Am I Allowed to Kill the Male Lead? - Chapter 11
I swung the sword as brutishly as wielding an axe and stuck it into the ground.
Rolling on the ground to narrowly avoid it, Bel, tail wrapped around his thigh, gasped. His complexion turned pale blue.
“Are you really intending to kill me?”
I am indeed. I’ll kill you.
The novel serialization has been discontinued, and what’s the point of the main character dying outside the novel?
The ‘next chapter’ will never come, and we’re soon to be forgotten by all readers anyway.
It’s all over. Only the bloody farewell remains. A crazed laughter escaped me.
“Bel, grab a sword. A dagger. Anything. Attack me. Hit me with all your might. You’re a sadist, aren’t you?”
Bel looked painfully troubled. In a situation where I’m trying to kill you, you still can’t attack me? Really? Can’t you leave whip marks on this delicate and pale thigh of the female lead, break her ankles, and mercilessly commit violence unto her?
But deciding to be honest in the face of destruction wasn’t exclusive to me. Bel sighed, spread his arms, and flopped onto the ground.
“Yeah, I’m done. Living this unhappily, I’d rather have the novel discontinued, and dying by your hand would be better.”
“Is that what you really want?”
Bel sighed again and mumbled.
“This world was hopeless from the beginning. Just as you’re happy when you’re violent, I’m unhappy when I am. I knew that if I couldn’t stand up straight, you’d end up dying too, but there was no choice. Since the beginning, I was born like this, so the limits were clear. If only I wasn’t an irredeemable piece of trash like this.”
This novel has always been a mess, from its very conception and until its destruction. Characters that are not properly developed, a nonexistent plot, endlessly continuing, and even the god isn’t particularly good.
The only advantage was the male lead’s cruel whipping, yet even that lacks the author’s sincerity.
We’ve inherited the author’s fatigue.
“If only we could continue the story on our own. Eunha, end it painlessly in one stroke. Pain… I’ve experienced enough of it….”
Bel tightly closed his eyes.
But… I didn’t kill him.
No matter how long he waited, the executioner’s blade wouldn’t come.
As the silence awkwardly extended, Bel cautiously opened his eyes. I was standing there, not even holding the sword. It was because when Bel was rambling on about his will earlier, I suddenly grasped a clue.
“I think I just found a solution.”
Even I was surprised. I told Bel,
“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘characters moved on their own and created the story’?”
* * *
Characters move on their own and create the story.
While writing, characters suddenly come to life, would speak and think freely, and would go on to create the next part as they pleased. As a writer, they’d just write everything down. Characters ignored their will and ran wild from the tip of the pen. The story would then unfold on its own….
Many authors have said similar things. So, it’s quite a common phenomenon.
Bel realized what I was trying to say and fell into shock.
“Are you saying that it wasn’t just a simple metaphor or allegory, but something that actually happened in another novel?”
Then, he fell into thought for a moment.
The demon king’s reception room was quiet for a while.
Until now, he had been overwhelmed just by acting out a ‘script’ that didn’t match his personality, and he had never thought about the circumstances of other novels.
So, even among us, we didn’t know that we could continue the story.
After a moment of silence, Bel asked in amazement.
“Does this mean from now on, without the author, we can write the ‘next part’ however we want?”
“In theory, yes.”
“…As we want?”
Bel’s face brightened slightly as he thought about something.
Despite crying, getting angry, and being sad just a moment ago, his countenance improved slightly, making him instantly charming. That was the kind of appearance he had. Of course, it was clear what he was thinking.
“We can’t change the genre. We can’t go beyond the limits set by the author.”
“Can’t we lower the level of violence a bit?”
“If you’re going to say that, please shut up. We can’t decide on that. Earlier, didn’t you see that I couldn’t write the ‘novel’ properly?”
We cannot create something new. We must resolve things within the given constraints.
“So, you mean…”
“The genre needs to remain the same.”
Whether there is an author or not, the task remains the same.
He collapsed feebly, gloomily stroking his leather gloves.
So, his role hadn’t changed. He still had to be cruel, still had to be as obsessive as the male lead, Belzebuth.
I sorted out the situation.
“Anyway, it’s in our hands now. We have to continue the ‘next part’ by ‘moving on our own.’ I see this crisis as an opportunity.”
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