Rebirth of the Tyrant: The Exiled King’s Revenge

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faintest trace of smoke from the dying embers in the village hearths. Kairos—no, Vaelthorn—stood at the threshold of the small cottage, his golden eyes surveying the land before him.

It was a simple village, unremarkable in every way. Yet, in his mind, it was the beginning of something far greater. The empire had been reduced to ruins, factions clawing at its remains like starving vultures. But an empire was not built on land alone. It was built on **fear, loyalty, and power.**

And he would reclaim all three.

---

### **Testing the Body of a Reborn Tyrant**

Kairos stepped forward, his bare feet pressing into the soft dirt. His muscles ached, his movements sluggish compared to what he once commanded. His old body had been a temple of war, sculpted through years of conquest. This one… was a mere shadow of what he had been.

Still, a shadow could be sharpened into a blade.

He dropped into a low stance, steadying his breath. His fingers curled into fists as he launched into a series of controlled movements. Strike. Pivot. Dodge. Counter.

The first punch was weak. The second lacked stability.

His jaw clenched.

**Unacceptable.**

His old self would have crushed an enemy's skull with a single blow. This body? It was untrained, frail. But there was something here, something **new**. His movements were **lighter, faster**. His reactions, though rusty, were **sharper** than they had ever been.

This body was **not a limitation**. It was an **opportunity**.

---

### **The Truth About the Fallen Empire**

"You're going to hurt yourself."

Kairos halted mid-movement, turning his gaze toward the girl who had saved him.

She stood at the door, arms crossed, a skeptical expression on her face.

He straightened, exhaling slowly. "I need to be ready."

"For what?"

His smirk was slow, deliberate. "For war."

The girl sighed, shaking her head. "You still haven't told me who you really are."

Kairos studied her. **She didn't know.** Of course, she didn't. Fifteen years had erased his name from the minds of the weak.

He took a step toward her.

"I am the rightful Emperor of Celestia," he said, his voice smooth but unyielding.

Her breath caught. "That's impossible. The emperor—"

"Was betrayed," he cut in. "Murdered by his own council. But death was not enough to stop me."

Silence.

Then, a hesitant whisper. "If that's true, then… the empire—"

"What remains of it?" He tilted his head. "Tell me everything."

She swallowed before speaking. "After Aldric took the throne, everything fell apart. The Iron Lords rebelled, claiming the eastern territories. The Veilborn seized the ruins of the capital. The Sun's Children… they say they have the bloodline of the lost emperor."

Kairos laughed—cold, amused.

"False kings. Pretenders." He exhaled, a glint of steel in his gaze. "None of them deserve the throne."

---

### **The Journey to Duskfall Begins**

"The closest city," he said, "where is it?"

The girl hesitated. "Duskfall. It's controlled by the Iron Lords."

Good.

He had been wondering who to start with.

"I need supplies," he said.

"You're serious?" She frowned. "You're going to walk into an Iron Lord-controlled city with no plan, no weapons?"

Kairos smiled. "Why would I need a weapon?"

She stared at him. "Because they'll kill you?"

"They won't," he said simply. "They won't even see me coming."

The empire had forgotten him.

It was time to **remind them.**

---

### **The Road is Not Kind to the Weak**

The road to Duskfall was long, stretching through untamed land that had once been under his rule. Now, it was lawless, crawling with bandits and deserters.

The empire's decay was **everywhere**.

Collapsed waystations. Abandoned homes. Old banners, torn and trampled in the dirt.

Kairos walked with steady purpose, his golden eyes scanning the road ahead.

Then, he heard it.

Screams.

His pace didn't falter.

A clearing came into view. A caravan had been ambushed—bodies littered the ground, weapons gleaming in the early morning light.

Five men stood among the corpses, their armor dented, their weapons dripping with fresh blood. **Bandits**.

One of them—a tall, scarred brute—turned toward Kairos, a twisted grin splitting his face.

"Well, look what we have here, boys," the bandit sneered. "Another traveler, all alone."

Kairos said nothing.

The bandits chuckled, stepping forward, weapons raised. "Hand over everything you got, and maybe we'll let you live."

Kairos sighed.

These men were small. **Inconsequential.**

Once, people had **trembled at the sound of his name**.

Now, a few common thieves thought him weak.

It was almost insulting.

The scarred bandit stepped closer, raising his blade. "Did you hear me?"

Kairos moved.

In a **blink**, he closed the distance. His body was light, faster than they could react. His fingers **snapped forward**, gripping the man's throat with an iron grip.

The bandit's eyes bulged. He tried to pull away, but Kairos's grip **tightened**.

"You spoke too much," Kairos murmured.

With a swift motion, he **drove his knee into the man's ribs**, sending him crashing to the ground.

The others hesitated.

"Kill him!" one of them shouted.

Kairos **smirked**.

Let them try.

The first came at him with a dagger—**too slow**. Kairos twisted, grabbing the man's wrist and **dislocating it with a sharp crack**. The bandit screamed, but Kairos had already **taken his blade**, spinning it effortlessly before **driving it into the next attacker's throat**.

Blood sprayed across the dirt.

The remaining three stumbled back, eyes wide.

"Monster," one of them whispered.

Kairos **tilted his head**.

"No," he said simply.

Then he **moved again**—and the killing began.