《I Got Reincarnated as a Gluttonous King with a System》 Chapter 1: Blood and Breath The rainwasoneofthosethings that just seemed to makeeverything worse. Itdidnotmerelysoak into your clothes or trickle down your face; it seeped into your bones,makingevery breathfeelcold and heavy. I stood at the edge of the curb, staring at the blurred headlights of passing cars, and wondered¡ªandasI did every other day¡ªif this was it. Not in a morbid way. I wasn''tgoingtoflingmyselfinto traffic or anything. I wasn''t even sad, not really. Justhollow. Like a husk of ahuman being,ploddingthrough lifeina zombie-like state,nothavingthe energytoactuallycare where I waswalking. Every day, again. Wake up, commute, and deal with people who forgot your name came night, home, dinner whatever was quicker and less costly, and then collapsed in front of a screen, and rinse. End. They called me"reliable"at work, which Isupposewas their way of saying I never made waves. Just the kind of guy who did what he was told, hit his deadlines, and quietly endured the nonsense.The guy who stayed late when no one else wanted to. The guy who never said no to a project, even when I should have. Funny thing wasnobodyreally cared. Not my boss,normycolleagues, not evenI."Reliable"meant invisible,replaceable. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. Another email about something that didn''t matter. Another reminder that my life was a string of meaningless notifications. I used to dream about doing something different-writing, maybe, or traveling-but reality had a way of beating that out of you. I hadn''t been myself for so longby now,andI wasn''t even sure whothatwas. My landlord probably knewmebetterthanany ofmy friends, and my friends. well, let''s just say we weren''tthefriendswe used to be. Life happens. People drift apart. I didn''t blame them. I let out a sigh, the noise whipped away by the rain as I fastened the strap of my really cheapskate umbrella. The gust of wind snapped it inside out, and I tossed up my hands, letting it get me wet through to the layer of the hoodie underneath; not that it mattered now, anyway. It was late enough, and cold enough to boot, all that stood between me and that dingy, frozen meal I was going to be eating week in and out. The crosswalk lightwasblinkinggreen,soI stepped off the curb,sloshingwateroverthe top ofmy sneakers. Headlights blurredinglowing streaks as I stareddownat thesidewalk, countingwitheach step to distract myself from the chill creeping intothesocks. Twelve steps. Thirteen.Fourteen¡ª First wasthe sound.Squealingtiresagainst wetpavement. I looked up just in time to see the headlightscomingstraightforme, too close, too fast. Itcametome a split second before the car did: This is it. Abadsmellenteredmynostrilsthe firsttimeIopenedmyeyes. Not antiseptic or the coppery tang of blood-thoughthatlingered faintly. No, this wasolder, heavier. Acombinationof burnt wood and stale air, like thesmellof an ancient church left to rot. The second thing I noticed was pain. It wasn''t sharp,asIhadexpected it to be, but dull and throbbing, like somethinginsideofme had broken. My chestscreamedwith every shallow breath, andwitheveryattemptto sit up, the pain flaredenoughto forceme backonto my back. Thatiswhen I saw it. Blood. Ittrickledthrough a thick black-and-gold coatthatI didn''tknowIowned,puddlingon the cold stone flooraround my feet. Isatthere, immobile, staringat itall,tryingtoconnectthedotsofwhere I was and how Ihadgotten here. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. A ripple of movement caught myattention. I looked up,andmy stomachdropped. I was in a big room. The torches lit it dimly: they were flickering and spitting. Intricately embroidered tapestries covered the walls, now faded into colors that in their bright hues could again tell stories of battle and of glory. The floor beneath my feet was a mosaic of polished stone, slick with blood. It was my blood. Figures surrounded me¡ªmen and women dressed in ornate robes and armor, their faces pale with fear. Some whispered to one another, their voices hushed and urgent. Others simply stared, their wide eyes fixed on me as though I''d grown a second head. "Impossible," one of themwhispered back. "Heisdead," anotherbreathed. "We allwatchedhim die." Itriedtosaysomething, but mywordscouldnotpass. The pain inthechestoncemore ignited, and myhandtouchedmy chestinstinctivelyagainandpressedagainst thegapingwound. ThatishowI realized something wasseriouslywrong. These weren''t my hands. They were pale, almost translucent, with veins threading beneath the surface like cracks in marble. Rings adorned each finger, heavy and cold, set with stones that gleamed like fire. My breath quickened as I looked down at the rest of myself¡ªat the coat, the boots, the sword strapped to my side. This wasn''t my body. A screampiercedthestillness. "He''s breathing!" Pandemonium broke out in the room. The figures there scattered back, overturning chairs, grabbing one another and crying. Others snatched for arms; eyes moved between me and the open doors at the end of the room. And then,they came. Assassins.Theywerelikeghosts;theirdarkcloaksswirledas theyranthrough the doors withknivesdrawn. I scrambledbackward,puttingas muchspacebetweenthemandmeasmy bodywouldallow.Butitslimbs feltasifwading throughmire. Hewentintothelunges, and I froze. Butjustbefore theknifecouldstrike, somethingchanged. There,insideme,alowandchillvoice-notmyvoice-waswhispering. "Skill Activated: Gluttony." My bodystartedmovingon its own. I twisted out of the way, my hand snapping up to catch the assassin''s wrist. With a strength I didn''t know I had, I wrenched it to the side, and the sharp crack of bone filled the room. The assassin screamed, but the sound barely registered. My arm shot forward, plunging the blade I didn''t remember drawing into his chest. I did not feelthe next few moments. My body moved like a marionette, dodging strikes, disarming opponents, killing. Each death sent a jolt through me¡ªa rush of heat and power, followed by something darker. It ended, I stood up in the centre of that room, with the air gasping between my lungs, my all blood-slippery palms. Everywhere around me were those killers, scattered across the floor, with eyes that would never gaze at anything. A faint chimewasechoingin my ears.
"Level Up. Attributes Absorbed. Skills Acquired."
My vision blurred as a glowing window appeared before me, words etched in shimmering gold:
Name: Alaric Varelius Title: King of Varestia Status: Wounded (Recovering) Skills: Gluttony (Active), Blade Proficiency (Acquired), Stealth (Acquired) Level: 7 (+3)
I stumbled backward, clutching at my head. The window faded, but its meaning lingered, undeniable and cruel. This wasn¡¯t a dream. This wasn¡¯t my body. And this sure as hell wasn¡¯t my world. I wasn¡¯t Harley anymore. I was a king. A dead king. And the only thing more terrifying than that... was the hunger clawing at my chest, whispering for more. Chapter 2: The Status Window The silence after the fight was deafening. The nobles who had not fled stood frozen at the edges of the room, staring at me as if I might attack them next. The coppery smell of blood clung to the air, thick and nauseating. I wanted to move, to run, but my legs felt like lead. Then it appeared. A faint chime echoed in my ears, and a glowing window materialized before me, floating in midair like something out of a video game. STATUS WINDOW
Name: Alaric Varelius Title: King of Varestia Level: 7 Health: 42/100 Mana: 25/60 Strength: 15 (+3) Agility: 12 (+2) Endurance: 10 (+1) Intelligence: 13 (+2) Charisma: 18 (+4) Unique Skills:
I stared at the floating window, with my heart pounding inside my chest. No, this was no dream. Nor was it a hallucination. The pain; the blood; the glowing letter was all too real. It didn''t feel like mine, though. King Alaric Varelius. I repeated the name in my head, testing its weight. It sounded regal, commanding, completely out of place with the person I used to be. But there it was-written in glowing gold for everyone to see. My name. My title. My. stats. Numbers that meant nothing to me but made me remember one thing, the +3s and +2s beside the attributes didn''t seem normal. This is the work of Gluttony, isn''t it? I gulped hard as the screams of the assassins flash through my mind. "Level 7," I muttered under my breath. "What does that even mean?" Another window seemed to answer it. SKILLS GAINED
Memory Fragment AcquiredThis story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I hardly had time enough to realize the words before the world changed direction. All this-the blood-soaked room, the nobles, even the torches flickering on the walls-all of it dissolved in a cold, blank emptiness. Then came the voices. "You think I don''t see what you''re doing?" It was not my voice, although it issued from my mouth. It was harder, more demanding, dripping with venom. Alaric''s voice. I stood¡ªor rather he did¡ªin the same throne room, though of course it looked different. Cleaner. Wanner. The air was loaded with tension, the visages of the nobles on every side of me overshadowed and obscured. But one man stood out. Tall, with sharp features and an air of practiced arrogance, his robes embroidered with the crest of a noble house I didn''t recognize, were as elaborate as his smile. "Now now, Sir Majesty," said the man soothingly while spreading his arms, with false innocence. "Why do you ever need to think me a conspirator? Am I not devotedly always serving the crown?" "Faithfully," Alaric echoed, his voice bitter. "Yes, so faithful that you''ve siphoned funds meant for the city guard to line your own coffers. So faithful that your estates expand while my people starve. And so faithful that you would dare raise a blade against your king in the shadows of this very court." The noble stiffened, his mask slipping for a second. "You''ve overstepped, Eravon," Alaric continued, stepping forward. His crimson eyes brimmed with fury. "You think I''m blinded?" he said. "You think I don''t understand the poison you have sowed, the alliances you made? You and your lot want the crown? So then come and take it. The scene ended in blur of motion¡ªa sudden flash of steel, a choking gasp, and the sensation of falling. I jolted back to reality, gasping for air. My knees hit the cold stone floor as the weight of the memory crashed over me. My chest heaved and sweat trickled down my temple, despite the chill. It wasn''t mine, but it felt real¡ªso real it left a phantom ache in my ribs where the blade had pierced me. That name. Eravon. I looked up at the nobles still lingering in the corners of the room. Their faces blurred together, but I swore I caught a flicker of fear in their eyes. Did one of them know that name? Were they part of this. conspiracy? I had no idea what the kind of world I had thrown myself into was, but surely it was clear that - My fists were clenched, and the metallic smell of blood stung my nose. Alaric had enemies. And now, so did I. Chapter 3:A Crown of Thorns It was as if silence within the throne room swallowed me up. I pushed myself to my feet, my legs trembling under the weight of what I''d just experienced. My heart still pounded from the memory fragment¡ªhis memory¡ªand I couldn''t shake the image of the noble''s smirk or the blade flashing in the torchlight. I did not even know where to start. One minute, I was staring at numbers and stats like some RPG character sheet; the next, I was choking on the dying breath of a king who had been betrayed by his own people. "Your Majesty?" The voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned sharply, crimson eyes locking onto the source. A man stood just a few paces away, his face pale but composed, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword. He wore a suit of dark armor trimmed in gold, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that told me he wasn''t just another court lackey. "Yes?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level. The man hesitated, as if he didn''t know what to do. His lips pressed into a thin line before he dropped to one knee, bowing his head low. "Captain Gregor Lorne, commander of the royal guard," he said, his voice low but firm. "I. I failed you, my king. I swear on my honor it will not happen again." My throat constricted. The royal guard. My mind worked to put together what little I knew¡ªor rather, what little I''d absorbed from Alaric''s fragmentary memories. Gregor Lorne. loyal, disciplined, but burdened by guilt. Alaric had trusted him, though not blindly. I straightened my posture, forcing myself to look every bit the king. There''s no bowing down to it," I said with bitter words in my mouth. "What''s done is done.". Gregor lifted his head, furrowing his brow. "But, Your Majesty¡ª" "I said stand," I said brusquely this time. He was at his posture, standing straight, clenching his hands back over his waist. I have no clue what I was doing. But if I showed them even an hint of weakness now, it would all be given over to who was in the next position. My attention shifted to the rest of the room. The nobles who hadn''t fled were lingering near the walls, looking back at me and the dead bodies lying all over the floor. I heard some of what they whispered to each other: "How did he survive that wound?" "He''s changed... his eyes..." "Perhaps it''s some form of sorcery." I clenched my jaw. I couldn''t blame them for their suspicion¡ªnot when I was still reeling from everything myself. But I needed to take control of the situation before the rumors spiralled into something that would spiral out of my own management. Clear the room, I said, my voice ringing out louder than I''d intended. The murmurs ceased. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.Each noble, one after the other, bowed their heads and exited from that place, not without casting cautionary glances over their shoulder. As they filed out, a few of them whispered softly to each other, but I could not hear what they were talking about. Gregor stood there, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Is that the wisest move, Your Majesty?" I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "What''s wrong with that?" "The assassins. they broke into the throne room. Court will question your safety, especial after." His eyes flickered to look at the blood pooling at my feet. He didn''t finish that sentence, but I knew he meant after you''re gone. "I''ll be fine," I said, though I didn''t know if I believed myself. "I need some time to think. To¡ª My breath caught a harsh pain shooting through my head-the sudden and blinding-. The world tilted again, and the throne room faded. I was back in the void, cold and featureless, but this time, the memory didn''t wait for me to adjust. Alaric stood before a high table covered with maps, letters, and gilded markers denoting troops and territories. The air was thick with tension, faintly underscored by the scent of ink and wax intermingled with the smoke drifting from a nearby brazier. "You''re making a mistake," a woman''s voice said. Alaric stepped back to face her. She was tall and stately, dark braids coiled in the coronet that lay upon her head, and sharp features set off against the deep green of her gown. "Am I? Alaric responded, his voice as cold as ice. Or are you afraid of losing the power you''ve gathered for so long?" Her jaw set. "You think you can overturn centuries of tradition with a few proclamations? The noble houses will never submit to a king who is as much a peer of peasants as they are." Alaric''s face red, he leaned closer. "Let them die upon their own tradition, I shall not be the one sitting around while my people rot within the streets." The woman''s lips curled up in a thin, mocking curve. "You are blind, Alaric. Naive, and young, a puppet to play at savior. The crown will find its crack and break you.". "Then let it," he said. I snapped back into consciousness, gasping for air. Knees were against the cold stone floor, and Gregor was instantly there to help me. Your Majesty! Are you¡ª I''m fine, I said, though the words came out hoarse. I clutched my head, willing the pain to subside. The memory was already fading, but the woman''s words lingered like poison. I did not know who she was, but her voice was heavy with the weight of a person important enough that Alaric trusted her even in disagreement. Another shivered fragment of a life not mine, and another piece of the puzzle I had to put together if I was going to survive in his stead. Gregor hesitated, torn between concern and duty, his face pale. "Your Majesty, shall I summon the court physician? Or perhaps¡ª No, I said firmly cutting him off. I just need time. He didn''t look convinced, but he bowed his head. "As you wish. I''ll station guards outside the throne room. Call for me if you need anything." With that, he walked, boots echoing off the stone as he faded into the hallway. I leaned back on the throne, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. My reflection caught my eye again in the mirror standing nearby, and for the first time, I saw more than just a stranger staring back. I saw the cracks. He was much more than a king, more than the man they knew. He was an idealist, caught in that space between ideal and real, between the people whom he wanted to save, and nobles, the only ones who saw him as a threat. He tried fixing the unfixable: it killed him. It was now my turn. "Damn it," I said, letting my hand rub down my face. "What have I gotten myself into? Chapter 4: Poisoned Tongues I had begun to understand why Alaric had been assassinated by the time the council chamber doors creaked shut behind me. The room was as grand as everything else in this castle¡ªvaulted ceilings, golden chandeliers, a polished mahogany table large enough to seat twenty. It was meant to impress, to remind anyone sitting here who held the power. But today, the room felt like a battlefield. Nobles lined both sides of the table, each one dressed in their finery, their faces carefully neutral. Too neutral. Like they were already weighing the cost of betting on me versus tearing me down. Whispers died as I took my seat at the head of the table, the throne-like chair heavy beneath me. Gregor stood behind me. In the flame light, his armor shone like polished metal. A living wall of vigilance, that man was; yet still I felt the tautness in him. Your Majesty," said one of the nobles, his voice as smooth as the silk doublet he wore. "It''s a relief to see you so. well after all the events of last night.". Words oozed fake niceness that could have turned my stomach, though; I''d never seen this guy, but by his dark gaze I would swear he''s a smoothie who''d always say what''s required, only mean its opposite. I am pretty sure it is, I replied calmly to them. Another noble, a stout man with a gray beard, replied, "Aye, my king. But, if I may be so bold, the court is most curious to learn how you managed to survive such a grievous wound. Some might even go so far as to claim it. unnatural.". The room stiffened. Implication hung in the air like a poisonous gas that poisoned it, unnatural. It wasn''t something that required an oral expression, though already present in their thoughts. Sorcery. For a moment, I couldn''t fault them. If I''d walked in on a man collapsing to the floor and pooling in his own blood and then he stands up and starts murdering the people who just laid him down, I would have been suspicious. I leaned forward and folded my hands together on the table. "I understand your curiosity," I said, my voice steady but firm. "But let me be clear: I am alive because I refuse to die while this kingdom stands on the edge of ruin.". A murmur ran through the room. Not exactly a fulfilling answer, but I wasn''t going to explain the glowing status window floating in my head or the odd voice that whispered about skills and levels. The stout noble frowned. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, the court requires something more than vague assurances. There are some who fear. darker forces may be at work.". I don''t recall asking you to let me live, I said the words coming off my tongue harsher than I meant. The murmurs ceased. For a moment, the stout man''s face clouded, his jaw set¡ªbut then he bowed his head. Of course, Your Majesty. That''ll close those folks. At least for awhile. The meeting continued and seemed to go on forever. I nodded to reports of grain shortages, reports of rising crime out in the outer provinces, merchants complaining of tariffs. Their voices began to blur as they went on and on, merging into a choral work of politics and interest. But as the hours ticked by, I noticed something-or someone. Duke Eravon. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.He sat near the far end of the table, silent and composed, his dark robes pristine and his hands folded neatly in front of him. Where all the other nobles were sparring and posturing, Eravon didn''t flinch. He merely watched. Not that I was aware of it at first, but seeing him as often as I could, I started to get glimpses of how he looked more intensely at certain speakers and how his expression changed when a word about the royal treasury or the guard''s few remaining members was mentioned. Subtle, calculated, like he was playing some game we didn''t even realize we were in. Then there was the memory. I saw earlier the flash of the fragment¡ªthe scene of Alaric in the same room, his voice full of fury as he accused Eravon of treason. I did not have all the pieces yet, but the look in Eravon''s eyes now matched the one in Alaric''s memory: calm, controlled, and full of quiet menace. If he saw me staring, he did not indicate it. It pounded at my head once the council meeting had been adjourned, though I remained standing upright with hand waved across the front of the council hall. Gregor followed me out. His footsteps were heavy behind me. "Your Majesty," he said softly, once we were out of earshot. "You did all right at council." Did I? I whispered. Because it felt like holding off a pack of wolves with a stick. Gregor didn''t laugh, but his lips curled up. "The court respects strength, sire. And tonight, you showed them you''re not easily cowed.". I did not react. My head was already elsewhere, focused on the status window that had been visible to me before the meeting, which I had not dared open in front of the nobles. Once I got back into the secrecy of my chambers, then I called it up once again, willing the faint chime to sound. STATUS WINDOW
Name: Alaric Varelius Title: King of Varestia Level: 7 Health: 80/100 Mana: 50/60 Strength: 15 (+3) Agility: 12 (+2) Endurance: 10 (+1) Intelligence: 13 (+2) Charisma: 18 (+4) Unique Skills:
My eyes stopped on the word. Regression. I frowned, the meaning sinking in slowly. Revert to a fixed point upon death. I thought back to the assassins, to the way I''d woken up in Alaric''s body with no warning. Did that mean I''d already... died? Was this skill the reason I was here? My pulse quickened as I tapped the description, hoping for more information. But instead of answers, I was greeted with a new message.
Skill Locked. Requirements Not Met.
Of course it was locked. Nothing in this world was ever simple. I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling in my chest. If this skill was my safety net, the thing keeping me alive, then why the hell couldn''t I use it? For now, I could only guess. But one thing was clear: this world wasn''t done with me. And neither was Eravon.