Author's Note

{Word Count: 4999 🌚}

So, since you've already read the title, you know the deal. Our MC is going to be the Monarch of Monarchs. That's right—big dreams, big ambitions, and a whole lot of chaos.

And before we dive into this madness, let me just say: I've recently finished watching the Punic Wars series from Oversimplified, and let me tell you, I am now a full-blown Rome glazer.

YEAH! BABY! ROME FOREVER!

Now, back to the point. This story is set in Rome—the so-called Eternal City, which, let's be honest, isn't exactly eternal.

But hey, we'll roll with it. The plot will take place in this glorious, messy, and occasionally functional world, but don't expect me to follow the original lore to the letter. Oh no, we're taking some massive detours here.

I promise you, though, you're going to like these changes. Why? Because I'm not just copy-pasting the world-building from the original novel. Where's the fun in that?

Instead, I'm adding my own spin to the lore, weaving in new elements while keeping the essence of the original intact. Think of it as Solo Leveling, but with a dash of insanity.

And let's not forget the pièce de résistance: Hail Rome… and fuck you, Carthage.

I hope you enjoy the story

....

In a vast and seemingly endless grassland, stretching as far as the eye could see, the horizon blurred into a hazy mirage under the weight of the setting sun. The once serene landscape was now a grim tableau of chaos and carnage.

Corpses littered the ground like discarded dolls, their lifeless forms sprawled in grotesque poses.

The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, a scent so potent it clung to the back of the throat, making every breath a reminder of the War.

The battlefield was alive—not with the chirping of birds or the rustling of grass, but with the cacophony of war.

Harsh, panicked, angry, and even terrified voices echoed across the field, blending into a dissonant symphony that could only be described as a "Concert Pro Max" of destruction.

Swords clashed, arrows whistled, and war cries mingled with the guttural roars of creatures that defied description. It was less of a battlefield and more of a chaotic free-for-all, where survival depended on sheer luck as much as skill.

What made this battlefield unique was not just the scale of the conflict but the sheer variety of combatants. This wasn't a simple clash between two armies; it was a chaotic melee of multiple factions, each with its own agenda.

The most striking group was the one clad in gleaming golden armor, their polished plates reflecting the dying light of the sun like a beacon of hope—or perhaps hubris.

They made up roughly half of the manpower on the field, their disciplined ranks standing out amidst the chaos.

They were just like roman army....

But Better.

The other half, however, was a motley crew of fighters who looked like they had raided a discount armor shop. Their gear was mismatched, rusted, or downright nonexistent.

If the golden-armored soldiers were the VIPs of this battlefield, the others were the rowdy gatecrashers who had shown up uninvited but were determined to make their presence known.

"DIE, HOOMAN!" screeched a creature that could only be described as a goblin's uglier cousin. Its green eyes glowed with malice, and its green skin—wait, no, its green everything—made it look like it had been dunked in a vat of radioactive slime.

With a crude weapon in hand, it lunged at a golden-armored soldier, its battle cry more comical than intimidating.

The soldier, however, was not amused. With a swift, almost casual swing of his axe, he decapitated the creature mid-leap.

The goblin's head tumbled to the ground, its expression frozen in a look of surprise, as if it hadn't expected the fight to end so quickly.

"IT'S HUMAN, YOU BARBARIC BASTARD!" the soldier barked, correcting the creature's grammar even in the heat of battle. Truly, a man of principle.

But alas, his victory was short-lived. Before he could savor his triumph, a group of enemy dwarves—stocky, bearded, and with a grudge the size of a mountain—descended upon him.

One of them, with a mischievous glint in his eye, decided to end the soldier's life in the most undignified way possible: by shoving a spear where the sun doesn't shine(His Asshole) or maybe it does.

The soldier's final moments were likely filled with a mix of pain, regret, and the realization that he should've invested in better backside protection.

May he rest in peace. He was a loyal soldier, a grammar enthusiast, and, unfortunately, a victim of poor battlefield fashion choices.

....

Meanwhile, on the other end of the battlefield…

MC's POV

"DIE! DIE! DIE! YOU FILTHY XENOS!" I muttered under my breath, my voice dripping with a mix of rage and exhaustion.

With a swift, brutal motion, I drove my sword into the neck of yet another one of these demon king bastards.

The blade slid in with a sickening squelch, and for a moment, we just stood there, locked in an awkward, silent stare.

Him, gurgling as blue blood bubbled up from his mouth, and me, wondering why I always end up in these ridiculous situations.

His blood—because of course it had to be blue—erupted from the wound like a high-pressure water cannon, drenching me from head to toe.

My once-pristine white clothes, which had started the day as a symbol of my impeccable taste, were now a chaotic canvas of red, green, purple, and now blue.

At this point, I looked less like a warrior and more like a walking pride flag, courtesy of the rainbow of enemy blood I'd collected throughout the day.

I glanced down at the lifeless body of Demon King Valaris, his once-mighty form now crumpled at my feet. His face, frozen in a mask of shock and indignation, seemed to be judging me even in death.

I gripped the hilt of my sword tighter, the leather creaking under my fingers, and yanked the blade free with a wet schlick.

His body hit the ground with a dull thud, joining the growing pile of casualties that littered the battlefield.

Valaris was a tough opponent, I'll give him that. His body was a patchwork of scars and wounds from our battle, each one a testament to how hard he'd fought.

But in the end, it wasn't enough. It never is. I wiped my sword on what was left of his cloak—because why waste good fabric?—and let out a long, weary sigh.

There are only two things I truly hate in this world. First: Persians. Don't even get me started on them. Second: these fucking demons who can't seem to take a hint.

Every time Rome's central authority so much as sneezes, these guys decide it's the perfect time to rebel.

This was the third revolt I'd had to put down this year alone.

And mind you, the date was JANUARY 17TH. We hadn't even made it through the first month, and I was already knee-deep in demon guts.

At this rate, I was going to need a vacation—or at least a better laundry service.

As I stood there, catching my breath and surveying the chaos around me, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of indifference. Another demon king dead, another rebellion crushed. Rinse and repeat.

It was almost routine at this point. But hey, someone had to do it. And if that someone happened to be me, well, I guess that was just my lot in life.

"I Swear to Caelus," I muttered under my breath, my voice hoarse from shouting and my throat dry as a desert.

"Once I become the Emperor of Rome, I'm doing a mass genocide of these filthy xenos. I'll show them a tyrant worse than Nero! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

My maniacal laughter echoed across the battlefield, momentarily drowning out the clashing of swords and the screams of the dying.

Some of the nearby soldiers—both mine and the enemy's—paused to stare at me, their faces a mix of confusion and concern.

One of my own men whispered to another, "Is he… okay?" I chose to ignore them. They wouldn't understand.

They didn't have to deal with these demons and the Persians breathing down Rome's neck.

And waiting for Rome to weaken so they can kill our men, chop off their dicks, capture our women, rape them, and then sell them into slavery? Not happening on my watch, BITCHES!

"AND I'LL ATTACK THOSE DAMN PERSIANS TOO!" I continued, swinging my sword in a wide arc for dramatic effect. "I'LL BECOME THE NEXT PAX CAELUS! THE BRINGER OF PEACE THROUGH ABSOLUTE CHAOS! AHAHAHAHA—COUGH COUGH!"

{A/N: Bro Has Gone Insane}

My triumphant rant was cut short as a sudden, violent coughing fit wracked my body.

I doubled over, clutching my chest as my lungs decided to stage a rebellion of their own. The coughing grew louder and more intense, each hack feeling like it was tearing something inside me.

And then, as if to add insult to injury, I felt the warm, metallic taste of blood fill my mouth. I spat it onto the ground, staring at the Golden splatter with a mix of annoyance and resignation.

"Fuck…" I groaned, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Fighting so many wars is already harming my health.

What's next? Gout? Hemorrhoids? Can't a man conquer the world in peace without his body falling apart?"

I straightened up, ignoring the concerned looks from my soldiers. They didn't need to see their future emperor hacking up a lung in the middle of a battlefield.

I tightened my grip on my sword, the familiar weight grounding me as I glared at the remaining demons.

They were still coming, their grotesque forms shuffling toward me like they hadn't just witnessed me decapitate their king and then have a minor existential crisis.

"Alright, you ugly bastards," I growled, raising my sword. "Let's make this quick. I've got a throne to claim, a genocide to plan, and a doctor's appointment to schedule."

But before I could even take a step toward those ugly bastards, something bizarre happened. One by one, the demons burst into flames, their grotesque bodies writhing and screeching as they were reduced to ash in a matter of seconds.

It was like someone had set off a magical flamethrower, and I was left standing there, sword in hand, looking like an overzealous barbecue enthusiast who'd shown up too late to the party.

"What the—" I started, but my confusion was cut short by a voice that was equal parts calm and condescending.

"Your Highness, are you alright?"

I turned to see a man standing a few meters away, his long gray hair flowing like he was in some kind of shampoo commercial.

His gray eyes, sharp and calculating, studied me with a mix of concern and mild amusement.

His face was wrinkled, but not in a "kind old grandpa" way—more like a "I've seen some stuff, and I'm not impressed by your theatrics" way.

This was Brutus, one of Rome's Magic Saints. You know, the kind of guy who's a big deal in Roman society.

Like my father, the Emperor, who's currently paralyzed. Tragic.

Or my mother, the Empress, who once tried to… well, let's just say her attempt to reenact a certain Greek myth involving a horse didn't end well.

More tragic.

But hey, who cares? Their misfortunes paved the way for me to keep the crown. Silver linings, right?

Oh, did I mention? I'm the crown prince of Rome. The youngest of my siblings, but the most ambitious.

And the guy standing in front of me, Brutus, is one of the few people in the empire who can make me feel like a misbehaving child with just a raised eyebrow.

"Your Highness, let's go back to the camp," Brutus said, his voice calm but carrying that subtle edge of authority that made it clear this wasn't a suggestion.

He extended his hand toward me, his fingers glowing faintly with a soft, ethereal light. The mana swirling around his palm was unmistakable—he was preparing to cast a spell. And given the way the air around us started to shimmer, I had a pretty good idea what kind of spell it was.

Teleportation. Ugh. Just the thought of it made my stomach churn. I hated teleportation.

It always left me feeling like I'd been spun around in a barrel and tossed down a hill. Dizzy, disoriented, and on the verge of throwing up—hardly the dignified look a future emperor should be sporting.

As Brutus took slow, deliberate steps toward me, I could see the concern in his gray eyes. Or maybe it was just exasperation. With him, it was hard to tell.

"Your Highness," he said again, his tone softening just a fraction, "you're getting high again. It's time to return."

High? HIGH! I wanted to scream. Does it look like I'm getting high, huh? HUH! I'm perfectly fine!

Yeah, so what if my body sometimes produces way too much adrenaline, and I get a little… carried away?

That doesn't mean I'm high! It just means I'm enthusiastic about my job.

You know, slaughtering demons, leading armies, the usual imperial responsibilities.

I bit my tongue, though, keeping my thoughts to myself. Arguing with Brutus was like trying to reason with a brick wall—except the brick wall could cast spells and had a reputation for stabbing people.

Oh, yeah, did I mention that? Rumor has it he once stabbed someone 24 times. His own friend, no less. Poor guy. I don't know what he did to deserve that, but I'm not about to find out the hard way.

Brutus was now within arm's reach, his glowing hand hovering just inches from my shoulder.

I could feel the mana radiating off him, warm and tingling against my skin. "Your Highness," he said, his voice firm but not unkind, "let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Brutus's POV

Sigh…

It's a good thing His Highness didn't get too high today. Otherwise, capturing him and dragging him back to camp would've been a nightmare.

The last time he went full adrenaline-high, it took three arch mages, a dozen thousand soldiers, and a very confused donkey to corner him.

And even then, he managed to give a two-hour speech about the "glorious massacre of the Persians" before we finally got him to calm down.

His Highness is, without a doubt, a sharp and intelligent young man. He's got the wit, the charisma, and the strategic mind to be a great emperor—maybe even one of the best Rome has ever seen.

But then there's… this. His body's bizarre reaction to adrenaline. It's like someone flipped a switch, and suddenly, he's not just fighting demons—he's auditioning for the role of "Most Unhinged Tyrant in History."

Today, thankfully, it was just the usual rant about genocide and invading Persia. Yada yada. Honestly, I've heard it so many times I could probably recite it in my sleep.

"I'll show them a tyrant worse than Nero!" he'll shout, waving his sword around like a madman.

"I'll be the next Pax Caelus!" And then, without fail, he'll start coughing up blood because, surprise surprise, fighting endless wars while high on adrenaline isn't exactly great for your health.

If only he didn't have this… condition. He'd be the perfect candidate for the throne.

But no, he had to inherit the Body of Eternity—a rare and ancient bloodline trait that makes him practically unstoppable in battle but also turns him into a walking disaster when his adrenaline spikes.

It's like the Caelus looked at him and said, "Here's unlimited potential… but we're going to make it as inconvenient as possible."

I glanced over at him as we materialized back at the camp. He was already looking a little pale, no doubt dreading the moment he comes down from his adrenaline high and realizes what he's done. Oh, I know exactly how this will go.

He'll lock himself in his tent, muttering about how "embarrassing" the whole thing was, and then he'll summon me with that awkward, half-guilty look on his face.

"Brutus," he'll say, avoiding eye contact, "you'll… uh… wipe everyone's memories of that little… incident, right? The whole massacre speech? And the coughing? And the part where I called myself the 'Bringer of Chaos'? Just… make it all go away."

And I'll nod, because what else can I do? He's the crown prince, after all. But deep down, I'll be smirking. Because no matter how many times I erase everyone's memories, I'll always remember.

And someday, when he's finally emperor, I'll remind him of these moments. Just to keep him humble.

He's just like julius.

For now, though, I'll let him have his dignity. Or whatever's left of it.

Though I understand why… the imperial family has gone a little off the rails these days. Well, more than a little. Let's be honest, they've gone full circus. But to be fair, it's not entirely their fault.

The Roman Empire has a long, complicated history, and let's just say the current generation didn't exactly start the fire. They just inherited the dumpster.

You see, when the Roman Empire was reestablished after we got our asses handed to us by the Germani (a humiliating chapter of history we don't talk about), things were… different.

The early days were filled with hope, idealism, and a lot of speeches that sounded like they were written by someone who'd had too much wine and not enough sleep.

"Today marks not only the new beginning of our empire… but the birth of a new world!" the ministers would declare, their voices trembling with passion.

"A better world! A world full of equality, justice, and welfare! FOR ROME IS ITS PEOPLE!"

According to the history books, this speech was practically the national anthem during the early days of the reestablished empire.

Ministers would deliver it at every opportunity—morning assemblies, state dinners, even while standing in line for the bathroom.

It was inspiring, sure, but after the hundredth time, even the most patriotic citizens were probably like, "Yes, yes, we get it. Can we move on to the part where we get free bread?"

But as the centuries passed, things… changed. The idealism faded, the speeches grew shorter, and the empire's priorities shifted.

Drastically. By the time I joined the imperial court, the rallying cry had gone from "For Rome is its people!" to something far less poetic.

"FUCK THE POOR! FUCK THE POOR! FUCK THE POOR!" became the unofficial motto of the imperial family, the ministers, and even the Senate.

It was like they'd all collectively decided that the poor were public enemy number one.

And if they weren't busy hating the poor, they'd switch targets to the Persians. Because why hate just one group when you can hate two?

"FUCK THE PERSIANS! FUCK THE PERSIANS! FUCKING THE POOR PERSIANS!" they'd chant, as if adding "poor" as an adjective somehow made it more acceptable.

It was like watching a group of toddlers throw a tantrum, except these toddlers had armies, magic, and the power to tax people into oblivion.

I'll admit, it's hard not to feel a little sorry for the current imperial family. They're not all bad. His Highness, for example, has moments of genuine brilliance—when he's not high on adrenaline, that is.

"Ahhh… Brutus, I don't feel so good."

The voice came from behind me, weak and trembling, and I froze mid-step.

His Highness was walking a few paces behind me, and while I'd normally chalk up his complaints to his usual dramatics, something about the way he said it sent a chill down my spine.

It sounded… off. Like he wasn't just trying to get out of another council meeting or avoid eating his vegetables.

Still, I hesitated. This could very well be a trap. His Highness had a knack for pulling pranks at the most inconvenient times.

Once, he faked a broken leg just to see how many people would trip over themselves to carry him back to the palace. (Spoiler: it was a lot.)

But as much as I wanted to believe this was another one of his schemes, the gnawing feeling in my gut told me otherwise.

I turned around, bracing myself for whatever nonsense he'd cooked up this time. But what I saw…

What I saw was fucking horrifying.

"YOUR HIGHNESS! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

His Highness was… disintegrating. His body was turning to dust, particles of light and ash floating away into the air as if he were being erased from existence.

I lunged forward, my hand outstretched, but it was too late. Before I could even reach him, he was gone.

Vanished. Nothing left but a faint shimmer in the air where he'd stood just moments ago.

I stood there, frozen, my mind racing to process what had just happened. One second, he was there—ranting about Persians, demons, and his latest plan to "fix" the empire.

The next, he was… gone. Just like that. No warning. No explanation. Just poof.

"Fuck," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm losing my head this time for sure."

The emperor would have my head. The empress—well, if she were still alive, she'd probably have my head too.

The entire imperial family would demand answers, and when I couldn't provide them, they'd probably turn me into a human pincushion.

And let's not even talk about the soldiers. Half of them worshipped the ground His Highness walked on.

His bath water was once sold at a price of half a million Aureus... And mind you gdp per capita of a avg roman is just 300 sestertii... and one aureus=100 sestertii.

If they found out I'd let him turn to dust right in front of me, they'd string and stab me up faster than you could say "treason."

I don't wanna get stab....

"NEIN! NEIN! NEIN!" I shouted, pacing back and forth like a madman. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. I was supposed to protect him. That was my job. My duty. And now… now he was gone. Just gone.

I dropped to my knees, my mind spinning with a thousand questions and zero answers. What had caused this? Was it some kind of curse? A spell gone wrong? Or was it… something worse? Something even I couldn't comprehend?

For the first time in centuries, I felt truly helpless. And as I stared at the empty space where His Highness had stood, I couldn't help but think one thing:

Rome is doomed.

(For Rome is it's people and brutus is roman)

.....

Caelus XVI's POV

'Ahhh… What happened?' I wondered, blinking as I found myself in a dark, endless void.

It was like someone had turned off the lights in the universe and forgotten to pay the electricity bill. I was lying on something soft—so soft it felt like I was floating on clouds or maybe bobbing gently on the surface of a calm sea.

It was… weirdly relaxing. Like the kind of comfort you'd expect from a five-star inn, except without the overpriced wine and suspiciously friendly staff.

I could still feel my body, but it didn't feel like mine anymore. It was like I'd been stuffed into a suit that was two sizes too big, and now I was just awkwardly shuffling around in it.

I looked up, but there was no sky—just an endless expanse of darkness that seemed to stretch on forever.

It wasn't exactly the most welcoming sight. If this was the afterlife, someone needed to have a serious talk with the interior designer.

The only good thing about this place was the surface I was lying on. It was so soft, so comfy, that I could've easily drifted off to sleep right then and there. But no. I couldn't do that. Not yet.

"NEIN!" I shouted into the void, my voice echoing like I was in some kind of cosmic cave. "Don't do that, Caelus! We need to figure out what happened!"

I racked my brain, trying to piece together the last few moments before I ended up here. Brutus had teleported us back to the camp, and then… I didn't feel good. Like, really didn't feel good. And then… nothing. Just darkness.

Wait. Did I… die?

"NEIN! NEIN! NEIN! NEIN!" I screamed, flailing my arms like a man possessed. "I HAVEN'T INVADED PERSIA YET! I CAN'T ENTER ROMAN HEAVEN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The thought of dying before achieving my lifelong dream of conquering Persia was too much to bear. All those plans, all those speeches, all that adrenaline-fueled ranting—wasted! And for what?

To end up in some boring afterlife filled with Carthaginians? NEIN, NEIN, NEIN. This couldn't be happening. I refused to accept it.

"DAMN IT!" I yelled, shaking my fist at the void. "I should've invaded Persia first! And Germania! NEIN! This is unacceptable!"

But just as I was about to launch into another rant about my unfinished conquests, something strange happened.

The black void around me began to crack. At first, it was just a faint sound, like the tinkling of glass, but then it grew louder, more insistent.

I looked around, my eyes widening as the darkness started to shatter into countless pieces, like a goddamn mirror being smashed by an angry god.

"What the—" I started, but my words were cut off as the void completely collapsed, revealing a blinding light that flooded the space around me.

I shielded my eyes, squinting as my vision adjusted to the sudden brightness. It was like someone had flipped a switch, and the universe had decided to stop messing around.

And then, I heard it. A voice. Calm, casual, and with just a hint of amusement.

"Hey you, you're finally awake."