The Heroes Who Executed Me Are Obsessed With Me

Life is a series of disappointments.

Isn’t that right… Hero?

“...!”

The Demon King's voice echoed through Clay’s dreams. He jolted awake, eyes wide.

“Ugh…”

His head throbbed. What had just happened? He tried to recall… and then remembered. He’d been too hungry to resist and ended up accepting food from Beatrice.

He’d started asking her where she had disappeared to all this time, when his vision blurred.

Then darkness.

Now, here he was.

“Damn it.”

Of course it was a trap. The Demon King’s voice resurfacing had to be a sign.

As he shifted his body, Clay suddenly froze.

“Huh…?”

Softness. His head wasn’t resting on the ground. He turned instinctively—and saw the hem of a skirt, gathered and folded beneath him.

“Wh-what?!”

Startled, Clay shot up—only to bash his head.

“Argh!”

“You’re still as careless as ever.”

He had slammed right into Beatrice’s forehead. She, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected.

“You’re still not fully recovered. Lie down a bit longer.”

“What… What did you do to me?”

“I used brand to weaken the priest’s seal. Using poison to counter poison is risky, so I had to knock you out to restore balance to your body.”

“You put me to sleep… to heal me?”

“I didn’t actually heal you. I couldn’t remove the priests’ seals. But after a little more rest, your body should feel better.”

Clay drew in his mana and examined himself.

Unbelievable…

She was telling the truth. His mana flowed more freely than before.

The restrictions hadn’t lifted entirely, but he could definitely fight again—at least against mid-level monsters.

“Why…?”

“Why?”

Beatrice smiled faintly as she looked down at him.

“Because I pitied you.”

“What?”

Clay stared at her, incredulous.

“You pitied me?”

“Yes. You reminded me of the Demon King.”

Clay frowned deeply.

“I’m nothing like him.”

“Clay,” She said gently, “Can you really say there’s no darkness in your heart right now?”

“What’s that supposed to mean—”

“Do you think the Demon King was born a calamity from the start?”

That question silenced him. After a pause, he finally responded.

“If you’re trying to justify him, just stop.”

“I’m not. I just want you to understand something. Anyone can be vulnerable. Anyone can regret it.”

Beatrice reached out and placed a hand on his forehead.

“H-hey, what are you—”

“I’m easing the pain.”

She gently brushed the spot where their heads had bumped. The pain disappeared, as if it had never been there.

“As the first of my kind, I can control many elements, but I’m not good at healing. I’m sorry. I can’t erase the seals, so this is all I can do.”

Even while helping, she apologized.

Clay’s expression wavered.

“What are you, really?”

His trusted allies had abandoned him. Yet this woman—once his enemy—sat by his side.

“Why are you doing this?”

None of it made sense. It felt like his entire worldview was turning upside down.

“Clay,” she said softly, “Why do you think I joined the Demon King’s army?”

He couldn’t answer. He had never even wondered—he’d simply assumed she was evil.

“I was once a bystander, watching the journey of a brilliant demon. He dreamed of love with a human. If he hadn’t lost his beloved, he might’ve lived a normal life.”

She began telling him a story.

“Humans hated demons. They also hated humans who loved demons. He lost everything and turned his talent toward something darker.”

“You mean… the Demon King?”

“Not that it matters. You don’t need to know. I just want you to understand. I was disappointed, too.”

Life is a series of disappointments.

“I didn’t even protest when my kin were used as weapons and driven to extinction. But then… I watched it happen up close. And even I—who’s lived eons—couldn’t stay detached. In the end, I’m just a bundle of emotions like anyone else.”

“You’ve done unforgivable things.”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness, Clay.”

She whispered to him, voice calm.

“I just want to say that anyone can be weak sometimes. Anyone can find themselves regretting, out of nowhere.”

She covered his eyes with her hands.

In the darkness, all he could hear was her voice.

“Clay, would you believe me… if I told you I regret it?”

“What?”

“I was going to burn myself for the last time today.”

The fire she’d stared at blankly—

That had not been just any fire.

It was the Primordial Flame, the one called Hellfire—capable of incinerating even her, the Flame of Calamity born from hell itself.

The bonfire still flickering nearby was the result of that fire catching and blooming.

“It took years just to gather the firewood to ignite it. I had planned to feed it the final piece today… but then I saw you.”

“You…”

“Clay. Can I ask you something?”

She lifted her hands from his eyes.

Then, with a gaze full of sorrow—so heavy even her ancient soul couldn’t bear it—she looked straight at him.

“Is it time for me… to step into the fire?”

Beatrice was asking if she could accept her end.

“If I’ve done all I need to for you, I thought I’d become the final log.”

She helped Clay to his feet. As he lifted off her warm, soft lap, only the heat of the nearby flames remained to comfort him.

“Thank you, Clay. I’m glad someone was here to witness my end.”

She rose, unilaterally appointing him her witness to death.

“The journey ahead will be rough, but live anyway. You still have the right to. One day, you’ll see how important that is.”

Beatrice turned toward the bonfire and began walking.

Clay watched, stunned.

Like when she had silently stared into the flames.

Crackle crackle…

The fire popped like the beat of Clay’s own heart.

Fwoosh…

The surrounding flames licked at his skin.

Churn…

His gut twisted. It felt like a nightmare. The headache was back—sharper now.

“…”

Like she had, Clay stood up.

And slowly—no, quickly—chased after her retreating back.

Whoosh.

He reached out just before she could enter the Primordial Fire and turned her around.

The flame, which had nearly touched her, swept through the air just inches away.

“Not yet.”

Beatrice's eyes widened.

Clay spoke the first words that surged to the surface—the ones he hadn’t sorted, chosen, or prepared.

“Not yet. You haven’t finished what you need to do.”

He didn’t even know what he meant. His face looked like it could crumble at any second.

“I need someone too. Someone to watch me.”

The one who had claimed to care closed her eyes as he died. She didn’t bear the weight—she ran from it.

He had been alone.

Carrying the injustice and pain of his death all by himself.

“No such thing as a right to live.”

He just needed warmth—like the one he’d felt resting on her lap. All the sins of his past—he’d already paid for them on the scaffold.

His ideals as a Hero had vanished with the dew on the execution grounds.

“Beatrice, I’m not going to die.”

A new flame was taking root in his heart.

“So you… live too.”

“I…”

“Don’t ask for forgiveness. I won’t either.”

He whispered,

“Show me how to live unforgiven.”

A road he’d never taken before.

“Even if it hurts.”

He grabbed her arm.

“Or I’ll be the last log instead.”

Beatrice, frozen in place, exhaled like she had been holding her breath the entire time.

“If you came back without turning to ash… maybe it’s because you deserved it.”

“Deserving something is just another kind of brand.”

A life forced upon someone—marked and set.

“I want to regret it instead.”

Clay’s grip loosened. He bent forward, unable to hold back his emotions.

Beatrice watched him in silence, no words finding their way out.

And then, just a little while later—when she finally opened her lips—

“—There they are!”

A voice rang out.

Several knights from Ezer had reached the top of the dune and spotted them.

(End of Chapter)