Never Die Villain

"We are gathered here today to bid farewell to His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Siegfried Tobias Bismarck, First Heir to the Throne of the Velenreich Empire."

The old man’s voice, amplified by magic, spread across the vast grounds. Though he spoke without raising his voice, every noble, knight, clergyman, and official present heard each word with perfect clarity, as if he were standing beside them alone.

The funeral was held within the Imperial Mausoleum of House Bismarck, the final resting place of the imperial family since the Empire’s founding.

Every ruler of Velenreich had been brought here upon their death, with their remains placed alongside their predecessors below the ancient halls of the mausoleum.

Thousands had gathered underneath an overcast sky.

The highest-ranking nobles of the Empire stood shoulder to shoulder with foreign ambassadors, military commanders, bishops of the Holy Church, professors from the Holy Trinity Academy, and representatives from every province and grand duchy.

Even beyond the gates of the mausoleum, an ocean of citizens filled the surrounding avenues, hoping for one final glimpse of the prince they had once believed would inherit the Imperial Crown.

Standing before the casket was an elderly man clothed not in mourning robes, but in the dark ceremonial attire of the Imperial Court Wizard.

"There are many titles by which history shall remember His Imperial Highness. Crown Prince of the Velenreich Empire. First Heir to the Imperial Throne. The youngest recipient of the Grand Sigil of Sorcery. A master of the Third Circle before reaching twenty years of age. A genius whose mastery of magic was expected to usher in a new era for the Empire."

A faint smile appeared upon his aged face.

"I had thought that, before my own life came to an end, I would one day kneel before him as the loyal subject of the Emperor he was destined to become..."

Silence fell over the Imperial Mausoleum.

"I never imagined that I would instead be the one delivering his eulogy."

Even those who had never known the Crown Prince personally lowered their heads, for the grief of an old teacher mourning the student who should have outlived him required no explanation.

As the ceremony continued, Ilya stood under the shade of a black umbrella among the delegation of the Northern Grand Duchy.

Beside him stood Mariya and Anastasiya, both dressed in black as they observed the ceremony.

Standing several steps ahead of them was Grand Duke Valentin Petrovich Belozersky, surrounded by the officials and knights of the Northern Grand Duchy, his place at the head of the delegation remaining unquestioned.

As one of the Empire’s Grand Dukes, his presence alone was enough to represent the entire North.

The next to approach the casket was His Imperial Majesty, Sieghart Philipp Bismarck.

"My son. I had spent my life preparing you to inherit my Empire. I never imagined I would instead be preparing to bid you farewell..."

When His Imperial Majesty finally concluded his farewell and stepped away from the casket, the eldest Imperial Princess, Marianne Coraline Bismarck, took his place.

"Rest well, Siegfried... your elder sister will continue carrying the responsibilities we once promised to shoulder together..."

Marianne bowed her head before returning to the imperial family.

Then came the second princess, Dorothea Eleanor Bismarck.

"You were supposed to become Emperor... and I was supposed to spend the rest of my life teasing you about how serious you were..."

When Dorothea’s farewell came to an end, it was Liselotte Aenne Bismarck’s turn to step forward.

Unlike her elder sisters, Liselotte made no effort to conceal the sorrow in her voice.

"Brother... You told me that no matter what happened, you’d always come home. I’m still waiting... so please don’t make me wait too long..."

"...."

Ilya narrowed his eyes as he watched the three princesses come and go. They were all characters he recognized from the novel, a story that had revolved almost entirely around Siegfried Tobias Bismarck and the people closest to him.

Standing here now, however, they were no longer names printed upon a page, but grieving siblings bidding farewell to their brother.

Liselotte had always been the sibling closest to Siegfried.

Watching her bid farewell to her brother, Ilya couldn’t help but compare them to himself and Anastasiya. They were siblings as well, but the two relationships had never been alike.

Dorothea, on the other hand, had constantly bickered with Siegfried, though there had never been any doubt that the two genuinely cared for one another despite their quarrels.

Then there was Marianne.

"...."

To Ilya, she remained a mystery.

She had never appeared in the portions of the novel he had managed to read before the pages inexplicably turned white, leaving him with almost no knowledge of the Empire’s eldest princess beyond her name alone.

But Ilya knew, from this day onward, life would become far more difficult for everyone.

After all, this was a world that had just lost its protagonist.

And more importantly...

——In the next run... So long as I get another chance... none of you will die...

A world without its regressor.

The words Siegfried had spoken during their final encounter replayed themselves over and over within Ilya’s mind.

Regression was hardly a foreign fantasy concept to someone who had lived in the 21st century and spent years reading novels, and the more he reflected upon that conversation, the more convinced he became that Siegfried Tobias Bismarck was someone with many lives.

If that were true, then somewhere beyond this timeline, Siegfried had likely opened his eyes once more, returning to a point before his own death just as countless regressors did in the stories Ilya had once read.

Unfortunately, no matter how comforting that possibility might have been, it changed nothing.

——...I’ll save you, Ilya.

There was no way for Ilya to reach him.

"...Will I ever see you again?"

* * *

Striding through the halls of the Imperial Palace, a single man marched forward with frustration.

Despite the many years that had passed, remarkably little about his appearance had changed, though time had evidently decided that he would never grow any taller.

Atop his head was a pointed wizard’s hat that had fallen out of fashion more than three centuries ago, yet he wore it with complete disregard for every trend that had come and gone since.

His irritation was evident in every step he took, and by the time he reached the towering doors of the Imperial Throne Room, he had already exhausted what little patience remained.

Without slowing his pace, the man raised a hand.

"Rún opna. Aperi."

A quick incantation escaped his lips before the palace’s countless magical arrays responded at once.

Bang——!

The massive doors opened with a thunderous rumble, revealing the throne room beyond as though announcing his arrival to every soul gathered inside.

At the far end of the chamber, Emperor Sieghart Philipp Bismarck remained seated upon the Imperial Throne, occupied with matters of state despite the funeral having only recently concluded.

Gathered before him were the Empire’s Grand Dukes, senior ministers, military officials, representatives of the Holy Church, foreign ambassadors, and countless nobles who had yet to depart the palace after the day’s proceedings.

More than a few heads turned toward the entrance as the chamber fell silent.

"...."

Meanwhile, the man paid none of them the slightest attention as he strode straight through the throne room.

Every step brought him closer to the Imperial Throne, completely ignoring the countless pairs of eyes fixed upon him, as though the ministers, nobles, ambassadors, and even the Imperial Guards were little more than decorations lining the hall.

——Who let that child in here?

——Stop him at once!

——Do you have any idea where you are?!

Several foreign dignitaries and lesser nobles immediately raised their voices in outrage, while a number of Imperial Guards instinctively stepped forward to intercept the intruder.

Yet before anyone could reach him, the man had already walked past them all, treating every shout and command as though they simply did not exist.

In that moment, the man stopped before the Imperial Throne.

Then, before the horrified eyes of everyone present, he reached forward, grabbed Emperor Sieghart Philipp Bismarck by the collar of his ceremonial robes, and pulled him forward.

"Sieghart, you bastard," he growled. "You sit on a fancy throne for a few decades and suddenly you think you’ve got the nerve to oppose me?"

The entire throne room froze as everyone stared in disbelief. No one could remember the last time anyone had dared lay a hand upon the Emperor, let alone address him in such an irreverent manner before half the Empire.

Yet despite that, Sieghart’s expression remained perfectly blank.

"What is the meaning of this, Sir Ragnar?"

The moment his name was spoken, the atmosphere within the throne room changed.

——Sir... Ragnar?

——Ragnar Leif Ylander?

While few among the younger nobles had ever met him in person, there was scarcely anyone within the Empire who had not heard of his name.

Ragnar Leif Ylander, the Headmaster of the Holy Trinity Academy, an Archwizard who had reached the Ninth Circle, a realm attained by only a handful of wizards throughout history.

Rumor had it that he was now breaking through the Tenth Circle itself, a domain long believed to belong only to the Gods, and many believed that if anyone in this age could reach that impossible height, it would be Ragnar Leif Ylander.

However, throughout the Empire, his name was far more familiar than his face.

Of course, many knew the stories surrounding the eccentric old wizard who appeared and disappeared at will, ignored etiquette whenever it suited him, and wielded influence rivaling that of the Empire’s highest nobles.

Ironically, however, very few actually knew what he looked like, leaving more than a few dignitaries staring at the youthful man before the Emperor with disbelief.

Had the Emperor not addressed him as Sir Ragnar, many would have dismissed him as nothing more than an insolent youth who had wandered into the throne room by mistake.

Ragnar’s fierce gaze remained fixed on Sieghart alone as he tightened his grip on the Emperor’s collar.

"Just because your son died, do you think that gives you the authority to ignore established protocol and interfere with the affairs of the Academy?!"