The Puppet Emperor Regresses

An old man is dying. Shed no tears.

Emperor Mikhail Robinette D'Arcy Ironforge was dying. Again.

Mana-powered orbs cast eerie shadows across his gilded deathbed. The once-grand Imperial bedchamber was a prison, its opulent tapestries and gleaming marble columns mocking him with memories of what could have been.

Mikhail's eyes darted from face to face in the crowded chamber. Vultures, all of them.

[System Alert: Host's HP critically low. Chance of survival: 0.01%]

"Tch." Mikhail clicked his tongue. Even now, the System mocked him with its cold efficiency.

A noble sobbed dramatically nearby. Mikhail resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Save your tears, you two-faced sycophant. I know you're already plotting how to profit from my death.'

As he lay there, Mikhail's mind drifted to his previous life - his first life - as Albert Mannery. He'd been a disillusioned office worker, trapped in a cycle of monotony. Crammed into a tiny cubicle, drowning in spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails from middle management. Nights spent in a cramped, dingy apartment, the scent of mildew ever-present. Weekends wasted binge-watching shows he didn't even like, just to numb the emptiness.

Albert Mannery had been going nowhere, he was nothing. Until that fateful day...

A freak accident. Blinding pain. Then darkness.

And suddenly, he wasn't Albert anymore. He was Mikhail, fourth prince of the Tiberian Empire, a realm of swords and sorcery beyond his wildest dreams.

It should have been his second chance. A shot at greatness in a world where power was tangible, where legends walked among mortals. He'd even been granted a System, a cheat code for this new reality.

But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humour.

"Your Majesty," a silky voice cut through his reverie. "Is there anything we can do to ease your passing?"

Mikhail's gaze locked onto Archmage Vesper. The very man who had started this whole mess. "You could die," Mikhail thought bitterly. Instead, he croaked, "Water."

As a servant scurried to fetch a goblet of water, Mikhail's fingers brushed against the simple pendant hanging from his neck. To anyone else, it looked like a cheap trinket. If only they knew.

Memories flooded back, a tide of betrayal and regret...

---

It was his sixth birthday, the day of the Imperial Test. Young Mikhail had entered the sacred testing grounds, his confidence masking a deep-seated fear. From birth, he'd been an outsider – the product of Emperor Tiberius's dalliance with a lowborn mistress. The nobility's disdain was palpable, their whispers a constant reminder of his "impure blood."

[System Alert: Imperial Test initiated. Success will grant the Host a Mana Heart or Aura Core. Failure may result in permanent damage to cultivation potential.]

The test began. As Mikhail attempted to channel mana, searing pain ripped through his body. He collapsed, screaming in agony as his fellow princes looked on in shock and dismay.

[System Alert: Anomaly detected. Corrupted mana detected in Host's surroundings. Risk of Mana Heart shattering: 98.7%]

What Mikhail didn't know then was that his failure wasn't entirely his fault. He had simply been caught up in a plot devised by Archmage Vesper and Empress Camilla, driven by the bitterness of her husband's infidelity and the Archmage's ambition to be granted favour by the Empress, they had secretly tainted his clothes with corrupted mana. A young maid, Bella, had unknowingly delivered the sabotaged garments.

The verdict was devastating: Mikhail's mana heart had shattered. He would never cultivate magical or martial power.

[System Alert: Mana Heart shattered. Host's cultivation potential reduced to 0.001%. System functionality severely limited. Host did not endure.]

From that day forward, Mikhail was the "Crippled Prince," an object of pity and disdain.

Emperor Tiberius's eyes, once warm with affection, now held only cold indifference. "Such weakness," he muttered, turning away from his youngest son.

Empress Camilla, who had never accepted Mikhail, sneered. "I told you, my love. Bad blood will out."

The court buzzed with cruel whispers. "The bastard prince is broken. A fitting fate for one of impure blood."

---

As Mikhail grew, he desperately tried to compensate for his lack of power. He devoured books on history, politics, and strategy. But knowledge without strength was a sword without an edge – useless in the cutthroat world of imperial politics.

[System Alert: Host's Intelligence increased by 1. Current Intelligence: 87/100. Reminder: Without a functional Mana Heart, stat increases have minimal impact on overall power.]

Often, in moments of quiet despair, Mikhail found himself longing for his old life as Albert. At least there, mediocrity was the norm. Here, weakness was a sin.

His siblings, meanwhile, grew in both power and ambition:

Lyanna, a prodigy in martial arts, who became a Sword Saint, watched Mikhail with predatory eyes, calculating how to use his weakness to her advantage.

Bartholomew, the military genius and 5th-level Swordmaster, commanded armies while Mikhail could barely lift a sword.

Aether, a 4th Circle Mage and silver-tongued diplomat, brokered peace and incited war with equal ease, while Mikhail struggled to be heard in council meetings.

And then there was Mikhail – the spare, the weakling, the failure. He watched helplessly as the seeds of betrayal were sown around him.

Crown Princess Lyanna, impatient for power, poisoned their father. But her reign was short-lived. Within a year, she too was dead.

[System Alert: Major plot development detected. The Host's family dynamics have significantly changed. Recalculating survival probabilities.]

Bartholomew's ascension should have marked a new era of military might. Instead, it brought ruin. Blinded by greed, he attempted to conquer the world leading enemy nations to unite against him. 

In the chaos that followed, Prince Aether saw his chance. With honeyed words and calculated bribes, he orchestrated a coup that nearly succeeded. But his silver tongue turned to ash when his co-conspirators betrayed him, preferring to curry favour with the Imperial Protectorate rather than risk everything on Aether's ambitions.

Both princes perished in that debacle.

[System Alert: The Host is now the sole surviving heir to the Imperial Throne. Caution: This position brings both opportunity and extreme danger.]

And so, against all odds and his own desires, Mikhail found himself crowned emperor. The weak link, the cripple, the failure – now sat upon the Eternal Throne.

But it was a hollow victory.

From the moment the crown touched his brow, Mikhail was a puppet emperor. The Imperial Protectorate, the noble houses, the remnants of his siblings' factions – all saw in him a malleable tool to be used for their own ends.

The last cut came from the one person he thought he could trust – his childhood friend, Aria.

On Mikhail's 35th birthday, Aria came to his chambers, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can't bear to see you suffer any longer," she whispered, pressing a vial into his hand. "This elixir... it's said to repair even the most damaged mana heart. I've spent years searching for it, for you."

[System Alert: Unknown substance detected. Caution advised. Without a functional Mana Heart, the Host is vulnerable to magical toxins.]

Hope, that treacherous emotion, bloomed in Mikhail's chest. He drank deeply.

For a moment, warmth spread through his body. A flicker of... power?

Then the pain hit. Mikhail collapsed, his body convulsing as poison tore through him. Through blurred vision, he saw Aria's face transform from concern to cold satisfaction.

"Why?" he gasped.

Aria's laugh was like shattered glass. "Oh, Mikhail. Did you really think someone like me would waste their life on someone like you? The noble houses paid handsomely for this little performance. 

[System Alert: Critical damage detected. Host's lifeforce rapidly depleting. Initiating emergency stasis.]

Only the desperate efforts of his loyal manservant, Gregor, saved Mikhail that night. But the poison left its mark, weakening his already frail body. And worse, it shattered what little trust he had left in the world.

As Mikhail recovered, the empire plunged into turmoil.

Mikhail tried, oh how he tried, to be more than a figurehead. He pored over reports, attended every council meeting, and sought the advice of those he thought trustworthy. But without the strength to back up his edicts, without the magical or martial might that formed the backbone of their society, his words were meaningless.

[System Alert: The Host's efforts to rule effectively are being systematically undermined. Probability of maintaining genuine authority: 3.2%]

Each day brought new humiliations:

General Thorn, the grizzled veteran Mikhail had appointed as his military advisor, deliberately sabotaged crucial battles, ceding imperial lands to their enemies. Mikhail's lack of battlefield experience left him blind to the general's treachery until it was too late. Entire legions were lost due to "tactical errors" that any competent commander would have avoided.

"Your Majesty," Thorn would say, his voice dripping with false deference, "perhaps it would be best to leave military matters to those with... experience."

Archmage Vesper, the court magician who had sworn fealty to the crown, used his position to siphon off vast quantities of magical resources. When Mikhail confronted him, the Archmage merely laughed. With a casual gesture, he shattered what remained of Mikhail's mana heart, cursing him with a wasting disease.

"Consider this a reminder of your place, 'Emperor'," Vesper sneered, finally revealing his role in Mikhail's original failure.

[System Alert: Critical magical attack detected. The Host's already damaged Mana Heart has been completely destroyed. Life expectancy drastically reduced.]

The noble houses, once cowed by the strength of Mikhail's predecessors, now treated imperial edicts as mere suggestions. They raised taxes on the common folk, hoarded resources during times of hardship, and waged private wars amongst themselves. When Mikhail tried to intervene, he found his orders countermanded or simply ignored.

Even the servants and guards within the palace walls treated him with barely concealed disdain. Mikhail often overheard their whispers: "The Cripple Emperor," "The Puppet on the Throne," "The Broken Link."

Years passed, and Mikhail watched helplessly as the empire he had sworn to protect crumbled around him. Drought and famine ravaged the outer provinces, but the noble houses hoarded grain and wealth. 

---

And now, here he lay, a dying man in a room full of false mourners. Mikhail's eyes swept across the chamber one last time, cataloguing each face, each betrayal, each failure.

As his breathing grew more laboured, Mikhail's fingers tightened around the pendant. This simple trinket, a gift left to him by his mother before she was exiled for manufactured crimes against the empire, was more than it appeared. It was a Temporal Anchor, a legendary artefact capable of sending one's consciousness back in time. A forgotten treasure, filled with his mother's love. He had discovered its true nature years ago, but the activation required more magical power than his broken body could ever muster.

Until now.

[System Alert: Temporal Anchor detected. Host's impending death has created a Fixed Point in time. Warning: Activation may result in complete cessation of the Host's current existence. Proceed with caution.]

In his final moments, as his life force ebbed away, Mikhail felt a strange energy building within him. The curse that was killing him, the accumulated resentment of a lifetime of failure, the desperate wish for a second chance – all coalesced into a power he had never known.

"My loyal subjects," Mikhail wheezed. The vultures leaned in closer, eager to hear the dying emperor's last words. Perhaps a final proclamation they could twist to their advantage?

Instead, Mikhail poured every last ounce of his being into the pendant. "Activate Temporal Anchor," he hissed.

[Warning: Temporal Regression will reset all stats and abilities. Host will retain memories and System access. The anchoring process may cause extreme pain. Proceed? Y/N]

"Yes," Mikhail snarled, his eyes suddenly blazing with an intensity that made the gathered traitors step back in shock.

As searing agony ripped through his body, Mikhail allowed himself a final, grim smile. Let them see, in his last moments, the depths of his hatred and determination. Let that be the image that haunted them in the future he would rewrite.

They could sense that something was wrong, they didn't know what, but these vile creatures had practised enough deceit to know when danger was looming.

First one, then two, then all of them shot clawed fingers out at Mikhail attempting to snatch the pendant around his next, all pretence of mourning forgotten, their survival instincts kicked in all on their own.

The world began to dissolve around him, the expressions of confusion and fear on the faces of his betrayers the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him.

In that timeless void between moments, Mikhail made a solemn vow. This time, he would not be the naive fool. This time, he would be the blade in the dark, the poison in the cup, the unseen puppet master. This time, every single person who had ever wronged him would pay the price.

The last thought that echoed through his mind before consciousness faded was a litany of names – a manifesto of vengeance – and a promise to his reincarnated self:

Never again would he waste the gifts given to him.
Never again would he be the weak link.
Never again would he be a puppet for others to control.

This time, Mikhail Robinette D'Arcy Ironforge would forge his own destiny.

[System Alert: Temporal Regression successful. Resetting Host to age six. All memories retained. Initiating new timeline...]

---

Mikhail's eyes snapped open, his small body drenched in sweat. He bolted upright, gasping, and found himself in the modest bedchamber assigned to the "spare" prince – the overlooked fourth son, far from the centre of power.

His hand immediately went to his chest, fingers clasping desperately around the simple pendant that hung there. It pulsed once with warmth, then went inert, turning pitch black – its power spent, but its purpose fulfilled.

[Welcome back, Host. Temporal Regression successful!! All stats and abilities have been reset. It is your sixth birthday. You are an old man and a child. I wish you well.]

The familiar blue interface of the System appeared before his eyes, confirming what he already knew. He was weak again in body, but his mind was razor-sharp, honed by years of betrayal and fueled by an inferno of revenge and self-recrimination.

A tentative knock came at the door. "Prince Mikhail? Are you awake?"

Mikhail's lips curled into a cold smile. The day of his first humiliation – when he had shrunk from the cultivation techniques offered to only the royal family, the day he thought he'd scammed his way into a life of freedom and luxury, cementing his reputation as the weak link in the imperial family.

How fitting that this would be where his vengeance – and his true journey to power – began.

[Quest Alert: The First Step Towards Atonement]

[Objective: Endure the royal cultivation ritual and establish your potential. The longer you endure the ritual the greater your potential will be.]

[Warning: Due to the unique nature of the User's regressed personality, all atonement and suffering you endure will benefit you in your journey of redemption. All forgiveness earned will empower you. The greater the pain the grander the reward.]

[Reward: Increased Reputation, Rare Skill Book "Foundations of Imperial Might"]

[Failure: Decreased Family Standing, Target for Early Elimination]

[Accept? Y/N]

"Accept," Mikhail whispered, his young voice laced with a determination that belied his years.

As he rose the maids entered his room to dress him for the day, Mikhail's mind raced with plans within plans. Every interaction would be a move on the grand chessboard of revenge. Every lesson a step towards the power he would need. Every relationship a weapon to be honed and wielded.

Never again.

This time, Mikhail would become a true master of magic and aura. He would unravel every secret of cultivation, every nuance of court intrigue. The System would be his tool, not his crutch.

This time, Mikhail would be the master of his own fate, and he would watch with cold satisfaction as all those who had wronged him danced to their doom on the strings of his vengeance.

The empire – no, the world – would never be the same.