The Villainess Who Destroyed the World

Nothing special happened, and the world ended again.

Doesn't that happen sometimes? You wake up, eat, go about your usual routine, fall asleep—and before you know it, you're repeating the same day over and over, wondering what day it even is. Mixing up dates and weekdays.

For me, the end of the world and death were just part of my daily routine. So it was only natural that I'd lose track of how many times I'd died or how many apocalypses there had been.

"No, this one's a bit special."

My eyes stung. The sky was blood-red, like the sun had been gutted and spilled its contents. The acrid smell filling my nose was the black smoke of burning wood, stone, flesh—everything under the sun.

Solid brick buildings and walls, built without a single gap, were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now riddled with holes and crumbling. But worst of all were the hordes of monsters swarming the sky like untimely crows.

The Dragon Legion.

I could only let out a hollow laugh.

"Haha, what a joke."

The hero party had been wiped out by the Demon King before. All of humanity had fallen to a plague turning people into undead. But watching the capital get shredded by a dragon swarm? That was a first.

"How the hell are we supposed to beat that? Status window."

I'd thought this time I'd finally take down the Demon King and clear it, but nope—same old story.

How long had it been since I'd transmigrated into this crappy fantasy game world? Hmm, fuzzy.

"At least give me more time."

The game's story spanned a single month. I'd already looped the same 30 days hundreds of times.

The first time I failed to clear and died, regressing back... When I realized I couldn't even die for good, chills ran down my spine. It was like being trapped in a prison.

After that, I'd tried everything to clear it, but it was all for nothing. No solution under these conditions.

Not with this worthless extra healer character—lame backstory, talents locked.

Yeah, healer. I was in the middle of casting a healing spell on our fallen warrior from the hero party.

"It hurts! It hurts! Do it right!"

"Full-body fourth-degree burns—'course it hurts. Hold on, cooldown's ticking."

The warrior was writhing like a shrimp, screaming in agony from his wounds.

"Aaaah...! Ras, if you're part of the hero party, show some responsibility! Give it your all!"

"Healing spells are garbage efficiency. Random targeting, slow as hell. For burns, you'd cool with water, anesthetize, debride the skin. Instead, I'm just sitting here reading scripture."

Do that here, and I'd look like a lunatic trying to kill the patient. Common sense in this world: when hurt, you pray first, not treat.

Prayer, healing spell.

Despite my kind explanation, the warrior ground his teeth.

"You're a healer, but you always spout nonsense no one understands! If you weren't skilled, a personality wreck like you never would've made the hero party...!"

I wasn't the personality wreck. I'd transmigrated into one.

Though after all this time, even I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"Listen up. Back before transmigrating, I actually studied medicine a bit. Wanted to be a doctor. Cool job, right? Good money, top husband material."

Not that I was great at it.

Who studies for fun? I got pushed into it like everyone else.

"Got pretty serious later, though. Treating patients during rotations felt rewarding."

Real medicine, not this healing spell crap.

"Wasted effort. Got in a car accident, nerves went haywire. What hospital wants a doctor with shaky hands?"

Expensive surgery and rehab might've fixed it, but no money.

Same here: top healers were monopolized by the elite. Even the hero party got a downgrade like me.

"High school grad, that's me. Turned into a shut-in gamer after... then got dragged here unluckily... Ah, cooldown's up."

"Heal... healing...!"

The warrior's breathing stopped.

World was ending anyway, but I couldn't ignore the patient in front of me. Duty calls.

I opened the scripture and prayed. No gods here, so any old lines worked.

"To the almighty Pingchang Goddess, we humbly beseech your meager mercy to tend this lamb..."

The warrior's arm flopped limply.

"Hey, dude."

Tsk, couldn't hold on that long.

I tossed the scripture and started CPR immediately. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation—emergency measure for critical patients without tools.

I massaged his heart hard, but no response.

...Five minutes passed. Golden hour gone.

"Haa."

Sweat-drenched, I looked around. The proud hero party was face-down in the dirt, not stirring.

Makes sense—hundreds of dragons raining down right after the Demon King. No surviving that.

This was it. Divine power depleted; head spinning.

I staggered to my feet, shuffling slowly away. Stepped on the scripture on the ground without thinking.

"I said I wanted to be a doctor, not a healer."

If they were gonna transmigrate me, make it a swordsman so I could at least swing a blade. Or a mage blasting spells.

"Miss modern medicine. No potions in a fantasy world? Ridiculous."

Painkillers here would've sold like hotcakes. Then I could've upgraded this trash gear.

"And I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made it this far."

Under these awful conditions. This body wheezed after a jog, severe insomnia. Hidden talents, but locked.

Couldn't unlock in a month, no time to train. Story kicks off fighting Demon King forces—no chill training arc.

Plus starting as a hated jerk drawing side-eyes.

But hundreds of loops built experience. Pre-transmigration, I'd only played once—knew little.

Now? Character backstories, monster strats. Deaths flashed memories of Ras's life like a montage.

Nah, I'm the scumbag healer Ras now.

Even beaten the Demon King a few times.

So what? Bad ending again.

I wandered aimlessly. Where to lie down and die this time?

Scouting grave spots, I spotted someone on the distant palace wall beckoning me.

Seeing her face turned my stomach. Felt like squeezing out my guts myself.

Experience said pissing her off meant no peaceful end. Even the hero party knelt to her.

She beckons? I go.

I trudged up the wall stairs. Even knowing she'd doomed the world again.

She sat on the rampart railing amid piles of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠soldier corpses. Long hair cascading past her waist fluttered in the wind without losing elegance.

Silver hair symbolizing a powerful witch gleamed faintly gold. She swung her long legs idly.

Slender fingers held a goblet of wine redder than blood.

Her long lashes pointed to the dragons ravaging the capital's heart. A sly smile played on her lips.

That smile triggered trauma—death's terror, deep hatred surging.

Without her, my suffering would've ended long ago.

But not my first rodeo; the feelings faded like mirage.

Yelling here just hastened my end.

Now that I knew her story somewhat, I could shrug it off.

The Dengliud Empire's 7th Emperor, Asella von Württemberg, smirked devilishly at me.

"You're taking it better than expected, healer of the incompetent hero party."

I pointed at the sky-blanketing dragons.

"Your Majesty summon those?"

"Heh, still blind as ever. Explains why you played the scoundrel till your clan fell."

I kicked aside some loose bricks and plopped next to Asella.

Reached for her wine bottle; she snatched it away.

"Dare touch tribute to the Empire's Emperor?"

"Empire just fell. Share a bit."

"Kneel and beg like a dog. Maybe I'll consider."

"Please show mercy to this wretched beggar, Your Majesty."

I bowed properly; satisfied, she granted the wine.

Experience: better drunk at death. No memories anyway—worth kneeling for booze.

Mouthing off just meant magic torture till the end.

"Nice view."

Prime seats for dragons torching the capital.

"Beautiful, isn't it? The day my curse ends."

Asella stretched arms wide in ecstasy.

"Yes, a masterpiece."

"Strange. I expected rage, a dagger at my throat."

"Tried over ten times. Never pierced. Just my head rolled."

I chugged more. Emperor-grade wine—delicious.

"You say the oddest things. Like a madman."

"Says the Emperor."

The 7th Emperor Asella was the mad villainess. Nicknamed the Golden Witch.

Nearly half the world-ends I'd seen were her doing. During or after Demon King fights, her insanity dragged us to ruin.

Power, magic—whatever.

"Honest improvement, though. No, not a compliment. Imagine if our betrothal went through—nightmare."

"Says you. My clan plotted rebellion, got wiped—your best birthday gift, right?"

"The highest."

Asella chuckled, breath wine-sweet from northern grapes tickling my nose.

As she said, we were betrothed. Back when she was princess.

I'd been from a prominent noble house—now gone.

No way I'd lived happily with this psycho anyway.

...I knew she didn't choose madness.

"Does it hurt much?"

Slipped into casual speech without thinking.

Asella didn't answer, just twitched her lips faintly upward.

Beauty to mesmerize even knowing she doomed worlds.

Staring into space like recalling old tales, she pondered deeply.

Shoulders easing from imperial weight, her tiny voice trembled.

"...Young master Gotberg. I've hated you your whole life."

A lifetime grudge. What to say?

"Remember? We met in your family's mansion flower garden. Hated you from the start."

"I see."

Yeah, montage recalled it vaguely.

"How'd you summon the Dragon Legion?"

"Oh, a rare treat—I'll tell you. Reached 8th Hierarchy. No one to brag to."

Asella beamed childlike, drawing magic circles in air. She always lit up talking magic.

"See, this is the base circle. High-circle spells are like 3D shapes in hyperspace. Place sub-circles at vertices..."

Technical talk + wine hit; eyelids drooped.

Probably when the dragon breath engulfed us. Searing heat choked lungs, agony shriveling from inside.

Moments later, darkness.

'Pitch black, huh.'

Regression prep.

Familiar scene.

System alert soon, back to start.

Yeah, like that.

...What the hell? New text.

[Perk] snapped me awake.

'If this existed, why not sooner?'

All bad endings seen? 101, right? When did I finish?

How many times had I died—double that?

Gross.

...Hope.

This regression felt different.

One thing stood out.

'Choose regression point?'

Scrolled limits. Endless.

Finally hit the bottom—couldn't help laughing.

[Regression Point: 10 Years Ago]

Not a month—10 years.

Enough to change everything.

Chose without hesitation.

[Initiating Regression.]

Vision spun in darkness.

And.

"...Mm."

I opened my eyes in bed.

Looked around. Clean, luxurious unfamiliar room.

Checked mirror. Fresh-faced boy, unscarred by the world.

"Really back 10 years."

Status window.

"For real."

Possibilities bloomed.

Family intact, body young. Prep now—anything possible.

Perks left too.

"This isn't just clearing..."

No more hero party risks.

Confidence surged. One thing: avoid my death bad ends.

Pondering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first steps, noise outside—peered out window.

My room: annex third floor.

Central entrance beyond walls bustled. Guests? Guards everywhere.

Marquis—my father—greeting frantically.

'Empress visiting Gotberg Marquisate.'

Her too?

Shifted view to rear garden. Lush, manicured greenery.

Yellow rose garden in full bloom. Amidst, a slender girl with lush golden hair strolled, savoring flowers.

14-year-old Asella.