The scent of old wood. The flickering candlelight. The faint sound of carriages outside the window.
Zayn Valor sat in stunned silence, his hands gripping the wooden edge of his desk. The familiar room—his old chamber in the Royal Academy—was exactly as he remembered it.
The desk was small and worn, the bed had a stiff mattress, and there was no sign of wealth or power. This was the place he had stayed before he became a king, before he conquered the world.
He was seventeen years old again.
He slowly brought his hands to his face, feeling his smooth, unscarred skin. No battle wounds. No callouses from wielding his legendary sword. He turned his hands over, flexing his fingers.
The strength was gone—but the knowledge remained.
Zayn let out a slow exhale, eyes narrowing.
[Tyrant's Game System Activated.][Rebirth Complete. All Physical Attributes Reset to Age 17.][Mental Attributes, Skills, and Knowledge Retained.][New Objective: Conquer the World Again – Without Fail.]
The words appeared in his vision, glowing with an ethereal fire. His lips curled into a smirk.
It worked.
His sacrifice had been accepted. The world had been erased, and time had been rewound.
But that meant…
The betrayers were alive again.
Kael. Lysara. The noble houses. The heroes who thought they had ended his reign.
They were all here. Living. Breathing. Unaware of the fate they had once suffered.
Zayn's eyes darkened. Not for long.
Zayn stood, his movements smooth yet calculated. He had to remember his place. Right now, he was not a king, not a warlord—he was a mere student at the Royal Academy of Valor.
A place where the future rulers, commanders, and elite of the world were trained.
He walked to the window, pulling aside the dusty curtains. The academy grounds stretched out before him—grand halls, training arenas, and noble brats laughing as they played their little political games.
He had spent years here, a nameless prince of a minor kingdom, underestimated, overlooked.
That was their mistake.
Zayn turned away from the window. He wouldn't waste this chance.
The first time, it had taken him two decades to rise to power. He had clawed his way up, formed alliances, led wars, crushed empires.
This time, he would rise faster.
A knock came at the door.
"Zayn! Open up!" A familiar voice, one that sent a ripple of memory through him.
Zayn smirked. Raiden.
The door swung open, and Raiden Blackthorn stepped in—a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a perpetual scowl on his face. His black hair was messy, his noble uniform slightly wrinkled.
"You're late again," Raiden grumbled, crossing his arms. "The first combat session starts in an hour. Get moving."
Zayn almost chuckled. Raiden. His only true friend.
In the previous life, Raiden had stood by him until the bitter end—loyal even as the world turned against him.
But Zayn had never truly valued him. He had always thought of him as just a strong sword, a tool for his empire. First a tool for the empire, then a tool for him. The entire reason they were friends was because they shared a camaraderie, being used by the empire as pawns.
This time, I won't make that mistake.
"Relax," Zayn said, stretching. "I'll be there."
Raiden frowned. "What's with you? You seem… different."
Zayn smirked. "Just feeling a little more ambitious today."
Raiden rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't slack off."
The Academy's Combat Grounds were as grand as Zayn remembered—an open-air coliseum, with hundreds of students gathered to prove themselves.
The instructors stood at the center, their eyes scanning the crowd. Among them was Instructor Helgar, a veteran knight known for his brutal training methods.
Helgar stepped forward, voice booming. "Today, we separate the weak from the strong. You are nobles, warriors, future rulers—but none of that matters here. On this field, only power decides your worth."
Zayn smirked. He had heard this speech before.
Helgar's sharp eyes scanned the students. "Step forward when I call your name. Your opponent will be chosen at random."
One by one, students were called. They stepped into the arena, fought their battles, won or lost.
Then—
"Zayn Valor!"
The crowd murmured.
"Who's that?" "Some prince from a minor kingdom." "Never heard of him."
Zayn Valor stepped forward, his golden eyes gleaming with cold amusement. Across from him stood Kael Draymoor—the man who, in another life, had betrayed him, stabbed him in the back, and taken everything he built.
Now?
He was just a cocky little brat who thought too highly of himself.
Kael smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Hope you're ready, prince. You may have gotten lucky being picked, but I'm not going to go easy on you."
Zayn simply smiled. "You're already dead."
Kael frowned. "What?"
"Nothing. Just reminiscing."
This was going to be fun.
Part 2: The First Strike
The match began.
Kael rushed forward immediately, swinging his wooden training sword with full force—fast and strong, but reckless. Sloppy.
Zayn didn't move.
His cold eyes memorized every mistake in Kael's stance, every flaw in his balance.
Kael swung down—predictable.
Zayn tilted his head slightly, letting the blade pass an inch from his face. Then—he moved.
His fist slammed into Kael's ribs like a battering ram.
CRACK.
Kael's eyes widened as the air was ripped from his lungs. He staggered back, choking, his ribs screaming in pain.
The crowd gasped.
"What the—"
"He didn't even use his sword!"
Kael gritted his teeth and growled, trying to ignore the pain. "You cocky bastard—!"
He lunged again—faster, angrier.
That was his mistake.
Zayn sidestepped effortlessly, his own wooden sword slamming into Kael's wrist.
SNAP.
Kael screamed as the bone fractured on impact. His sword flew from his grasp, clattering to the ground.
His face twisted in shock, in agony. "You…!"
Zayn tilted his head, mockingly. "What's wrong, General Kael? You seem weaker than I remember."
Kael threw a punch with his uninjured hand.
Wrong move.
Zayn caught his fist mid-air, fingers wrapping around Kael's hand like a vice. His grip tightened.
CRACK.
Kael let out a strangled cry as the bones in his hand snapped like twigs.
He collapsed to his knees, trembling, his face pale with pain and humiliation.
The crowd had gone deathly silent.
Zayn crouched down, gripping Kael's broken hand tightly. The boy whimpered.
Zayn leaned in, whispering coldly:
"Do you know what you did to me in another life?" His voice was a ghostly whisper, meant for Kael alone.
Kael's face twisted in confusion and agony. "W-what…?"
Zayn smiled—a cruel, merciless thing.
"It doesn't matter. Because in this life, you will never rise high enough to betray me."
Then, he drove his knee into Kael's face.
BANG.
Blood splattered across the arena floor. Kael's nose shattered, his head snapping back as his body collapsed completely onto the ground.
Unconscious. Broken. Humiliated beyond repair.
Part 3: The Aftermath
The silence was deafening.
Even Instructor Helgar, a hardened warrior, looked stunned. He cleared his throat. "Winner: Zayn Valor."
The spectators erupted in whispers.
"Did you see that?" "He destroyed him." "He humiliated a Draymoor—he's finished!" "No… I think it's the opposite. This guy… he's terrifying."
Zayn smirked. Let them talk.
He stepped over Kael's unconscious body without sparing him another glance.
[Objective Progress: The Tyrant's Return – 3% Complete.]
This was only the beginning.
And Kael?
He was already beneath him.