I woke up in a castle.Which, to be clear, is already not normal.
Not a hospital, not the afterlife, not even some bright white void with a smug god telling me, "You died, here's your new life." Nope. Just stone walls, freezing sheets, and a boot pressed against my ribs.
"Lord Kael," said a voice colder than the stone under my spine, "we march at dusk."
I blinked. The man above me wore black-and-red armor, scarred and grim. His face didn't move—not a twitch of emotion—but the way he kept his boot on me, like I might jump up and start killing people, was a little alarming.
"Uh," I said, because my brain had not caught up yet, "sure?"
His boot slid off. He bowed. Bowed. Then left without another word.
I sat up slowly. My whole body ached like I'd been in a car crash—because, well, I had. I remembered that much. A crosswalk. Headlights. A horn. Then nothing.
Until now.
There was a mirror in the room. I forced myself to stand and walk to it.
And there, staring back, was a man I had no business being.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Silver hair falling across one eye like a cursed prince in an anime. Pale skin. Cold golden eyes. And a long black coat covered in stitched runes I couldn't read. I looked like someone who murdered people in dark alleys for fun.
But more importantly—
I recognized this face.
This was Kael, the infamous right-hand man of the Black Tyrant from "Reignfall," the grimdark fantasy webnovel I'd been binge-reading the night before I died.
Kael. The living weapon. The general of nightmares. The man who didn't speak unless it was to end a life.
I looked at my reflection and muttered, "I am so, so screwed."
The Reputation Problem
Let me be clear: Kael isn't just a side character. He's the most feared person in the entire novel. More feared than the Tyrant himself.
Why? Because no one knows what he's capable of. He's silent. Unseen. And when he appears on the battlefield, people just... die.
Rumors say he can bend shadows. Slip through walls. Control people's fears. I knew, from reading the book, that most of those were exaggerated.
But still. Kael was dangerous.
Which would be fine—if I knew how to use any of that power.
Spoiler alert: I don't.
I can't feel anything magical in my body. No instructions in my head. No menu screen. No status window. Just a perfectly healthy human man, stuck in the role of a living weapon.
And if anyone finds out I'm faking it, I'm dead.
The Black Tyrant
I met him that same evening.
The throne room was quiet. Torches burned low in sconces shaped like wolves. Banners of black silk hung like shadows. And at the far end, sprawled across a throne of obsidian and bone, was him.
The Black Tyrant.
He was younger than I expected. Mid-thirties, maybe. Pale like me—Kael, I guess—with long black hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that glowed faintly crimson in the dark. But he wasn't dressed like a monster. Just black robes, elegant and simple. No crown. No sword.
Just authority.
He looked up as I approached and said, "You're late, Kael."
His voice echoed across the chamber, even though he spoke quietly.
I froze.
My mouth went dry. What was I supposed to say? Was Kael supposed to apologize? Stay silent? Kneel?
I knelt. It felt right.
The Tyrant watched me a long time. Then—
"You didn't kill the messenger this time."
My blood ran cold.
"Oh," I said. "Yeah. Felt unnecessary."
He tilted his head slightly. Not suspicion. Curiosity.
"Unnecessary," he repeated. "That's new."
Oh no. He noticed. He definitely noticed.
I gave him my best icy death glare. (Hopefully.) Kael was known for those. Then stood up without answering.
For a second, I thought he'd call me out. Say something like, "You're not my Kael." But instead, he just said:
"Good. I was beginning to think even you were getting bored of the slaughter."
Then he rose from his throne and walked past me like a storm in human form.
And just like that, I became part of his court.
The Fear is Real
That night, I sat in my chambers with a cup of wine I was too scared to drink, and a dozen documents I couldn't read. All war reports. Logistics. Espionage. I was expected to lead troops. Conduct assassinations. Intimidate nobles.
And I had no idea how.
But here's the thing: everyone else already thought I could.
A servant girl dropped her tray the moment I turned my head. A hardened commander stammered when I asked a question. Someone literally peed himself when I walked down a hallway.
Kael's reputation was so fearsome, I didn't even need to do anything. I just had to exist.
That's what I thought… until the mission came.
The First Blackout
Three days later, I was ordered to accompany a strike team to eliminate a rebel informant in the outer marshes.
Standard Kael work. Assassinate. Vanish. Leave terror behind.
I argued—politely—that I was needed elsewhere. The Tyrant just looked at me and said, "You'll make it back by nightfall."
We rode out at dawn.
I was sweating the whole way. Not just because I was wearing fifty pounds of runic leather, but because I knew—knew—that if I was expected to fight, I was dead. I didn't know a sword stance. I didn't know a single spell.
When we reached the outpost, I hung back while the others moved in. Maybe they'd handle it. Maybe I'd just watch and nod mysteriously.
Then everything went wrong.
The informant wasn't alone. There were mercenaries. An ambush. Arrows rained from the trees. One of our men dropped. Then another.
A blade came straight for my throat.
I panicked. Tried to duck. Slipped.
And then—
Darkness.
I woke up on the ground, cold mud under my cheek. My heart pounding.
All around me were bodies. Some sliced cleanly. Some shattered. Burned. One pinned to a tree with a shadow blade sticking through his chest.
Everyone was staring at me.
One soldier whispered, "He... didn't even blink."
Another: "The bastard laughed while killing them…"
I sat up slowly.
What... just happened?
A Dangerous Truth
It's been two weeks since then.
And it's happened three more times.
Anytime I'm in danger—real danger—something inside me takes over. I black out. I wake up to carnage. People bow to me. They think I'm invincible.
But I know better.
There's something inside this body. A second self. Or a memory. Or a monster. I don't know what it is yet.
But it's powerful.
And I'm not sure I can control it.
Or if I even want to.