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

Filler Arc – Dream Sequence: I Am the Weapon, Part 1

The stars over Emberleaf shimmered faintly, veiled by wisps of silver mist drifting lazily across the night sky. From the highest branch of the great Heartroot Tree, Kael Drayke sat alone on the balcony of his elevated quarters, legs hanging off the edge, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The wind whispered through the canopy, brushing through his messy red hair like a lullaby he was too stubborn to fall asleep to.

A single torch burned behind him, casting flickering shadows across the wooden floor. Its orange light bled into the treetop leaves, giving the night a soft, ember-tinted glow. Below, the village of Emberleaf was finally quiet. Goblins had returned to their dens, the Raveni beastkin scouts were resting on the outer watch platforms, and the festival grounds—still dotted with streamers and chalk marks from last week's celebration—had gone dark.

For once, the kingdom he ruled wasn't on fire.

Kael sighed. He didn't trust it.

The calm after a storm was often followed by a bigger storm. That was something Earth taught him, and Velaria loved proving it right.

He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, staring out at the horizon. The volcanic mountains in the distance pulsed with low, red light—living reminders that they were still in the land of Wrath. Ira's beauty came with danger, and danger came with paperwork.

So much paperwork.

"You'd think being king would involve more swords and fewer quills," he muttered.

A soft plop sounded beside him. Rimuru hovered into view, her body glowing a calm, muted blue. She looked almost sleepy herself—her form a little rounder, a little softer than usual. No bouncing today. No spinning. Just a slow wobble as she floated to Kael's side and nudged his cheek affectionately.

Kael smiled, eyes softening. "Don't worry. I wasn't about to jump."

Rimuru shifted in the air like she was rolling her eyes, then gently pressed herself into his lap. She settled like a pillow against his stomach, pulsing once in contentment. Kael instinctively rested a hand on her back, fingers sinking slightly into her slime surface. It was always warm. Always comforting. Like touching sunlight filtered through water.

"You remember the frog thing Nyaro brought back yesterday?" he said, rubbing slow circles into her side. "The one that spit lava when it got mad?"

She shimmered faintly in acknowledgment.

"Well, Gobchi thought it'd be a good idea to put it in a barrel. I asked why. He said—and I quote—'For later.'" Kael shook his head. "What does that even mean? What's he saving it for? A barbecue?"

Rimuru pulsed again. If she could speak, Kael was sure she'd say, "You brought this on yourself."

And maybe he had. He'd taken in goblins, beastkin, pixies, slimes, exiled humans—anyone who needed refuge. His kingdom had no real borders, no real army, and no idea what it was doing.

But they were trying. And he was proud of that.

Still, the weight of the crown—even a metaphorical one—was heavier than he'd ever expected. No one warned him about the exhaustion. Or the nights where his hands wouldn't stop shaking because of what he might have to do tomorrow.

He closed his eyes.

"I miss ramen," he whispered. "And hot showers. And chairs that don't try to stab my spine."

He leaned back on the balcony, eyes staring up at the sky now. The stars were brighter here than back on Earth. No pollution. No skyscrapers. Just raw magic and ancient constellations that pulsed like slow, beating hearts.

Rimuru shifted slightly on his chest. She was listening.

"You think I'm doing okay?" he asked, the question barely audible.

No pulse this time. No ripple. Just stillness.

And in that silence, Kael understood something unspoken.

She was tired too.

They all were.

He pulled his hood up over his head, trying to shield his face from the cold night air. But even with the warmth of the silk-lined fabric and Rimuru's comforting weight, sleep refused to come. His thoughts kept turning—circling like vultures.

What if the festival had been too expensive? What if the Raveni scouts were just pretending to be loyal? What if the dungeon under the eastern ridge opened up again?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

[Great Sage: SYSTEM NOTICE – Mana Depletion Detected. Initiating Passive Recovery Mode.]

[Emotional Load: Elevated. Lucid Dream State Likely.]

Kael groaned. "You're the worst assistant ever."

[Comment acknowledged.]

The last thing he saw was Rimuru lifting her head slightly, a soft glow forming at her core as she synced her mana with his. It was something she did often now. Part comfort. Part instinct. Part… something else.

The world blurred.

It started with the stars. They flickered—not like lights, but like windows being shut one by one.

Then the forest faded, as if someone had taken an eraser to the horizon. The torchlight behind him blinked out. The balcony dissolved under his weight, and he was no longer sitting, no longer breathing, no longer here.

Kael's stomach dropped. His limbs tingled. And then—

Everything twisted.

Not darkness.

Not light.

Just a pull. Like gravity turned inside out.

He couldn't scream. He didn't need to. It wasn't fear that gripped him—it was inevitability.

This wasn't sleep.

This was something else.

And just as suddenly as it began—

It stopped.

The first thing Kael felt was pressure.

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Not from a pillow or blanket or Rimuru's familiar warmth—but from heavy armor resting on his shoulders like guilt turned to steel. His neck ached from sitting too straight for too long, and his legs were already tingling where greaves bit into his calves. The air was thick and dry, filled with the scent of incense failing to mask sweat, blood, and scorched parchment.

He opened his eyes slowly.

A red glow pulsed through the war tent around him, woven from crimson silk layered over thick insulation runes. Golden chains suspended the ceiling, swaying slightly with the pulse of distant explosions. War banners lined the walls—his banners—stitched with a flame crowned by a jagged silhouette. The emblem of a monarch who never wanted a crown.

Kael sat on a throne of blackened ironwood, carved into the shape of open dragon wings. Intricate, beautiful, and completely impractical. He shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make his spine hate him.

No luck.

In front of him stretched a massive war table—obsidian and silver-veined, etched with mana channels and glowing deployment glyphs. Above its surface floated shimmering projections of battalions, terrain models, and constantly-updating mana readings from the front lines. It was organized chaos. A brilliant display of magical warfare at its peak.

And Kael couldn't care less.

The dream logic hadn't even tried to explain how he got here. One minute he'd fallen asleep in Emberleaf, Rimuru curled up beside him like a purring cat-light. The next, he was knee-deep in a general's nightmare.

Around the table, shadowed figures moved—generals, commanders, advisors. Dozens of them. Their faces were blurred, as if forgotten mid-drawing. Some wore polished armor, others tattered cloaks. One had antlers, another glowed faintly with blue tattoos. They spoke in urgent tones, yet none of their words reached Kael with clarity. The sound distorted, warped by the dream—like he was underwater or hearing voices through a cracked mirror.

He leaned his chin on his fist, elbow on the table, and stared blankly at the nearest flickering glyph. "Why do I have to make strategic moves and sit in this uncomfortable chair?" he muttered.

The room quieted.

Every head turned toward him. In eerie unison.

Kael raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That gets your attention?"

One of the blurred generals leaned forward as if about to speak. But instead of words, a static hum buzzed out of his mouth—glitchy, broken audio from a memory that never fully formed.

Kael stood up with a tired grunt. His armor clinked. The sound echoed louder than it should have.

"Can't I just go out there and end the war myself?" he said. "What's the point of running logistics if I can just nuke the battlefield?"

Silence.

He waved a hand at the table. "Look at this. Half our left flank is gone. The Emberfront's collapsing. And someone set fire to an entire river, somehow. We're clearly not winning this by playing Risk."

None of the generals responded. They simply stood there, flickering.

Kael snorted and rolled his shoulders. "Y'know what? Fine. Let's trade. I'll go blast things. Nanari can sit here and yell about unit cohesion."

"Don't tempt me," a voice answered.

Kael froze.

He turned—but Nanari wasn't there.

Instead, her voice had echoed from one of the swaying banners overhead. For just a moment, her image shimmered across the fabric—arms crossed, head tilted, smirking like always—before vanishing into the silk.

"…Dreams are weird," Kael muttered.

The tent flap behind him rustled.

He turned—and Rimuru floated in.

But not the small, sleepy blob he'd tucked into bed hours ago. This Rimuru was radiant. Her body shimmered with refracted light, as if she were formed from living crystal. Intricate spirals of pale runes rotated within her translucent body, and her core pulsed with measured rhythm—calm, focused, awake. She floated silently beside him, not with her usual bounce, but with gravity. Poise.

Kael smirked. "You're glowing."

Rimuru shimmered once in response.

He reached out and gently tapped her core. She twirled around him once, then floated beside his shoulder, glowing brighter as she synced her mana with his. Kael felt the familiar warmth run through his body—like magic being poured directly into his bones.

He took a deep breath.

"Let's go see what kind of mess this dream threw together."

As Kael stepped out of the tent, the heat hit him like a wave.

Not the warm firelight of Emberleaf, but the furnace air of open war. Smoke billowed across a broken plain, dark and choked with ash. Mana flares lit the distance, exploding in bursts of purple, red, and green. Craters peppered the earth like open wounds. The sky overhead was bruised violet, clouds flickering with stormlight and arcane residue.

He stood at the rear slope of a large ridge overlooking the battlefield.

What he saw below made his stomach twist.

Dozens of allied formations were still engaged in brutal skirmishes across the plains—some cornered, others retreating. Emberleaf goblins scrambled over broken terrain, fighting desperately in small clusters. A unit of Raveni archers had fallen back behind a burning supply cart. An elemental barrier crackled halfway into collapse. Here and there, wounded soldiers crawled for cover, some vanishing beneath magical blasts mid-motion.

Kael clenched his jaw.

He saw the enemy too.

Hundreds—maybe more—pushing forward. Armored war beasts. Demonic shock troops. Mages unleashing spells in coordinated bursts. Aerial riders swooping down like hawks with blades. The front was barely holding. Maybe not holding.

And all around him—on this cliffside—stood the reserve line.

Or what was left of it.

Exhausted soldiers. Heavily injured warriors. Some too afraid to step forward. Some too stubborn to fall back. They watched Kael arrive with wide eyes. Some bowed. Others just stared—drenched in sweat and fear.

One goblin dropped to a knee, voice shaking. "M-My King… is it really you?"

Kael blinked. Dream logic again. These weren't real people. And yet…

He nodded. "Yeah. It's me."

He glanced sideways at Rimuru. "They're expecting a miracle."

She glowed softly.

Kael exhaled and looked down at the battlefield again.

So much chaos. So much loss.

Even in a dream, it still felt real.

He turned his hand upward, studying the way his mana flickered faintly along his palm. It felt different here—looser, more fluid. Like it wasn't being drawn from his core, but from somewhere deeper.

He smiled faintly.

"Alright," he said, stepping forward until he stood at the cliff's edge. "I've got a crazy idea."

Rimuru floated beside him—silent. Waiting.

Kael tilted his head.

"Just gotta remember the rules of chakra, right?"

The wind picked up.

And behind his eyes, something began to glow.

The battlefield was quiet.

Too quiet.

Ash drifted like snow through the cratered valley where Kael stood, his slime-coated body still glowing faintly in the aftermath of Predator's rampage. The pulsing aura around him crackled—unstable, but controlled now. Rimuru was silent inside him, her presence dim, focused on regulating the last of the backlash.

Across the plain, broken weapons lay scattered like bones. Firelight flickered off bent armor. Corpses—friend and foe alike—marked the land like punctuation in a sentence Kael didn't want to finish reading.

He turned slowly.

A few dozen survivors remained behind him. Emberleaf guards. Raveni scouts. A handful of goblin spearmen. All of them were bruised, bloodied, and staring at him like he was something not entirely human anymore.

Maybe he wasn't.

Not right now.

Kael raised his voice, calm but sharp. "This battle's not over."

No one answered.

Their eyes spoke loud enough—uncertainty, awe, fear. Some avoided looking at the blue slime still coursing over his arms like armor made of water.

He stepped forward. The ground sizzled under his foot.

"I need you," Kael said. "All of you. Clear the field. Push the line. Eliminate anything still crawling."

One of the Raveni archers swallowed hard. "What about you, my king?"

Kael turned toward the distant fortress looming on the edge of the horizon—the enemy's central command post. Its towers reached like blades into the sky, layered in arcane shields and monstrous flags. A dozen dark figures waited just beyond those gates. He could feel them. Watching. Anticipating.

He clenched his fists. "I'm going ahead."

"Alone?" someone gasped.

"Not alone," Kael replied.

Rimuru stirred faintly within him. A pulse. A heartbeat. A weapon and a will.

His aura flared.

Slime magic whipped outward in a burst of pressure, pushing back smoke and dust in all directions. The soldiers flinched, covering their faces from the sudden surge.

Kael didn't wait for cheers.

Didn't wait for courage to build.

He moved.

One moment, he was standing in the dirt. The next, he was a blue streak racing across the battlefield—leaping over fallen ballistae, weaving through broken barricades, dodging arrows that hadn't even been fired yet. His movement blurred the air itself, leaving streaks of glowing light in his wake.

The outer edge of the battlefield passed in seconds.

Then the inner ridge.

Then the final trench.

And then—

Blackstone towers rose above him. The command fortress. The stronghold of the enemy king. A dozen figures stood in a half-circle near the central courtyard, their silhouettes sharp against the fire-lit walls. Magic hummed in the air like a string pulled too tight.

Kael landed in the center of their formation.

Dust swirled outward. Silence followed.

He stood tall, slime aura flaring, arms slack at his sides like they were waiting for something bigger to form from them. His eyes locked on the nearest figure—a tall, horned warrior with demon markings crawling up his skin.

Kael didn't flinch.

He cracked his neck once.

Then he said, loud enough for the entire camp to hear:

"I'm here to end this. All twelve of you—come at me."