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

Chapter 32 – Letters, Lies, and Laughter



Kael awoke to silence.

The kind that wasn't natural for a palace. No bells, no rustling attendants, no crackling mana-lanterns outside his window. Just the soft ambient hum of morning mana drifting down from the upper towers and a faint breeze nudging the curtains.

He sat up slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar comfort of not being dragged out of bed by ceremony or panic.

Great Sage:

"Rest duration: seven hours, twelve minutes. Optimal. No intrusions recorded."

Guess no one wanted to wake the Scourge of Wrath, he thought, rubbing his face.

He pulled on a loose robe and stepped toward his writing desk—then stopped.

The desk was buried.

Letters. Scrolls. Folded parchments stacked in uneven towers. A few even spilled onto the floor in broken wax and glittering dust. One envelope had been singed around the edges, still steaming faintly. Another vibrated like it was trying to open itself.

Kael stared at the chaos.

Great Sage:

"New correspondence received overnight: forty-six noble houses, five royal clans, two foreign powers."
"Six unmarked messages. Three contain minor illusions. One cursed seal detected—neutralized at 4:12 a.m."

"You're thorough," Kael muttered.

Great Sage:

"You are... very popular now."

A soft plop sounded behind him.

Rimuru bounced off his bed and onto the floor with dramatic flair, trailing a piece of blanket like a cape. Her color was light lavender, still groggy from sleep, but her eyes lit up the moment she saw the pile of letters.

"Junk mail?" she asked hopefully.

Kael glanced at her. "Diplomatic correspondence."

"So... junk mail with fancier handwriting."

She launched herself into the pile and began burrowing with childlike glee. Scrolls flew. Seals popped. A small illusion of a swan made of mist fluttered into the air and exploded harmlessly against the ceiling.

Rimuru emerged, a gold-inked envelope stuck to her head. "This one smells like betrayal and hair oil."

Kael sighed, picking up a crimson-threaded scroll and breaking the seal.

The message within shimmered with formal magic, unfolding into the air and reading itself aloud in an overly dignified voice:

"To the Honored Lord Kael Drayke,
By decree of the House of Pyraxis, we recognize your ceremonial alignment with the Flame of Wrath. May your fire be controlled, your judgments swift, and your loyalty ever to the Flame Throne…"

Kael skipped the rest and let it fizzle into ash.

Rimuru yawned. "Translation: 'We see you, we're watching, don't explode.'"

Kael picked up another—this one wrapped in Ashenveil hunter-leather. The seal was casual, almost playful. Inside:

"Heard you blew up a magic rock and made the room faint. Not bad, Flame Prince.
Come spar me sometime. Let's see if you're more than smoke and style.
—Captain Fenn of the Ironblood Trials, Ashenveil."

Kael smiled faintly.

Rimuru held up a pink envelope sealed with a silver wax snake.

"This one's trying too hard," she muttered.

Kael opened his mouth to warn her—

Too late.

She bit the wax.

There was a flash of blue magic, a puff of perfume, and suddenly a full-sized illusion of a noblewoman's head hovered in the air, launching into a dramatic speech about ancestral unions and "exceptional bloodlines."

Rimuru screamed, kicked the air, and launched the envelope out the window like it was cursed.

"I TAKE IT BACK. THAT ONE WAS POSSESSED."

Kael doubled over laughing, the first real laugh since the ceremony.

Great Sage:

"Message was harmless. Emotionally scarring, perhaps, but harmless."

Kael wiped his eyes. "Next time, read it first."

"I did. It read 'snobbery' in eleven languages."

The next scroll unfurled itself before Kael could even touch it.

"To the Scourge of Wrath, Lord Kael Drayke,

The Grand Council of Gula sends its official regards and hopes the fires of Ira burn clean. Should your rising station find its path aligned with our interests, a summit in neutral territory can be arranged. You will find our appetite for alliances... considerable."

Kael let the scroll drop onto the desk.

"Ira to Gula," he said. "Never thought I'd hear from them this early."

Rimuru, now coiled atop a pile of scrolls like a cat guarding treasure, made a face. "What do you think they mean by 'appetite'?"

"Literal," Kael replied. "They're the Gluttony continent."

"Pass. I'm not sharing snacks with soul-eaters."

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Kael sifted through another stack, pausing when he found a letter with edges lined in volcanic glass dust. He opened it slowly—no magic flare, just clean handwriting etched by heat:

"Your awakening has been noted. We remember the last Scourge of Wrath. He fell screaming.
Let us hope your fire dies quieter.

—No signature."

Kael frowned and folded it in half.

Great Sage:

"Source: likely rogue noble faction within Ira or Pyraxis. Probability of threat level rising: 38%."

So… not a fan club.

He was about to move on when Rimuru let out a dramatic gasp from across the room.

She held up an envelope that practically shimmered with oily mana and over-designed flair—its wax seal shaped like a snake swallowing its own tail.

"This is the one," she said gravely. "The worst one."

Kael sighed. "You're sure?"

"I sniffed it. It's made of entitlement and cheap cologne."

She bit the seal.

Kael instinctively threw up a mana shield.

The envelope detonated into a loud puff of powder-scented illusion magic, and a life-sized projection of a silver-haired nobleman emerged mid-speech:

"...and so, upon my review of your recent display of pyrotechnic excess, I extend my offer to guide your raw… potential… into more dignified channels. Perhaps a political union—"

"NOPE," Rimuru shouted.

She flung the letter out the open window before Kael could react. The illusion's voice trailed off as it tumbled into the wind:

"...with House Marquellis, whose bloodline has remained unsullied since the First Era…"

Kael blinked. "Did he just offer me marriage?"

"To himself, I think," Rimuru muttered, scrubbing her body with magic to remove the perfume particles. "That letter was a war crime."

Great Sage:

"Proposal probability: genuine. Political leverage intent: moderate. Ego density: extreme."

Kael leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "This is going to be our life now, isn't it?"

"Letters and illusions from people we don't like, asking for things we won't give."

Rimuru bobbed in place. "At least I get to destroy them creatively."

She conjured a fake crown made of paper shreds and floated in a circle. "All hail Princess Rimuru, Duchess of Mailroom Combat."

Kael smiled, resting his chin on his palm.

Despite everything—the pressure, the politics, the fear—this was the part that grounded him. Rimuru being... Rimuru. The chaos that made sense.

He picked up another scroll.

"Alright, Your Grace," he said. "Ready for round two?"

"Bring it. I'm warmed up now."

Kael stepped into the hallway alone.

He needed a break—from letters, from politics, from Rimuru dramatically reenacting noble speeches using scroll tubes as wigs. She'd insisted she could "handle the mail" while he cleared his head.

He wasn't sure if that meant reading them or eating them.

The palace halls were lit with soft daylight filtering in through high stained-glass windows. Crimson and gold hues spilled across the floor in delicate waves. Servants passed with their heads low. Knights stood at their posts with extra-stiff posture, as if a single glance from him might ignite the sconces.

And none of them made eye contact.

They bowed, respectfully. Some even knelt.

But no one said a word.

Kael walked slowly, boots clicking softly on the marble floor, the sound unnaturally sharp in the stillness.

Great Sage:

"Observation: behavioral shift detected. Guard stance elevated. Civilian interaction decreased by 41%."
"Interpretation: rising perception of threat or divine status."

So they don't know whether to fear me or worship me.

Great Sage:

"Both are common side effects of high-tier title reveals. See: Hero-King of Luxuria. See also: Scourge of Pride, Year 1449, post-coronation isolation."

Kael said nothing.

He passed by two advisors in crimson robes who bowed deeply. They didn't speak, and their gazes darted to the floor until he was out of earshot.

The hallway felt colder after that.

He paused at a tall, polished mirror mounted between two flame-banners bearing his family crest. The boy staring back at him wore a circlet he hadn't asked for and an expression far older than fifteen.

His reflection didn't look tired.

It looked contained.

Composed.

Like someone who knew how dangerous he might be if he wasn't.

Kael reached up and ran a hand through his hair—part reflex, part grounding. His fingers brushed the side of the circlet. It didn't glow. Didn't hum. Just… sat there, heavy in its silence.

Great Sage:

"Emotional signal elevated. Mood gradient: subdued. Recommend grounding technique."
"Suggest: revisit point of familiarity—trusted individual or symbolic gesture."

He closed his eyes and took a breath.

Hand over heart. Arc outward. The Ember Prayer.

He didn't cast it. He just did it.

A subtle motion. A memory. A reminder.

And the air felt just a little less heavy.

Kael turned away from the mirror and continued down the hall, the weight of silence still clinging to his shoulders.

Then—

Clack. Clack. Clackclackclack—

A scroll tube rolled rapidly around the corner, skidding across the marble like a lost training spear. Kael's reflexes kicked in, and he sidestepped just as it spiraled to a stop by his feet.

Seconds later, Rimuru came zipping after it—bouncing erratically, her surface shimmering with chaotic energy.

She skidded to a stop mid-air, spun twice, and pointed a pseudopod at the scroll.

"HA! Told you I'd win!"

Kael blinked. "Are you… racing yourself?"

"No," she said proudly. "I was racing that scroll tube. It cheated."

"You threw it."

"Exactly. Rude."

She hovered up to his shoulder and plopped down dramatically, sighing like a soldier returning from war.

"You look gloomy," she added, poking his cheek. "Did the mirror insult you?"

Kael didn't answer right away. He just kept walking.

"They're treating me different," he said quietly. "Even the ones I trusted. Like I turned into something else overnight."

"You did explode in a pillar of flame and unlock your hidden Scourge powers," Rimuru said helpfully. "Not exactly a 'keep things normal' kind of move."

Kael gave her a side-eye. "Thanks for the support."

"I'm great at emotional support." She stood up on his shoulder like a tiny queen. "Want me to write a speech for you? Something like: 'Dear nobles, please stop flinching when I walk past. I'm only dangerous before breakfast.'"

Kael chuckled despite himself.

Rimuru softened her tone. "Hey. I get it. You're walking through your own house like a stranger. But you're not alone."

He nodded slowly.

They reached the double doors of his quarters.

Rimuru gave him a gentle bop on the side of the head.

"Come on. Let's go see if Nyaro's eaten all the guards' boots again. Or we could throw more letters off the balcony. I saved the pretentious ones."

Kael opened the door, finally smiling.

"You really saved them?"

She pulled a scroll from her core. It sparkled unnecessarily and reeked of rosewood oil.

"I call this one: Lord Tryhard the Third."

By the time Kael returned to his desk, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting long amber streaks across the stone floor.

The scroll pile had thinned—some read, some discarded, others sealed away in the "Handle Later" box (which Rimuru had renamed The Doom Drawer). Several scroll tubes were now stacked like building blocks in the corner, and one decorative wax stamp had been re-purposed into a monocle for Rimuru's one-time "Noble Voice Theatre."

Kael sat down with a sigh and reached for the last letter—until he noticed something odd.

There was one envelope set apart from the rest.

Thin. Pale gray. No seal. No house insignia. No delivery glyph. No scent. No trace of mana.

Just his name.

Kael Drayke, written in ink that shimmered faintly when he tilted it in the light.

He hadn't seen it before. He hadn't received it.

Great Sage:

"Source: unknown. Delivery undetected. Enchantment scan initiated..."
"Result: Trace memory spell embedded. Passive. Dormant unless triggered."

Kael stared at it for a long moment.

He didn't open it.

Not yet.

Instead, he slipped it into the inner pocket of his cloak and walked to the window. Rimuru floated beside him, unusually quiet now.

Outside, Emberhollow moved slowly in the sun. Guards drilled at the edge of the court. Couriers raced along the higher bridges. From here, it looked normal.

But he knew it wasn't.

The world had shifted. Eyes were turning. Some welcoming. Some watching. Some… waiting.

He didn't know which the letter belonged to.

Only that it had come.

Great Sage:

"End of correspondence review. Anticipated response patterns now forming across Velaria."

Then let them form, Kael thought. Let them come.

He turned from the window.

The flame hadn't died.

It was just getting ready.


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