Chapter 1: The One Who Destroys the Depression Game

Few people can truly imagine their own death.

For those leading uneventful lives, it’s even harder.

Everyone knows death comes for all. But few ever grasp—truly grasp—that it will happen to them.

I was no different.

Lying on rain-slicked concrete—

Gazing up at storm clouds—

Feeling warmth drain away with my blood—

Only then did I understand: I was dying.

By then, though, there was no room left for fear.

Consciousness faded. My thoughts drifted, distant and detached.

Like watching from some vantage point far away, I observed my own death with idle curiosity.

And so he died… only for me to be born.

This new world resembled the old in many ways.

Same physical laws. Same single sun. Same darkening sky at night. Though technologically centuries behind, it felt familiar enough.

…Or so I thought, as an infant.

The truth revealed itself when my parents died.

A black, indistinct monster slaughtered them.

Goat’s head. Humanoid torso, jet-black skin. Bestial lower body. Bat wings. Serpent’s tail.

The textbook image of a demon.

Shoved into a closet by my mother, I watched through the crack as it devoured them alive.

Watched as it ravaged our entire village before vanishing.

Left alone in the ruins, I survived by scavenging food from abandoned homes.

Three days later, salvation came.

A woman in deep maroon robes embroidered with gold arrived at the remains of our village.

She called herself an Exorcist—a warrior wielding miracles beyond human limits to purge demons.

Under her protection, I entered a church-run orphanage.

And that’s when I realized:

This world was fiction.

Pureblood Exorcist—a niche PC game blending visual novel choices with token RPG elements. Never animated, but popular enough for novelizations.

Why niche?

Because it was depressingly brutal.

90% of the characters die.

Your favorites meet grotesque ends.

The kindest souls suffer first.

Every backstory drips with trauma.

Meaning this world contained countless tragedies like mine—watching your mother get eaten alive.

While he had enjoyed the game… I loathed it.

Dark fiction is one thing.

Living it? Unacceptable.

Wanting to help others doesn’t make me special—it’s basic decency.

So I became an Exorcist.

If this was a “depression game,” I would break its misery.

The Holy Burial Church—this world’s sole religion and the only organization training Exorcists.

Under my rescuer’s guidance, I learned to hunt demons.

And I discovered something:

I had talent.

Anyone can become an Exorcist through effort.

But true masters are born with Signs—miraculous abilities the Church calls divine blessings.

Creating fire from nothing.

Manipulating earth.

Flight.

Abilities beyond human limits, imprinted upon the mind like divine revelation.

The Church calls those who manifest them Saints.

And I—

—was one.

During training, searing migraine pain heralded my awakening.

A Sign burned itself into my consciousness.

But I have no intention of telling the Church.

Because an Exorcist who bears a Miracle Sign is bound to the Church.

The Church ensures that "Saints" are never assigned to dangerous missions.

Not because they value their lives—no, they don’t want their Saints to die.

Instead, ordinary Exorcists—those without Miracle Signs—are the ones sent into the worst battles.

And they die in their place.

This world is fucking garbage.

The destruction of tragedies I seek to enact… requires freedom.

So I pretend.

I pretend to be ordinary, a nameless Exorcist without a Miracle Sign.

And I fight on the front lines even now.

No one knows about my power.

And even if they did—I couldn’t use it recklessly.

Because my Miracle Sign shortens my lifespan.

Not in the usual sense—not from wounds, sickness, or exhaustion.

No. It erodes the very concept of my life itself.

My Miracle Sign grants me strength in exchange for life.

No grand title. No divine revelation. Just that simple truth, etched into my mind.

The stronger I become, the closer I edge toward death.

To an ordinary Saint, it would seem like a dud of an ability.

But the power it grants… is worth the price.

The tragedies not even the protagonist and their allies could prevent—

I can erase them.

By burning away my future, I can destroy impossible foes. Save those who were meant to die.

I will die young.

But that was never enough to make me refuse.

My parents saved me. The senior Exorcists saved me.

Because I was saved, I understood—this life must be used meaningfully.

So I fought.

Using my knowledge of the story, I intercepted tragedies before they could unfold.

I hunted demons. Erased disasters.

Again and again, I paid with my lifespan—until I noticed something.

The people I saved, my fellow Exorcists…

They started seeing me as a good person.

On the surface, that’s not a bad thing.

But if they grew attached to me—a woman marching toward death—then my demise would only bring them grief.

And that would defeat the entire purpose of my mission to erase tragedies.

I fight for everyone’s happiness.

I cannot be the reason they suffer.

So I made a choice.

To drive them away.

Acting arrogant. Neglecting others.

Becoming conceited, self-important.

Mocking people. Looking down on them.

A miserable, detestable personality that would make sure no one ever cared.

And before I knew it—

"Hah? Ew, gross! Like I’d ever take a mission with this loser! Get real!"

…I’d become a bratty little bitch.

---

My exorcist colleague, Elsie, is… a weird one.

She’s always looking down on people.
Mocks me constantly.
Unbelievably full of herself.

But here’s the thing—she actually has the achievements to back it up.

She works hard enough that you get why she acts superior.
And her self-confidence is… well, kinda cute, honestly.

She’s supposedly the same age as me—sixteen—but we couldn’t be more different.
Especially when it comes to that unshakable confidence of hers.

"Yuri, you’re late. I’m gonna die of old age at this rate~"

Watching her smirk at me like I’m some kind of idiot, I couldn’t help but think that.

Her pale pink hair, tied up in twin tails, barely reached her shoulders.
Golden eyes—slightly upturned, sharp with amusement—bore into me with palpable disdain.

"S-sorry… I’ll get ready right away—"

"Hurry up. Wasting my time is a crime against humanity, you know."

With a haughty hmph, she turned her nose up—yet despite the attitude, she was still waiting for me.

I scrambled to shove my essentials into the attaché case and stood up in a rush.
She carried an identical case, but our outfits couldn’t have been more different.

I wore a deep green cassock.
Hers was maroon.

These robes marked our ranks within the Holy Burial Church’s exorcists:

From the top—

• Saints (Navy blue)

• Upper Rank (Maroon)

• Middle Rank (Purple)

• Lower Rank (Deep green)

Since Saints—those bearing Miracle Signs—rarely saw combat…
Elsie, as an Upper Rank, was effectively at the top of the exorcist hierarchy.

All at sixteen. The gap between us was staggering.

And yet, by some twist of fate, we were partners.

"Since you’re so slow, I already bought the tickets. Here—hold out your hand."

"Huh? Oh… thanks."

"Pfft. You look like a puppy."

She shoved the train tickets for our mission into my palm, giggling like it was the funniest thing.

…That’s the thing about her.

She’s annoying, but not mean.

Sure, she talks down to people—but never about things they can’t control, like birth, gender, or looks.
She stays quiet around people who are genuinely struggling.
And she fights demons until she’s battered and bruised… all to save others.

"Get moving. I hate window seats."

"Yeah, yeah…"

She pushed me onto the train, then immediately forced me into the window seat while she took the diagonal spot across from me.

Elsie’s words and actions never quite match.

I don’t know why, but she loves saying things that rub people the wrong way—so first impressions of her are always terrible.
Hell, I thought she was insufferable when we first met.

But after working together for so long, I realized it was all a misunderstanding—

"Hah? Why’re you staring? Creep."

—…Okay, maybe not entirely a misunderstanding.

There’s a height difference between us—I’m a full head taller.
So when she looks at me, she has to tilt her head up.

I smiled wryly and turned to the window.

Outside, the autumn scenery blurred past, brittle leaves and withered grass streaming by.

---

Yuri is the protagonist of Pure-Blood Exorcist.

Right now, he's still just a Lower Rank exorcist.
But one day, he'll awaken to a miracle and become a Saint.

Countless people will be saved by his hands... or, well, not saved, depending.

For now, though, he's unreliable—and as the story's protagonist, he has a lot of bad endings.

Players from my past life called him "Tofu" because he died so often.

Soft. Fragile. Just like tofu.

Oh, and also because his hair is white.

For some reason, people in this world have unnaturally colorful hair. Mine's pink, for example.

So, with Tofu—ahem, Yuri—in tow, we boarded the train… and arrived at our destination.

If you could even call it a train.

The tracks were so poorly maintained that the ride was brutal. My ass is killing me.

Anyway, we made it to a remote village far from the capital.

The sun was starting to set—we had until dusk to gather intel.

In this world, demons are common knowledge.

Thanks to my past-life memories, I never believed they were just superstitions, even when my parents tried to convince me otherwise.

The issue here? People keep disappearing at night.

The village chief, certain it’s a demon’s doing, sent a request to the Holy Burial Church for an exorcism.

We collected scraps of evidence from the villagers—things like wolf howls in the dead of night, where they were coming from… that sort of thing.

Jotting notes in my favorite little notebook with a fountain pen, I listened to their accounts.

…The demon seems to come from the mountains every night.

Judging by the number of howls, there’s probably only one… but it might have the ability to split itself.

We set up in an empty house near the mountains—the home of one of the missing villagers.

The chief and the others begged us to "save the taken."

But that was impossible.

Demons aren’t animals.

They’re malicious spirits, born from the accumulation of human suffering.

They don’t hunt people for food.

They kill for pleasure. Nothing more.

So the "taken"? They’re already dead.

And not in a peaceful way.

I was sure of it.

But I couldn’t tell them that.

I brushed them off with vague reassurances and ended the conversation.

Now, we waited in the empty house, ready to face the demon.

I unpacked weapons and tools from my attaché case.

Demons are beyond human in physical ability.
Normally, we’d stand no chance.

But humanity’s greatest weapon was never raw strength.

Since ancient times, we’ve hunted prey larger than ourselves—with tools, with cunning.

Plenty of exorcists die because they overestimate their skills.

But I won’t get careless.

This world is a depression simulator.

The moment you let your guard down, you die. Horribly.

I prepped my gear—maybe too meticulously—then sat on the bed.

Ate some rations. Took a nap.

And as night deepened—

—the howling began.

---

"Yuri, you scared?"

Elsie smirked, taunting me.

I clenched my fists—trembling slightly.

"I-I’m fine."

"Ohhh~?"

She saw right through me.

But, mercifully, she didn’t press further.

After a final gear check… we stepped outside.

The howls echoed from the mountains.

A black haze swirled in the distance—the precursor to a demon’s manifestation.

My fingers brushed the rosary at my chest.

It was made of Sacred Silver. Lethal to demons.

And Sacred Silver had a unique property.

The silver cross… morphed in an instant.

Material unchanged, yet transformed—into a massive sword.

My rosary reshaped itself into a claymore.

This was a Sacred Silver Armament, the weapon every exorcist wielded against demons.

It took the form most suited to its owner’s soul.

And so, the Church baptized each exorcist with a name befitting their weapon.

I was Yuri, the Claymore Exorcist.

As I gripped my sword, Elsie stepped ahead—empty-handed.

Then, from a pouch at her waist, she pulled out two small vials.

With a prayer-like gesture, she whispered:

"O Lord, let Your righteous wrath strike down the wicked."

A verse from scripture.

Then—she hurled the vials forward.

Glass shattered midair, liquid scattering—

—Light exploded through the darkness.

"‘Holy Smite!’"

The vials had held blessed holy water.

The words—a sacred verse.

Together, they recreated a miracle—one only a Saint should wield.

The light slammed into the ground like a physical force, tearing through the black haze.

The demon splintered apart.

And from the remnants… emerged hairless black wolves.

The Holy Smite had forced the demon to split.

"Laaame! Can’t even fight me head-on~?"

Elsie’s voice dripped with mockery.

Demons didn’t speak human language… but they understood malice.

And they were born from it.

Enraged, the wolves lunged at her.

She grinned, stepping back—

…My turn.

I swung my claymore and charged.

Seven wolves.

One horizontal slash—

Sacred Silver burned through their flesh like purification.

Two wolves vanished in the strike.

But the rest raced past me—straight for Elsie.

She barely reacted.

Instead, she touched her own rosary.

Her Sacred Silver Armament materialized.

A weapon to slay demons—

—A massive warhammer.

Its head was disproportionately large for its handle.

Far too heavy for a girl her size…

Yet she swung it like a storm.

"Elsie, the Sledgehammer Exorcist."

An Upper Rank.

"Too weeeak! You’re a joke!"

Taunting. Baiting.

Every swing of her hammer shattered a wolf.

Bones crunched. Flesh dissolved.

A whirlwind of destruction.

With a sickening squelch, the demon burst apart.

Its body, reduced to scattered remains, twitched in its final moments.

Only then did it seem to understand the meaning behind Elsie’s mocking laughter.

It twisted midair, trying to flee—

"Got you!"

—only for my greatsword to smash it to pieces.

The Claymore prioritized weight over sharpness.

And when it came to exorcising demons, maybe it wasn’t all that different from Elsie’s sledgehammer.

The result was the same: crushed.

With the last one destroyed, I let out a deep sigh.

The release of tension nearly made my knees buckle.

To an outsider, that might’ve looked like an easy exorcism.

But it wasn’t.

Not for me.

For a low-rank exorcist like me, that wolf-splitting demon had been a genuine threat.

Alone? I never would’ve won.

I only survived because Elsie had drawn its attention, taking out most of it.

When it came down to a one-on-one, I could manage.

But if all of its bodies had attacked me at once?

I’d be dead.

For exorcists of my rank, life-threatening danger was just part of the job.

Battling demons meant brushing against death constantly.

Surviving another day like this… was nothing short of a miracle—

"Yuri!"

A near-shout tore through the night.

"Huh—"

A black wolf materialized right in front of me.

Why—

I’d defeated all seven—

No.

It had split into seven. That didn’t mean seven was its limit.

The last one I’d cut down… hadn’t fought back.

If it had split right as I struck—

The pitch-black wolf lunged.

Time slowed.

Its fangs—mere inches from my eyes—

—!

A sudden yank.

Elsie sprinted forward and grabbed my collar, pulling me back just in time.

I toppled onto my rear—right into her arms—

"Ghk—!"

The wolf’s jaws clamped down.

"Agh—!"

Knife-like fangs tore into her pale arm, mangling it, staining it crimson.

Blood sprayed across my vision.

"Ah—"

My grip tightened on the greatsword.

Trembling, I planted my feet—

And swung.

The blade cleaved straight through the wolf’s torso.

Its bisected lower half spun through the air.

The demon, impaled by sacred silver, convulsed—then crumbled into nothingness.

Its head, still clamped onto Elsie’s arm, vanished along with it.

But the wounds remained.

"E-Elsie...?"

Her arm was a mess.

Blade-like fangs had torn into her from multiple angles, leaving deep, jagged wounds.

Beads of cold sweat clung to her forehead as she turned her pale face toward me.

"…Yuri."

It wasn’t her usual mocking smirk.

Instead, exhaustion clouded her features—pain twisting her expression.

I braced myself for a scolding, but—

"I’m glad… you’re okay."

The last thing I expected to hear.

Her voice, laced with concern, didn’t sound like her at all.

A lump caught in my throat.

This was my fault.

Those wounds—my fault.

"A-ah… Aah..."

A choked whimper slipped out before I snapped back to reality.

Now’s not the time for this.

Frantic, I grabbed the emergency bandages and holy water, rushing to her side.

I poured the holy water over her wounds, purifying them.

"Gh—...!"

"I-I’m sorry! It’ll be over soon!"

She winced from the sting, but I kept going.

The holy water, infused with divine energy, would enhance her vitality—speeding up the healing process.

Carefully, I wrapped the bandages around her arm.

Our eyes met.

Her expression was... different.

Not her usual condescending look.

I couldn’t quite place it—until realization struck.

Ah…

This was... relief.

---

It hurt like hell… but thanks to the healing Sign of Miracles at the church, my arm was fixed up right away.

But divine miracles aren’t all-powerful.

They can’t restore what’s already been lost.

In the end, while my blood vessels and muscle fibers healed, a strange sensation lingered on the surface of my skin.

A jagged, lightning-like scar remained.

Disgustingly hideous.

…Not that I care.

If the price of nobody dying is just a scar, then I’d say we got off lucky.

If anything, it just proves how unbelievably unlucky Yuri is.

That black wolf’s splitting ability… Any mid- or low-rank exorcist would’ve been slaughtered without even putting up a fight.

And that last first-strike kill move? No way anyone could’ve seen it coming.

A demon that cunning—dividing itself to force a chaotic melee while another split-off lurked in the shadows for an ambush.

The only reason I noticed was because I was watching from above, high enough to see the whole battlefield.

So—

"Haaah? How long are you gonna keep moping around like that? Quit it—your stench is rubbing off on me."

Yuri flinched at my words, guilt written all over his face.

"S-sorry, Elcie… It’s my fault—"

It wasn’t his fault.

Sure, maybe he screwed up, but I was the one who saved him. I was the one who chose to take the hit.

…But if I said that, he’d only feel worse.

Since he hates me right now, I need to keep things as they are.

"Hah? Seriously, how delusional can you get?"

"…Sorry."

…This was bad.

How was I, the injured one, in better spirits than him?

Biting back a flicker of annoyance, I had to admit—this was one of his better traits.

Worrying over someone he doesn’t even like…

A little unreliable, but endlessly kind.

And that’s exactly why seeing him like this—so full of regret—pissed me off.

With a sigh, I reached out and grabbed Yuri’s cheek—

"Huh? Elcie—?"

—and pinched it. Hard.

"Ow—ow, ow, OW!"

His gloomy expression instantly twisted into pure indignation.

Perfect.

I smirked down at him, my usual mocking grin sliding into place.

"You really think everything is your fault? Talk about narcissistic. A weakling like you, acting like you’ve got the authority to take responsibility?"

"W-well… but—"

"Ew, gross~ Ever heard of a mirror? Maybe take a good look and remind yourself—you’re a worthless, low-tier exorcist, got it?"

"Uh… y-yeah."

Even now, he still looked guilty.

Exasperated, I turned away.

"Did you really think I jumped in to save you out of the goodness of my heart?"

"Uh…"

"Wrong. If my partner bit the dust, it’d tank my reputation. I only saved you because I had to."

"Huh… Oh, right…"

"Or did you actually think I did it because some weakling like you matters to me? Gross. Get over yourself."

"N-no, that’s not what I—"

Watching Yuri wilt like a kicked puppy, I smirked to myself.

"Ugh, now I’ve got this stupid scar forever~"

"S-sorry…"

"You owe me a debt you can never repay, got it?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Which means—congrats! You’re my slave for life."

"Wha—huh?! …O-okay."

There. That ought to shut down his guilt.

Honestly, I sound like some toxic boss from hell.

No way anyone could like me after this.

But… my chest hurts.

When I saved Yuri, I was too far away—I had to use my own Sign of Miracles on instinct.

My miracles come at a cost: lifespan.

No clue how much I just burned.

Not that it matters.

I became an exorcist to erase despair.

If grinding down my life means saving whoever I can… so be it.

…It’s not like I have family left.

No one who’d care if I died.

And if I do croak? "Oh, that rude bitch bit the dust? Huh."—that’s all the reaction I want.

"Yuri, I’m craving something sweet."

"Huh?"

"Useless slave. Go buy me something. Your treat, obviously."

"…Yeah, I’ll grab it now."

Another day, another performance—keeping everyone at arm’s length.

I live to tear this world’s misery simulator to shreds.