Chapter 1 - Villain Reincarnation
Translator’s Note: Those in italics and those in parentheses within the quotation marks indicating speech are the character’s thoughts.
“—Ah.”
I suddenly remembered it while having lunch.
This was a fantasy world inside a game.
And what’s worse—I wasn’t the protagonist. I was the villainous noble, Hollow von Heisenberg.
That outrageous truth slipped into my mind with surprising ease.
“...This is bad.”
If my knowledge of the original story was correct, this villainous noble named Hollow—
Before my thoughts could run any further, the maid serving me bowed her head sharply.
“M-my deepest apologies...! I’ll remake it immediately to suit your taste, Lord Hollow, so please, forgive me...!”
Her face clouded with despair as she bowed over and over.
“Ah—no, no, the ‘bad’ just now wasn’t about that... Miss Sistie, your cooking is very delicious.”
Her name slipped out of my mouth naturally.
“Y-you remembered the name of someone like me...? And you even spoke politely to me...?!”
Miss Sistie’s eyes widened in shock, her expression one of disbelief as she stepped back.
...Crap, maybe that was a careless thing to say...
Remembering the name of a maid.
Speaking politely to a maid.
Neither of those were things the original Hollow would ever do.
“I must go call the Master at once...!”
Miss Sistie’s face turned pale, and she hurried to rush out of the room.
“W-wait, calm down! I’m perfectly fine—”
“Y-you said ‘boku*’?!”
(TL/N: *Boku* is a softer, more polite first-person pronoun in Japanese. Here, the MC is saying “I’m” using *boku* instead of *ore*, which is rougher and more casual.)
...Right. Hollow’s first-person pronoun was ore.
“Ahem—I am perfectly fine. There’s nothing to report to Father... understood?”
“Y-yes, my lord.”
She bowed her head with a small nod.
Once I’d managed to calm the situation, I resumed the lunch I’d left untouched.
I wasn’t in the mood to eat at all, but leaving the meal untouched and walking away would only invite more suspicious thoughts.
And more than anything, it would be a waste of perfectly good food.
“By the way, Sistie—what year, month, and day is it today?”
“Um... it’s March 5th, in the Holy Calendar year 1009.”
“I see.”
The original Hollow was born in year 1000 of the Holy Calendar.
That meant this body was nine years old right now.
As far as I knew, the earliest Hollow could die was at age eleven.
I still had two years left.
Alright. First, I need to calm down and sort out my current situation.
After finishing lunch, I stood up and looked at Miss Sistie.
“I have some thinking to do. Don’t let anyone into my room.”
“You are feeling unwell, aren’t you—?!”
“There’s no problem. Just go about your work as usual.”
“Y-yes, my lord.”
She didn’t argue further, bowing politely... though her expression still said she wasn’t entirely convinced.
Chances were, I hadn’t managed to dispel her suspicion at all.
(First-person stays as ‘ore,’ no polite speech to subordinates... This is going to be tough, but I have to stick to it.)
I left the dining hall and headed straight for my own room.
The layout of the Heisenberg estate was exactly the same as in the game.
Thanks to that, I found my room without getting lost.
I locked the door securely and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
“...Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me...”
This world was the super-multi-ending RPG Ronzolkia.
Created by a collaboration between Japan’s biggest companies and top authors, it was a worldwide mega-hit.
True to its catchphrase—“Everyone’s the protagonist! No background characters!”—every single character had their own route, with as many endings as there were stars in the sky.
“Did I die in the real world? Or did my soul just get transferred here while still alive?”
...Well, either way, it didn’t matter.
I had no lingering attachments to the real world.
After losing my parents at a young age and living alone ever since, Ronzolkia had been my whole world.
If someone asked, “Are you happy?” the answer would, of course, be “Yes.”
The thrill welling up from deep in my chest was so overwhelming that I felt like I might start dancing if I let my guard down.
But—just let me say this one thing.
“Why—of all people—did it have to be Hollooooow?!”
Hollow von Heisenberg.
A true genius blessed with every talent—swordsmanship, magic, academics.
But his personality was lazy and arrogant.
He drowned in his own abilities, neglected effort, and as a result, was defeated by the protagonist. And that wasn’t all.
Hollow died in every possible route, a walking death flag destined for a bad end.
I had, of all things, reincarnated as this villainous noble.
“If things stay like this... I’ll be ruined...! I’ll be killed by the inevitable ‘scenario’ of fate...!”
If I didn’t act immediately, I’d be facing a bad end in no time.
“…Calm down. Stay cool.”
I straightened my back and took a deep breath, forcing myself to accept the brutal reality that I had been reincarnated as Hollow.
“My top priority—no matter what—is to survive.”
In the original story, Hollow was a man the world itself seemed to despise.
No doubt, countless trials from here on would try to kill me.
But… I have my knowledge of the original on my side!
I had loved Ronzolkia, pouring my entire youth into it.
Of course, I hadn’t cleared every single route for every single character...
...but I’d gone through most of the important ones.
Which meant I knew exactly how Hollow would die.
With my knowledge of the original, I’ll smash every death flag, dodge every bad end, and fully enjoy the beauty of Ronzolkia!
And to do that, I had to—
“—stay humble, work hard, and get strong!”
Like most RPGs, Ronzolkia was a fantasy world of swords and magic.
To survive here, I would need overwhelming individual power—strength so great that no one could approach it.
In that respect, the original Hollow was perfect in a way—he had the “potential to be the strongest.”
...It was just that his laziness and arrogance kept him from ever realizing that talent, and he died before he could blossom.
To avoid walking into the same trap, I would have to commit to humility and steady effort.
“For now—status.”
Before starting training, I wanted to check my initial stats.
But no matter how long I waited, no status window appeared.
“...In that case—skills.”
Naturally, the skill window didn’t appear either.
“...I see, so that’s how it is.”
No status or skill windows meant... the Ronzolkia character growth system—
① Defeat enemies to gain EXP →
② Level up to raise stats & earn skill points →
③ Spend skill points to learn new techniques or magic—
...didn’t exist for me.
So then—how was I supposed to get stronger?
The only thing that came to mind was raising my proficiency and training level.
Well, I could figure out the details during the training process...
“The real problem is—which path I should take.”
In Ronzolkia, there were over a hundred classes: knight, thief, cleric, ranger, necromancer...
You could become a beast tamer to control magical beasts, a merchant to run a business, an explorer to search uncharted lands—there were plenty of fun routes.
But what I needed now was simple, raw strength.
“That means... swordsman or mage.”
I’d master the beginner swordsman and mage classes, then aim for the advanced magic swordsman class.
No detours.
A pure build focused solely on becoming stronger.
“Which should I start with—sword or magic...”
I planned to master both in the end, but training them at the same time from the start would be inefficient.
It would be better to focus on one first, get it to a decent level, and then work on the other.
(If I remember right, the “Baptism Ceremony” is at age ten... that’s a little over a year away.)
In that case, I should start with swordsmanship.
Fortunately, the Heisenberg family had Olvin Dunkelt, the butler and a master swordsman.
Olvin’s swordsmanship skill was top-tier even in the game.
If I trained under him, I could learn with maximum efficiency.
It’s one in the afternoon... At this time, he’s probably... tending to the trees in the garden.
I was about to head out to find him when a large full-length mirror caught my eye.
“...Wow. I really am Hollow von Heisenberg.”
Hollow von Heisenberg, age nine.
Medium-length red hair, the back grown long and tied loosely with a ribbon.
About 135 centimeters tall, with a lean build.
Gem-like crimson eyes, a well-shaped nose, refined lips. He wore a navy, chic jacket on top, with simple black trousers below.
The original Hollow really did have a good face...
...Too bad his personality was garbage.
I neatened my hair, smoothed out my clothes, and stepped outside the mansion.
Looking around as I walked through the vast garden, it wasn’t long before I spotted Olvin diligently trimming the trees.
Whoa... the real deal...
Olvin Dunkelt, age sixty-three.
185 centimeters, with short, neatly kept white hair.
A rugged face, stern, deep-set eyes, and a well-groomed white beard. Even through the tails of his formal coat, the thick, solid muscle underneath was obvious.
“Mister—ahem... Olvin, do you have a moment?”
I swallowed the honorific that had risen to my throat.
Calling someone my grandfather’s age by name alone felt wrong, but... I would just have to get used to it.
“What is it, young master?”
“There’s something I want to ask you. This is out of the blue, but—could you teach me the sword?”
“Wha—?!”
“What’s wrong?”
“No, it’s just... Lord Hollow, you’re asking instead of ordering...?”
Come to think of it, Hollow never asked for things.
He always talked down to people, barking out commands like he owned the place.
“Ah... right. That’s how it was. My bad.”
“Whaaa?!”
“W-What now?”
“Lord Hollow, you’re admitting fault...?”
“...”
I was at a loss for words.
I hadn’t realized it was this bad...
And at the same time, I understood.
Yes, this really was the kind of scum he used to be.
For now... I’d better keep playing the lazy, arrogant Hollow.
If I suddenly started acting like a decent human being, people would get suspicious.
In fact, just moments ago, the maid Miss Sistie had already grown quite wary of me.
So—no honorifics, no polite speech to subordinates.
Whenever I needed something, always phrase it as an order.
I’d stick to that for a while, then slowly soften the edges.
“Olvin. Teach me the sword.”
“I have no objection, but... what brought this on?”
“No reason. Just felt like it.”
“I see.”
Receiving such a Hollow-like answer, Olvin seemed satisfied.
We moved to the training grounds and picked up blunted practice swords.
“Normally, I would start with the basics... but knowing your impatience, Lord Hollow, I suspect you prefer a real bout?”
“Huh? Ah—yeah, of course.”
It wasn’t the kind of atmosphere where I could just ask to start with the basics.
We took our stances, three meters apart.
“Then, here I come.”
“Anytime.”
And so, the mock battle began.
Three minutes later—
“Hm. I suppose that will do.”
“U-unbelievable...!”
I calmly slid my sword back into its scabbard, while Olvin was down on all fours, staring at the ground.
The height difference between our heads made the result plain as day.
Man... I really am absurd...
Hollow von Heisenberg was even more overpowered than I’d imagined.
Vast mana, overwhelming strength, a devilish intellect—his base stats were beyond cheat-level.
In truth, Mister Olvin was strong. In pure swordsmanship, I was nowhere close.
But... the brute force born from my mana and natural strength simply crushed his refined technique.
It was like a gorilla versus a squirrel.
With such a gap in raw physical capability, sword skills never even got a chance to matter.
And yet... even after defeating a powerhouse like Mister Olvin, I don’t feel like I’ve leveled up.
From what I remembered, the original Hollow’s level at this point in the story was around five.
Beating Mister Olvin should have been worth a solid ten levels, but... I felt nothing of the sort.
Instead, the sword now fit more comfortably in my hands.
No status or skill window popped up, no sign of leveling—so I figured the way to grow stronger here was through proficiency.
A realistic, training-based system.
Yeah… I liked it.
Perfect for someone who valued humility and steady effort.
While I was thinking that—
“...Impossible...”
The words of bitter disbelief slipped from Mister Olvin’s lips.
I couldn’t blame him.
After all, he had just been beaten by a complete novice.
But I couldn’t let myself get the wrong idea.
I had only won because of raw talent—mana and muscle.
In terms of pure sword skill, I wasn’t even at his feet.
This kind of “empty victory,” piled up over time... that must be what bred the arrogance and carelessness that turned the original Hollow into a tragic monster.
A genius who refuses to work hard will one day fall to a hardworking nobody.
No matter how great your gifts, if you don’t sharpen them, they’re nothing but wasted treasure.
In other words, a genius who put in the effort would be, quite literally, the strongest! I would cast aside all arrogance and build my strength step by step!
For that, I needed Mister Orvin’s skill right now.
“—Orvin. How many years have you honed that sword of yours?”
The same line from the original story slipped naturally from my lips.
“...I have devoted my entire life to it...”
Orvin, steeped in dejection, forced the words out.
Born with almost no magical power, he had simply trained and trained without rest, until he attained one of the highest levels of swordsmanship in the original story.
That earnest way of living was noble, even beautiful.
For someone like me, striving for humility and steadfastness, it was something to emulate.
However—in the original, Hollow had mocked him at this moment.
[Pfft—kuhahahaha! A sword you staked your life on, huh? Sounds like you had yourself a pretty short and easy life!]
He had poured every ounce of scorn and derision into the words, snapping the path Mister Orvin had walked in half.
I wasn’t about to waste something so precious.
“A sword you’ve devoted your life to, is it? No wonder it’s so beautiful.”
“...What did you just say...?”
Mister Orvin lifted his head in shock.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said your sword was beautiful.”
“W–What are you saying...? My sword is nothing but a trifling thing, not worth mentioning. Lord Hollow’s blade is far superior—”
“No. My sword is worthless. All I do is fling magic around—there’s no true technique to it at all.”
“T-That’s not true in the slightest...”
“Don’t bother with such transparent flattery. If you had the same amount of mana I do, would you be swinging such an awkward blade?”
“...He’s right... Lord Hollow’s swordsmanship can hardly be called praiseworthy. If I had the same immense mana as the young master, I would never fight in such a crude way.”
Mister Orvin faltered, unable to respond.
“Orvin—this sword you’ve staked your life on.. I’ll take it up, and lead it to the summit. Will you guide me there?”
“...”
No answer.
Uh-oh... did I mess this up?
I had been playing the role of the original Hollow and ended up speaking far too high-handedly. Maybe that last part had been a bit much.
“O–Oh... sorry, I might have put that too harshly—”
“—Such words honor me beyond measure...! I, Orvin Dunkelt, will devote my entire being to serving as your guide!”
“Huh? Ah... yeah, looking forward to it.”
And so, I came under Mister Orvin’s tutelage.
“First, the grip—hold the hilt in your right hand as though shaking hands, then gently place your left hand beneath it.”
“Hm.”
“The basic stance is center guard—imagine a thread hanging from the crown of your head.”
“I see.”
“The key to a cut is shifting your weight—keep your hips steady, and let the blade flow.”
“Like this?”
Grip, stance, the principles of striking... from the basics to advanced technique, he drilled them into me relentlessly.
Before I knew it, a full year had passed—and at last, the day came.
“Shall we begin?”
“Yes.”
We stood in the garden, Mister Orvin and I, our gazes locking in silence.
Gentle sunlight bathed us, birdsong rang in the air—and as if on some silent signal, we both sprang forward at once.
“Haaah!”
“Nnngh!”
Our practice swords clashed violently.
No magical enhancement of strength—this was a pure duel of swordsmanship.
Once, twice, three times, the hard clang of steel rang out and red sparks danced—
“Shhhah!”
Mister Orvin stepped in deep and thrust sharply.
I caught it softly on my sword’s tip—slid the flat of his blade aside as I stepped forward in a wide stride, and brought down a diagonal slash.
“Hah!”
“Wh—?!”
Mister Orvin’s sword was still halfway back from his thrust.
With no way to defend in time, he sidestepped in desperation, barely escaping disaster.
Now’s my chance!
He had recovered his sword, but his stance was broken.
I closed the distance without hesitation, pressing him like wildfire.
“Haaaah! (I’ll push through!)”
“Nnghh! One beat… too slow!”
After a furious exchange—
“There!”
“Damn—?!”
A tiny gap opened in Mister Orvin’s iron defense.
Yes—this’ll do it!
Raising my sword high, I brought it down for the finishing blow, reaching for my first victory—
But—
“Not yet!”
Mister Orvin threw out his empty left hand to shield himself.
Even if it was only a practice sword, the blade was still made of iron.
“Nngh... guh—!”
A dull crack rang out as bone gave way, and Mister Orvin’s weathered face twisted in agony.
Yet his movements didn’t waver for even a heartbeat—he stepped in with the smooth precision of a flowing current.
That single move, throwing away the use of one arm just to seize victory—that stubborn, unrelenting strike—was so gritty, and yet... so beautiful.
“It’s my win!”
With a vitality I had never seen from him before, Mister Orvin unleashed a strike with every ounce of his strength.
It caught me completely off guard.
Normally, no one could react to something like this.
But I knew.
I knew that Mister Orvin was pathologically incapable of accepting defeat.
When it came down to it, he would throw away an arm if that’s what it took to win.
“Such magnificent resolve.”
“What—?!”
In a horizontal flash, my slash cut through the air, and his sword slipped from that rugged hand.
The dry clatter of steel on stone echoed in the garden, and in the next instant, my blade tip rested lightly against the wrinkled skin of his throat.
“...It’s my win, wouldn’t you say?”
“...Indeed, young lord. Most splendidly done.”
It was a match decided without magic—pure swordsmanship alone.
Unlike his first loss, Mister Orvin’s face now was bright and unclouded.
“To think you would surpass me in a single year... As expected of you, young master.”
“Hmph. Naturally.”
I slipped fully into the role of the original Hollow, tossing out the words with cold indifference.
But somehow, I felt as though Mister Orvin understood.
That it was thanks to his guidance. That I was grateful.
“Now then, I have a ‘final task’ to see to, so I shall take my leave here.”
Having poured out everything he had, he smiled with a strange sense of liberation and turned toward the mansion’s front entrance.
My role is done. This sword—the proof of my life’s work—has indeed been taken up by Lord Hollow. I have no more regrets. All that’s left is to hand my resignation to the master and take my leave.
As we passed each other—
“...Farewell, Lord Hollow.”
I thought I heard him murmur something, but it was swallowed up by a swirl of spring wind.
...Final task? What’s that about?
No particular event came to mind, but—oh well.
Right now, there was something more important.
“...Hey. What time tomorrow?”
“...Huh...?”
Mister Orvin turned slowly, wearing an utterly bewildered expression, frozen in place.
“Don’t make me repeat myself. I’m asking—what time is tomorrow’s training?”
The routine was simple: end the day with a mock battle, then decide tomorrow’s schedule.
That was how it always went.
Wait... could he be that shaken by losing? Damn it, I should’ve been more considerate.
As I berated myself for my lack of tact—
“...!”
Mister Orvin suddenly began trembling, and as tears welled at the corners of his eyes, he dropped to one knee, hiding them from view.
“S-Sorry... I wasn’t thinking. Rest for today and—”
“...Lord Hollow... your consideration... I have taken it deeply to heart. I, Orvin Dunkelt, will devote my life to serving you.”
“What...? Ah... yeah, I’ll be counting on you.”
...I wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but Mister Orvin’s loyalty had clearly gone far beyond its previous limits.
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