Chapter 2
Chapter 2. Perfect for Madness
When did this wretched seventy-seventh regression begin?
* * *
Tatar de Tessibania.
The man, who had been emperor for barely a month, wore an expression of undeniable fatigue.
His pristine white tuxedo had no wrinkles, complemented by white gloves, polished shoes, blue cuffs, and a heavy deep blue cloak weighing down his shoulders.
Under his neatly swept-back silver-gray hair, his gray eyes held not an ounce of affection for his bride.
The bride was no different.
Vinea Madretta Veshnu.
Her voluminous bell-line dress sparkled with countless diamonds at the hem. The matching cloak weighed heavily on her shoulders.
Her blue eyes blinked slowly under the veil, burdened by fatigue and strain.
Countless lives had been sacrificed in the war waged by power-hungry individuals coveting the legendary gem, Sefitiana.
The marriage, symbolizing an alliance formed to quell the revolts in the two empires, had to appear perfect to the world, even until death. Despite the unbearable pressure, the couple stood steadfast on the red carpet.
“Tatar de Tessibania,” he introduced himself.
“Vinea Madretta Veshnu,” she replied.
Meeting for the first time since entering the wedding hall, they exchanged brief greetings. The person before them mattered little; like it or not, they were bound together for life unless another war erupted.
They bowed their heads and turned away from the high priest blessing their marriage. Deafening cheers and trumpet blasts filled the air, while flower petals and blinding sunlight swirled around them.
A low voice brushed past Vinea’s ear as they walked back down the carpet.
“Let’s do well together from now on.”
Vinea responded, gazing at the cheering faces.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
* * *
Married life was anything but smooth, especially for Vinea.
Although the war had ended, it took her over six months to shake off the feeling of being in enemy territory.
The century-long war had taken many loved ones, sparing no one, even in the imperial palace.
The head maid of the Empress’s palace and the former emperor Maxiul, Tatar’s father, were among those who lost loved ones to Veshnu.
The subtle hostility in the palace atmosphere often manifested as minor inconveniences or outright threats.
Yet, Vinea persevered. She understood the weight of the lives, future, and hopes tied to this marriage, fulfilling her duty as a member of Veshnu’s royalty.
Her husband, Tatar, was more of a companion than someone she could rely on. He, too, struggled to hold his ground among the wolves eyeing the young emperor’s power.
They fought, endured, and overcame as best as they could.
One year into their marriage, on the day commemorating their first anniversary, they were en route to the shrine housing the legendary gem, Sefitiana, the final event of the celebration.
The carriage halted with a jolt amidst uncomfortable silence, and the eerie sound of insects began. The sudden tension was a precursor to the assassin’s attack.
Their minimal escort, meant to demonstrate humility, proved insufficient against twenty assassins.
…All the knights were killed.
Inevitably, Tatar and Vinea, the ones they sought to protect, followed.
He shielded her as a long sword pierced his heart, then hers.
Ah, if it would end like this, what had we fought so hard to endure for the past year? The war, the peace treaty, there were countless others to shoulder the responsibility…
Their final breaths synchronized, darkness calmly settled over their eyes, signaling the end of their fierce lives.
* * *
“Waahhhh—”
The loud cheers abruptly awakened Vinea.
The familiar sight of the red carpet greeted her as her vision cleared.
The white dress she wore, the veil covering her face, the shadow beside her, even the air in one breath—everything felt familiar.
Vinea turned her head in a daze. At the same moment, she met the eyes of the person standing next to her.
“…Your Majesty?”
At her call, confusion spread across his chiseled face. Vinea slowly looked around.
The scene was so familiar that it sent chills from her head to her toes.
“Why are we…?”
The bouquet in her hand fell to the ground.
Gripping her trembling hand tightly, the sensation in her palm was disturbingly vivid.
As the grand trumpet sounds echoed, they walked mechanically on the carpet.
“…Empress, are you alright?”
Tatar asked, and Vinea responded dazedly.
“Is this… a dream?”
“Who knows. Perhaps it’s a second chance given by the gods.”
Maybe the gods, seeking to prevent more innocent deaths from war, had granted them another chance.
Their hearts pounded with a mix of excitement and fear at the divine burden.
However, the illusion shattered quickly.
Twenty times. That many times they died and came back to life.
Same place, same time. Whenever they woke up, it was always on the red carpet, on their wedding day.
Crash!
A vase shattered against the wall, grazing Vinea’s right cheek. The sharp pain paled in comparison to the burning rage within her.
“—Why, why!”
Who was this anger directed at?
If someone had trapped her in this hellish cycle, it was aimed at them. If it was a divine trick, it was directed at the gods.
“What do you want from me!”
Vinea slumped to the floor, hugging her cold arms. Her red nails left long scratches on her skin.
Whether she died or not, she couldn’t escape this cycle.
The first time she came back to life, she was overwhelmed but happy. Ah, the gods have given us another chance.
A month later, Tatar was assassinated in his office while she aggressively probed the nobles for those behind the attack, hastening their next attempt.
When they awoke together again, she believed it was still the will of the gods.
On the third try, they stayed low and ensured constant protection, prioritizing survival over capturing the suspected culprits.
But the assassins’ tactics grew more covert. They died together from an unknown poison.
And they revived once more.
On the fourth try, they showed no mercy. They purged anyone remotely suspicious, even framing and eliminating them if necessary.
One of those purged must have been guilty, as that life flowed relatively smoothly.
Ah, it’s finally over. There will be no more war, and the peace the gods wanted will continue.
She mistakenly thought they had succeeded.
Yet again, on their first anniversary, they experienced excruciating pain and died, even without any apparent cause.
What had gone wrong?
They had eradicated the seeds of war, and even if some were innocent regarding the war, none were entirely blameless.
What were the gods thinking?
When they woke, they were on the red carpet once more.
What about the fifth time?
Driven by stubbornness, they gambled their lives to test the limits of this inexplicable phenomenon.
Tatar took his own life. Vinea watched as his breath left him.
The servants’ screams pierced her ears, but her face remained cold.
It was already an agreed-upon plan.
As the light faded from Tatar’s gray eyes, Vinea’s vision also turned black. Another failure.
On the sixth attempt, when Vinea woke up in the wedding hall again, she ran to the nearest knight and grabbed his sword.
Her white dress fluttered and was splattered with red. The guests’ screams mingled with the melody of blessings as the bride stabbed herself in the heart on the wedding day.
Only Tatar stood still amid the chaos.
And so it went, again and again, repeating the same life.
Trying to find a way to stop this cursed cycle, they died repeatedly.
They ended their lives where they first died and behaved the same way they did in the initial regression, only to meet the same fate. All in vain.
On the floor littered with glass shards, Vinea panted heavily.
The stinging pain in her skin was nothing compared to the moment of death. Cold tears streamed down her pale cheeks.
Before long, a shadow cast over her. A hand gently caressed her cheek.
“…Empress.”
Vinea blinked her dull eyes slowly. Through her blurred vision, she saw the man who was as much a mess as she was.
Tatar, kneeling, carefully lifted her into his arms. Leaning into his cool embrace, Vinea spoke with a voice cracked and broken.
“I’m tired, Your Majesty. I’m so tired…”
Tatar walked without a word. The servants’ shocked gazes followed the emperor carrying his blood-stained empress.
He didn’t take his eyes off Vinea, who buried her face in his chest.
Entering his bedroom, he gently laid her on the bed. Her platinum blonde hair spilled over the dark blue sheets.
Her hollow eyes held dark, trembling tears that hadn’t yet fallen.
Tatar knelt before her, gently clutching her platinum hair, treating it like a sacred relic as he kissed it slowly.
“You can destroy the empire. Seek pleasure or manipulate me; I don’t care. Do whatever you wish.”
Tatar rose, forcing his existence into her dry blue eyes.
As if to say, don’t forget I’m here. You’re not the only one trapped in this hell.
“But don’t abandon me in this world alone.”
Vinea’s eyes wavered.
“Don’t break to the point of no return, Empress.”
As the voice grew shakier towards the end, the trembling hands clutching her platinum-blonde hair mirrored his equally disheveled state. What must it feel like for someone who once held the world to be willing to let it crumble?
Vinea quickly reached a conclusion. Ah, you’re scared. You’re terrified that I’ll go mad and leave you to endure this endless cycle alone. Trapped in this suffocating repetition, you fear being left behind.
That’s why you’re pleading with those frightened eyes, begging me not to escape this hell by the simple act of losing my mind.
“So please, Empress. Vinea…”
The handsome face reflected in his wavering silver-gray eyes smiled.
You truly have gone mad, Vinea. You find a sweet scent in his despair laid bare and rejoice in it. Whether it’s a sense of camaraderie or pity.
Even as you mock yourself, saying there’s nothing to like about someone pleading from the same pit, a deep satisfaction fills you. It’s ridiculous.
“Are you scared, the mighty emperor of this empire?”
“Yes. Walking this path without you is more terrifying than losing any glory. Being left alone in this eternity…”
Vinea slowly extended her hand towards the man baring his shattered soul.
Poor man. And the same as you. In this moment, you feel more genuinely connected to him than through the thin name of husband and wife.
Vinea cradled Tatar’s gaunt cheek and bowed her head, pressing her forehead to his. There was only one way for them to endure this repetition together.
As cold tears rolled down her cheeks, Vinea looked into Tatar’s eyes and moved her cracked lips.
“Let’s go mad together. That way, our world will always be on the same path.”
As Tatar slowly blinked, the anxiety in his eyes gradually subsided.
Ha. He grasped the hand lifting him up and breathed deeply.
Vinea. My empress. My salvation.
He grasped her ankle and thigh, exposed through the slip, and, like worshiping a statue modeled after a deity, pressed his forehead to her rounded knee as he replied.
“Willingly.”
