Chapter 2: The First Steps of a Tyrant Reborn
The forest whispered with unseen voices. Leaves rustled in the twilight breeze, their golden hues shifting under the dying light of the sun. The scent of damp earth and woodsmoke lingered, carried by the wind like a distant memory. Somewhere beyond the trees, water trickled over stones, the sound weaving through the stillness like the soft strumming of a lute.
He stood there, still, watching his own hands.
They were young.
The hands of a boy, not a ruler. Not a tyrant.
Smooth skin, untouched by the weight of conquest, unscarred by the betrayals of war. He curled his fingers, testing the strength within them, and found himself disgusted by their frailty. These were not the hands of the man he had been.
And yet, they were his.
The Dominion System’s words still burned in his mind, etched as though by fire.
[To build an empire of peace, you must first bring order.]
He had spent a lifetime shaping the world, carving his vision into the bones of history, and for what? To be struck down by the one man who had once called him brother? To watch everything he had built reduced to cinders because the people could not understand what was necessary for their own salvation?
No.
This time, he would not fail.
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the last vestiges of daylight bathed the treetops in molten gold. The world before him was untouched, unbroken. A land yet to know the weight of his rule. He would carve his path through it, as he always had. He would bring order, no matter the cost.
But first, he needed to survive.
His body—this new, untested vessel—was weak. He could feel it in every sluggish movement, every breath that came too light, too unsteady. He had been given youth, but not strength. Not yet.
The System’s presence lingered at the edge of his mind, waiting, watching. A tool to be used, or a chain yet unseen? Time would tell. For now, it had given him purpose.
[System Functions Available: Basic Analysis, Territory Recognition, Adaptive Growth.]
His lips curled. A kingdom must start somewhere.
He strode forward, pressing through the underbrush, his bare feet sinking into the soft earth. The forest stretched endless before him, the unknown yawning wide, but he did not hesitate. He had walked darker roads. He had faced greater foes.
He would not falter.
Not this time.
----------------------------------------
Days passed in an unbroken rhythm of survival. He scavenged for food, learning which plants bore fruit and which left his stomach twisted in agony. He drank from streams that ran cold and pure, their waters laced with the crisp taste of mountain snow. Shelter was harder—his first attempts were crude, branches woven together to shield against the night, but he adapted, as he always had.
The System granted no immediate power, no divine gifts of strength or magic. It merely observed, noting his progress, whispering insights at the edge of his thoughts. [Adaptive Growth] rewarded persistence, and he felt the difference after each trial. The ache in his limbs dulled. His steps grew firmer, more precise. His body, once weak, learned.
He scavenged for resources, completing minor tasks that the System tracked. One such task required him to cook and consume a set amount of food. With patience and careful foraging, he fulfilled the quest’s conditions. The reward was unexpected—a ring of simple design, silver with a faintly glowing gemstone embedded within. The System’s notification echoed in his mind:
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
[Quest Completed: Sustenance for Survival]
Reward: Ring of Minor Fortitude (+1 Strength, +1 Constitution)]
He slid the ring onto his finger, feeling a faint pulse of energy. It was not much, but it was a start.
Still, this existence of bare survival was not enough. He needed information. He needed tools. And, most importantly, he needed people. A ruler without subjects was nothing more than a fool talking to trees.
So, he set his sights beyond the forest.
----------------------------------------
He had been roaming and foraging for what felt like miles, each step pressing him further into the unknown. The first sign of others came with the sound of low voices—guttural, rough, and laced with cruel amusement. He pressed himself against the bark of a thick oak, peering through the foliage. A clearing lay ahead, firelight casting flickering shadows upon brutish figures.
Orcs.
The word struck him like a hammer. A race unknown to him, yet in an instant, the Dominion System flooded his mind with knowledge—history, culture, strengths, and weaknesses. He staggered slightly, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information, but recovered quickly.
They loomed large, tusked and clad in scavenged armor, their muscular forms bristling with raw strength. A group of five, dragging something—or someone—across the dirt. A woman, bound at the wrists, struggling against their grip. Her clothes were torn, her face streaked with grime, but her eyes burned with fury despite her situation.
One of the orcs laughed, shoving her forward. “She fights hard. Will make a fine prize.”
The others chuckled darkly. The meaning was clear.
His fingers curled. A younger, angrier version of himself would have rushed in, blade in hand, cutting down any who stood in his way. But this was not his old world. This was not his old body. He was unarmed, untrained in this new vessel, and outnumbered.
Brute force was not an option. But power? Power came in many forms.
Straightening his tunic, he stepped forward into the firelight, hands raised in an easy, open gesture.
“My friends,” he said, a warm smile playing on his lips. “You seem to be in the middle of a most interesting endeavor. Might I join you?”
The orcs stared at him. Then they erupted into laughter—deep, guttural guffaws that shook their broad shoulders. One even slapped his knee, as if this was the greatest jest he'd ever heard. "You hear that? The little whelp wants to join us!" another bellowed between gasps of mirth. "Maybe he thinks we're forming a choir!"
A deep, belly-aching kind of laughter that spoke of absolute ridicule.
The leader, still grinning, hefted his axe with a scoff. "You? A scrawny human, trying to talk your way in? I've met goblins with more sense! Maybe I should save you the trouble and cut you down where you stand."
He flinched, stepping back. “Wait! Wait!”
His hand shot into his tunic, pulling free the Ring of Minor Fortitude. He held it aloft, letting the firelight catch its faint glow. “Do you see this powerful artifact?”
The Dominion System surged in his mind, feeding him knowledge in an instant—Orc culture, their belief in divine relics. He processed it in a heartbeat. With a sharp breath, he pressed on.
“This was given to me by the great Gor’makhal, the Warlord of the Eternal Hunt!”
A pause.
The orcs’ laughter faded.
Their eyes flickered toward the ring. Their leader narrowed his gaze, stepping forward, inspecting it closely. The tension hung thick in the air.
For a moment, he wondered if this gambit would actually work. The idea of being hacked apart so soon wasn’t particularly pleasant.
Then, the orc leader grunted, lowering his weapon slightly. He snatched the ring from the human’s hand, slipping it onto his thick finger. A pause—then a slow, considering nod. He flexed his hand, feeling the faint surge of strength, however minor.
The human smiled, seizing the moment. "Do you feel it? The power thrumming through your veins? That is but a fraction of what awaits those who walk beside me. There is more where that came from—if you take me in and guarantee my safety."
The orc leader studied him, tusked mouth twisting in thought. Perhaps, just perhaps, this human was more than he seemed.
[Persuasion Successful: Influence over Orc Tribe Established.]
[Experience Gained: +200 EXP]
**[Skill Tree Unlocked: [Diplomatic Tact] - This skill enhances the user's ability to navigate social interactions, improving persuasion, negotiation, and the ability to read and influence others. It grants a higher success rate when dealing with hostile or skeptical parties, making diplomacy a viable alternative to brute force.
[New Quest Available: Prove Your Worth Among the Orcs]
A slow smile curled his lips. The game had begun.