Little Tyrant Doesn't Want to Meet with a Bad End Chapter 1: What a Darned Sweet Death Flag I Have

“Her name is Alicia. She’ll be your little sister from now on, Roel.”

Within a lavishly adorned chamber, a handsome yet somewhat frail middle-aged man grasped the hand of a silver-haired young girl, introducing her to a well-dressed, dark-haired boy standing before him.

This middle-aged man was none other than Carter Ascart, a marquess of the Saint Mesit Theocracy. He held the significant position of Chief Magician within the Holy Knight Order and presided as the patriarch of the Ascart House. He was also the father of Roel Ascart, the astonished 9-year-old boy currently facing him.

Roel Ascart, the singular male heir of this noble family, possessed dignified facial features and a mane of slightly long black hair. Standing at just under 1.5 meters, he was considered rather short, particularly amongst the nobility of the land. His slender build suggested a lack of physical exertion. Nevertheless, the rigorous noble education he had received from a young age had bestowed upon him a composed and tranquil demeanor, often leaving a positive initial impression on others.

However, this outward appearance was merely a carefully constructed facade.

In reality, Roel was notoriously known as a little tyrant. Despite his tender age, a considerable number of misdeeds were attributed to him. Even the household servants would visibly flinch at the mere mention of his name.

It was precisely this notorious little tyrant who was now fixing his gaze upon the young girl destined to become his stepsister. The golden eyes, an inheritance from his mother, narrowed intensely, and his countenance turned grim. His body remained rigid, much like the imposing sculpture situated above the fountain in his family’s courtyard.

“Roel, what are you doing? You’re frightening her!”

Observing Alicia seeking refuge behind his legs, her small frame trembling under Roel’s piercing stare, the middle-aged man bellowed at his troublesome son.

Your looks are your only saving grace, yet even they are marred when you adopt the persona of a haughty little villain!

Must you carry on in such a fashion?

I understand Alicia is beautiful, but you are the son of a marquess. Where, by the heavens, have the manners your etiquette instructor drilled into you vanished to?

Marquess Carter Ascart was undeniably mortified by his son’s reprehensible conduct. He raised his hand, intending to administer a stern reprimand, but as his hand lifted, the image of his late wife surfaced in his mind. After a brief moment of internal struggle, he lowered his hand with a heavy sigh.

“Ahem. Alicia, it seems your brother Roel is quite fatigued. My apologies for subjecting him to so much cultivation training earlier.”

As Marquess Carter swallowed his pride to salvage the situation for his wayward son, he subtly signaled the waiting maids. The perceptive attendants promptly stepped forward and escorted Roel back to his chambers for rest.

It was at this moment that Roel finally registered the hesitant voice of the young girl behind him.

“I-I’m fine. It’s not Father’s fault…”

———————————–

Roel Ascart found himself profoundly questioning the very nature of his existence.

The reason for this existential crisis stemmed from his transmigration into this new world. More precisely, it was the sudden resurfacing of memories from his past life.

Roel, a heterosexual male, had once been a twenty-year-old university student on Earth. Born into an unremarkable family, his romantic life had been devoid of any extraordinary events. In essence, he had been an utterly ordinary individual. If anything set him apart, it was his penchant for a reclusive lifestyle, dedicating his time to immersing himself in novels and engaging with otaku-themed games.

Ahem, you understand the type.

This exceedingly average person had the misfortune of being involved in a traffic accident. Before he could fully comprehend his situation, he found himself among the multitude of transmigrators originating from Earth.

He discovered himself transplanted into a realm known as the Saint Mesit Theocracy, one of the continent’s Three Great Powers. Here, he became the sole heir to the venerable Ascart House, a lineage of ancient nobility, effectively becoming a true blue-blooded successor to a marquess.

Had he remained oblivious to his previous existence, Roel would likely have reveled in his rebirth into an aristocratic, land-owning family. He would have possessed limitless wealth to indulge in and the freedom to pursue any whim. But that would only be the case if ignorance truly was bliss.

“The Xeclyde House… it exists.”

“The Sorofyas… they exist as well!”

“Lucas Ackermann – if this individual is also real…”

Bam!

A substantial book plummeted to the floor, signaling the final death knell in Roel’s heart.

“He exists too… Hahaha… It’s over. My life is irrevocably finished!”

The dark-haired youth within the confines of the study room clutched his head in disbelief, his blood pressure surging alarmingly. A dizzying sensation washed over him, as if a cranial blockage had formed.

“Into what kind of infernal abyss have I been cast?”

Confirmatory, Roel’s memories cross-referenced with this world’s records, confirmed his transmigration into the world of a gal game he once played. Worse still, he was destined to be the villain!

The game, 'Eyes of the Chronicler', was an unusual epic gal game, boasting a vast, detailed world and a grand narrative. It featured numerous romantic interests. The artwork was also exquisite. If there was one flaw, it was its lack of popularity.

Many factors contributed to its poor reception, but Roel believed it boiled down to two main issues: it was rated PG, and its plot progression was often disjointed.

The game’s mechanics were peculiar, operating in time units of 'years'. More baffling was the erratic storyline. Wars erupted spontaneously, and crucial characters, including potential romantic interests, could perish mid-conflict!

Roel found the game to be outrageously eccentric, as if the scriptwriter were a historian with severely limited information, providing only the barest outline of events and leaving players to fill in the gaps.

The sole reason Roel continued playing this game was his affinity for the incredibly handsome villain who shared his name, which facilitated immersion. Furthermore, the female characters were undeniably stunning!

It was this recognition that allowed him to identify the young girl he had just encountered.

Alicia Ascart.

The Child of Silverash, inheritor of the legendary Silver Bloodline, the Silver Moon of the Saint Mesit Theocracy. Her beauty was legendary, likened to the pristine, century-forming ice of the highest peaks and the searing edge of the Knight Kingdom Pendor’s fabled sword. Her form possessed a divine harmony, and her valiant crimson eyes belonged in the gaze of epic heroes.

Externally, she exuded coldness and nobility; internally, her heart was delicate and tender.

However, this was in the future, after she matured into a capture target within the game. For now… she was merely a seven-year-old child.

Roel, her nine-year-old elder brother, found himself in a uniquely compelling situation.

As the wise ones say, age is but a number. A mere two-year difference was insignificant to Roel. Had he been ignorant of the future, he would have immediately approached the soon-to-be angel and sought to build a friendship.

Yet, his knowledge prevented him, filling him with trepidation.

His earlier speechlessness stemmed not solely from recalling past-life memories, but from sheer terror.

Ten years hence, this frail young girl, whom his father had just protected, Alicia Ascart, would murder her stepbrother, Roel Ascart.

Without remorse, in cold blood.