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Chapter – 01
I opened my eyes.
“Ugh…!”
My whole body hurt as if it had been shattered to pieces. A groan escaped my lips on its own.
“Young master, are you awake?!”
Young master?
I turned my head. An elderly man with snow-white hair was looking down at me, his eyes filled with worry.
“Who… Ugh!”
A sharp pain tore through my skull, cutting my words short.
It felt like someone had split my head open with an axe.
“You’ve regained consciousness, young master. Thank goodness… truly, thank goodness.”
The old man looked so relieved he was nearly in tears.
What the hell is going on?
Who is this old man?
I tried to recall my last memory.
I was going to the convenience store… huh?
Then it hit me — the final moment.
SCREEEECH! CRASH!
A roar of an engine.
A massive truck flying over the guardrail.
The giant Mercedes-Benz logo, that three-pointed star, stamped on the front grille…
My memory cut off right before the truck hit me.
Did I… get flattened?
I couldn’t say for sure, but odds were high.
If that thing hit me, there’s no way I survived.
A truck that size? No one walks away from that.
So yeah — I must’ve died.
But this didn’t feel like the afterlife.
“Are you all right, young master?”
“M-My head… it hurts… so bad…”
“Please, don’t get up. Stay lying down.”
The old man gently pressed my head back onto the pillow and placed a cool wet towel on my forehead.
“You’ll feel better soon, young master.”
“Ugh!”
“You mustn’t move yet, young master. Your bones haven’t fully healed. Move the wrong way, and you may never walk again.”
Who is this guy?
Doctors don’t usually call their patients young master.
I studied the old man’s face carefully.
Wait… why did he look familiar?
“Go inform His Grace the Duke that the young master has awakened.”
“Yes, Sir Maranello.”
The maid who’d been tending to me quickly left the room.
Maranello?
That name… I knew that name.
Maranello was the name of a character from a game I used to play — Overlord.
Overlord was a fantasy strategy game where you picked one of thirteen lords, developed your domain, and fought for control of the continent.
Maranello was the butler who served Frey von Sigmund, one of the game’s main characters.
And this Maranello… looked exactly like him.
No way. There’s no way. Have I gone insane? Is this a dream? Why is a game character standing in front of me?
I was still trying to wrap my head around this nonsense when someone announced:
“His Grace, the Duke, has arrived.”
A tall, broad-shouldered man with the looks of a distinguished middle-aged noble stepped inside. He spoke in a calm, commanding tone.
“I heard you’ve awakened.”
Just like Maranello, I recognized him instantly.
Guntram von Sigmund.
Head of House Sigmund. Duke of the Nuremberg Kingdom.
And father of the protagonist, Frey.
A short laugh escaped me.
First Maranello, now Guntram?
What’s next — Frey himself?
Speak of the devil.
In walked Frey and his older sister, Selene.
“You find this funny?”
Guntram’s cold, stern voice pierced the air.
“N-No, that’s not—”
“It would’ve been better if you hadn’t woken up at all.”
“What?”
That was… harsh.
“If only you’d stayed asleep forever.”
Leaving those cruel words behind, the Duke turned and left without another glance.
“Take care of yourself…”
“I suppose it’s good you’re awake. Rest well.”
Frey and Selene followed him out, their words hollow and distant.
…What the hell just happened?
I get run over by a truck, wake up surrounded by video game characters, and now everyone’s treating me like trash?
“Young master Carlisle,” Maranello said gently. “Please, don’t take it to heart. They’re only upset because they were so worried. Deep down, they care for you.”
“Carlisle? You said… Carlisle?”
That name — Carlisle von Sigmund.
“Bring me a mirror.”
“Right here, young master.”
“…Huh.”
The reflection that stared back at me was someone I’d never seen before.
Shining silver hair, violet eyes, red-tinted lips, a sharp nose — a stunningly handsome young man.
Carlisle von Sigmund.
Older brother of Frey, the main protagonist.
Second son of House Sigmund.
And, if I remembered right, a disgraced scoundrel — a shame to the family.
In fact, he never even appeared in the game itself.
Only mentioned in passing dialogue.
Because…
Carlisle was dead.
He’d died ten years before Frey’s story began.
Cause of death?
If memory served…
He’d caused some huge scandal, fled the territory, fell off a cliff while riding, and died after a month in critical condition.
Which meant… I’d woken up as Carlisle, on his deathbed.
“…This is ridiculous.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
I got hit by a truck and woke up as a dead game character?
Not even the protagonist — a dead NPC?
“Young master, are you well?”
“No. Not even close.”
I told Maranello the truth, then shut my eyes, ready to block out the world.
Ding!
[Carlisle von Sigmund]
Race: Human
Age: 23
Status: Noble
Occupation: Unemployed (Scoundrel)
Trait: (Reset)
Title: The Northern Degenerate
Figures. Even a status window?
Appearance +999 / Charm 222
Infamy 311 / Fame -99 / Credit -99
Sociability 1
(…truncated…)
Go to hell.
The window disappeared with a thought.
I needed time — time to process this insanity.
A month passed.
Carlisle could now walk again, though still weak.
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
He strolled through the garden, lost in thought.
“That’s the young master… don’t make eye contact.”
“Let’s turn around, quick.”
The maids he passed hurried away as if avoiding the plague.
Carlisle didn’t care.
Being treated like a disgrace wasn’t new.
Even his own family barely acknowledged him.
Well, what can you do? Might as well live with it.
By now, he’d accepted the truth — that he’d become a character in a game.
In fact… he kind of liked it.
My family’s rich, my face is handsome — honestly, what’s there to complain about?
Even being labeled a “scoundrel” had its perks.
After spending his past life at the bottom of the social ladder, living as a highborn rogue felt liberating.
He could do whatever he wanted.
No one expected anything from him.
No one demanded anything.
Even his father, the Duke, had long since given up on him.
As long as I don’t cause a catastrophe, they’ll just think, “At least he’s not making trouble.” Works for me.
For Carlisle, that alone was enough to call this a comfortable life.
So he made up his mind.
To hell with it.
Not “I live because I was born” — but
“I live because I got reincarnated.”
If he was going to live as someone, he’d live as Carlisle von Sigmund, the infamous scoundrel of House Sigmund.
Days drifted by lazily.
Carlisle spent them idly — sleeping twelve hours a day, eating fine meals, enjoying strolls, reading books.
Peaceful. Comfortable. Perfect.
Servants waited on him hand and foot.
He couldn’t have asked for an easier life.
Yeah… this is how life should be. Why live so damn hard?
He was perfectly content with his leisurely routine.
Until one afternoon, as he sipped tea on the terrace, Maranello approached him hesitantly.
“Um, young master…”
“Yeah?”
“His Grace the Duke… is preparing to hold a trial for you.”
“A trial? For what?”
Carlisle frowned. “What did I do? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Young master…” Maranello’s voice grew stern.
“Have you forgotten?”
“Forgotten what?”
“You were drunk… and you killed a commoner.”
Carlisle blinked, stunned.
“I… killed someone?”
“Yes, young master.”
A hollow laugh escaped his lips.
“Unbelievable. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…”
