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

The sign was crooked. That was the first thing Kael noticed.

Carved from scrapwood and stained with beetle juice, it hung at a proud—but definitely tilted—angle over the tavern's wide doorway. The name, scorched in shaky lettering, read:

Gobrinus's Grog & Gobstories

Kael stood outside with Rimuru perched on his head and Nyaro flanking his side like a silent bouncer. The tavern's wooden walls looked uneven, the paint was still wet in places, and the door creaked like it wasn't sure it wanted to open yet. But the air buzzed with energy.

Inside, Gobrinus was pacing behind a makeshift bar—a wide slab of polished rootwood set on top of stacked barrels. He looked like he might explode from either nerves or pride.

"Kael!" Gobrinus shouted, tripping over a broom and catching himself on a cauldron. "You came early!"

"I live here," Kael deadpanned, stepping inside. The place smelled like pepperroot, steamed moss, and… something spicy that probably wasn't legal in all provinces.

Rimuru wobbled happily and adjusted the bark hat she wore like a crown. Nyaro slinked behind the counter and immediately curled up on the shelf, refusing to acknowledge any orders placed near him.

The tavern was chaotic in all the right ways. Hand-carved stools ringed circular tables made of salvaged door panels. A mana-crystal jukebox—a gift from Nanari—glowed erratically in the corner, humming as it tried to find a rhythm. Above the bar hung garlands of dried mushrooms and glowing feathers. The centerpiece was a cauldron bubbling with Ember Ale—nonalcoholic, spicy, and likely to burn your nose hairs clean off.

Beastkin and goblins trickled in, curious and laughing. A sprite flitted past Kael's ear carrying a spoon. Someone had already spilled something on the floor.

Kael stepped onto the small makeshift stage and raised a wooden mug.

"To loud tales," he said, "weird drinks, and people who stayed."

Rimuru flared pink in celebration.

The cheer that followed shook the rafters.

Kael didn't say anything else—he just raised his cup with a grin, and the whole tavern followed.

Laughter. Mugs clinking. Rimuru wiggling in celebration on the bar counter. For a moment, Emberleaf felt invincible.

The sun dipped low, painting Emberleaf in gold and copper. Inside the tavern, firelight flickered from enchanted sconces and dancing candles. Shadows leapt across the uneven walls, giving every story a little more magic.

The tavern had filled quickly—goblins perched on stools and beams, beastkin lounged against barrels, and even a few spritelings clung to the ceiling, their tiny wings buzzing softly.

At the center of it all, a goblin bard stood atop an overturned crate, gesturing wildly with a spoon as he spun his tale.

"…and then Kael raised his staff—whoosh!—and the fifty-foot mushroom monster exploded! BOOM! Spores everywhere! Even turned the sky purple for three days!"

"That didn't happen," Kael said flatly from his table.

"Historical interpretation!" the bard countered, earning a round of supportive claps.

Kael sighed and leaned back, sipping his Ember Ale. It wasn't bad, actually—tasted like fire and cinnamon. Rimuru floated beside him, projecting exaggerated illustrations of the story into the air: a heroic Kael slaying a mushroom the size of a mountain, lightning bolts and all.

The room erupted into laughter.

Next, a sprite stepped forward, her voice soft but clear.

"I bring a tale from the western glades," she said. "Of flame spirits and forgotten kings, who once ruled the canopy but were lost to silence. Only firelight remembers them now."

As she spoke, Rimuru projected glowing silhouettes in the air—kings with ember crowns, dancing flame spirits, a forest that breathed like lungs. The room fell quiet, enraptured.

Kael watched it all quietly. Something about the moment struck him.

They're not just laughing. They're remembering.

Stories had power here. They were becoming the memory of Emberleaf—the living legacy of a village that had started as a spark.

Great Sage:
"Observation: Story dissemination is now a core method of cultural transmission. Recommend: continued support."

Kael chuckled. "That's your way of saying this is working, huh?"

Rimuru bounced once, then projected a sparkling word into the air: YES.

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The crowd erupted again, and for a little while, stories filled the room like wildfire—every tale brighter than the last.

The laughter from the main hall dimmed behind a curtain of moss-laced fabric as Kael stepped into the back room of the tavern—his private corner, if not in title, then in spirit.

A small desk sat beneath a stained-glass window, where shifting colors from the tavern lights outside painted the surface in streaks of red, green, and gold. A single candle flickered beside a leather-bound book—its cover rough and unfinished, its title etched in careful, uneven strokes:

The History of Emberleaf – First Edition

Kael ran a finger over the letters.

Nanari had dropped it off earlier that day, a quiet gift, no fuss. A few pages were already filled—mostly dates, quotes, odd diagrams of goblin inventions and Rimuru's more questionable slime tricks.

Kael sat down, opened the book, and started writing.

"Winter Year 2, Month of Verdant Ash. Gobrinus's tavern opens. Rimuru wins her sixth slime race. First sprite alliance reached. Ember Ale tastes better than it sounds."

Great Sage:
"Entry categorized. Suggest inserting tag: Cultural Milestone – Community Infrastructure. Also recommend: 'Trade with Beastkin – Success Rate: 93%.'"

Kael laughed under his breath. "You take all the poetry out of this, you know."

"I am not calibrated for metaphor."

Kael dipped his quill again, writing slowly. Carefully.

He paused.

Then whispered aloud, "If we're remembered wrong… did we still do it right?"

Silence.

Great Sage:
"Legacy is not written by accuracy. It is shaped by meaning."

Kael stared at the page for a long moment. Then nodded.

He turned to the next page and drew a simple, wobbly image: a slime with a crown, a goblin standing proud, and a panther curled at their feet.

The ink bled slightly from the pressure of his quill.

But it felt… right.

Kael was halfway through a second bowl of Emberroot stew—spicy, slightly crunchy, and weirdly fizzy—when the flutter of wings broke through the tavern's din.

A shadow passed the lanterns. Rimuru looked up from her perch on the bar and chirped a warning.

Kael turned just in time to see a sleek, violet-plumed courier bird land on the open windowsill. It flared its wings with practiced drama and clicked its beak twice, presenting a sealed scroll tied with forest-green thread.

Nanari, already nearby with a tankard of glowing water, muttered, "That's an Emberhollow royal courier. Don't open it near the soup."

Kael took the scroll carefully. The wax bore the Queen's personal seal—half-sun, half-crescent.

He broke it.

Prince Kael Drayke, A Scourge has awakened. Location uncertain. Whispers point to either Superbia or Invidia. The Court is rattled. Remain alert. Things are shifting. —E.

Kael read it twice, then rolled the parchment closed and tucked it inside his sleeve.

Outside the window, the bird launched into the air and vanished into the night.

He turned back to the tavern.

Gobrinus was standing on a table retelling how Kael once "punched a hydra in the soul." Rimuru was projecting fireball emojis above him for emphasis. Beastkin guests clapped and laughed. The cauldron of Ember Ale hissed and bubbled. Nyaro lay under the table, blinking slowly, tail flicking.

Kael sat back, eyes still on the stars beyond the window.

"Great Sage," he whispered.

Great Sage:
"Yes, Kael?"

"What's the probability of this being the beginning of something… big?"

Great Sage:
"Timeline acceleration probability: rising. Convergence proximity: approaching threshold."

Kael exhaled slowly.

"Cool. Just what I needed," he muttered, and took another sip of stew.

The tavern doors creaked open to let in the cool night air, and Kael stepped outside into the moon-drenched clearing, still chewing on a root chip.

Behind him, laughter and music echoed—off-key goblin harmonies and the thrum of a makeshift mana lute. The celebration was still going strong. Rimuru floated after him, wobbling slightly.

"Feeling alright?" Kael asked, glancing up.

Rimuru pulsed a strange neon pink and responded with a full sentence.

"I am Queen of Slimes and you will address me as such," she declared, in glowing script three times her normal font size.

Kael froze.

"…What."

Rimuru spun in the air, drifted upside down, and tried to salute with a pseudopod—only to drift sideways and nearly smack into a lantern post.

"She's drunk," Nanari's voice called from behind. "What did she eat?"

Kael turned to see Nanari jogging up with a small vial in one hand and a very annoyed expression.

"I left one cursed mana bottle behind the counter for study," she said, glaring at Gobrinus through the tavern window. "And someone let your slime drink it."

"It tasted like sparkling strawberry doom!" Rimuru announced proudly, then hiccuped and released a tiny burst of confetti-shaped fireballs.

Nyaro padded out of the tavern, flicked his tail once, and sat down just in time for Rimuru to challenge him to an arm-wrestling contest.

She projected an actual mana-formed arm and slapped it against Nyaro's paw.

Nyaro blinked.

The paw didn't move.

Rimuru shrieked and collapsed into a jiggly heap, defeated.

Nanari sighed, uncorked the vial, and handed it to Kael. "Get this in her before she tries to duel the moon."

"I SHALL NAME IT LARRY!" Rimuru shouted at the sky.

Kael caught her gently mid-spin and fed her the antidote. She shivered, changed from pink to purple to a soft blue, and deflated into his hands with a sleepy squeak.

"Better?" he asked.

Rimuru pulsed faintly and projected: zzz…

Kael exhaled. "Well. That happened."

Nanari shook her head and walked off muttering, "Next time label things better, Gobrinus…"

Nyaro stood and gently nudged Kael toward the tavern door.

"I know, I know," Kael said. "Let's get the Queen of Slimes to bed."

He carried Rimuru carefully inside, one hand under her and the other wiping fireball confetti from his cloak.

The stars hung heavy over Emberleaf, casting soft silver light across rooftops and tree canopies. The festival had finally quieted, leaving behind only the occasional laugh or clink of a mug from within Gobrinus's tavern.

Kael sat cross-legged on the slanted roof, arms resting on his knees, the wind brushing gently through his hair. Beside him, Nyaro lay with his paws folded neatly under his chest, tail flicking lazily as his golden eyes scanned the treetops.

Rimuru was fast asleep on Kael's head, curled like a glowing blue hat. She gave a soft squeak every now and then, her body rising and falling with Kael's slow breathing.

Below, the village flickered with life—mana lanterns swinging gently, glowing moss lines tracing the walkways like veins of warmth. A goblin yawned loudly in the distance. Somewhere, someone hummed a lullaby Kael didn't recognize, but it felt familiar all the same.

Kael let out a long breath. "I think… we're becoming something real."

Nyaro didn't answer with words, just a low, contented growl that rumbled in his chest and vibrated the roof tile beneath Kael's foot.

Kael leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky.

"Let them have their titles and thrones," he murmured. "We've got stories."

Rimuru stirred, shifted a little closer to his forehead, and pulsed a sleepy shade of gold.

The night deepened around them, and Emberleaf held its breath—still growing, still alive, still theirs.