The Tyrant's Infinite Rebirth System

Chapter 8

The System’s Darker Side

The candle beside Riel flickered, struggling against the weight of the darkness pressing in around him. The flame trembled, its glow barely stretching beyond the cold stone walls of his chamber. Shadows loomed in the corners, stretching unnaturally, shifting when he wasn’t looking directly at them.

He sat at the edge of his bed, fingers absentmindedly tracing the deep bruises along his ribs. The dull ache in his muscles was a reminder of the day’s exertions, of the slow and grueling process of reclaiming the strength that had once come so easily. His mind, however, was more restless than his body.

The System’s words still rattled around in his skull, heavy with implication. Every conversation, every lesson, every warning — it was another step forward, another piece of the puzzle he was trying to reconstruct before time ran out.

But fate, it seemed, did not wish to be rewritten.

A chill ran down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Something was wrong.

The silence in the room felt too complete. The candle’s flame, which had danced so erratically a moment ago, now burned impossibly still, as if the air itself was holding its breath.

He wasn’t alone.

Slowly, deliberately, Riel slid his hand beneath his pillow, his fingers closing around the cool hilt of a dagger he had hidden there earlier. A precaution. Instincts from another life whispered to him — lessons learned in blood and betrayal.

The moment stretched thin.

Then—

A whisper of movement.

He moved on reflex, twisting and throwing himself sideways just as something sharp and fast sliced through the empty space where his throat had been.

A blade.

No hesitation. No warning. Just death, delivered in silence.

A masked figure materialized from the darkness, moving like a shadow given form.

Their presence had been absolute — undetectable, unreadable — until the moment they struck. Cold, efficient. A killer.

Riel landed hard against the stone floor, rolling onto his back, dagger raised in a defensive grip. His breath came in quick, measured bursts. His body was still sluggish from exhaustion, but adrenaline burned away the remnants of fatigue.

The assassin stood in the dim light of the candle, features obscured by a smooth, expressionless mask. Stance was poised — balanced on the balls of their feet, blade in hand, no wasted movement.

Riel had seen killers before. He had been one before. This one wasn’t here to send a message, but end him.

[System Warning: Lethal Threat Detected.]

[If you die here, there will be no second rebirth.]

The words burned into Riel’s mind, stark and unfeeling.

His heart pounded against his ribs, but his breathing stayed steady. This wasn’t the first time death had come for him. It was, however, the first time it had come for him in this frail, untrained body. He could almost hear fate laughing at him.

The assassin lunged. He barely had time to react. The blade blurred through the air, and he twisted just enough to avoid a fatal strike. Pain flared through his shoulder as cold steel grazed his flesh. The wound was shallow, but warm blood was already seeping into his nightclothes.

He clenched his teeth. No time for pain.

The assassin pressed forward, giving no room to breathe. Every strike was precise, calculated. The masked killer wasn’t wasting energy — every movement was meant to kill.

Riel’s body protested as he dodged, barely staying ahead of the blade. He was slower than he wanted to be, weaker than he needed to be.

But his mind? It was the only sharp thing. And he had been here before. Not in this place. Not in this body. But he had stood on battlefields, facing men faster, stronger, deadlier than him. He had learned how to survive when survival was the only thing left.

He wasn’t a cripple.

He wasn’t weak.

He was Riel Draven, the Tyrant of the Battlefield.

And he wasn’t going to die like this.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to move with purpose.

The assassin lunged again, the dagger flashing toward his ribs.

Riel didn’t dodge outright. Instead, he twisted just enough for the blade to miss anything vital, feeling the whisper of steel against his skin. His footwork — clumsy compared to his past life — was still enough.

The assassin hesitated. Only for a fraction of a second. But Riel saw it.

And that told him everything he needed to know.

A chime echoed in his mind.

[Combat Skill Unlocked: Adaptive Evasion (Basic).]

Suddenly, the world slowed.

Not physically. His body was still weak, his limbs still aching. But his perception had shifted.

He wasn’t just reacting anymore.

He was reading his opponent.

The way the assassin adjusted their weight before a strike. The subtle tightening of their shoulders before a feint. The small, nearly imperceptible pauses between attacks.

Patterns.

Riel’s muscles still burned, but now his movements carried a different rhythm. He sidestepped at the last possible second, letting the blade pass within an inch of his flesh.

The assassin’s frustration was evident, even behind the mask. Their strikes became sharper, faster, more aggressive.

A mistake.

Emotion disrupted precision.

And Riel knew how to use that.

The killer adjusted their stance, realizing this wasn’t going to be a quick kill.

Riel, however, knew that he couldn’t keep this up.

His breathing was uneven, his body slow. His wounds weren’t severe, but they were adding up. If this fight dragged on, he would lose.

Then—

A noise. Footsteps.

Someone in the hall.

The assassin stiffened.

They had failed to complete their mission immediately. And now, the risk was increasing.

For the first time, the killer hesitated.

And that was all Riel needed.

He lunged.

Not to strike.

But to force the assassin back.

A strategic retreat.

The masked figure vanished into the darkness just as the door slammed open.

A servant rushed in, breathless. “My lord! I heard—” The words died in his throat as he took in the scene. The overturned chair. The bloodied sheets. The dagger in Riel’s hand.

Riel exhaled, his body trembling from exhaustion. The coppery taste of blood lingered in his mouth, his shoulder throbbed, and the room smelled of sweat and candle wax.

But he was alive.

A soft chime echoed in his mind.

[Fate is resisting your change.]

[Survival Mission Completed: +2 Dexterity, +1 Perception.]

Riel let out a slow, steady breath, his gaze shifting to the empty window. The night beyond was vast and silent.

This wouldn’t be the last time someone tried to kill him. And next time, he wouldn’t just survive.