The smell of blood had long soaked into the dirt. Even the rain, cold and relentless, couldn't wash it away.
Cassian lay broken in chains, his body twisted at unnatural angles, breathing ragged and shallow. Thunder cracked across the sky like a divine laugh, mocking the condemned. Around him, nobles in silks and soldiers in iron watched with masked disgust, their faces blending into a sea of cruelty.
He had been the lowest of the low.
A nameless servant. The orphan rat who swept the marble halls of the Empire's palace, beaten if he was seen, ignored if he wasn't. And yet, somehow, impossibly, he had clawed his way into the world of power. Not by birthright. Not by inheritance. But by sheer, brutal will.
He had served the lords. Advised generals. Gained favor with the Third Prince himself. For a moment—a breath of history—Cassian had believed he could change his fate.
And then came the betrayal.
The Third Prince, the man Cassian had pledged his soul to, denounced him as a traitor. Labeled him a manipulator, a snake, a threat to the realm. The court devoured the lie like hungry wolves. He was condemned without trial, thrown into chains, paraded before the capital as a warning.
Now, he knelt beneath the Executioner's Tower.
"Any last words, cur?" The voice came from behind, rough and bored. The executioner held a massive axe, its edge stained with the ghosts of thousands.
Cassian raised his head slowly. Blood clung to his lip. One eye swollen shut. Yet something fierce, something unbroken, smoldered within his single visible eye.
"Remember this face," he rasped. "Burn it into memory. For even in the deepest grave, I will rise. And when I do, I will wear a crown made of your bones."
Laughter echoed from the crowd. One noble spat. Another jeered. But a few—just a few—fell silent.
Cassian smiled. Even now, he planted seeds.
The axe fell.
Cassian awoke choking.
Air seared his lungs. His body convulsed, cold sweat coating his skin. He bolted upright, gasping as if pulled from drowning.
The room was dark, stone-walled, damp. A cell. But not the one he remembered. No chains. No blood.
He looked at his hands.
Small. Unscarred. Young.
He scrambled to the corner, heart pounding like a war drum. A rusted shard of mirror lay beneath straw. He seized it, bringing it to his face.
The reflection showed a boy.
Twelve. Maybe thirteen.
His face.
His face. But young. Untouched by pain. Before the burn. Before the whip scars. Before everything.
"This... isn't real."
[Initialization Complete.]
The voice rang in his skull. Cold. Mechanical. Otherworldly.
[Welcome, Cassian. The Sovereign System has recognized your rebirth. Would you like to begin your ascent?]
Cassian froze. Slowly, words flared before his eyes, etched in glowing silver.
SOVEREIGN SYSTEM v1.0
Designated Host: Cassian Vale
Status: Reborn (Temporal Anchor: Year 817, Imperial Calendar)
Primary Quest: Rewrite Destiny
Sub-Quest: Seize Power. Exact Revenge. Ascend.
"A system... a god's curse or blessing?"
He touched the text and it vanished.
Then came the memories.
The timeline reformed in his mind. This year—this very moment—was when he had still been a street rat. Before he met the Third Prince. Before the academy. Before everything.
A second chance.
He sank to the floor, trembling.
Then he laughed.
Low at first, then louder. A laugh that echoed through the cell like madness. But it wasn't madness.
It was purpose.
By morning, he was calm.
The orphanage bell rang, and the boys stumbled out to line up for chores. Cassian moved among them like a shadow, his mind far ahead.
Sister Maybell, the cruel matron, shouted orders and slapped a boy for sneezing.
Cassian observed it all.
She would die of heart rot in two years. The orphanage would burn the year after. None of these children would survive past twenty. Not unless he changed it.
And he would. In time.
But first, power.
[Daily Sovereign Bonus Available. Would you like to claim it?]
Cassian accepted.
+2 Charisma
+1 Strategy
+5 Sovereign Coins (Inventory Created)
"Coins? What can I do with Sovereign Coins?"
[Exchangeable for items, influence, or direct reality alterations upon system upgrade.]
Cassian grinned.
He had been a player without a board before. Now, he had the board, the pieces, and the knowledge of every future move.
He wouldn't make the same mistakes.
He wouldn't serve a prince.
He would become an emperor.
That night, he broke into the warden's room.
Not with force. With words.
Charisma mattered.
He spoke of an old vault beneath the chapel—a myth passed by the beggars. Gold buried under the altar, left by heretics. Cassian claimed he knew the chant to open it. That he would split the treasure if only the warden let him try.
Greed always won.
The warden followed.
Cassian led him to the old crypt, lit torches, whispered invented prayers.
And then, with the stolen knife hidden in his sleeve, he slit the warden's throat.
[Quest Complete: First Blood]
+1 Intelligence
+1 Stealth
+Access Unlocked: Sovereign Shadow Path (Passive Ability Tree Initiated)
He buried the body. Took the ring of keys. Found the vault.
No gold.
But books. Dozens. Arcane texts, histories, banned scrolls.
His true treasure.
He read until dawn.
The next week, the orphanage burned.
Cassian stood at a distance, watching the flames consume the building, the screams lost to the crackle of fire. He had opened the cellar, freed the children he deemed useful, left the rest.
It was necessary.
A king cannot save everyone.
[Alignment Shift: Neutral → Calculated Sovereign]
Cassian turned from the blaze, a small pack slung over his shoulder.
He had money.
He had knowledge.
He had time.
The world still thought him a forgotten orphan. No one knew his name.
Perfect.
Let them ignore the pawn, he thought, walking into the night.
One day, they'll kneel before the emperor.