She uttered those words and died.

Later, she begged for death, but it wouldn’t come.

This cruel illusion forced her to relive the pain of each death, reviving her in her room afterward.

By her seventieth death, Yuria was no longer human.

The attendants who had initially ignored her now avoided her.

No one wanted to see a madwoman babbling and repenting alone in her room.

The Duke frowned, and those who once admired her intelligence turned away.

Robert told her she was useless, to find her own way out.

So she turned to the church, but Verod, guarding the entrance, deemed her a heretic and bludgeoned her to death with a mace.

Thus, she greeted her eighty-fifth life.

“Ahahaha…”

As she hung from the gallows, a thought occurred to her.

Perhaps giving up the head position would bring peace…

It was a complete denial of everything she had ever believed in, but Yuria was willing to do anything to escape this torment.

Should she give up?

The thought plagued her until, at the start of her ninetieth life, she finally spoke.

Her hair had been torn out, and a faint voice escaped her chapped lips, her cheeks hollow, teeth marks visible on her torn lips.

Even her voice had changed from years of screaming.

Yuria spoke to the empty air.

“…I give up, Robert.”

She had thought about it for a long time.

100 years? 200 years? Perhaps even longer.

She had believed she could surpass him, but the world conspired against her.

She was killed no matter what she did, trapped in an endless cycle of death.

How could she possibly survive?

A human being couldn’t endure this.

These memories flashing before her eyes were likely manipulated.

How could anyone survive 100 deaths and remain sane?

It was only natural to become broken like her.

Yes… it was inevitable.

So she had to give up.

She had to survive, if only to try something else.

Yuria knelt and continued.

“You can be the head. I’ll retreat to the outskirts and live a quiet life. You can have everything. Everything I’ve built, I give it to you.”

Silence.

She waited for an answer, then screamed in frustration.

“Spare me! Robert, please spare me! I don’t want to die… I didn’t know it would hurt this much. I’m telling the truth. I sincerely apologize, please let me out of here.”

“….”

“Please… ugh… please. I’m begging you. Duke Robert, please… I… I was wrong…”

She begged until her hands and feet bled, but knew this wouldn’t be her final death.

The guillotine loomed.

As she was placed beneath the blade, she could only laugh hysterically.

“…”

At some point, Yuria stopped speaking.

Those who defended her were killed by Robert, and even those she loved perished.

Her shattered mind could no longer form words.

Faced with another death, she was given a vial of poison.

Yuria realized this would be her final death.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…This is… the last… the 100th.”

Robert had died from poison in his final regression.

As she spoke, the Robert standing before her chuckled.

She couldn’t decipher the meaning behind that laughter, but for the first time, she truly desired death.

She swallowed the poison without hesitation.

Even as she vomited blood, feeling her life slipping away, Yuria smiled.

This was the end.

Once she endured this death, she would finally wake up.

Her eyes fluttered closed as her consciousness faded.

What would she do once she escaped this place?

Hope blossomed within her, and Yuria remembered her initial vow to become the head.

He hadn’t listened to her pleas, so she would make him suffer.

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But her fading consciousness didn’t return to normal.

She felt a sense of relief, like waking from a dream.

Confident she wouldn’t be revived, Yuria slowly opened her eyes.

The illusion was over, the cold surface beneath her skin was familiar.

She was strapped to a chair in the basement.

“You’re awake.”

“…Haha.”

Yuria’s eyes hardened.

The Robert standing before her had only changed his clothes.

He had been waiting for her, watching her suffer.

She was certain that no amount of torture could break her spirit now.

“I was going to release you, but I’m curious. Have you changed your mind? Do you understand the gravity of your sins now?”

“…I was wrong. Now… I think I understand.”

It was a lie.

If her restraints were loosened, she would strangle him with her bare hands.

Suppressing her emotions, Yuria responded calmly.

Robert approached her, intending to untie her.

He stood directly in front of her, offering his unguarded neck.

“I’m relieved to hear that. To be honest, I was a bit worried. If you hadn’t repented, I would have been forced to keep you bound forever.”

“Yes… that’s right.”

The restraints would be loosened soon.

As she held her breath, anticipation building, Robert smiled softly.

“Then I should properly introduce myself. The restraints are gone, so allow me to start anew.”

His words seemed out of place, but Yuria froze, noticing something on his chest.

If it was real…

“I am Robert Taylor. I was once just a member of this family, but from today onward, I will lead the Taylors.”

The head’s crest.

Yuria’s vision blurred as hope crumbled, replaced by a crushing wave of despair.

She wanted to believe this was an illusion.

“From now on, address me as Duke, Yuria.”

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[Translator Notes]

[Vengeance is sweet]

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