Chapter 1: What a Darned Sweet Death Flag I Have
“Her name is Alicia. She’ll be your little sister from now on, Roel.”
In a lavishly decorated room stood a handsome yet frail-looking middle-aged man. He held onto the hand of a silver-haired girl as he introduced her to a well-dressed, black-haired boy standing before him.
The middle-aged man was known as Carter Ascart, a marquess of the Saint Mesit Theocracy. He served as the Chief Magician of the Holy Paladin Order, as well as the head of the Ascart House. He was also the father of Roel Ascart, the stunned 9-year-old boy standing before him at this very instant.
Roel Ascart was the sole son of this noble family. He had dignified facial features and a head of slightly long black hair. Standing at just under 1.5 meters tall, he was considered to be on the shorter end, especially among the nobles of this country. His skinny physique also revealed his lack of physical training. However, the noble education that he had undergone from a young age gave him a composed and quiet disposition, which gave most people a fairly good first impression of him.This, however, was nothing but an empty facade.
In truth, Roel was infamous as a little tyrant. Young as he was, he had a long list of misdeeds to his name. Even the servants of the marquess’ house would pale whenever his name was mentioned.
And it was such a little tyrant that was currently staring at the little girl who was soon going to become his stepsister. The golden eyes that he had inherited from his mother had narrowed tightly, and his complexion looked awful. His body was as stiff as the sculpture standing tall above the water fountain in his family’s garden.
“Roel, what are you doing? You’re scaring her!”
Noticing Alicia cowering behind him with a frightened expression under the pressure from Roel’s intense gaze, the middle-aged man howled at this troublemaker of a son of his.
Your looks are your only redeeming feature, and even they’re ruined when you act like such an arrogant little villain!
Do you have to behave in such a manner?I know that Alicia is beautiful, but you’re the son of a marquess. Where in the Lord’s name have the manners your etiquette teacher taught you gone to?
Carter Ascart was clearly embarrassed by his son’s behaviour. He raised his hand with an intent to give his son a whopping, but barely after he raised his hand, the image of his deceased wife flashed across his mind. After a short moment of hesitation, he eventually put down his hand with a deep sigh.
“Cough cough. Alicia, it would appear that your brother Roel is exhausted. I shouldn’t have put him through so much magic training earlier.”
As Marquess Carter put down his pride to help clear up the situation for his darned son, he discreetly gestured to the maids by the side. The sharp-witted maids immediately stepped forth and brought Roel back to his room to rest.
It was then that Roel finally heard the strained voice of a little girl behind him.
“I-I’m alright. It’s not father’s fault…”
———————————–
Roel Ascart was really doubting his life at the moment.
It was because he had transmigrated to this world. Or to be more exact, he had just remembered the memories of his previous life.
Roel, a heterosexual male, had been a twenty-year-old university student from Earth. He was born to an average family, and he didn’t have any extraordinary experiences in romance either. To summarize, he was an ordinary person. If one had to point out something that was different about him, it would be that he was practically a NEET. He liked to spend his time reading novels and playing otaku-esque games.
Cough cough, you get it.
This perfectly ordinary person was unfortunate enough to have gotten into a traffic accident. Before he knew it, he was already a member of the army of transmigrators from Earth.
He found himself transmigrating into a place known as the Saint Mesit Theocracy, one of the Three Great Powers, becoming the sole son of the long-standing noble lineage of the Ascart House. He had become the successor to a marquess’ house, a real blue blood.
Had he not known anything at all, Roel would have been delighted to be born into an aristocratic, land-owning family in his second life. He would have had endless money to squander, and he would have been able to do whatever he wanted to. But that was if he really knew nothing at all.
“The Xykelite House… exists.”
“Sorofya… is a real person here too!”
“Lucas Ackermann – If this man really exists as well…”
Bam!
A heavy book fell to the ground, ringing the final death knell in Roel’s heart.
“He exists as well… Hahaha… It’s over. My life is over!”
The black-haired boy inside the study room grabbed his head in disbelief as his blood pressure rocketed through the roof. He felt light-headed, as if there was a blood clot in his head.
“Just what kind of hellish abyss did I land myself into?”
After comparing the information in his memories to the records of this world, Roel was certain that he had entered the world of a gal game he had played in his previous world… and to make things worse, he was actually the villain here!
The name of the game was Eyes of the Chronicler, and it was a rather atypical gal game of epic proportions, with a gigantic and well-detailed world and a grandiose storyline. It also boasted many romantic interests that one could aim for. The illustrations were also lovely. If one really had to point out a problem with the game… it was just not popular.
There were many reasons that one could cite for its lack of popularity, but Roel felt that it could all be summarized into two points. First, it was rated as PG. Second, its plot often proceeded in a sketchy manner.
The game’s mechanics were extremely bizarre, proceeding in units of ‘years’. It would still have been fine if that was all, but the storyline kept jumping all around the place too. Wars literally broke out at the click of a button, and crucial characters could actually die in the midst of these wars, including the female capture targets!
Roel’s evaluation of this game was that it was outlandishly eccentric. It was as if the scriptwriter was really just a historical chronicler with extremely limited information. The player was given just the broad strokes of events, and they were left to fill in all the missing blanks.
The only reason why Roel was able to bring himself to continue playing this game was because he had an attachment to this incredibly handsome villain that shared his name, making it easier for him to immerse himself into the world. Not to mention, the female characters were absolutely gorgeous!
It was for this reason that he recognized the little girl the moment he saw her a little earlier.
Alicia Ascart.
The Silverash Child, the possessor of the legendary Silver Bloodline, the Silver Moon of the Saint Mesit Theocracy. Her beauty was often compared to both the untouchable crystal ice that formed at the highest peaks of the harshest mountains once a century, as well as the searing blade of the legendary sword of the Knight Kingdom Pendor. Her body had a perfect harmony of features, as if it was put together by the hands of a god. Her valiant crimson eyes would not have been out of place on the faces of the heroes of the grand epics.
She was cold and lofty on the outside, but her heart was tender and fragile.
Of course, that was all in the future, when she finally matured to become the female capture target in the game. As for now… she was just a little 7-year-old brat.
Roel, as her 9-year-old older brother, found himself in a very tempting position.
As the sages often said, age is not a problem. A two-year age gap didn’t pose a problem to Roel at all. If he hadn’t known better, he would have rushed straight to the side of the angel who had yet to unfurl her wings and struck up a friendly relationship with her right away.
Unfortunately, he knew better, and that was why he was afraid.
He wasn’t rendered speechless earlier on just because he had remembered the memories of his previous life; rather, it was out of fright.
Ten years later, the frail little girl whom his father was protecting earlier, Alicia Ascart, would kill her stepbrother, Roel Ascart.
In cold blood, without a hint of mercy.
