kingdom Bones and Ash

lum Gate still reeked of blood and old smoke.

Chris stood at the edge of the pit where Baran died, now converted into a crude rally square. Children watched him warily from behind torn curtains. Vendors peeked over makeshift stalls, waiting to see if he would become another tyrant who talked pretty but ruled with a club.

Chris didn't smile.

He didn't give speeches.

He gave orders.

"Clean the wells. Seal the tunnels. Anyone with a working forge gets fed twice."

People didn't cheer.

They obeyed.

Liri leaned against a rusted railing as Chris paced the balcony of Baran's former stronghold.

"You're not exactly lovable," she muttered.

"I'm not here to be loved," Chris replied. "I'm here to restore order."

"You know what the difference is between you and the last guy?"

Chris glanced at her.

She smirked. "You make people want to be afraid."

He didn't answer.

Later that evening, a caravan of half-starved survivors limped into Slum Gate from the eastern outlands. They'd come from Vestmar, one of the outer cities Chris had once personally raised from ruin.

He recognized the banners they dragged with them—tattered black silk with a silver flame.

His old crest.

Only now, it was inverted.

Twisted.

Corrupted.

They were ushered into the old infirmary. Chris didn't wait. He went himself, pushing through the crowd until he found a man barely old enough to hold a sword.

"Where did you get this banner?" Chris asked, holding the ruined cloth.

The man winced. "It flew over Ashenvale. Until last month."

"Ashenvale still stands?" Chris asked.

The man's expression soured. "What stands is a slaughterhouse."

Chris's eyes darkened.

The survivor wiped blood from his brow. "They said it was your will. Said the True King ordered a purge. They rounded up anyone with magic they didn't like. Mages, priests, even some beastkin children. Burned them in the streets."

Chris felt something tear inside him.

"And who led this?" he asked, though he already knew.

"They called him the Crimson Herald. Tall. Black armor. Said he was you."

Chris gritted his teeth.

Zaire.

The bastard wasn't content to conquer. He was using Chris's name. His face. His legacy.

[System Notification: Hero's Legacy Fragment Altered]

Your historical title has been corrupted by Invader Z-001.

Influence loss: 8% in outer territories.

New Trait: Legacy Fracture (Passive)

— You gain bonuses when acting to reclaim or defend your legacy. Increases loyalty from displaced citizens who recognize the truth.

Chris dismissed the system window and turned back to the survivors.

"There is only one True King," he said quietly. "And he's standing in front of you."

They didn't respond at first.

But a little girl peeked out from behind her mother's cloak.

"You don't burn people, do you?"

Chris knelt down. "No," he said softly. "I burn monsters."

She stared for a long moment… then nodded.

And that was the first loyalty he'd earned with words alone.

That night, Chris stood alone on the tower roof as the wind pulled at his cloak.

Zaire was mimicking his style. Distorting his laws. Turning mercy into manipulation, justice into fear. Chris could almost feel him through the bond of the system—like poison spreading from a shared root.

Liri approached quietly.

"I heard what the refugees said," she murmured. "You know what this means?"

Chris nodded. "Zaire's not just conquering."

"He's replacing you."

Back in his room, Chris opened the System Console and accessed the Memory Vault, still mostly locked. But something had shifted.

A new line glowed.

Memory Echo Unlocked: Thronefire Massacre – Year 487, Old Calendar

Chris tapped it.

The vision slammed into him like a hammer.

He stood in another body—his old one. Surrounded by smoke, fire, and screams. A burning palace. Corpses of nobles, rebels, and children alike. His sword dripped crimson. At the end of the hall knelt the traitor commander who had betrayed the capital.

Chris remembered this day. He had ordered the purge. And he had never apologized.

But it wasn't the same.

He had done it to stop a coup. To save a continent from decades of civil war.

Zaire was doing it… for experience points.

Chris emerged from the vision coughing, sweat pouring down his face.

"Don't confuse what you did… with what he's doing," Liri said softly.

Chris looked at her, eyes glowing faintly with mana.

"I won't," he said. "But if the world can't tell the difference, I'll carve it into their bones."

The following morning, Chris summoned the remaining leaders of Slum Gate.

The carpenter's guild. The blacksmith's nephew. A few ex-mercs. One old midwife. He formed a council—not to rule with him, but to oversee basic operations. Trade, security, food.

He was done pretending one man could fix everything.

"I need you to run the district," he told them. "I'm marching to reclaim my legacy."

"You're leaving?" one woman asked, eyes wide.

Chris nodded. "Not forever. But I won't let that thing wear my crown one day longer."

[Quest Updated: Retake the Ashen Path]

Objective: Restore three lost districts tied to your original empire.

Progress: 0/3

Subtask: Reclaim the Flame Crest (Corrupted)

Reward: Title Restoration | +2 Trait Points | Unlock "King's Edict" Feature

As Chris stood at the city gate, preparing to leave Slum Gate in Liri's hands for a time, the people gathered quietly.

Some offered weapons.

Others just stared.

But when he turned to them one last time…

A few knelt.

Not out of fear.

But because they believed.