I Got Reincarnated as a Gluttonous King with a System

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—his memory—and 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—or 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—"

"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—not 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.

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—

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—

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— 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?