"A king doesn't ask for praise. A king proves his worth."
That was the first lesson he ever taught me.
And perhaps the only one I ever took to heart.
Over and over — not because I had to.
But because I needed to prove it.
To him.
To the world.
To myself.
That need turned into habit.
Habit transformed into discipline.
And discipline… became power.
By the time I turned ten, I could recite the histories of the greatest civilisations and understand how they rose and fell. By the time I was fifteen, I had started military campaigns across the continent that expanded Velantis's borders and conquered neighbouring kingdoms as stepping stones to our conquest. By the age of twenty, I sat in the Councils of War, outsmarting diplomats twice my age, ensuring that Velantis's steel and ink supremacy was maintained.
And at twenty-five…
…I had become something else entirely.
On the battlefield, I was legendary.
A fighter without mercy.
A strategist whom nations dreaded, a legend whose name was told across battlefields as a curse spoken by dying men.
But none of it ever felt truly like mine.
It belonged to him.
My father.
The man who had always influenced my choices, often without me realising. All I wanted was to be a worthy son someday.
But every time he looked at me, it seemed like he was waiting for me to become something that I never could.
"Only a true king proves his worth." That's what he always said,
So I trained.
I fought.
And I bled.
Each battle that I had won… I thought— perhaps this time.
And with each kingdom I conquered… I wondered— if maybe… now he'd look at me differently.
They weren't just victories to me.
They were my offerings.
And all I ever wanted—was a simple nod. A glance. Just one.
Well done.
But never was anything said.
I told myself to let go.
To stop chasing something that had never been mine to begin with.
But I didn't
Because without his approval—
What was I?
A king? A tyrant? Or simply the product of someone else's ambition, pretending it was my own?
That's all there is to me, right?
Just noise in a room, no one listened to.
So I made something they couldn't ignore.
Not words. Not pleas.
A kingdom.
Velantis
A kingdom built from conquest, its spires towering over a land broken by my ambition.
Magic was no blessing in Velantis—It was a weapon, to be honed and wielded without mercy.
It thrived not because of loyalty or love—but because no one dared to disobey.
Fear is useful, until it grows larger than the hand that holds it.
I always thought I ruled them.
But in the end, I mistook their obedience for loyalty.
Fear is a double-edged sword.
And I sat upon it too long.
But all I did was teach them how to hide their hatred better.
Velantis didn't fall to war.
It rotted.
Not from the borders—
But from the inside.
I was betrayed—
not by a blade in the dark.
Not by a soldier's spear.
But by trust.
But by something much more subtle.
Much colder.
Not on the battlefield, as I had always pictured.
But, holding a glass of wine in a room that had been sealed off from the war.
I still remember the taste.
Fruity and sweet, I had even considered complimenting it at one point.
But that was the first sign that something was wrong.
That feeling of warmth in my chest… wasn't normal.
Not the kind that settles in the chest after a drink.
I recognised what it was immediately.
Poison.
My so-called brother was grinning across the table.
Not warmly.
Not even with cruelty.
Just—
satisfied.
I didn't speak.
Because what would I have said?
That I understood?
That I saw it coming?
But the truth is—
Neither answer would've changed the outcome.
And to be honest… both would've been true.
I saw it coming. Maybe not clearly—but somewhere deep inside, I did.
Then it started.
A ferocious flame flared up in my chest, wrapping itself tightly around my heart like a snake.
Surprisingly, it didn't burn.
At least not how I thought it would.
It moved slowly. Lingering.
Not enough to kill me. Not yet.
But just enough to make me feel it—
The icy fingers of death reaching towards me.
And giving me time.
The time I didn't deserve.
The time I've never earned.
To remember.
Every friend I ignored.
Every warning I chose to ignore.
And every life that I threw away.
There were so many signs.
They were all there.
But I chose to ignore them all.
Not because I didn't know better.
But I thought I could get by with it.
And this…
this was how it ended.
This was the consequence.
Not of war.
Not of some assassin's blade.
But of all the choices I made.
This was not the death of a king.
There was no final charge.
No loyal soldiers awaiting my final command.
Only silence.
And the quiet, slow fall against the icy marble of my own throne, that which I had defended all my life.
The throne for which I had fought hard for.
The throne that I had built.
The throne I had bled for.
And the throne that I feared more than death itself.
They called me a genius.
A conqueror. A visionary.
Words. Titles. Reassurances for those too afraid to question.
But I wasn't any of those things.
At least… not anymore.
I had become something else.
Something they didn't dare say aloud—
A monster.
Maybe they didn't need to say it.
Maybe I always knew.
And so, when it reached my heart—
when the flames finally began to scorch me from the inside out—
I didn't resist.
Not because I wasn't brave.
But because, deep down— the truth is that I was just simply tired.
The quiet kind of tired.
The kind that wears you down without you even realising it.
Maybe that's why I expected death to be quick.
And maybe that's why…
For the longest time, I thought that death would happen instantly… as if the thread that stitches me into reality were suddenly cut.
But that's not how it ended.
Not for me.
I didn't fall.
I didn't vanish.
And the next thing I knew—
I was floating.
Not in water.
Not in anything really.
Just suspended in the vast expanse.
Somewhere that didn't have a name.
Without the burden of royalty.
Without sound.
And without the blue sky, and the ground.
Only the dark.
The kind that doesn't just block out the light—
It was the kind that makes you forget that light even existed.
Time didn't move. Or maybe it did.
But there was no way to tell.
And I pondered for a moment—
Is this how heaven feels like?
No, that's not quite right.
People say heaven is filled with light.
And that hell is fire and torment.
However, this place was neither
There was no warmth.
No light.
And no judgment.
There were no angels that came to greet me, no devils dragging me by the throat.
No cries from the devil, and no whispers from God.
It wasn't the sort of place you're scared of.
Or the kind you pray for.
The thought quickly left my brain, as the darkness swallowed it.
Forgotten as easily as it came.
I just kept floating.
Without a sense of time, and no place to belong.
Just… me.
I thought maybe instead, this was peace.
A place to clear my mind—
to reflect.
To let go of everything I had carried… without anyone watching.
But the longer I stayed, the more I realised—
It wasn't peace.
It wasn't freedom.
It was something far crueller.
The kind of silence that wasn't peaceful—
It was the type that wraps itself tightly around your heart and crushes you from the inside out.
Like sinking into the bottom of the ocean.
Where no sound reaches.
To where light never existed to begin with.
Only with the darkness that just kept stretching on and on forever.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't scream.
All I could do was think.
No sword to hold.
No crown to wear.
No one left to impress or command.
Just me.
Just me and my thoughts alone.
Alone with the consequences of my actions.
And in that silence, I laid bare.
With every triumph, I once took pride in.
Every betrayal I suffered—
They didn't matter anymore.
Because in the end, I was the one who caused the most damage.
And maybe… I knew that all along.
I wanted to forget.
To pretend the sacrifices were necessary.
That the blood, the silence, the lies—
were worth it.
But I couldn't.
Not in this place.
Not now.
Then that's when they arrived.
The memories.
They came like a flood.
Brutal and sharp.
The faces I deceived.
The thrones I seized.
And the friends I abandoned.
All came at once.
Each armed with a sword, and I was left without a shield.
There was nowhere to flee.
No silence left to hide myself in.
And from that flood of memory—
they stepped forward.
The ones who had marched under my flag.
The ones who bled because I told them to.
The ones who died believing in me.
One by one, they emerged out from the shadows: figures in dented armour, faces scarred by wounds, eyes burning—but not with respect or loyalty.
Filled with nothing but judgment.
The first to step forward was a soldier—half his face burnt away by sorcery; the other half turned into something almost unrecognisable.
His only remaining good eye locked on me.
"You promised us victory."
Then came a woman, her chest caved in from the impact of a Warhammer.
She raised her head.
"You swore we would see our families again."
A young knight followed.
He had been one of my most loyal generals once, a man who had once knelt before me with unquestioning loyalty.
Now stood at the front, his chest-plate was completely destroyed, a hole where an enemy's spear had pierced his heart.
"We died for you."
And with that single crack, the dam broke.
Their voices rose one after the other—
one voice became two.
as
And ten turned into a roar—
A rising storm that shook the very sky.
"For Velantis."
"For your throne."
More and more people kept coming.
Their bodies were scarred. Their eyes looked empty.
Enemies I struck down.
Thrones I took down from thrones.
Cities I reduced to ash.
A great woman, still dripping with the red blood of her house, her arms yet clasping remains of her murdered son to her breast.
A child—no older than ten—hugged a wooden toy, his small hands shaking as he looked up at me.
Not afraid.
Just… confused.
As if he was still waiting for someone to explain why it had to happen.
My fists clenched before I realised they had.
Anger burned behind my ribs. Not at them—
At this.
This illusion, this twisted theatre.
"No," I breathed. "This isn't real."
It couldn't be.
But their eyes—
God, their eyes.
their pain—
their hate—
weighed heavier than chains.
"I did what I had to," I muttered. "What was necessary..."
Didn't I?
Didn't I?
But the whispers only grew louder.
"Was it worth it?"
I tried to speak.
Tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
Because I didn't know.
But what did I really gain?
If not hollow thrones, crowns, and riches and power that only grew heavier with time, and to fall the instant my trust was misplaced?
And in the end, I finally died in loneliness.
Surrounded by people who smiled when they needed to—
and sharpened their knives when they thought I wasn't looking.
I wasn't betrayed by enemies.
No.
Because enemies show you where the sword will land.
And allies will make you believe that there is no sword at all.
Just when I thought the darkness had finally swallowed me whole… a voice cut through the silence.
[Requirements met. New User detected.]
[Link Established]
[Vital Synchronisation Complete]
[Internal Parameters Aligned]
[Observation Protocol Engaged]
[Cognitive Evaluation In Progress...]
The voice carried no breath.
No warmth.
It was cold. Ancient and cautious.
However, despite that perfect tone... Something about it felt.
It wasn't the cold disinterest of a machine. No, it was much more careful than that—it was cautious. Methodical.
And that? That was the insult.
For someone who once thrived on strategy and foresight, this felt like an insult at the mercy of such unknown force. This wasn't a threat that I could defend myself from; it wasn't a foe that I could read. There was nothing but silent judgment—so distant and unreachable—that made it worse. I mean, I wasn't unfamiliar with the concept of helplessness, but never like this. Never in a form so small, so powerless, yet so complete.
Then it said the word.
Rebirth.
And that changed everything.
Never in a million years did I expect that.
Out of all the punishments, trials, and endings I thought that I deserved… a new beginning wasn't one of them.
Rebirth?
A second chance?
No way.
That couldn't be right.
Not after everything I'd done. Not after how it ended.
What kind of justice is this?
I wanted to laugh. Or scoff. Or scream. But there was nothing—just that word echoing in my head.
It didn't feel like redemption.
It felt like I was being reset. Rewritten.
And when something that ancient offers you a new beginning… it doesn't feel like mercy.
It feels like being claimed.
In Velantis, we discovered artefacts from abandoned ruins, creations of an age far beyond our comprehension. The scholars described their energies and runes as a whisper of a long-dead world.
I had dismissed them as trinkets, too enamoured with the power of conquest to recognise the wisdom they offered. Now, hearing the system's voice and feeling its weight, I recognised the same resonance. It felt like the system was crafted by hands that had designed those relics, too, its voice an echo of their inscrutable design. What purpose did the artifacts have in Velantis? I'd dismissed those, but I could no longer ignore the truth. The translucent panels and the commands were not only instruments but puzzle pieces from a jigsaw puzzle that so far had eluded solutions in my previous life.
And yet, beneath all that design and power, there was something sinewy, something personal to its tone. Not a cold difference, but a curiosity almost. Almost familiar. But why would a force—this thing, care for the fate of a single man? It wasn't salvation. It wasn't mercy. Whatever it was, it had been watching—waiting—as if it had done so for far longer than I could comprehend.
But why me?
Out of everyone, why choose someone like me?
Surely there were better options—stronger, purer, more worthy.
So then... what was it looking for?
Could it be that it was searching for something far down inside me, hidden somewhere that even I couldn't see? Or was this just a test—one with no clear goal, no finish line, and no answers?
Each answer only left more questions, and the mystery only grows, and I still have no idea if I've been selected for something greater—or marked out as its prey.
Maybe this really was fate's version of mercy.
A second chance that felt more like a prison sentence than a gift. A pawn, destined to only fulfil some grand purpose without asking whether I wanted it? The thought of being at the mercy of something I couldn't control brought bile to my throat, a sensation I hadn't felt since my first battle.
I hadn't felt like that since my first battle.
And just like back then...
I wasn't sure if I was meant to survive—
or if I was only ever meant to be used.
[Welcome,
So this was it, huh?
No gods waiting. No afterlife.
Just... lines of code where my soul used to be.
Everything of who I was—is being rewritten without asking.
[Initialisation complete. Transferring consciousness to the new vessel. Phase 1 begins now.]
Well then... I guess this is the moment where I let it all go.
Of the crown. The title. And everything I once believed was mine.
Still... I don't think I'll ever forget.
The blood on my hands.
The weight on my shoulders.
And definitely not what it had cost to become the man I was.
But if this really is a new beginning—
Then I'll make sure it counts.
Somehow.
Then—
the light came.
ASCENSION AFTER THE FALL: CHAPTER ONE — END