I Got Reincarnated as a Gluttonous King with a System

The banquet hall was everything I'd come to expect from this place: opulent, suffocating, and full of people I didn't trust.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in soft light, illuminating long tables piled high with roasted meats, fresh fruits, and steaming loaves of bread. The air buzzed with laughter and conversation, but beneath the polished smiles and polite words, I could feel the tension.

This was not a celebration. It was a test.

Across the room, Duke Eravon's eyes flickered across to mine for a moment. I focused on him, keeping my eyes on his. He looked so serene, unreadable, and yet, somehow it was all making my skin crawl. He hadn't spoken to me since that council meeting, but he had an odd presence over me, as if a shadow loomed just beyond reach.

"Your Majesty," a voice said to my right.

I turned to see a tall, elegant noblewoman whose auburn hair was swept into an intricate braid. Her emerald gown sparkled under the chandeliers and her smile as sharp as the dagger probably hidden in her sleeve.

Lady Ceryna" I said, bowing my head.

She raised a glass of wine, her eyes sparkling with merriment. "You look. remarkably well, considering the events of the past few days. I dare say the rumors of your demise have been greatly exaggerated.".

I smiled thinly, my hands twitching to roll my eyes. "Rumors have a way of growing legs, don't they?"

"Indeed," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "Though one does wonder how you survived such a mortal wound. Divine intervention, perhaps?"

The comment was not innocent. None of them were.

You might say that, I said smoothly, not wanting to let her see the reaction. Although I thought that the gods preferred open-handedness in matters of court intrigue.

Her laughter was bright and melodious; but it had never reached those eyes. "Pity," she said now. "I should have liked to see the divine retribution visited on certain. undeserving parties.".

Her eyes flicked across toward Eravon, and I could read something like the faintest edge of disdain across her face. Interesting.

The night dragged on, and I played at being a king: smiled when I should, raised my glass at the proper times, and chatted with nobles whose names I couldn't recall. It felt like a balancing act on a razor's edge, each word and gesture calculated to keep the illusion intact.

But beneath the surface was unraveling.

The memory fragments. The weight of Alaric's crown. The locked Regression skill taunting me from the edges of my mind. And then there was the growing hunger—the faint, gnawing sensation that came with Gluttony.

I had not used the skill since the assassins, but it lingered there like a low hum of anticipation beneath my skin.

As I walked up the hallway, a couple of servants passed me carrying a roasted boar with golden skin, glowing in the fire light. Its scent hits me for a moment as I stepped dead in my tracks.

Something inside me stirred—primal, insistent.

Skill Notice: Gluttony Reactivation Possible. Do you wish to enable auto-absorption?

"No" I whispered to myself, my head shaking.

"Your Majesty?" Gregor's voice pierced through the fog, jerking me back into reality.

And heaved an irritated breath: She blinked, realizing he stood there beside her, his brow furrowed with concern. "You seemed.....distracted," he said softly.

"I'm fine," I lied, standing up straight. "Just. tired."

He did not appear to believe it, but nodded and stepped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The sound of breaking glass shook me back to reality. A servant had stumbled on the way of the far table, and a tray of wine goblets crashed to the floor. It was not uncommon, but it was in the way it had happened that my instincts prickled.

I followed the servant's gaze and saw a figure slipping out of the hall's side door, their movements too quick and deliberate to be casual.

Gregor," I whispered, keeping my voice low.

Yes, Your Majesty?

"I'm going to stretch my legs. Stay here and keep an eye on things."

He hesitated, knowing to defer to protocol but showing concern he bowed his head. "As you command."

The side door opened into a narrow corridor, stone walls damp and cold. Torches flickered in their brackets, casting long shadows that danced as I moved.

I didn't know what exactly I was looking for, but I had to continue.

It was a corridor, opening to a storage room full of barrels containing wine and crates with stocks. I saw it, initially, as empty, yet as I entered it myself, I caught the faintest sound of movement, a scuffing of a boot against stone.

"Who is there?" I shouted, my voice ringing off the walls.

It was silent for a moment, and then out from the darkness emerged a figure.

It was a man dressed in plain clothes, but the way he carried himself set off alarm bells in my head. His stance was too steady, his movements too controlled. Not a servant.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice mocking as he bowed low. "Forgive me for intruding on your evening."

"And you are?" I said, narrowing my eyes.

He stood up straight, his face only slightly wrinkling into a thin smile. "A messenger," he said. "Though I suppose you might call me other things depending on how much life is worth to you."

In one smooth movement, he drew a dagger from his sheath, its blade shining dully in the torches.

I did not have time to think. My body acted on instinct, and my hand shot to the hilt of my sword by my side.

He lunged at me and I parried, the clang of steel filling the small room. I was too slow for him, but I'd practiced just enough with a blade to hold my own against his ferocity.

"You nobles," he sneered as we clashed again. "Always so sure of yourselves. Always so blind."

I did not utter one word, my gaze nailed on him. Not a knight. Never an ordinary mercenary also. His strikes were so accurate and even precise.

But he underestimated me.

With a burst of strength, he caught my blade and twisted over it, sending it sliding to the floor. I followed through into a kick to his chest, sending him sprawling.

Before he could even catch his breath, I drove my blade into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

"Talk," I said, leaning close. "Who sent you?"

His smile didn't falter, even as blood gathered beneath him. "You already know, don't you?

Eravon's name rose in my mind.

But before I could push any further, the man's hand shot up to his mouth, something small and dark clutched between his fingers. By the time I realized what it was, it was too late. A faint hissing sound came from his lips. His body went limp. Poison.

 I pulled back, my chest heaving. The bloodied face of the assassin stared up at me, lifeless but still mockingly.

Gregor's voice echoed out from the corridor, echoing louder with his approach. "Your Majesty! Are you— "

"I'm all right" I said moving back quickly. But inside, I was not. The attack was not random. It was calculated and deliberate, and it confirmed what I had suspected all night. Duke Eravon was only watching.

He was pulling at the strings. And now, he knew I was watching, too.