Crownless Reincarnation: New World? Nah I'd win

Nayomi smirked faintly, floating beside him. "And if she isn't?"

Akamir's gaze hardened. "…Then I'll make sure she regrets ever breathing."

The dirt road stretched ahead, winding toward a line of hills where the horizon shimmered with heat.

The air carried the faint scent of smoke and iron. It was a sign of camps or forges not far away.

The general kept his head bowed, his stride brisk but cautious, as though every step was measured.

"The place you marked, my lord," he said quietly, "is a supply hub. Few know it exists. It's where Aure stores resources bound for their western front… and where certain shipments are hidden."

"Shipments?" Akamir asked, his voice sharp.

The general hesitated. "…I don't know for sure but…" he sighed. "Some say it's people."

Akamir's eyes narrowed behind the mask. Sylari's words flickered through his mind.

'Selling humans, selling the continent piece by piece.'

He clenched his fist, but his tone remained calm. "Good. Then we'll see with our own eyes."

Nayomi floated lazily at his side, but her gaze was cold. "You're walking straight into the nest, Akamir. If it's as important as he says, they won't leave it unguarded."

"Let them guard it," Akamir replied flatly. "I'll decide if they're worth fearing once I see them."

They pressed on, the path growing quieter as farmland gave way to untended scrub.

Soon, the faint sound of hammering drifted on the wind, followed by shouts muffled by distance.

The general slowed and crouched low, gesturing for Akamir to do the same.

They crept up a ridge, where the earth dipped into a concealed valley.

And there it was.

Rows of tents and wooden structures sprawled across the hollow, guarded by armored Aure soldiers.

Wagons rolled in and out, laden with crates and chained prisoners.

Men, women, even children—their wrists bound, their faces hollow.

They were herded like cattle, overseen by officers with whips at their sides.

Akamir's jaw tightened beneath his mask.

His fingers dug into the dirt of the ridge as he whispered, "So she wasn't lying."

Nayomi's playful demeanor was gone, her voice cutting like glass. "They're not even hiding it. An open market of flesh."

The general's scarred face twisted with disgust.

"They call it 'resource distribution.' Soldiers are forbidden from speaking of it. Those who ask questions disappear."

Akamir's gaze swept over the camp. He counted wagons, guards, exits, and weak points in a glance.

His mind pieced together patterns… schedules, supply routes, vulnerabilities.

Then his eyes stopped at a larger tent in the center of the camp.

Unlike the others, it was guarded by men in heavier armor, their spears gleaming with runes.

"What's in there?" Akamir asked.

The general lowered his head. "…High-value cargo. Nobles, mages, anyone who fetches a greater price."

Akamir said nothing for a long moment.

The wind tugged at his cloak, the cries of the captives echoing faintly below.

Finally, he stood, brushing the dirt from his hands.

"We've confirmed Sylari's truth." His voice was calm, too calm. "But seeing it is different."

Nayomi tilted her head. "You're not thinking of storming it now, are you?"

Akamir adjusted his mask, his tone flat and decisive.

"I have better plans."

Akamir drew in a deep breath as he summoned his crown.

From his shadow, two mimickers appeared as they waited for his command.

Akamir pointed at the two nearest soldiers to his position.

"Go kill them." He ordered, looking at the general. "Make no noise."

The general nodded once as he quickly rushed in.

The other two mimickers moved in with him.

The general brought out a knife as he attacked from behind.

Before the guards could even sense anything their necks were slit open.

The mimickers quickly began to eat out the two soldiers.

And in just half an hour they had now taken their form.

Akamir slowly stood up as he looked down at the entire camp.

"At most five hundred soldiers." He mumbled, his voice soft. "Sounds doable."

As soon as he spoke more mimickers burst out of his shadow.

He quickly rushed towards the other three that were moving in.

"What are you planning?" Nayomi asked, narrowing her eyes. "You don't—."

"Yes, I am." Akamir replied, looking at her. "I am taking over this place."

Nayomi floated beside him, lips curling into a sly grin despite her warning tone.

"You really are insane," she said, her sky blue eyes glinting. "Five hundred soldiers, a fortified camp, enchanted guards… and you're going to turn it into your playground."

"Not a playground," Akamir corrected flatly, his eyes never leaving the valley. "I am just taking over the kingdom starting from here."

Below, the soldiers moved with practiced rhythm… patrolling, whipping captives, barking orders.

They had no idea what was coming.

Akamir raised his hand.

The mimickers that were more than a dozen now—emerged from his shadow, writhing like liquid shapes running towards the soldiers.

---

In just two hours, half of the soldiers were replaced by the mimickers.

They blended seamlessly, walking like soldiers, nodding to comrades, even carrying crates. None were questioned.

From above the ridge, Akamir and Nayomi watched.

Already, one patrol was missing.

A faint scream was cut short behind a storage tent, followed by silence.

Minutes later, the same patrol re-emerged—only now their steps were a little too uniform, their eyes a little too empty.

Slowly but surely things were coming back to Akamir's plan.

---

By sunset the entire camp's soldiers had turned into mimickers.

The so-called slaves were all confused and fearful when the soldiers all stopped together.

They all moved from their position and walked towards the road leading inside the camp.

Akamir walked inside the place, his face still covered with the mask.

The mimickers all bowed as Akamir passed through them without any resistance.

The camp, once filled with the cruel rhythm of Aure's soldiers, now moved to the silent command of Akamir.

Akamir looked at the slaves with pity in his eyes but he didn't say anything.

He just mentally ordered his soldiers to feed them properly for now.

He would see what he can do for them later on.

Akamir was much more interested in the slaves inside the larger tent.

The soldiers guarding them were already dealt with so he found no resistance as he walked in.

Inside the large tent, the air was heavy.

It reeked of sweat, blood, and the faint metallic tang of old magic.

Rows of cages lined the space, sturdier than the crude pens outside.

Iron bars reinforced with runic chains held prisoners who bore signs of nobility and power.

Some looked up when Akamir entered. Others kept their gazes fixed to the ground, unwilling to hope.

But one figure at the far end caught his attention immediately.

A woman, shackled with runes etched directly into her skin.

Her golden hair, filthy but unmistakably radiant, clung to her bruised face.

Even in such a state, a faint light pulsed from her, like a caged flame refusing to die.

When Akamir's masked gaze met her, the woman's lips curled into a bitter smile.

"So," the prisoner rasped, her voice hoarse but carrying a weight that silenced the others. "Another buyer? Here to haggle for a soul, maybe two?"

The words dripped with venom, yet the light in her eyes was fire, not surrender.

Akamir stopped in front of the cage, studying her.

He didn't answer right away, only observed.

He walked towards her and made a chair out of mana with the help of the mask.

Akamir sat down on the chair right in front of her like he owned the place.

"I am not your enemy." Akamir said, his voice cool. "The soldiers in this camp are all under my control."

She looked at him with wariness. "What does that—."

"I own this place, your life and your freedom." Akamir cut her off. "Now, mind introducing yourself?"

She didn't speak as she kept on staring at him.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to something harder.

"Your name."

The woman's lips pressed together, her silence almost defiant.

Then, after a long pause, she spoke.

"…Serenya." Her voice cracked, but her eyes never wavered. "Daughter of Aure's third line. Once called the Saint of Light."

The air in the tent seemed to shift at her words.

Even the other prisoners stirred, whispers breaking out in disbelief.

Akamir tilted his head slightly, the gears already turning in his mind. "What does Saint of Light mean?"

"The bloodline of a god." Nayomi replied in her stead. "She is the descendant of a god."

"So Aure locked away their own saint," he murmured. "How poetic. The family selling humans caging their own blood for a higher price."

Serenya's smile turned razor-thin.

"Not for a price. For fear." Her gaze locked with his. "Because I would have stopped them."

Akamir leaned forward as he looked at her.

"Who is Sylari to you?"

She remained silent as her breath turned rigid and uneven.

After a long second she replied. "My aunt." She whispered. "And the one who sent me here."