That Time I Got Reincarnated as a King (Old Version)

Dawn arrived in Emberleaf not as a whisper, but a full celebration. Sunlight filtered through the tree canopy in soft golds and greens, catching on fluttering streamers made from dyed bark and mana-thread. Crystal lanterns—some pulsing with soft flame, others glowing with cool light—hung from branches, dancing in the breeze. The scent of baked roots, sweet moss cakes, and roasting herbs wrapped around the village like a warm embrace.

Kael was ripped from sleep with all the subtlety of a thunder spell.

"WAKE UP! Festival time!" Gobrinus bellowed, diving into his hut like a berry-stained whirlwind. He was already covered in tribal war paint and streaks of mashed fruit.

Rimuru jolted upright from Kael's pillow and launched onto his head, already adorned with a lopsided crown of woven leaves and wildflowers. She pulsed excitedly.

Kael groaned, dragging himself up. "What time is it?"

"Festival o'clock," Gobrinus answered, as if that explained everything.

Outside, Emberleaf buzzed with life. Goblins raced to finish last-minute decorations. A group of younglings ran past with glowroot torches they definitely weren't supposed to have. Nyaro perched stoically atop the training hut, surveying the chaos like a bored noble watching a village fair. Even Nanari, ever the voice of reason, was muttering about fire safety while lighting sconces with a touch of her mana-threaded gloves.

Kael stretched and stepped into the light. "I declare this festival… probably not safe."

Great Sage:
"Festival rating: 12% chaos, 88% joy. Acceptable."

Kael smirked. "That's practically a miracle."

The festival's main square had been converted into a vibrant sprawl of games, food stalls, and makeshift arenas. Kael wandered toward the slime track, where Rimuru had already taken her position at the starting line with three other slimes of various shades—visitors from the surrounding woods.

A goblin referee lifted a large mushroom.

"On your mark… set—"

A painted fruit disguised as a slime rolled onto the track.

"That's not a slime," Kael deadpanned.

The referee stared. "Looks slimy."

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Rimuru launched forward, dissolved the fake fruit with a precise pop of magic, then returned to the line.

"Still hungry," she projected with glowing letters.

The whistle blew.

Slimes raced—or oozed—forward at varying speeds. Rimuru, of course, won by a landslide. Nyaro, acting as referee, swatted one slow contestant gently off the track with a paw.

Nearby, Gobrinus ran the pie-throwing contest. Targets were painted boards shaped like noble faces. The goblins cheered every time a pie hit one of them square in the eye. Nanari passed by muttering about dignity and sanitation.

In another corner, Zelganna was leading a log wrestling competition. Kael entered, full of confidence, and was immediately thrown by a six-year-old goblin girl half his size. Rimuru projected the word "OUCH" in glittery text over his head.

Laughter filled the air. So did song.

The goblins weren't just celebrating survival—they were celebrating life.

By sunset, the village gathered around the fire pit at the plaza's heart. Goblin children sat on logs and grass, eyes wide. Bokku stood at the center, his old cloak fluttering with each gesture.

"It began with a prince," Bokku said, voice low and rhythmic. "A strange prince, with a monster's friend and a crown made of kindness. He named us. He saved us. He made us believe we weren't just goblins—we were people."

Gobrinus interrupted dramatically with sound effects.

"SHOOM! And then he summoned a fireball the size of a mountain—"

"Citation needed," Nanari said flatly, scribbling notes in the background.

Kael sat near the flames, Rimuru coiled around his shoulders like a glowing scarf. Nyaro lay nearby, eyes half-closed but alert.

When they asked Kael to speak, he rose slowly.

"This fire used to be a flicker," he said. "Now it burns brighter every day. But it's not mine. It's ours. You made it real."

Silence. Then cheers erupted.

Midway through the feast—just as Gobrinus attempted to balance three mushroom pies on his head—a new presence stirred the air.

A group of demi-human scouts arrived, cautiously stepping into the edge of the firelight. Foxfolk with sleek ears. An antelope-woman with spiral horns. A cloaked figure with bark-like skin and faintly glowing eyes.

Nanari tensed, recognizing the symbols on their cloaks—reclusive tribes from a distant, wild territory.

Kael stepped forward.

"We've got food. And fire. If you're not here to ruin either, you're welcome."

The antelope-woman tilted her head. "You don't treat us like guests."

Kael smiled. "That's because you're people."

She stared at him for a moment longer—then sat.

Others followed.

One tried to pet Rimuru. Nyaro growled once, and Kael calmly raised a hand to keep him still. "We play nice."

Food passed. Words flowed. Laughter joined.

And something subtle shifted in the air.

A bridge, invisible but real.

Later that night, Kael lay on the grass outside the village, where the festival glow dimmed and stars began to claim the sky. Rimuru glowed a soft blue beside him, making little pulses with every breath he took.

Nyaro was curled on his other side, tail flicking like a metronome.

Nanari walked by with a blanket. She didn't speak—just dropped it on him and kept walking.

Gobrinus was face-first in a pie nearby.

Kael stared up at the sky.

"We made it another year," he whispered.

Great Sage:
"Correction: You did more than survive. You created culture."

Kael smiled.

"If this is just the start…" he murmured. "What comes next might change everything."

And above Emberleaf, the stars listened.