Regression and Reincarnation
I did everything I could.
The SSS-Rank Demon King Who Reincarnated as History's Greatest GOAT Has His Sights Set on Becoming a Countess.
Ever since I was dropped into the body of a character from that utterly shameless webtoon, I had given everything I had to save the world.
Countless deaths. Endless regressions.
Betrayal, envy, jealousy, treason—you name it.
In this webtoon world crawling with beasts worse than the demons on the distant horizon, I truly did everything within my power.
How far did I go? Far enough to willingly marry a foreign nobleman's daughter who was ten years older than me and spectacularly unattractive.
That was how I finally assembled my Isekai All-Stars.
The strongest force I could scrape together from inside an endlessly repeating cycle of reincarnation.
All that remained was to reach the true ending and escape this godforsaken webtoon world.
Failure was not an option. Building a stronger roster than this was simply impossible.
"In the name of Nox Rubrum—all forces, charge!"
I drew the brilliantly shining holy sword and roared the command.
The all-star team I had personally handpicked lived up to its name. We swept forward like a storm, unstoppable. Every hardship had been worth it.
I was certain—this time, I would arrive at the ending I wanted.
And the moment the finale began, the scorching flames of pure malice engulfed the world without fail.
Once again, I was the only one left alive.
"Son of a bitch."
The ninety-fourth regression was a bust. Even as my flesh burned away, I felt nothing in particular.
Once that damned ticking of the second hand in my ear finally stopped, I would have to face the ninety-fifth repetition of this life.
Lavender Parfilla.
If I had to describe my life in a single word, it would be curse.
I was the beast who tore open my mother's womb on the way out—the defective cripple who stained the otherwise flawless Parfilla Ducal family.
The hereditary beauty, the radiant talent, the overwhelming physical gifts—all of it passed me by.
An ugly face. No talent whatsoever. A body that could move nothing but its right arm.
It was only natural that everyone regarded me as a curse.
So the only thing I could do was lie in bed and struggle through the books my maidservant brought me.
Time in my childhood crawled by with agonizing slowness, but I dare say those were the most peaceful days of my entire life.
On my tenth birthday, my siblings—who had never once come to see me—finally appeared.
I thought they had come to celebrate.
I was wrong.
Unlike the protagonists in my books, who received birthday gifts from everyone, I received a merciless beating.
And the violence did not end that day.
The price for killing my mother—a kind, wise, universally revered archmage—was that cruel.
It hurt enough to want to die. I genuinely wanted to die.
But the magic my mother had cast with the last of her life, a spell named Love, would not grant me the freedom called death.
Damn that magic. No matter how savagely I was beaten, by the next day the wounds had healed.
Violence flowed like a raging river, from upstream to down.
Before long, even the servants began to torment me. Their methods were endlessly creative, yet none of them ever managed to usher me into death.
And so, locked inside a tiny room, I watched twenty more winters pass beyond a square pane of glass.
My hearing, sharpened by necessity, carried all sorts of news to my ears.
Wars and truces, and then more wars.
In the midst of that crushing chaos, even I—a ducal daughter—acquired a use.
My father, who regarded me as something lower than an insect, came to see me for the first time in thirty years and issued a command.
I was to marry the youngest son of House Rubrum, a count's family in the Lumina Kingdom. Prepare yourself, he said.
At those words, laughter burst out of me for the first time in ages. What exactly was a cripple who could only use her right arm supposed to prepare?
I felt terribly sorry for the man who would have to take a wreck like me as his wife—but at the same time, I felt a strange relief.
Surely this youngest son, whoever he was, would take one look at my wretched state and put me out of my misery.
Perhaps that was why the wide world I faced for the first time after leaving that narrow room did not frighten me much.
Loaded into a carriage like a piece of cargo, I crossed mountains and rivers.
At last I arrived at the count's estate of a nation that had once been our enemy, a place where we had slaughtered each other without end.
And there, I felt an emotion I had forgotten since childhood: guilt.
The youngest son of House Rubrum, the boy who would have to take a cripple as his wife, was a child who had only just come of age.
And unlike me, he was devastatingly handsome.
Even for a political marriage bound by cold calculation, this was…
Of course, my guilt changed nothing.
Just as this broken body of mine had remained the same for thirty years.
The wedding was quiet.
In that bizarrely empty ceremony hall, there were only three of us: me, barely propped in a chair because I could not even hold myself upright; a priest frantic to finish the rites as quickly as possible; and my little husband, whose thoughts I could not begin to read.
The vows were over in an instant.
The books had always described a wedding as a moment blessed by everyone present.
Watching the priest's retreating back as he fled the scene, I figured it was a mercy if I hadn't been cursed instead.
Or perhaps the priest had prayed for my early death out of pity. In that case, maybe it counted as a blessing after all.
Death.
I lay on the bed turning that unbearably sweet word over in my mind, and looked at my little husband.
I found myself mildly curious how the curses of the Lumina Kingdom might differ from those of the Empire.
But he shattered my expectations without mercy.
Nox Rubrum, now officially bound to me in marriage, said this:
"My lady. Shall we stop at two children?"
Even the absolute being laughing at me from the heavens above could not have predicted I would hear those words on my wedding night.
The unprecedented proposition left me speechless.
But my resolve did not waver.
In a clumsy, labored voice, I forced out my request.
"I do not wish to become a stumbling block in your path."
"Please obtain a poison potent enough to dissolve even the final magic of my mother, who was a great archmage."
"Use that poison to end my life. I beg you."
He studied my hideous face intently, then smiled and said something absurd once again.
"You've got higher standards than I expected. Looking at this face and still asking me to kill you? I'll have you know I'm an S-rank heartthrob in this province."
S-rank… in the province?
I could not understand what he meant.
Nor could I understand what he did next—stroking my hair instead of unleashing merciless violence, then falling asleep beside me.
So I pushed him away. Every time I saw him, I spat words lined with thorns, pouring out all the hatred and revulsion stored up inside me.
Just as my brothers and sisters had once looked down on me.
Even so, I could not defeat him.
Instead of ending my wretched life, he spent his own fortune hiring artisans and mages.
"Right, so this is an electric wheelchair—no, a magic wheelchair. If you press this button…"
That day, for the first time, I moved by my own will.
The thirty-first winter I greeted at my husband's side was warm.
I, who had believed death was my only rest—
I wanted to live.
Let's try living a little longer.
The moment I thought that, a golden age arrived in my life as well.
On a warm spring day, I laid down every last scrap of hatred and resentment.
And my husband said this:
"Heh heh. Golden child therapy: complete."
Once again, I did not fully understand what he meant.
But he was smiling, so I smiled too.
Because for a husband who went around insisting he had come from another world and had endured countless regressions, the only thing I could offer was unconditional understanding.
The happy days passed far too quickly.
The demons.
The beings of prophecy who longed to set the world ablaze invaded.
By then my husband had become the rightful Count of the Lumina Kingdom, a Sword Master who could impose his will upon the world through mana. He left for the front lines with his comrades.
Watching his retreating back, I pleaded with the absolute being who had caused me to be born this way.
Please let my husband return safely. Please let me hold him again with this right arm of mine.
I begged, abjectly, again and again.
Had those prayers somehow reached the heavens?
Victory reports arrived day after day. Before long, I thought, peace would settle over the world, and I would see my husband again.
In that very moment, despair arrived.
A demonic surprise assault struck the rear region where I was staying.
Large-scale high-tier magic reduced a vast stretch of land—including Rubrum County—to ash in an instant.
Ironically, the death I had longed for so desperately was granted only once I was desperate to live.
The sole blemish and cripple of the Parfilla Ducal family.
The sole lady of House Rubrum, a woman who had received a love she could never repay.
Lavender Rubrum burned in the scorching inferno and died without leaving so much as a trace.
My story should have ended there.
It should have…
My eyes opened.
Through a hazy field of vision, two people I had never seen before came into focus.
Tears of overwhelming emotion spilled from the noble violet eyes looking down at me.
Without thinking, I reached out—not only with my right hand, but with my left as well.
I knew at once.
This was the thing he had spoken of until his lips wore thin. This was reincarnation.
The instant I became certain I had been granted a new life, utterly different from the last—
I made my decision.
In this life…
Just as you filled the hollow of my longing,
I shall fill the hollow of yours.
For Nox Rubrum—the sun that shone upon my wretched self—I will live.
Even if that path is stained with the blood of countless others,
I will not hesitate. Not for a moment.