The World's Most Powerful and vil no-ble works humbly and steadily - Using his knowledge of the original work and his unique magic, , he avoids the ruinous ending. - Chapter 1

Episode 1: Villain Reincarnation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hollow von Heisenberg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—Ah.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While I was having lunch, it suddenly hit me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is a fantasy world inside a game.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I’m not the “protagonist,” I’m the “villainous noble,” Hollow von Heisenberg.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Surprisingly, that shocking fact sank into my mind without resistance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…This is bad.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If my knowledge of the original story is correct, this villainous noble Hollow—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just as my thoughts went that far, the maid in charge of serving bowed deeply.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“P-please forgive me… I’ll remake it immediately so that it suits Lord Hollow’s taste… I beg you…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her face clouded with despair as she bowed repeatedly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No, no, the ‘bad’ I just said isn’t in that sense… Cisti-san, your cooking is very delicious.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The maid’s name naturally slipped out of my mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Y-you remembered my name… and used honorifics…!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cisti’s eyes widened in shock, stepping back in disbelief.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(…Damn, that might have been a careless remark…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remembering the maid’s name.
Using honorifics toward a maid.
Both actions are impossible for the original Hollow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I have to call my master…!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cisti, pale as a sheet, hurriedly tried to rush out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“W-wait, wait, calm down! I’m perfectly normal—”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“‘I’!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Right, Hollow’s first-person pronoun was ‘ore’ (masculine, casual).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah—ahem. I’m perfectly normal. There’s nothing to report to my father… understood?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Y-yes, sir.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She bowed politely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once the commotion was calmed, I resumed my interrupted meal.
I didn’t feel like eating at all, but leaving it untouched could raise suspicions.
Besides, it would be a waste of such good food.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“By the way, Cisti, what year, month, and day is it today?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Uh, it’s Seireki 1009, March 5th.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I see.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The original Hollow was born on Seireki 1000, October 10th.
Since his birthday hasn’t arrived yet, this body is currently 9 years old.
As far as I know, Hollow dies earliest at age 11.
So I have about two more years to buy time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(First, let’s calm down and organize the current situation.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After finishing lunch, I stood and looked at Cisti.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I have something to think about. Don’t let anyone into the room.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Y-you’re feeling unwell…!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No problem. You continue with your work as usual.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Y-yes, sir.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She bowed politely without arguing, though her expression showed she wasn’t fully convinced.
She probably still held some suspicion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Use ‘ore’ for myself, no honorifics toward subordinates… tough, but I have to be thorough.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I left the dining room and headed to my room.
The structure of the Heisenberg estate was identical to the game.
Thanks to that, I reached my room without getting lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I locked the door and collapsed onto the bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…Oh man, is this really happening…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This world is the ultra-multi-ending RPG “Ronzorkia.”
Created by a major Japanese corporation and a writers’ union, it became a worldwide hit.
As the slogan promises, “Everyone is the protagonist! No NPCs!”—every character has their own route, and there are countless endings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Am I dead in the real world? Or did only my soul get transferred while I’m alive?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, it doesn’t matter either way.
I have no lingering attachment to the real world.
Orphaned from childhood, Ronzorkia is the real world for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If asked, “Are you happy?” the answer is obviously “Yes.”
The thrill rising from deep inside me is overwhelming; I feel like dancing if I let my guard down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But there’s one thing I must say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why of all people… do I have to be Hollow von Heisenberg!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hollow von Heisenberg.
A genius in swordsmanship, magic, and academics.
But arrogant and lazy.
He drowned in his talent and neglected effort, ultimately losing to the protagonist.
Not just that—Hollow dies in every route, a walking death flag.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I reincarnated into this villainous noble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“If I stay like this… I’ll meet my doom. The predetermined ‘scenario’ will kill me…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I need to act immediately, or the bad ending will come in no time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…Calm down, stay rational.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sat up and took a deep breath, accepting the harsh reality of being Hollow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My top priority—survive.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The original Hollow was despised by the world.
Many trials will likely try to kill me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(But… I have my knowledge of the original story!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I loved this game, Ronzorkia, and poured my youth into it.
I haven’t cleared every route, but I’ve completed most major ones.
So I know how Hollow dies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Break the death flags with my original knowledge, avoid countless bad endings, and enjoy the beautiful world of Ronzorkia!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For that, I must—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—be humble, diligent, and become strong!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ronzorkia is a sword-and-magic fantasy world like many RPGs.
To survive here, I need overwhelming individuality and unmatched power.
Original Hollow had the “ultimate potential,” making him a perfect character in that sense.
But his lazy, arrogant nature caused him to die before realizing that potential.
I must avoid his mistakes and remain humble and diligent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“First… let’s check my stats.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wanted to see my “initial stats” before training.
But no matter how I tried, no status window appeared.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Then—skills.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, the skill window didn’t appear either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…I see how it is.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Without status and skill windows, the usual leveling system—defeat enemies → gain XP → level up → allocate skill points → learn new abilities—doesn’t work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So how do I get stronger?
Maybe by improving “proficiency” or “mastery”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll figure out the detailed mechanics during training.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The real question… which path should I take?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ronzorkia has over 100 classes—knight, thief, cleric, ranger, necromancer, and more.
You could tame beasts as a tamer, run a business as a merchant, or explore as an adventurer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But what I need now is simple strength.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Then… swordsmanship and magic it is.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Master the beginner classes of swordsman and mage, then aim for the advanced class of spellblade.
No distractions. Purely a build to become strong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Which to start with… sword or magic?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually, I’ll master both, but doing them simultaneously from the start is inefficient.
Better to focus on one, make it decent, then take on the other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(‘Baptism Ceremony’ happens at age 10, so I still have a bit over a year.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then I should start with the sword.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fortunately, the head butler, Orvin Dankelt, is a sword master.
His skill in the game is top-tier.
With his guidance, I can master the sword efficiently.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(It’s 1 PM now. He’s probably in the garden pruning trees.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just as I was about to go to him, I noticed a large mirror.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…Wow, it’s really Hollow von Heisenberg.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Current Hollow: 8 years old.
Medium-length red hair tied loosely at the back, 135 cm tall, lean build.
Crimson eyes like jewels, well-shaped nose, thin lips; navy jacket and black trousers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Original Hollow really only has looks going for him…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I tidied my hair and clothes and stepped outside.
Walking through the vast garden, I found Orvin working on pruning trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…He’s real…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin Dankelt, 63 years old.
185 cm tall, clean short white hair.
Deep-set face, stern eyes, trimmed white beard, strong muscular build visible even under the tailcoat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Orvin… ahem, Orvin, do you have a moment?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I swallowed the honorific.
Calling someone my grandfather’s age by name alone felt weird, but I must get used to it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My young master, how may I assist you?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I want you to teach me the sword. Suddenly, I’m asking this of you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Wha—!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“W-what’s the matter?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Lord Hollow asking instead of ordering…?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hollow never asked; he always commanded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah… right, I was wrong.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Nuooa!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Now… what is it?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Lord Hollow admitting his fault…!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“….”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speechless. This is worse than I imagined…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the same time, I understood.
Yes, he really is a terrible person.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(For now… I’ll act like the lazy, arrogant Hollow.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sudden personality changes raise suspicion.
Cisti already distrusted me earlier.
No honorifics toward subordinates. Commands when requesting something.
I’ll follow this route for now, softening my attitude gradually.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Orvin, teach me the sword.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course… but what brought this on?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Just a whim.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Understood.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As expected, Orvin immediately accepted the response typical of the original Hollow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We moved to the training grounds and picked up practice swords.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Normally we’d start with basic exercises… but I assume you want to jump straight into combat, Lord Hollow.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah… naturally.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not the environment to ask for basics first.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three meters apart, we drew our swords.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ready?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Always ready.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thus began our sparring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three minutes later,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hmph, that’s about it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“N-no way…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sheathed my sword easily; Orvin knelt staring at the ground.
Our relative positions showed the outcome clearly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(My, I am truly extraordinary…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hollow von Heisenberg exceeded even my expectations.
Immense magical power, physical strength, and intellect—overpowered base stats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin was strong, but the raw power overran his refined technique.
Like a gorilla versus a squirrel.
Skill had no chance against pure physical and magical strength.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Though I defeated Orvin, I don’t feel any level-up.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Original Hollow’s level is around 5. Defeating Orvin should have easily given +10 levels, but no.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Instead, the sword now feels natural in my hands.
No windows or level-up indicators; strength here is measured by mastery and practice.
A realistic training system. Perfect for humble diligence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thinking this,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…Impossible…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin muttered, frustrated.
No wonder—he was defeated by a beginner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I must not misunderstand.
I only won with brute strength and magic; in swordsmanship alone, he surpasses me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(The original Hollow’s mistaken victories bred arrogance, creating a sad monster…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A genius who doesn’t practice loses to a diligent ordinary.
Talent unused is wasted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Conversely, a diligent genius is literally ‘the strongest’! I will abandon all arrogance and grow strong step by step.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For that, I need Orvin’s guidance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—Orvin, how many years have you polished that sword?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The line from the original story slipped out naturally.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…My entire life, devoted to it…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin answered, drained.
Born with little magic, he trained diligently to attain top-class sword skill in the original.
His earnestness is noble and beautiful—an example for my humble diligence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But original Hollow mocked him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Haha! Your whole life on a sword? That’s a lightweight life!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I won’t waste it like that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“A sword devoted to your life… no wonder it’s beautiful.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…What did you just say?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You didn’t hear me? I said your sword is beautiful.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“W-what are you saying…? My sword is insignificant—yours is far superior—”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No, my sword is useless. I just swing raw magic power; it’s not reasonable at all.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Absolutely not—”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Spare me the flattery. If you had my magical power, would you swing such a clumsy sword?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…Indeed… Lord Hollow’s swordsmanship isn’t exactly praiseworthy. If I had his power, I wouldn’t fight so crude.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin faltered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Orvin, the sword you devoted your life to, I will inherit and bring to perfection. Will you guide me?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“….”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No response.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Maybe I overdid it…?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I spoke in true Hollow arrogance. Perhaps too much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah… sorry, I spoke roughly—”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…Your words are beyond me. I, Orvin Dankelt, will guide you with all my heart and soul!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Uh… yes, thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thus, I began learning swordsmanship from Orvin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“First, grip the sword with your right hand as if shaking hands, gently place your left below.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hm.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Basic stance is chūken, as if a string drops from the top of your head.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I see.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The key to slashes is weight transfer—steady hips, cut smoothly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Like this?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From grip to stance to striking principles, I learned everything thoroughly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A year passed quickly, and the moment came.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s begin.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the garden, our gazes met.
Sunlight bathed us; birds chirped.
As if on cue, we charged simultaneously.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Haa!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Nuun!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swords clashed violently.
No magic-enhanced strength; pure swordsmanship.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One strike, two, three… sparks flew.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Shh!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin lunged with a sharp thrust.
I met it with the blade, sliding it and stepping forward with a large diagonal slash.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hah!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Nuu!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin’s sword was still mid-recovery.
With no defensive technique, he sidestepped, barely evading.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Perfect opportunity!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I closed the distance, attacking relentlessly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Haaaah! (Push through!)”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“N-nooo! (One move late!)”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a series of strikes,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Shit!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin’s ironclad guard showed a slight crack.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Yes, now…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I struck a high diagonal cut—almost claiming my first victory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Not yet!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin used his open left hand as a shield.
Even a practice sword is iron.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ugh…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A dull crack echoed; his face twisted in pain.
Still, his movements were steady, stepping fluidly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The one-handed strike, sacrificing his arm to win, was rough yet beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My victory!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin’s face lit up with vitality as he swung with all his might.
A strike catching me off guard.
Normally impossible to react.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I knew him.
Orvin hates losing. He would even sacrifice an arm to win.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“A remarkable tenacity.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What!?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A horizontal slash flew; his sword left his hands.
A dry clang echoed; the tip rested lightly on his wrinkled throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—My win, then.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—Yes, well done.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A victory by pure swordsmanship, no magic.
Unlike the first defeat, Orvin’s face was bright.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“To be surpassed in a year… as expected of you, young master.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hmph, naturally.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I said coldly in character as Hollow, but somehow Orvin understood.
He knew I was grateful for his guidance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Now, I have my ‘final task,’ so I’ll take my leave.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having given his all, he smiled and headed to the mansion’s entrance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(My role is done. The proof I lived—this sword is now in Hollow’s hands. Nothing left to do. I’ll submit my resignation and take leave.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Passing by,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—Goodbye, Lord Hollow.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin muttered, but the spring wind carried his words away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(…Final task? No idea what that was, but whatever.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More importantly—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—Hey, what time tomorrow?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…Eh…?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin slowly turned, blank-faced.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t make me repeat myself. What time is training tomorrow?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sparring always ends the training; we decide the next time after.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Maybe the shock of losing was too much? I should have been more considerate.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I regretted my thoughtlessness,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orvin trembled, tears forming, then knelt abruptly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I—apologies… I wasn’t considerate. Rest now—”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—Lord Hollow… your consideration… I shall serve you with my life. I, Orvin Dankelt, dedicate myself fully as your guide.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Uh… yes, thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…Somehow, Orvin’s loyalty had exceeded all limits.