Elian Thornhill's world ended in a flash of pain. The 35-year-old strategist sat in his cluttered office, maps and military journals strewn across his desk, when a searing jolt gripped his chest. His vision blurred, the room spun, and darkness swallowed him whole.
Heart attack, he thought, clutching his shirt. Not now…
Then, light.
Elian's eyes snapped open. He wasn't in his office anymore. He sat on a throne of polished obsidian, carved with dragons and starlit runes, draped in crimson robes that felt foreign yet familiar. A heavy crown pressed against his temples. The air was thick with the clash of steel and shouts of panic. Before him stretched a grand throne room, its marble floor gleaming under a massive chandelier of glowing crystals. Stained glass windows depicted warriors wielding blazing swords, but the scene below was chaos—guards in silver armor battled cloaked figures wielding daggers that glinted with malice.
"What the hell?" Elian muttered, his voice deeper, resonant. He glanced at his hands—younger, calloused, not his own. A mirror on the wall reflected a stranger: a 25-year-old man with sharp features, piercing blue eyes, and a crown marking him as royalty.
Before he could process further, a translucent interface flickered into existence before his eyes, glowing with ethereal light.
[Welcome to the Faith System, King Elian Valorian.]
[Current Belief Points (BP): 10,000]
[Convert BP into material wealth to aid your kingdom. Options: Gold (1 BP = 100 gold), Aether Crystals (10 BP = 1 crystal), Artifacts (100–10,000 BP).]
Elian's mind raced. King? Faith System? Am I… reincarnated? The thought was absurd, yet the pain of a dagger grazing his arm snapped him back to reality. An assassin in a black cloak lunged from the shadows, aiming for his heart.
"Protect the king!" roared a guard, intercepting the blow but staggering under a second attacker's strike.
Elian ducked, instincts kicking in. He wasn't just a strategist anymore—he felt power coursing through him, a tingling warmth in his veins. Memories not his own surfaced: sword forms, Aether Energy, the skills of an Aether Knight at the Expert Realm. This body knew how to fight.
The interface pulsed, urging action. Elian focused, scanning the options. Gold wouldn't help now, and crystals needed time to use. Artifacts were his best bet. He willed the system to show him more.
[Common Sword: 100 BP]
[Rare Armor: 500 BP]
[Epic Aetherforged Blade: 1,000 BP]
[Legendary Crown of Command: 5,000 BP]
No time to hesitate. "Convert 1,000 BP to Epic Aetherforged Blade," Elian thought, and a surge of energy materialized in his hand. A magnificent sword appeared, its blade shimmering with blue Aether, runes pulsing along its edge. The weight felt perfect, amplifying the Aether Energy within him.
"Traitors!" Elian bellowed, his voice echoing with newfound authority. He leaped from the throne, the Aetherforged Blade humming as he swung. A wave of energy sliced through the air, cleaving an assassin's dagger in half and sending him sprawling. The guards rallied, their morale surging at their king's sudden prowess.
Elian moved with precision, his Earth-born strategic mind blending with the body's muscle memory. He parried a strike, countered with a thrust, and unleashed an Aether Slash, a technique that sent a crescent of blue energy tearing through two more attackers. The throne room became a whirlwind of steel and blood, but Elian's presence turned the tide.
"Stand down or die!" he shouted, his blade pointed at the remaining assassins. One hesitated, then dropped his weapon, but another charged, only to be felled by a guard's spear.
Within minutes, the throne room was secure. Bodies littered the floor, and the surviving guards knelt, panting but loyal. Elian's heart pounded, but he forced himself to stand tall, the Aetherforged Blade still glowing in his grip.
"Your Majesty," an elderly advisor in emerald robes approached, his beard trembling. "Are you unharmed?"
Elian nodded, catching his breath. "Who were they?" he demanded, his mind still grappling with his new reality.
"Duke Ravencrest's men, I suspect," the advisor, Lord Thalren, replied. "He's long coveted Valoria's Aether mines. This coup was his doing."
Elian frowned, piecing together fragments of the king's memories. Valoria, a small but resource-rich kingdom in the Starlit Plains, was a prize for ambitious nobles. He glanced at the system interface, now showing:
[Current BP: 9,000]
The blade had cost him 1,000 BP, but the faith of his guards and courtiers seemed to hold steady. He could feel their awe, their belief in their king's sudden strength fueling the system.
Before he could respond, a young messenger burst through the doors, his face pale. "Your Majesty! Urgent news from the border! The Ironhold Empire's armies are marching toward Valoria. They've allied with the Shadow Syndicate and demand our surrender within a week!"
Elian's blood ran cold. A coup was one thing, but a war with the Ironhold Empire, backed by assassins? This was no game. Yet, as he gripped the Aetherforged Blade, a spark of excitement flickered within him. On Earth, he'd orchestrated victories in boardrooms and war rooms. Now, with the Faith System and a kingdom at his command, he could build an empire to rival the gods.
"Summon the council," Elian ordered, his voice steady. "We prepare for war."
As the court scrambled to obey, Elian's gaze drifted to the stained glass windows, where a figure wielding a blazing sword stood triumphant. He wasn't just a king—he was a strategist reborn, and Valoria's enemies would soon learn what that meant.