Chapter 1: The Knight of Herculean Strength
A massive lake stretched out before me. This monster-infested borderland, designated as the Forbidden Zone, was my villa.
I'd sleep in, go fishing, take occasional strolls while reading a book. I'd summon professional masseuses for rubs, then enjoy baths and saunas by evening. And of course, delicious food was a given.
It had been a month since I'd become the protagonist in this novel.
I was in my mid-20s, right? Back then, as a third-rate writer chasing trends, I'd penned The Knight of Herculean Strength—a story where the protagonist had no rivals in this world.
It did okay sales-wise. By my mid-30s, those early works from my 20s had faded from memory, and I'd built a solid career as a mid-tier author with some decent hits.
Then one day, on a whim, I decided to reread my old novels closely. Cringing hard, I made it through The Knight of Herculean Strength to the end.
The trope of getting sucked into a novel as the protagonist originated around 2007 with The Back World, but by my active writing days, isekai had become its own genre—nothing special or cliche about it anymore.
But me? Becoming the protagonist? It was absurd. I went to sleep and woke up in another dimension.
I stopped eating and drinking for days, rampaging like a madman until I calmed down enough to realize this wasn't a bad setup.
The novel was built on munchkin foundations, after all.
I didn't feel any urge to play the hero. As a war hero with plenty of cash, why bother stirring up the world?
Crash!
The sound of shattering glass snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Eek! Please kill me!"
The maid flattened herself on the ground, trembling violently.
Ah, right. The protagonist in the novel was a bottom-barrel scum with zero humanity.
A war hero risen from commoner to noble, but his personality was so irredeemable he got exiled to this quiet rural barony—that was the backstory.
True to the title The Knight of Herculean Strength, the protagonist was the ultimate munchkin, ripping people apart with raw power alone.
He killed at the drop of a hat, had a terrible reputation in the empire, yet was ridiculously handsome, leaving women dazed—a totally contrived setup.
"Sigh. Get out."
"Y-You're not going to kill me?"
The new maid, Erin, sniffled tearfully.
Over the past month, I'd gone through six exclusive maids. Word of my infamy made them quake at mistakes, cry, and bolt.
It only boosted my notoriety in the territory.
Not planning to hero it up, I saw no need to correct it. Lazy by nature and hating people, I just chilled at the villa.
Monsters invade? Whatever they were, I'd rip 'em apart.
"Why the hell would I kill you?"
"I-I heard you kill people like it's breakfast. Rumors say you bathe in blood and skip rope with their guts if their breathing annoys you..."
"Jesus, I'm not that much of a trash human. Do I look like that to you?"
"N-No!"
"Then what do I look like?"
"Th-The rumors must be wrong. You seem too handsome—maybe you just got caught in some bullshit that snowballed."
"Oh ho!"
"B-But the lecher part seems true."
She suddenly started stripping.
"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?"
"I messed up! I'll strip faster!"
"Put it back on! I don't know what you think of me, but I'm not that kind of pervert."
"R-Really? I don't have to?"
"Ugh, what a shitty character design. Why'd I write him like that?"
Tears welled in her eyes.
Killing randomly, cycling through maids like snacks, a total lech—that was the setup. In the novel, the protagonist lives like that until a divine oracle makes him reform.
Sort of. He stops the random killing, but his core personality doesn't change.
Anyway, time for tea and reading? This world's novels have some fun ones.
Thud crash!
"My lord!"
Deep into the story, old steward Kane burst in. Most folks feared me, but he was one exception.
Something about benevolence in his heart or whatever. Glad he didn't treat me like a psycho, but his greed was a tad annoying.
"What? We have plenty of money."
During the empire's expansion wars, the protagonist raided enemy palaces, looting treasures, selling slaves—making bank.
That's why the territory ran fine without my input.
"Bandits have invaded!"
"Hah? Can't you see I'm reading? We have knights and soldiers. Why tell me about some bandits?"
"W-Well... the knights are all drunk."
"Those fuckers!"
I stormed from the villa, crossing the territory center.
Blaine Barony. My war-prize land. Like any novel territory, rundown but baron-sized—no, count-level—with 100,000 souls, self-sustaining.
Monster waves hit occasionally, but I'd shred them. The protagonist gets a divine revelation upon arrival, slowly reforming. I ignored that crap.
Empire hegemony? Power struggles? Zero interest.
The knights were always lazy; me holing up for hobbies meant daytime drunks galore.
Monsters near the villa? My problem. Bandits? Knights' job.
In the center, knights staggered out like zombies.
"Urp! My lord, the bandits..."
Knight Captain Rommel lurched out, wasted.
The territory was chaos. Alarm bells clanged; folk screamed into homes.
And the captain's day-drinking? Unacceptable.
For my cushy life, train the knights... nah, too much work. Just grab the captain.
Wham!
"Gaaah!"
I lightly punted his gut. Any real force would've burst his innards; still, he tumbled far, puking booze and blood.
Knights sobered, swallowing hard. But battle-ready? Nope.
"You lot, later!"
Wall soldiers flailed in panic. Perfect word: rabble.
Closer, their faces lit up. Peacetime pariahs, but wartime? I'm their rock.
Soldier Captain Honus spotted me first. Ex-slave soldier, surrendered in war, promoted for skill—that setup. Hindsight: rigid class society, slave as captain? Stretchy.
"Hail! My lord!"
"Status?"
"Local bandit gangs united—about 1,000 strong!"
"No new books lately 'cause of those assholes?"
"Yes! Merchants can't enter."
"Too lazy to hunt 'em one-by-one, but perfect."
"As you say! To you, they're less than ants."
Honus beamed loyalty. Quitting hero mode has perks.
In the novel, he musters troops for piecemeal raids. Now they've merged—doing my work for me.
Of 3,000 soldiers, only Honus's ex-slave crew were decent. Rest shivered atop walls.
Fucking novel.
Whoosh!
I leaped from the 30m wall. No wuxia flips—just brute body to bandit center.
Boom!
Dust exploded. Bandits gawked—no one jumps that high.
Surveyed. No sword? Whatever. Rip or use theirs.
"Didn't hear I'm the lord here?"
Bandit leader galloped up, cocky. Misheard rumors, probably.
"Hmph! Who buys inflated tales to scare peasants? Charge! He's one man! Kill for glory and riches!"
Whoosh!
I moved. Something erupted in my chest.
Real me couldn't squash a bug without guilt. Here? Killing felt nothing. World unreal; protagonist's battle lust surged.
Grab, shred. Horses, men, armor—paper to me.
Everything slowed; trajectories crystal-clear.
Rip one, snatch his sword, behead a charger.
Splurt! Haha!
"Argh!"
Anything a weapon. One punch: bones snap, bodies fly, toppling dozens. Sword swing: sonic blade, severing scores skeleton-deep.
Half-spear to eye, brain-pierce. Loose arrow skewers hearts.
Battle high—laughter bubbled.
"Hahaha! Hahahaha!"
"Ugh!"
"Monster...!"
"D-Devil!"
"Where ya—raaaah!"
My roar? Unrecognizable. Killing aura froze them mid-flight. Horses iced too.
Can't waste it. Don't care about territory, but they disrupt my peace. Let 'em regroup? Annoying.
Shred 'em all!
Splurt! Haha!
"Huh?"
Hallucination? Blood fountained; vision crimson.
Whoosh!
Massive power flooded in. More buffs left?
The God of Destruction and Regeneration, Mahadev, is watching you.
God's Herculean Strength special privilege unlocked.
Strength massively boosted in combat.
Your life is now serialized.
View Count hitting 0 means death.
"Wha—what the fuck is this bullshit?"