Chapter Text
“Tell me, Regulus. Why do you call your wives by numbers instead of their names?”
…
Do they even have names?
Do you know what memories are? Images passing through your mind of an experience you lived. They can be fake. They can be real. They can be a mix of both. You use them so you do not repeat an action which led to a bad outcome, usually. You cannot summarize memories in a single paragraph. The simplest explanation is this. Your brain reshapes its neural cells to copy an experience you went through. Like code in programming showing a different form when translated into commands for the pixels on your screen. Memories are not magical. They are basic biology. No higher power. No magic involved.
This applies to the real world. My world and your world. Anything is possible in the private world you build from your own memories. Memories creating memories. This is imagination.
Sadly, this is the current state. My current state. I am watching a young girl of extreme beauty. The closest description is a doll. Flawless skin. Long silver hair. Long ears I would normally consider a birth defect.
What caught my attention were her violet eyes. Violet eyes should not exist. You can dye hair to look silver, but you cannot make contact lenses with this level of realism. And those pupils. Why are they horizontal like a cat’s under light?
It took me a long time to process my surroundings. A church. A place I dislike visiting, let alone standing on a platform. I never considered myself religious, but I believed in a greater force. Whether this force cares about us or ignores us is another matter.
Just as I ignore the group of beautiful women around me in favor of my thoughts. Hair and eye colors like a rainbow, shining under moonlight like precious gems. No expressions on their faces. Their lives depend on this. One wrong expression and they turn into red liquid.
Victims of Regulus Corneas. Random girls he picked up when he liked their faces and made them an offer. By offer, I mean a threat to kill them and their families. He usually carried it out anyway.
The worst part is he did not even love them. Not their bodies. Not ordering them around. He loved the idea of being a good husband. The idea he was a good person, unlike others. He did not like sex itself. He was most likely asexual. In a medieval world where masculinity in bed defines you as a husband, he lied to himself and became obsessed with purity.
Did he ever think this violated their rights? Of course not. His rights mattered more. He was stronger. Strength meant he was right. No different from empires violating others for minor benefits. He had the world, so he had the world’s rights.
I could understand that logic. But in truth, he did not think he was right because he was strong. He thought he was strong because he was right.
Pathetic.
Just like them. You have no idea how irritated I was by the story. They were shown as servants in Roswaal’s mansion. Worshiping Emilia. Their new purpose was serving another person after being freed from one master. Replacing a cruel master with a kind one still leaves you a slave.
Their entire personality is hating one person and loving another.
Pathetic.
Here, at midnight, all I hear is the voice of that girl ringing like a bell in my ears. It would make me bleed if I could bleed.
“I think marriage should be happy.”
Yes. It should be. But when was marriage ever happy? The chance of lifelong happiness in marriage is like a lottery ticket. Especially in the medieval era. You sell your peasant daughter for a cow and a few chickens. Instead of trusting contracts, you marry off a girl who has not reached double digits to a man whose beard never spared a patch of skin on his chin.
And how would this idiot know what marriage is like? She has no parents. An aunt, yes. And a strange man who visits from time to time. They were happy, but they were not married.
What makes marriage hard is time. The more time you spend with someone, the more you notice their bad habits. Details you did not mind the first or second time. By the fiftieth, they drive you insane.
Marriage never appealed to me. I never planned for it. I hated it. Unlike internet losers, I did not blame women. I simply preferred staying single. The irony is I am now technically married to what, fifty women. My only comfort is knowing I never touched any of them. So none of them are pregnant.
I am not ready for fatherhood. Hell, I was not even ready for a relationship.
I was not ready for any relationship with any of the characters. Surprise. You get isekai’d and you are not interested in collecting a harem of women, or attractive men.
Honestly, knowing my personality, I would end up as part of Natsuki Subaru’s harem anyway. Better than being in a relationship with this spoiled girl.
Subaru is supposed to come here. With his loyal knight, Reinhard van Astrea. Save the girl in distress. Discover Regulus’s weakness. End his existence. A standard video game story.
The problem is I am Regulus Corneas now. The villain who is supposed to die is me. Not something I wanted. If I am going to be executed, I would prefer it be for something stupid I actually did.
I feel like I am supposed to fight for my life using the Authority of Greed. Order the wives to run so Subaru cannot freeze them and kill me.
That makes no sense. Who writes a plot this terrible? The logical option is to explain I am a lost soul from the same world as Subaru. I am not Regulus Corneas, Archbishop of Greed. I am willing to cooperate. Even if he does not believe me, Subaru is not the type to kill someone who surrenders. Even a horrible person.
That is the logical path.
But there is one small detail.
Why am I here at all?
I know how standard self insert stories explain this. A multiverse exists. In one universe, a fictional world exists as a created work. A higher entity named Rob or Bob or whatever places you there for fun.
And I say bullshit.
I am not stupid. There is no proof of a multiverse. This church, these wives, this Emilia, this cursed place. None of it is real.
Nothing is real except me.
Right?
I am real.
Right?
Heh.
Hahahahahahahahahaha.
… Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
… Wait. Why am I saying fuck over and over? This is cheap Re Zero writing to emphasize something. Like how Subaru “does not want to die.”
Is this what I will be? A cheap character entertaining a few unlucky people reading my thoughts?
Yes. You. I am talking to you, you bastard son of a whore. Is this what you want? To be entertained by risking my life, a life reduced to grammatically incorrect words.
Fuck you.
Fuck all this.
Maybe my existence has been reduced to words. Maybe I am fake unlike you. But compared to these one dimensional characters, I am self aware. I am aware of my emotions. I choose them myself, unlike you. If this is a story, then it will be my story. Not Subaru’s. Not Emilia’s. Not anyone else’s.
This story. My name does not matter now, does it? Maybe even my life on Earth was fake. I am not even the writer.
“Regulus, are you alright?”
The girl’s voice, now like chalk scratching, cut through my thoughts. It gave me an idea. I ignored her concerned tone. Even someone like Regulus would notice it. The other women would celebrate my death.
Regulus Corneas.
I suppose that is my name now. Maybe it needs a slight adjustment.
“It is pronounced Corneas Regulus, half elf.” My tone was cold compared to her concern. Mixed with disdain for the situation. Everyone in the room noticed.
A wide Cheshire smile spread across my face.
My face. Corneas Regulus.
I stood there with my arms behind my back, waiting for the supposed heroes to tear the door off its hinges.
Of course, I could consider writing my victory story possible using my Authority, or Regulus’s Authority. Lion’s Heart allows me to lock time, or rather my own existence. It makes me invincible and unchanging. I know it is active because I do not feel air around me or my heartbeat.
The problem is Lion’s Heart lasts five seconds before I die of a heart attack. How do you die of a heart attack when you do not need a heart because your existence is frozen in time? I assume the author Tappei tried his best.
This is solved by another Authority called Little King. He places his heart inside one of his wives so it beats for him. This fixes Lion’s Heart. I still think it is stupid. Lion’s Heart controls time. Little King controls hearts. Their names should be swapped. And I will swap them.
Lion’s Heart is now the heart Authority. Little King is the time Authority. If this confuses you, I do not care.
The natural thing to do now is order my “wives” to run as far away as possible. But Subaru would still figure them out, so the chance is low.
Why did Regulus place his heart inside these women anyway? Little King lets him place his heart in anything he considers his property. Why limit his small kingdom to his wives?
… Can I just… let me try.
Oh. Can you read this? Isn’t this marvelous?
A great plot twist to reveal later.
Now, dear reader. Ladies and gentlemen. Any gender you are.
Welcome to my little kingdom.