The moment I woke, the weight of my vow pressed down on me like armor too heavy for my body. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the callous-free hands of a fourteen-year-old boy—a stark contrast to the battle-hardened soldier I had been. I was back in my childhood home, the modest wooden structure creaking under the soft morning wind, its familiarity both a comfort and a reminder of my humble beginnings.
The gods had done their part. Now, it was my turn.
**
Laying the Foundation
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I allowed myself a rare moment of silence. The enormity of what I needed to do weighed heavily on me. My mind raced with memories of my future self—a life filled with bloodshed, loyalty, betrayal, and despair. I had to dismantle everything House Rithane had built, but their empire wasn’t forged on simple power. It was a finely crafted machine, combining military might, political cunning, and a network of alliances that spanned the kingdom.
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling under my calm exterior. Their betrayal hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment decision; it had been a carefully calculated move. By orchestrating the ambush that killed the crown prince and pinning the blame on me, they eliminated one obstacle to their ambitions and rid themselves of a loyal but expendable pawn. With the second prince as their puppet, House Rithane had positioned itself to dominate both the court and the battlefield.
I knew their game because I had seen it play out to its devastating conclusion. The knowledge of their rise, their weaknesses, and their ambitions was my weapon, but wielding it would not be simple.
Two paths lay before me, intertwining like the coils of a serpent.
The first was military power. To dismantle House Rithane’s dominance, I had to rise within the ranks of Valtheris’s army. The battlefield was my home, and it was where I had the most experience. I needed to rebuild my strength, surpass my former self, and climb higher than I ever had before. From there, I could gain influence over soldiers and commanders, sowing seeds of loyalty among those who would stand by my side when the time came.
But brute force alone wouldn’t topple the house that had ensnared the kingdom. That brought me to the second path: political power.
House Rithane had thrived in the shadows of the royal court, weaving alliances and leveraging favors. If I hoped to bring them down, I needed to become more than a soldier—I had to learn the art of manipulation, diplomacy, and intrigue. I would need to uncover secrets, expose their misdeeds, and outmaneuver them in a game where a single mistake could mean death.
Balancing these two paths would be my greatest challenge. Rising too quickly could draw attention, while moving too slowly might allow them to solidify their power.
I began mentally mapping out the players in the kingdom's grand game. I needed to identify potential allies—those disillusioned with House Rithane’s growing influence or those who stood to lose if the second prince ascended to the throne.
There were noble houses, generals, and even commoners who could be swayed to my cause. In the previous timeline, I had seen glimpses of their strengths and weaknesses. Marquess Dareth, a shrewd tactician with a disdain for House Rithane’s arrogance. Countess Marienne, a cunning courtier who despised the second prince’s entitlement. Even Captain Rahl, a commander in the Dominion army, whose honor I once respected despite our opposing banners.
Their fates had been scattered across the war-torn future I remembered, but this time, I would bring them together. Each one was a potential piece on the chessboard, but convincing them to move against House Rithane would require strategy and finesse.
The realization hit me like a blow—I couldn’t act rashly. My older self had been driven by loyalty, but this version of me needed to be cold, calculating, and patient. Every step I took would ripple through the future, changing events I couldn’t predict.
Patience was a bitter pill to swallow. Knowing that Cedrin and Elara Rithane continued to plot and prosper while I rebuilt myself was a torment I had to endure. But vengeance demanded precision, and I would not let emotions cloud my path.
I thought of my old comrades, the men and women who had followed me into battle. Would they recognize me when I returned to the military? Could I trust them again, or would their loyalties remain with House Rithane?
I also thought of the second prince—the pawn in House Rithane’s game. In the previous timeline, he had ascended to the throne, his reign marked by corruption and exploitation. If I allowed him to rise again, it would spell doom not just for me, but for the kingdom itself.
The memories of the crown prince’s murder still burned in my mind. His death had been the spark that lit the fires of war. His death, and my unjust execution, had been orchestrated by the same hand. This time, I would ensure his survival, not out of loyalty, but because his life was the key to destabilizing House Rithane’s ambitions.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine the end of this journey. I saw the halls of House Rithane reduced to rubble, their banners torn and burning. I saw Cedrin and Elara brought to their knees, stripped of the power they had stolen through deceit.
But the image faded, replaced by the daunting reality of the road ahead. Revenge was not a destination—it was a long, grueling path.
And I was only at the beginning.
With this plan forming in my mind, I stood, ready to take my first steps. To rise in both the military and the court would take years of effort, discipline, and sacrifice. But I had one advantage I hadn’t possessed in my first life: time.
This time, I would be the architect of my fate.
**
A Brief Respite
The knock on my door was soft but firm, a sound so familiar it almost startled me. For a moment, I had forgotten where I was—caught between the memories of my execution and the weight of my new purpose.
“Illiad,” came Lydia, my mother. Her voice was warm and steady. “Come eat before the food gets cold.”
I froze, the sound of her voice stirring something deep within me. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in decades, not since the early days of my youth. In my previous life, I had longed for such simple moments, only to find myself too consumed by duty to ever return home. Now, hearing her again was a stark reminder of how much had been taken from me—and how much I had to protect this time.
“I’m coming,” I called back, my voice trembling slightly.
I stood slowly, my legs still stiff from hours of restless thoughts. I didn’t have time to waste on such trivialities as breakfast—or so I told myself. But when I pushed open the door and saw my mother’s retreating figure heading toward the dining table, I felt a pang of guilt. For all my focus on the future, I had forgotten what this moment meant: my parents were alive, untouched by the horrors that awaited.
The small dining room was just as I remembered it. The wooden table was worn and scratched, its surface marked by years of use. Simple clay plates and cups sat neatly arranged, the faint aroma of fresh bread and stew filling the air. My mother moved about with quiet efficiency, setting down the last of the food while Barid, my father sat waiting, his hands clasped as he stared absently out the window.
Their faces were younger than I remembered—less weary, free of the lines carved by hardship and grief. Barid, his hair still dark and thick, glanced up at me with a small smile as I entered. My mother, her face warm and kind, gestured for me to sit.
“Good to see you awake,” my father said, his voice carrying a quiet strength. “Thought you might sleep the day away.”
I sat in silence, unsure of what to say. Words felt heavy in my throat, weighted by the knowledge of what the future once held for them. In the previous timeline before my execution, the news of my ‘treason’ had sent ripples through the kingdom. As far as I knew, my parents had been left to bear the shame of my alleged betrayal alone. I could only imagine the whispers of the villagers, the scorn of neighbors, the quiet isolation that must have followed.
As I looked at them now—my mother slicing bread, my father taking a sip from his cup—I couldn’t help but wonder: what became of them after I was gone? Had they been shunned, exiled, or worse? Had they ever learned the truth of my innocence, or had they gone to their graves believing the lies spread by House Rithane?
The thought made my chest tighten.
This time, I vowed silently, I would not allow them to suffer for my failures. My revenge was no longer just for me—it was for them. For the life they had given me, a life House Rithane had ripped away without hesitation.
“Eat,” Lydia said, breaking my reverie. She placed a small bowl of stew in front of me, her hands lingering for just a moment before she stepped back. “You’ve been looking pale lately. Are you feeling all right?”
I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, Mother.”
Her eyes lingered on me for a moment, a flicker of concern passing over her face before she returned to her seat.
The meal passed in a blur of routine conversation. Barid spoke of the fields and the weather, his words calm and measured. My mother chimed in occasionally, her voice light as she mentioned the village market and the arrival of a traveling merchant.
I listened quietly, their words washing over me like a balm. These mundane moments, so ordinary and unremarkable, were a luxury I hadn’t appreciated in my first life. Back then, I had been so consumed by ambition and duty that I had left this life behind without a second thought.
Now, every word they spoke felt precious, a reminder of what I was fighting for.
As I watched them, I made another silent vow. My parents deserved to live out their lives in peace, untouched by the machinations of the nobility. They deserved a son who could protect them from the chaos to come.
When Lydia glanced at me again, her brow furrowed slightly. “You’ve been quiet this morning,” she said. “Is something bothering you?”
I shook my head quickly. “Just… thinking about the future,” I replied, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
She smiled softly, reaching out to touch my hand. “You have time, Illiad. Don’t rush to grow up too fast.”
Her words cut deeper than she could have known. Time was exactly what I didn’t have—every day that passed was another step closer to the war, to the betrayals, to the bloodshed. But I didn’t correct her. Instead, I simply nodded, letting her think I was still the boy she had always known.
When the meal was over, I excused myself and left the table, retreating to the quiet solitude of my room. But as I reached the door, I paused and turned back, letting my gaze linger on them for just a moment longer.
Barid was laughing at something Lydia had said, his shoulders shaking with a rare bout of mirth. My mother smiled warmly, her hands resting on the table as she leaned toward him.
It was a picture of peace, of the life I had taken for granted in my first life.
And it was a picture I would fight to preserve, no matter the cost.
I would fight.
**
The First Step: Training
As the door to my room closed behind me, the weight of my resolve settled over me. The dining table, my parents’ laughter, and the warmth of home—all of it was fleeting. If I faltered now, if I let the embers of vengeance dim, that fragile peace would be crushed under the boots of those who sought power at any cost.
I made my way to the small shed behind our home, where the tools of my boyhood lay forgotten. Among the worn farming implements, an old wooden practice sword leaned against the wall, its surface chipped and scarred from years of use. I picked it up, feeling its weight in my hands. It was laughably light compared to the steel I had wielded in my previous life, but it was a start.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The path ahead was clear: rebuild myself from the ground up.
The knowledge I carried from the future was a gift, but my current body was a curse. This child’s frame was weak, untrained, and untempered by the trials of war. The techniques I had mastered as a soldier were useless if my body couldn’t keep up with my mind.
I began with the basics, just as I had once been taught in the barracks. My mind swirled with memories of grizzled sergeants shouting commands, of long hours spent drilling footwork and stances. This time, I wouldn’t have to wait for someone to teach me—I already knew what to do.
The first lesson of any warrior is balance. Without it, even the most skilled swordsman will falter. I spent the first hour practicing my footwork, moving back and forth in a small clearing behind the shed. The movements were slow and deliberate, each step precise. I focused on maintaining a stable stance, ensuring that I could shift my weight smoothly without losing control.
At first, it felt awkward. My legs wobbled, my muscles burned, and my lungs struggled to keep up. But I pushed through the discomfort, forcing myself to repeat the movements over and over until they became second nature.
When I finally moved on to strikes, I started with the simplest forms. A high slash, a low thrust, a diagonal cut—each motion was slow and deliberate, focusing on form over speed. My body wasn’t ready for complex techniques yet, but I knew that mastering the basics was the key to everything else.
Every swing of the wooden sword sent a jolt through my arms, the unfamiliar strain of physical exertion reminding me of how far I had to go. In my previous life, my body had been honed through years of battle, each scar a testament to my strength. Now, I was starting from nothing.
But that wasn’t entirely true. I had something I hadn’t possessed before: the wisdom of experience.
I knew how to build muscle without overexerting myself. I knew the drills that would strengthen my core, improve my reflexes, and prepare me for the more advanced techniques to come. In the past, I had wasted years fumbling through trial and error, learning through failure. This time, I would train with purpose.
As I practiced, flashes of the battlefield filled my mind. I remembered the deafening clash of steel, the cries of the dying, and the unyielding discipline required to survive in the chaos of war. I had led men into battle, issuing commands with precision and purpose. I had faced foes stronger and faster than me, relying on my wits and training to outmaneuver them.
Those memories were both a source of strength and a grim reminder of what lay ahead. I wasn’t training to become a simple swordsman—I was preparing to wage a war of my own, one that would demand not just skill, but endurance, strategy, and resilience.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, my body was screaming in protest. My arms ached, my legs trembled, and my hands were raw from gripping the practice sword. I collapsed onto the grass, gasping for breath, sweat dripping down my face.
But despite the pain, I felt a sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
“Tomorrow,” I muttered to myself, staring up at the darkening sky. “Tomorrow, I’ll do more.”
I knew that consistency was key. In the days to come, I would push myself further each morning, strengthening my body and refining my technique. But training wasn’t just about physical strength—it was about discipline. If I couldn’t master myself, how could I hope to master the art of war?
As I lay on the grass, staring at the stars, I felt a flicker of hope. My body was weak now, but it wouldn’t stay that way. I had been given a second chance, a rare and precious gift.
This time, I wouldn’t waste it.
This time, I wouldn’t rise as a loyal soldier blindly following orders.
I would rise as a force of reckoning, a storm that would sweep through the kingdom and bring House Rithane to its knees.
And it all began here, with the swing of a wooden sword and the fire of vengeance burning in my chest.
**
Tactics and Strategy
While the physical demands of training consumed my mornings, my evenings were dedicated to a different battlefield—the mind. If I hoped to dismantle House Rithane, brute strength alone would never suffice. Their power was built on cunning and manipulation, a web of alliances and schemes that could not be untangled with a sword alone.
In my previous life, I had been a soldier—a leader of men on the battlefield. But I had been a pawn in the grander game of politics, unaware of the forces moving around me until it was too late. This time, I would learn to play their game, to anticipate every move and strike before they could react.
I started by reconstructing the future. Every battle, every alliance, every betrayal—I laid it all out in my mind like pieces on a chessboard. The ambush that killed the crown prince. The alliances House Rithane had forged to cement their position. The generals who had risen to power and those who had fallen.
I scribbled notes on scraps of paper, creating timelines and diagrams. Each event was a thread in the tapestry of the kingdom’s history, and I was determined to weave my own destiny into the fabric.
The crown prince's death, I realized, was the linchpin. If I could prevent his assassination, I could destabilize House Rithane’s plans from the start. But doing so would require more than just foreknowledge—it would require resources, influence, and allies willing to stand against the might of a noble house.
Reflecting on the wars I had fought, I identified the mistakes I had made in the past. There were battles I could have won with better planning, men I could have saved with smarter tactics. I analyzed my failures, dissecting each one to understand where I had gone wrong.
The memory of one particular siege came to mind—a grueling campaign where my lack of foresight had led to the deaths of hundreds. At the time, I had blamed the enemy’s superior numbers, but now I saw the truth: I had underestimated their supply lines, failed to anticipate their reinforcements.
That siege had been a lesson paid for in blood. This time, I would not make the same mistakes.
Valtheris was a kingdom of contrasts—rich farmland in the west, harsh mountain ranges in the north, bustling trade cities along the eastern coast. Each region had its own strengths and weaknesses, and I began to map them out in detail.
I remembered the choke points where armies had clashed, the supply routes that had sustained them, and the terrain that had determined their fates. Rivers, forests, mountains—each feature of the land could be a weapon if used correctly.
More importantly, I remembered the people who controlled these regions. Lords and generals, merchants and guild leaders—they were all pieces on the board, each with their own ambitions and vulnerabilities.
House Rithane’s power was built on three pillars: Military Dominance. Political Influence and Economic Power
With access to the kingdom’s largest private army, they controlled not only their own lands but also key strategic locations. Their soldiers were well-trained and disciplined, and their commanders were seasoned veterans.
Through decades of careful maneuvering, they had positioned themselves as indispensable to the crown. Their alliance with the second prince was the cornerstone of their strategy, giving them a direct line to the throne.
House Rithane’s wealth was unparalleled, stemming from their control of critical trade routes and resources. Their coffers funded their ambitions, ensuring that they could buy loyalty and silence opposition.
To bring them down, I would need to weaken each of these pillars, one at a time.
I couldn’t challenge House Rithane directly—not yet. Instead, I needed to focus on building my own foundation. That meant identifying allies, gathering resources, and laying the groundwork for the conflicts to come.
In the past, I had served under generals who valued loyalty over strategy, strength over cunning. This time, I would seek out those who understood the importance of both. I would align myself with men and women who had the skill and vision to challenge the status quo.
At night, I practiced military scenarios in my mind. I envisioned battles against larger forces, ambushes in narrow mountain passes, sieges on fortified cities. With each scenario, I refined my tactics, thinking of ways to outmaneuver the enemy.
I also considered the political moves I would need to make. How could I expose House Rithane’s corruption without endangering myself? Which nobles could I approach without drawing suspicion? How could I use the crown prince’s survival to shift the balance of power?
These questions haunted me, but they also fueled my determination.
I thought of the spies and informants I had encountered in my past life. Their work was often invisible, but it was no less vital. Information was the most powerful weapon in any conflict, and I would need to gather as much of it as possible.
This time, I wouldn’t rely solely on brute force. I would use deception, misdirection, and manipulation to achieve my goals.
As the weeks passed, my training—both physical and mental—began to show results. My body grew stronger, my movements more precise. My mind became sharper, my plans more detailed.
But I was still a boy in the eyes of the world, and that was an advantage I intended to exploit. Let them see me as a child, harmless and unassuming. Let them underestimate me.
They wouldn’t realize the storm brewing beneath the surface until it was too late.
This was only the beginning. The first step in a long and arduous journey.
I laid down my quill, staring at the rough sketches and notes spread across my desk. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the room.
The war wasn’t just on the battlefield. It was in every decision, every alliance, every whisper in the halls of power.
And I was ready to fight it.
**
The Beginning of Transformation
Weeks passed, and the rhythm of my days settled into a rigorous routine. Every morning, the rising sun found me behind our home, sword in hand, practicing the stances, strikes, and footwork that would lay the foundation of my future strength. Every evening, the dim light of a flickering candle illuminated my makeshift study as I pored over maps, strategies, and plans to rebuild my future.
In the quiet hours between, I played the role of the dutiful son—helping Barid in the fields, fetching water from the well, and listening to Lydia’s gentle admonishments when I worked too hard or forgot to eat. But even in those moments, my thoughts were never far from my goals.
Barid and Lydia had begun to notice the changes in me.
One evening, as I sat at the dining table with a bowl of stew in front of me, Lydia’s voice broke the silence. “You’ve been different lately, Illiad,” she said, her tone light but tinged with curiosity.
Barid looked up from his meal, nodding in agreement. “Your mother’s right. You’ve been training harder than I’ve ever seen, studying when most boys your age would be off playing. What’s gotten into you?”
For a moment, I hesitated. What could I tell them? That their son, who they thought was merely an earnest boy, carried the memories of a man who had died betrayed and broken? That I was preparing for a future they couldn’t even begin to imagine?
“I just…” I began, choosing my words carefully. “I want to be stronger. For you. For us.”
Barid frowned, his brow furrowing. “Stronger for what? We’re simple folk, Illiad. There’s no need for swords and tactics here.”
Lydia placed a gentle hand on his arm, her expression softening as she looked at me. “If it’s what you want, we’ll support you. But you’re still so young, Illiad. Don’t forget to enjoy your childhood.”
I forced a smile, nodding. “I won’t, Mother.”
But as I finished my meal and retreated to my room, her words lingered in my mind.
In the solitude of my room, I stared at the crude map I had drawn, its edges smudged from countless adjustments. Lydia and Barid wanted me to live a simple, happy life, but that wasn’t an option—not anymore.
The peace they wished for would be shattered if I failed. I couldn’t explain my resolve to them, not yet. But I would show them through my actions.
This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. It was about protecting the life they had given me, ensuring that no noble’s schemes would ever touch them again.
My training pushed me to the edge of my limits, and sometimes beyond. My body, still that of a boy, struggled to keep up with the demands I placed on it. My arms ached from endless drills, my legs burned from hours of footwork, and my fingers bled from gripping the wooden sword too tightly.
But pain was an old companion, and I welcomed it. Pain meant progress. Pain meant I was growing stronger, one step at a time.
I began incorporating exercises I had learned from veteran soldiers in my past life—push-ups, sit-ups, running laps around the village at dawn. At first, the villagers laughed at the sight of a boy running in circles, his face red with exertion. But I ignored their jeers. They didn’t matter. Only the future did.
As much as I focused on my body, I knew my mind was just as important. Each evening, I studied the tactics and strategies that had once been the domain of generals and commanders.
I reconstructed battles from memory, analyzing what had gone wrong and how they could have been won. I practiced solving riddles and puzzles, sharpening my ability to think critically and adapt to unexpected challenges.
I also began listening more carefully to the conversations of the villagers. Though their talk was often mundane—about crops, weather, or local gossip—it was an exercise in understanding human nature. Every word, every gesture, every subtle shift in tone was a clue to their thoughts and motivations.
This skill, I knew, would be invaluable when the time came to navigate the treacherous waters of noble politics.
One evening, as I was finishing my training in the clearing behind the shed, Barid approached me. He stood at the edge of the clearing for a moment, watching silently as I swung my wooden sword in precise, measured arcs.
“You’re working yourself too hard, Illiad,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm.
I lowered the sword, turning to face him. “I’m fine, Father.”
Barid stepped closer, his gaze steady. “You’ve always been a determined boy, but this… this is different. It’s like you’re carrying a weight too heavy for your shoulders. If something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”
For a moment, I was tempted to unburden myself, to tell him everything. But I knew it wasn’t the time. Barid was a good man, a strong man, but the truth would only bring him worry and pain.
“I just want to be ready for the future,” I said instead, my voice steady.
Barid studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “All right. But don’t lose yourself in this, Illiad. Life isn’t just about preparation—it’s about living, too.”
Later that night, as I sat at my desk sketching out a new strategy, Lydia appeared in the doorway. She held a small plate of bread and cheese, her expression soft but worried.
“You forgot to eat again,” she said, placing the plate beside me.
“Thank you, Mother,” I murmured, not looking up from my work.
She lingered for a moment, her eyes scanning the scattered papers and maps on my desk. “You’ve always been such a thoughtful boy,” she said quietly. “But don’t let that mind of yours run too far ahead. There’s more to life than what’s in front of you.”
Her words struck a chord, and for a moment, I felt the weight of my double life pressing down on me. But I forced a smile and nodded. “I’ll try, Mother.”
As she left, I picked up a piece of bread and stared at it, my thoughts racing. Lydia and Barid were my anchors, the reason I fought so hard. I wouldn’t let them down—not in this life.
The changes in me were undeniable, both to myself and to those around me. I was no longer the carefree boy I had been weeks ago. My resolve had hardened, my focus sharpened.
This was the beginning of something greater. The first steps of a transformation that would lead me from a lowly commoner to a force capable of toppling House Rithane.
But for now, I was just Illiad—a boy with a wooden sword, a head full of dreams, and a fire burning in his chest.