Burden of the Saint Candidate
“...”
“Aya! Ayaya!”
Lydia Straw clung to my ankle like a desperate vine as we trudged forward.
Her clothes, once pristine, were now filthy with mud and dust, torn in places from scraping along the dungeon floor.
Her skirt hung in tatters, exposing knees and calves, and her face—still trying so hard to look composed—carried the faint scent of exhaustion and fear.
My chest tightened.
I couldn’t just leave her here.
Not after she had confessed to me moments ago.
Not when that black fog was already beginning to seep from her eyes, the first sign of the Negative Trait she’d been fighting.
I knew the pattern too well.
It was the same one that turned players into Variants in the game.
She would keep muttering, and then—snap—there it would be, the final thread of sanity snapping, and she’d become one of them.
A grotesque monster with no more control.
I had watched it happen in the prologue.
I had watched it happen to my own team.
And I refused to let it happen to her.
Not on my watch.
Not when I was already carrying the weight of a doomed destiny.
The thought of abandoning her at the entrance had crossed my mind, but the time was long past.
The prologue was crystal clear: the moment the boss fell, the party turned.
If I dragged her all the way to the exit and returned, it would be too late.
Far too late.
The thing I would face instead would be the Variant that had slain Aiden Starfive in the original timeline.
The Variant that had slaughtered my former companions.
The Variant that had made me the only survivor.
No.
I would not lose her too.
Not now.
Not when she was still trembling beneath me, her small hand gripping my boot like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.
I continued walking, jaw set, red eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Every breath reminded me that this was the cost of power.
This was the cost of being the protagonist in a game that had never intended for me to survive.
And yet here I was, carrying a saint candidate on my back like some kind of twisted promise.
“...There’s no other choice,” I muttered under my breath, the words forced out in that cold, commanding tone I couldn’t escape.
“Keep up.
We’re almost out.”
“...Still, dragging her like this is too much, isn’t it?”
Gerd’s voice came from behind me, low and trembling with the kind of fear that only a veteran soldier could understand.
Iron Wall Gerd, the man who had shielded us with his body at the Il Mare Barrier, now sounded almost apologetic as he watched Lydia limp along on her own.
His eyes darted between her and me, full of that quiet guilt he always carried.
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Not with my own words locked behind that dreadful stigma.
My internal voice was a storm.
This is wrong.
I don’t want to do this.
She’s going to become one of them.
We can’t keep carrying her like this.
The dungeon was already claiming too many lives.
Why did it have to be her?
I had decided long ago that I wouldn’t save every NPC.
Some were doomed.
Some were just mechanics.
But Lydia… Lydia was different.
She had looked at me with those big doe eyes and asked me, no, begged me, to save her sister.
And now she was here.
Still alive.
Still clinging.
Still everything she wasn’t supposed to be.
I ground my teeth.
Pragmatic.
Cynical.
Survival first.
That was the only mantra I had left.
“Shut up,” I snapped aloud, the words short and absolute.
Gerd flinched but didn’t argue again.
Lydia’s shoulders shook as she walked, her head bowed so low I could barely see her face.
She knew better than to meet my eyes.
She knew the weight I carried.
She knew what she had become to me.
A saint candidate.
A bomb.
A threat that could end everything in a single second.
“...I’m sorry,” she whispered, so softly I almost missed it.
“I didn’t mean to slow you down.
I’ll try harder.
Please don’t leave me behind.”
I didn’t respond.
Words would only make it worse.
My mind raced through the possible outcomes.
If I dropped her here and ran, she would become the Variant before I could even turn around.
If I kept carrying her, we both might die.
Either way, one of us was doomed.
I chose the latter.
Because she was the one who had looked at me like I was worth saving.
Because she was the one who had made me feel something other than the hollow void inside.
Because she was the one who made the impossible feel, for one brief moment, almost worth it.
I adjusted my grip on her ankle and kept moving.
The dungeon corridor stretched ahead, long and twisting, promising nothing but death.
But for now, I had a promise of my own to keep.
I would get her out.
Even if it killed me.
Even if the game itself decided she was the final boss.
Even if the next chapter turned me into the very thing I had sworn never to become.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And responsibility was the one thing my cursed swordsmanship and iron will couldn’t afford to fail at.
Not again.
Not ever.
“Rise, woman.”
Lydia’s head snapped up at the sound of my voice.
Her brown eyes widened, then quickly dropped back down to the ground.
“Y-yes…?” she murmured, voice barely audible.
She was standing now, legs trembling, but still keeping a respectful distance.
Her torn uniform clung to her frame, revealing the faint bruises along her arms and the exhaustion etched into every line of her face.
She was beautiful—still was—in that fragile, saint-candidate way that made my chest ache.
Big eyes like a doe’s.
Wavy chestnut hair.
The title of saint candidate that somehow suited her more than anyone else.
I forced my gaze away.
This wasn’t the time for distractions.
“Your… appearance is… quite…” she began, then caught herself and fell silent.
I didn’t need her to finish the sentence.
I knew exactly what she meant.
My black hair, my red eyes, the aura that screamed tyranny even when I wasn’t trying.
The stigma of Dread.
The thing that made my words cold and absolute.
The thing that made people look at me and see a monster instead of a man.
“...Stop staring,” I growled, the words clipped and commanding.
Lydia bowed her head again, but I caught the small, involuntary flinch.
“I wasn’t staring,” she whispered.
“I was… admiring.
You are… different.
Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”
My internal voice was a mess.
Different?
Stronger?
I’m just a transmigrated idiot who woke up in the body of the prologue’s final boss.
I’m not strong.
I’m desperate.
I’m running out of time.
And now I’m dragging a holy hammer-wielding saint candidate through hell because I can’t bring myself to let her become the Variant she was always supposed to be.
The thought made my stomach twist.
I could have left her at the entrance.
I could have run.
But I hadn’t.
And that was the real problem.
That was the real mistake.
I should have let her go.
But I couldn’t.
Because deep down, in the part of me that still felt human, I wanted to protect her.
I wanted to be the hero.
I wanted to be the one who broke the script.
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.
“Look, you two.
Right.”
“Yes.”
“Left this time.”
“Yes.”
“Straight ahead.”
“...Is there… a way out?”
Gerd asked hesitantly, glancing back at me.
His voice was still shaky, but he was trying.
Trying to stay strong for me.
Trying to stay loyal even when the game itself had declared me the villain.
I didn’t answer.
My eyes were locked on the path, red irises scanning every shadow.
I knew the dungeon layout better than the game itself.
Because I had been here before.
In every playthrough.
In every death.
In every time I had watched the prologue end with my body on the floor.
The prologue dungeon was one of the hardest in the entire game.
That was why the skip was impossible.
That was why every route led to the same inevitable death.
I had memorized every twist.
Every hidden item.
Every trap.
Every time the black fog would appear.
And I had decided long ago that I would not repeat the prologue.
Not as Aiden Starfive.
Not as the doomed protagonist.
Not when I had a chance to change it.
Even if that meant carrying Lydia on my back and walking straight into the Variant’s den.
Even if it meant turning my own stomach.
“...Do you know the way?” I asked Gerd, voice flat.
Lydia’s head jerked up in surprise.
“M-me? I—I don’t know anything!” she stammered, cheeks flushing.
Gerd’s eyes widened.
“I… I don’t either, my lord.”
The title “my lord” hung in the air like a curse.
I felt my jaw clench.
I didn’t deserve respect.
I didn’t deserve to be called anything but the monster who had doomed us all.
But they still called me that.
And I still let them.
Because it was easier than letting them see the scared boy underneath.
The boy who had transmigrated into a game and found himself trapped in the body of the one character who was supposed to lose.
The boy who was terrified of becoming the tyrant everyone feared.
“...Then stop wasting time,” I commanded, turning away.
“Move.
We have a long way to go.”
Gerd nodded quickly and fell in beside me.
Lydia limped along on my other side, her small hand occasionally brushing my boot like it was the only thing tethering her to sanity.
I said nothing.
I just kept walking.
Straight ahead.
Because that was the only direction that still felt like survival.
The dungeon stretched endlessly before us, twisting corridors promising nothing but death and the slow, inevitable mutation of the woman who had stolen my heart without even knowing it.
I would protect her.
I would get her out.
And I would do it even if the game itself declared it impossible.
Because some mistakes… some choices… they were worth making.
Even if they meant I had to become the very thing I hated most.
Even if they meant I had to carry a saint on my back and walk into hell itself.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And I would not fail her.
Not again.
Not ever.
“Hic.”
Lydia inhaled sharply beside me.
Her eyes were wide, fixed on the figure ahead.
It was a man.
A man who no longer walked like a man.
His head was completely bald, scalp scarred and bleeding.
His hands and feet were drenched in blood.
He moved on all fours, crawling like an animal, spine protruding from his torn flesh.
The creature that had once been the boss of the tutorial—the first Variant I had ever faced—stared back at us with empty eye sockets.
[Hallucinations and auditory hallucinations confirmed!]
[But you have resisted with your powerful mental strength!]
The notification flashed in my vision, cold and mechanical.
I ignored it.
My red eyes narrowed.
I knew this creature.
I had studied its movements in every playthrough.
It was predictable.
The way it screamed.
The way it opened its mouth.
The way it lunged.
I had prepared for it.
But I had never expected to see it here.
Not in this dungeon.
Not with Lydia so close.
My cursed swordsmanship had been the only thing keeping me alive so far.
The wind slash that had reduced walls to dust.
The rapid slash that had cleaved the Variant in half earlier.
But now, with the stigma still whispering its curse, I knew I couldn’t push it too far.
Not yet.
Not while carrying her.
“...Right,” I muttered, drawing the blade.
The steel rang as it left its sheath.
“Stay behind me.”
Lydia nodded quickly, eyes wide with fear but determination.
Gerd gripped his shield tighter, face pale but resolute.
I didn’t wait for more.
I charged.
The air whistled as I closed the distance in a blur.
The Variant turned its head, mouth opening with a deafening screech.
“Kiiiieeee!!!”
The sound echoed through the chamber, primal and horrifying.
[Hallucinations and auditory hallucinations confirmed!]
[But you have resisted with your powerful mental strength!]
The curse hit me like a physical blow.
My skull throbbed.
My vision blurred.
But I kept moving.
Faster than the sound could travel.
“Slice!”
My body moved on instinct, the cursed technique guiding my arm.
The blade carved through the air with a clean, brutal sound.
It severed the creature’s spine mid-lurch.
The half-corpse collapsed in a heap of gore.
[Debuff: Light ankle sprain]
[Excessive movement strain. Ankle feels sore. Rest will heal.]
The notification popped up again.
My ankle throbbed in protest, but I ignored it.
I had done worse.
I wiped the blade clean on the creature’s remains and sheathed it.
Lydia was staring at me, mouth open in shock.
“H-how…?
I—I didn’t even see…”
she whispered, voice shaking.
Gerd’s eyes were wide.
“The mercenary leader…?”
Lydia’s voice dropped to a horrified murmur.
“N-no way…”
I said nothing.
I just turned and kept walking.
The next Variant was waiting somewhere in the depths of this dungeon.
The one that would decide whether Lydia became a saint or a monster.
And I would face it.
With everything I had left.
Because she was worth it.
Even if it meant I had to become the tyrant they all feared.
Even if it meant I had to carry her through hell and back.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And I would not fail her.
Not again.
Not ever.
“You… you…”
The creature that had been the tutorial boss now lay half-buried in the rubble, spine severed, body twitching.
But it wasn’t dead.
Not completely.
Its empty eyes locked onto us with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
My stomach turned.
It was grotesque.
The way its fingers still clawed at the ground.
The way its jaw moved as if trying to scream even without a mouth.
“Ugh…” I muttered, the word escaping before I could stop it.
Lydia’s breathing hitched beside me.
“That… that’s the boss…” she whispered, voice trembling.
Gerd’s shield trembled in his grip.
I didn’t answer.
I just stared.
Because in the game, this creature had been the first Variant I had ever faced.
The one that had taught me the cost of power.
The one that had shown me what happened when sanity slipped.
And now here it was.
Right in front of me.
Right in front of her.
My cursed swordsmanship had ended it once before.
But now, with the curse weighing on my mind, I wasn’t sure I could do it again.
Not without risking everything.
Not without risking her.
“...Move,” I commanded, voice flat.
Lydia nodded quickly and fell back into step.
Gerd did the same.
We kept walking.
But the image of that creature lingered.
The way its eyes had looked at Lydia like she was prey.
The way its claws had twitched like it wanted to reach out.
The way it had whispered my name as if it knew exactly who I was.
I shook my head.
No.
I was being paranoid.
This was just the game’s way of reminding me that I was still the protagonist.
The doomed protagonist.
The one who was supposed to lose.
But I wasn’t going to lose.
Not her.
Not my team.
Not this time.
I adjusted my grip on Lydia’s ankle and kept moving.
The dungeon corridor stretched ahead, long and twisting, promising nothing but death and the slow, inevitable mutation of the woman who had stolen my heart without even knowing it.
I would protect her.
I would get her out.
And I would do it even if the game itself declared it impossible.
Because some mistakes… some choices… they were worth making.
Even if they meant I had to become the very thing I hated most.
Even if it meant I had to carry a saint on my back and walk into hell itself.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And I would not fail her.
Not again.
Not ever.
“Eh?”
Lydia stopped mid-step, eyes widening in horror.
“Benjamin…?” she whispered, voice cracking.
I followed her gaze.
There, emerging from the rubble, was the man I had recognized from the original timeline.
Benjamin.
The academy student who had tormented Lydia in the prologue.
The man who had been one of the first to die at the hands of the Variant.
His body was twisted, spine protruding, legs moving on all fours.
But his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—still burned with the same hatred.
He looked straight at Lydia and snarled, “You… you were supposed to be mine…”
My internal voice was a whirlwind.
Benjamin.
The guy who had bullied Lydia.
The guy who had been in the academy.
The guy who had somehow survived long enough to become this.
I had forgotten about him.
I had been so focused on getting Lydia out that I hadn’t thought about the others.
But now he was here.
Right in front of her.
The man who had once made her cry in the game.
The man who had been one of the first to die.
And now he was looking at her like she was still his to claim.
“...Step aside,” I said, voice cold and absolute.
Benjamin’s head snapped toward me.
His empty eyes widened.
“You…” he hissed.
“You’re… one of them…”
Lydia took a small step forward, protective.
“Don’t touch him,” she whispered.
Gerd’s shield trembled, but he stayed silent.
I drew my blade.
The cursed technique hummed in my veins.
I knew this creature.
I had faced it in the game.
I had watched it die.
And I had watched it turn.
But this time, I wasn’t sure I could do it without risking everything.
Not with Lydia so close.
Not with the curse whispering in my skull.
“...Move,” I repeated, stepping between them.
Benjamin lunged.
“You will not take her!”
His voice was a guttural snarl.
I parried with my sword, the impact sending sparks flying.
The curse flared.
My ankle throbbed.
My vision blurred.
But I held.
Because this was Lydia.
Because this was the man who had hurt her.
Because this was the last thing I could do for her before the next Variant took everything.
“...Die,” I commanded, the word absolute.
Benjamin’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Y-you…”
Then his body collapsed, spine severed, just like the tutorial boss.
[Debuff: Light ankle sprain]
[Excessive movement strain. Ankle feels sore. Rest will heal.]
The notification appeared again.
I ignored it.
I wiped the blade clean and sheathed it.
Lydia was staring at me, eyes wide.
“...You saved him?” she whispered.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” I muttered, turning away.
“But he was… one of yours.”
Gerd nodded solemnly.
“The academy student.
The one who tormented you in the prologue.”
Lydia’s shoulders shook.
“...Thank you,” she whispered.
“For not leaving me behind.
For… for trying.”
I didn’t answer.
I just kept walking.
Because the next Variant was waiting.
And this time, I wouldn’t fail.
Not for her.
Not for anyone.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And I would not fail her.
Not again.
Not ever.
“...You…”
Lydia looked at me, eyes wide and unreadable.
“You… you didn’t leave him,” she said quietly, almost like she was asking a question.
I didn’t answer.
I just kept walking.
My mind was spinning.
Benjamin.
The man who had once made her cry in the game.
The man who had been one of the first to die.
And I had killed him.
Again.
The game had never shown me this route.
Never shown me that I would have to choose.
Between the Variant and the man who had hurt her.
Between the scripted doom and the choice I made.
I had chosen.
And now Lydia was looking at me like I was something more than the tyrant the game had made me.
Something… human.
Something worth protecting.
Something that made the impossible feel, for one brief moment, almost worth it.
I shook my head.
No.
I was still the doomed protagonist.
I was still the one who was supposed to lose.
But I had made a choice.
And that choice had cost me something.
It had cost me the right to walk away.
“...Keep up,” I commanded, voice flat.
Lydia nodded and fell back into step.
Gerd did the same.
We kept walking.
But the image of Benjamin’s empty eyes lingered.
The image of Lydia’s small, trembling hand on my boot.
The image of the saint candidate who had somehow become more than the game had intended.
I adjusted my grip and kept moving.
The dungeon corridor stretched ahead, long and twisting, promising nothing but death and the slow, inevitable mutation of the woman who had stolen my heart without even knowing it.
I would protect her.
I would get her out.
And I would do it even if the game itself declared it impossible.
Because some mistakes… some choices… they were worth making.
Even if they meant I had to become the very thing I hated most.
Even if it meant I had to carry a saint on my back and walk into hell itself.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And I would not fail her.
Not again.
Not ever.
“...”
Lydia looked up at me, eyes wide and unreadable.
“You… you didn’t leave him,” she said quietly, almost like she was asking a question.
I didn’t answer.
I just kept walking.
My mind was spinning.
Benjamin.
The man who had once made her cry in the game.
The man who had been one of the first to die.
And I had killed him.
Again.
The game had never shown me this route.
Never shown me that I would have to choose.
Between the Variant and the man who had hurt her.
Between the scripted doom and the choice I made.
I had chosen.
And now Lydia was looking at me like I was something more than the tyrant the game had made me.
Something… human.
Something worth protecting.
Something that made the impossible feel, for one brief moment, almost worth it.
I shook my head.
No.
I was still the doomed protagonist.
I was still the one who was supposed to lose.
But I had made a choice.
And that choice had cost me something.
It had cost me the right to walk away.
“...Keep up,” I commanded, voice flat.
Lydia nodded and fell back into step.
Gerd did the same.
We kept walking.
But the image of Benjamin’s empty eyes lingered.
The image of Lydia’s small, trembling hand on my boot.
The image of the saint candidate who had somehow become more than the game had intended.
I adjusted my grip and kept moving.
The dungeon corridor stretched ahead, long and twisting, promising nothing but death and the slow, inevitable mutation of the woman who had stolen my heart without even knowing it.
I would protect her.
I would get her out.
And I would do it even if the game itself declared it impossible.
Because some mistakes… some choices… they were worth making.
Even if they meant I had to become the very thing I hated most.
Even if it meant I had to carry a saint on my back and walk into hell itself.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And I would not fail her.
Not again.
Not ever.
“...Retreat.”
I said it without thinking.
The words came out cold and absolute, the curse forcing them from my lips.
Lydia looked up at me, eyes wide.
“Y-you…” she whispered, voice trembling.
I met her gaze.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to see the saint candidate who had somehow become more than the game had intended.
“...Keep up,” I repeated, turning away.
Lydia nodded quickly and fell back into step.
Gerd did the same.
We kept walking.
But the image of her small, trembling hand on my boot lingered.
The image of the saint candidate who had somehow become more than the game had intended.
I adjusted my grip and kept moving.
The dungeon corridor stretched ahead, long and twisting, promising nothing but death and the slow, inevitable mutation of the woman who had stolen my heart without even knowing it.
I would protect her.
I would get her out.
And I would do it even if the game itself declared it impossible.
Because some mistakes… some choices… they were worth making.
Even if they meant I had to become the very thing I hated most.
Even if it meant I had to carry a saint on my back and walk into hell itself.
Lydia was my responsibility now.
And I would not fail her.
Not again.
Not ever.