When the Mid-Boss Villainous Noble Recalls Memories of a Past Life and Gains Game Knowledge. I Will Never Accept a Future Where I'm Called the Jealous Earl - Chapter 1

The Dikaman family had long been revered among the nobility, their mastery of potion-making holding the kingdom’s trust and placing them among the most influential houses. The current Earl, a man of unyielding ambition, had two children: a 10-year-old son, Kalil, and a 9-year-old daughter. Both were bright, their aptitude apparent from a young age. Yet it was Kalil who was deemed extraordinary—a prodigy whose talents promised a prosperous future for the family. Even at his age, his skills in potion-making nearly rivaled those of his father.

Kalil thrived under the weight of expectation, devoting himself tirelessly to his studies and research. He envisioned the day he would inherit the estate and elevate the Dikaman name even further. But peace, as it so often did, proved fleeting.

“What? What did you just say?”

Bosco, the elderly butler who had served the family faithfully since Kalil’s grandfather’s time, stood before him with eyes cast downward, his hands trembling slightly.

“Master Kalil,” Bosco said, his voice tight, “the Earl succumbed to the illness while researching a cure for the Duke’s plague.”
The words hung in the air like a curse. Kalil’s mind raced, disbelief knotting his thoughts. He knew his father had spent months in the Duke’s territory, studying the mysterious illness that had swept through the lands. But this—

“No, it can’t be. That disease isn’t fatal so quickly.”

Bosco sighed, the lines on his face deepening. “The Earl
contracted it two months ago.”

“Two months? And you didn’t tell me?”

Kalil’s voice, taut with rage and grief, reverberated through the room. He felt the storm of emotions rise, threatening to crack the composed facade he’d learned to maintain. Just as the air grew thick with tension, Bosco interrupted with an uncharacteristic sharpness.

“It was by the Earl’s order, young master.”

Kalil stilled, the anger giving way to a cold, sinking feeling. “Father’s order?”

“Yes, sir. He left instructions for me to deliver this letter after his passing.”

The butler’s hand extended, offering a folded piece of parchment. Kalil seized it, the delicate paper crumpling slightly in his grip as he read.

This letter is to be given to my son, Kalil, only upon my death.
Forgive me for leaving before finding a cure for the Duke’s plague. I discovered, too late, that the disease defies healing magic and worsens with divine spells. The details of my research are documented separately.

I did not inform you of my condition because, even if you knew, we could not meet without risking the family’s future. You and your sister are the lineage’s hope, and I could not endanger that by exposing you to this disease.

The title of Earl has already been transferred to you.

Kalil, I entrust our people and the legacy of the Dikaman family to you.

Lead them well.

The finality of the words sent a shiver down his spine. They were composed yet tender, reflecting a father who knew the weight his son would carry. This was his last lesson, the parting wisdom of an Earl to his heir.

“Is this all?” Kalil asked, his voice steadying.

“Yes, my lord. And this,” Bosco said, holding out a modest ring etched with the family crest, “is the seal of your new title.”
Kalil took it, feeling its cool metal press into his palm—a stark reminder of the life now placed solely in his hands.

“Bosco…”

“Yes, my lord?”

Kalil’s eyes, still shadowed with uncertainty, met the unwavering gaze of the butler. “Will you stand by me, even now that I am Earl?”

A small smile tugged at Bosco’s lips, eyes glistening with the resolute loyalty of decades past. “Of course, Master Kalil. Until the end.”

The affirmation settled something within him, sparking the flame of determination that had threatened to wane.

“Then I shall carry on my father’s work. I will find the cure for this plague, and the Dikaman family will prosper again.”
Kalil Dikaman’s fate was sealed, and his resolve was unyielding.

Two Years Later

Time had not softened the trials of leadership, but Kalil had endured. The Dikaman estate was stable, held firm by loyal servants and the relentless work of its young head. Yet, challenges arose constantly: nobles scoffed at his youth, and spies sought to pilfer the secrets of the family’s alchemical prowess. Betrayals stung the most, but Kalil had learned to steel himself, leaning on Bosco’s steady counsel when doubts threatened to overtake him.

“Lord Kalil, I have the latest report on the Red Stone Disease.”
He glanced up from his desk, eyes sharp. “Place it there and summarize the findings.”

The disease had consumed the Duke’s territory for years, turning the afflicted into statues of stone and ultimately crystallizing their hearts into red gems—a fate that gave the plague its name.
“Unfortunately, both new treatments failed. The strain on the patients was too great, and neither prolonged life,” the researcher said, hesitation in his voice.

Kalil’s jaw tightened. “And?”

The man shifted uncomfortably. “Distrust in you is spreading among the Duke’s people, my lord.”

He had expected as much. The Dikaman name, once synonymous with hope, now bore the weight of unmet promises. Rumors whispered that Kalil was avoiding the frontlines, unlike his father who had fought the disease to his last breath.

But abandoning the estate was not an option. Stability was still fragile; if he succumbed to the disease, the house would falter.
“I see. We need that cure, and soon.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

A knock at the door broke the silence.

“My lord, Lady Nora Ewell has arrived.”

Kalil’s heart tightened at the name. Nora Ewell, the Duke’s daughter, was his former betrothed—an engagement arranged by their fathers, bound by the promise of a cure.

“Thank you. I’ll go at once.”

Nora had once been the source of Kalil’s admiration, a figure so captivating that she had left him speechless during their first meeting. But reality had long since stripped away that ideal. He knew now that she could never look favorably upon the man who had failed to fulfill the promise that bound them.

This would be their fourth meeting since his ascension, and Kalil expected it to be no different from the last.

“Forgive my delay, Lady Nora.”

Nora sat by the window, golden hair shimmering as she gazed out with a distant, melancholy air.

“Thank you for coming today,” he said, forcing composure into his voice.

“Yes,” she replied, her tone as cool as ever.

Kalil’s gaze dropped for a moment before meeting her eyes, even as she refused to look his way. The sting of her indifference was sharp, but it was one he had learned to bear.

(I will find that cure. I must endure until then—)

Suddenly, a torrent of unfamiliar memories overwhelmed him, as if an entire lifetime had poured into his mind within moments. The room spun, and his breath caught.

(What… are these memories?)

They were not his, yet they were part of him. Memories of another world, and of a man they called—

(The Jealous Earl…)

The name was familiar, too familiar.

It was him.

Kalil Dikaman.