Chapter 1: The Balance Patch from Hell
[System Log: User 'Kaito_Arisawa' status... DEAD.]
[Cause: Acute Myocardial Infarction.]
[Secondary Factors: 72-hour marathon stream, 14 empty energy drink cans, and a 'Natural 1' luck check during the 'Grand Siege of Aachen' event.]
"Are you kidding me?"
That was my last thought. Not a prayer. Not a goodbye to my parents. Just pure, unadulterated salt. I had spent three days straight trying to guide the weakest house in Imperium: Total Conquest to the Imperial Throne. I was one click away. One. Damn. Click.
Then, my heart decided to do a 'Natural 1' of its own.
The darkness was cold, but the silence was worse. No fan whirring. No chat-bot pinging. Just the void.
"Wait," I thought. "If I'm thinking, I'm not dead. Or I'm a ghost. If I'm a ghost, I'm going to haunt the developers of that RNG system until they patch the heart-attack-inducing difficulty spikes."
Suddenly, a light—sharp, blinding, and smells vaguely of old parchment and ozone—tore through the void.
"Gasp!"
I lunged forward, my lungs burning as if I'd just tried to breathe vacuum. My hands scrambled against fabric—cool, high-thread-count linen. Not the sweat-stained polyester of my gaming chair.
I stared at my hands. They were pale. Too pale. And the fingers were longer, more elegant. I touched my face. My jawline felt sharp enough to cut glass.
Slap!
"Ow."
Slap! Slap!
"Son? Is everything alright in there?" A muffled voice called from behind a heavy wooden door.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was busy having a mental meltdown in four different languages.
I'm reborn. I'm reborn. I'm actually reborn. The realization hit me like a freight train. I scrambled out of the bed, my legs tangling in the silk sheets, and staggered toward a polished silver mirror in the corner of the room.
I stopped dead.
Silver-blonde hair that looked like spun moonlight. Violet eyes that shimmered with an unsettling, otherworldly depth. A face that belonged on a cathedral ceiling, not a human body.
"Holy... I'm in Crusader Kings," I whispered, my heart hammering. "Wait, no. The room is too nice. The architecture is too... Gothic-Industrial? Okay, maybe I'm in a high-fantasy Europa Universalis?"
I looked out the window. Below, a small, fortified courtyard hummed with activity. Knights in heavy, ornate plate armor were sharpening swords. A banner hung limp in the morning air—the sigil of a dying sun over a mountain peak.
I calmed down for a split second. At least it's not Crusader Kings. I don't see any menus asking me to marry my cousin for a claims-check. I can survive this.
[Ding!]
A translucent, parchment-colored screen flickered into existence right in front of my nose.
[Notification: User has successfully synchronized with the 'Andechs-Merania' vessel.]
[System Title: The Diet of Worms (Sarcastic Overlord Edition) is now active.]
[System: "You're not reborn in Crusader Kings, my dear. You've awakened in a much more dangerous place. Also, stop slapping yourself. You're already ugly enough on the inside; don't ruin the only good asset this body has."]
My jaw dropped. "A system? Really? Isn't this the most classic, overused trope in the history of literature?"
[System: "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you prefer the 'Demon Lord's Concubine' system? The Gods are bored of watching generic heroes. They want to see a trash-tier noble try to survive a world that actively wants to delete his save file. You get no 'instant-kill' buttons. You get no 'harem-magnet' skills. You're going to work, my boy. This isn't a game; it's a balance patch from hell."]
"Fuck it," I muttered, leaning against the cold stone wall. "Of course. My life is a comedy of errors. At least I look like a protagonist. So, who am I? One of the Seven Electors? The Luxembourg Crown Prince? Don't tell me... I'm the Emperor's secret bastard?"
[System: "Dream on. Name: Julian von Andechs-Merania. Rank: Baronial Scion of a 'Broken House.' Status: A side-character whose only role in the 'Original Plot' is to die during the first semester of the Academy to show how 'dangerous' the school is. You are literally the tutorial-stage fodder."]
"Andechs-Merania?" I froze. "Wait. I know this name. From the 'Rise of the Eagle' dating sim—no, it was a 'Grand Strategy Social Simulator.' The Andechs-Merania branch... they get wiped out in the 'Aachen Bloodbath' event because they're too poor to afford mana shields. I'm cooked. I'm literally pre-ordered for the graveyard."
Before I could spiral further, a massive surge of heat exploded inside my skull.
"AAARGH!"
I collapsed, clutching my head. It felt like someone was trying to download a terabyte of data into a floppy disk. Memories that weren't mine—childhood summers in a ruined shrine, the smell of my mother's perfume (cloves and parchment), the weight of a rusted iron training sword, the crushing pressure of being a 'Great House' that fell from grace.
[System: "Look at you, squirming like a salted slug. That's the memory integration. Don't worry, the brain damage is mostly cosmetic."]
The door creaked open.
"Julian? For heaven's sake, stop shouting. You'll wake the hounds."
I looked up, squinting through the pain. A man stood there—Baron Maximilian. He looked like a statue carved from weary granite. Beside him was Baroness Elspeth, her eyes sharp enough to pierce armor.
"He's just nervous, Max," Elspeth said, stepping forward and placing a cool hand on my forehead. "The Academy isn't a death sentence, Julian. Well, not for someone with your... unique charm."
"It's the mana awakening," Maximilian sighed, crossing his arms. "The boy is late to develop. It's embarrassing, but typical for our fading bloodline. Stand up, Julian. You're a von Andechs. Even if you're a weak one, you stand straight."
I stood up, my legs shaking. "I... I'm fine. Just a headache."
"Nervousness is for commoners," Maximilian grunted, though his eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "The documents are ready. You leave for the Schola Imperialis in five days. Try not to embarrass us. We only have 150 men left; I can't afford to send a rescue party if you get bullied by a Wittelsbach."
"Brother!"
A blur of silver hair darted past my father. My sister, Isabella, grabbed my sleeve. She was a year younger, her eyes bright with a terrifying amount of optimism.
"You're going to Aachen! The Eternal Seat! You'll meet the Emperor! You'll see the Great Library! You have to write to me every day about the magic. Promise you'll wait for me to join you next year!"
I looked at her, then back at the 'System' screen hovering over her head that only I could see.
[Target: Isabella von Andechs-Merania. Status: Future 'Tragic Motivation' for the Protagonist. Likely death: Year 2.]
Not if I have anything to say about it, I thought, a cold resolve settling in my gut.
"I... I'll wait for you," I said, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. "But five days isn't much time. I need to prepare."
My parents exchanged a look—part relief, part confusion—and left the room, dragging a protesting Isabella with them.
The moment the door clicked shut, I turned to the desk. "Academy... Documents... Family reputation... This is a disaster. I'm Rank 299 out of 300. I'm the designated loser."
I walked to the center of the room and closed my eyes, trying to tap into the 'Mana Core' the memories mentioned. I recalled the basic 'Light Spark' spell the original Julian had practiced for years.
I focused. I visualized the mana flowing from my heart to my fingertips. Come on. Just a spark. Show me I'm not totally useless.
A tiny, pathetic orange spark flickered on my thumb.
[System: "Crit Failure. Luck Check: 2. Result: Backfire."]
BOOM.
The spark didn't light up; it detonated. I was thrown backward, my back slamming into the bedpost with a dull thud. Smoke curled from my singed sleeve.
[System: "Oh, bravo. Truly. You almost defeated a moth. You idiot, wait until the awakening ceremony. Don't waste effort now on dice that aren't even in the cup yet. You're going to burn the manor down before you even get to the plot."]
I lay on the floor, staring up at the stone ceiling.
"Five days," I whispered. "I have five days before I enter a school filled with magical geniuses, political assassins, and a literal Emperor who thinks I'm a 'wild card.'"
I looked at my hand. It was trembling, but not just from the explosion. It was the adrenaline. I was a gamer. I had beaten Imperium on 'Insane' difficulty with a blindfold once.
"I'm not going to be the side character who dies in a cutscene," I told the ceiling. "I'm going to disrupt the plot so hard the developers will cry."
[System: "The developers are already crying, but mostly because of your face. Now get some sleep, Baron Small-Fry. Your 'Survival Tutorial' begins at dawn."]
I closed my eyes, the sarcastic hum of the system the only thing keeping the crushing weight of the Holy Roman Empire from flatting me entirely.
Survival first. Grandeur later.