The Puppet Emperor Regresses

The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across Mikhail's bedchamber. 

The young prince sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed in deep meditation. The day's lesson with Grand Mage Thorne replayed in his mind, each concept slowly crystallising as he absorbed the knowledge.

The warm pulse of mana flowed through his body, following the intricate patterns of the Imperial Celestial Spiral Technique. As he delved deeper into his meditative state, a sense of peace washed over Mikhail.

But then, something changed.

A sudden chill prickled the back of Mikhail's neck, breaking his concentration. His eyes snapped open, adjusting to the darkness of his bedchamber. 

Something was wrong. 

The air felt... different. Heavier, somehow. Charged with an energy that set his teeth on edge.

Mikhail held his breath, straining his ears for any sound out of place. For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft whisper of the night breeze through his curtains and the distant chirping of crickets.

This feeling was all too familiar to Mikhail. In his past life as a powerless emperor, the constant threat of assassination had ingrained this sense of impending danger deep into his soul.

Then he heard it. 

A whisper of movement, so faint it might have been his imagination. But Mikhail knew better.

Without thinking, Mikhail rolled off the bed, his small body hitting the floor with a soft thud.

A fraction of a second later, a wickedly sharp blade sliced through the air where his head had been moments before. The blade embedded itself in his pillow with a dull thunk, feathers exploding into the air.

Heart pounding, Mikhail scrambled to his feet, coming face to face with his attacker. The sight before him froze the blood in his veins.

The figure looming over his bed was a nightmare made flesh. Desiccated skin stretched tight over a skeletal frame, empty eye sockets glowing with an eerie blue light. Tattered robes hung from its emaciated form. 

An undead assassin, animated by dark magic.

Mikhail's mind raced, recalling evasion techniques Thorne had briefly mentioned during their lesson. He took a deep breath, focusing on the mana within him.

As the assassin wrenched its blade free from the pillow and lunged forward, Mikhail channelled mana to his feet. The rush of energy propelled him in a quick sidestep, his small size working to his advantage.

The assassin's blade whistled past his ear, close enough that Mikhail felt the displacement of air against his skin. The move, while clumsy, was enough to avoid the deadly strike.

Mikhail didn't waste time celebrating his small victory. He dove for the door, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. The assassin's bony fingers grasped at him, scraping against his nightshirt but failing to find purchase.

Mikhail burst into the hallway, bare feet slapping against the cold marble floor, and shut the door behind him. 

Gritting his teeth, Mikhail reached for the doorknob, channelling mana to his hand he forced it into the lock's intricate mechanisms, willing them to move into place. 

It was a mammoth task, far beyond his current level of skill. The strain was immense, draining his meagre reserves of mana at an alarming rate. But fear, it seemed, was an excellent motivator.

With a final push, the lock clicked closed, a trick that would have normally taken him weeks to master. 

Panting from the exertion, Mikhail turned to scream for help. But, as he opened his mouth, no sound came out.

His eyes widened in shock. He tried again, shouting at the top of his lungs, but the hallway remained eerily silent. It was as if all sound had been swallowed up by some unseen force.

The realisation hit him like a bucket of ice water. A silencing spell. 

This wasn't just an assassination attempt, it was a carefully planned operation. Mikhail's mind raced. How far did the spell reach? The entire house? At least the inside, he reasoned. Such an area would be manageable for a 4th circle mage or higher.

Behind the now-locked door, his attacker began pressing against its wooden frame. The wood creaked ominously, letting Mikhail know it would give way at any moment. 

Mikhail needed to find help, he had to alert the guards somehow.

He ran down the corridor, desperately looking for any sign of aid. But the villa was unnaturally still. No servants, no guards, no one stirred.

As he turned a corner, Mikhail's blood ran cold. Two more undead assassins stood waiting, their hollow eyes fixed upon him. 

The young prince froze for a split second, terror threatening to overwhelm him. Three assassins! How could he possibly escape?

[System Alert: Unexpected Quest - Survival of the Fittest]

[Objective: Survive the assassination attempt and alert the guards. The villa has been silenced by a powerful spell. You must find a way to break through or escape the affected area.]

[Reward: Increased survivability, Merit Points, and a special skill upon completion.]

[Warning: Failure will result in death. The timeline has shifted due to your unexpected performance in the Rite of Ascension. Be prepared for more unforeseen challenges.]

Without hesitation, Mikhail turned and ran in the opposite direction, his small size combined with his meagre mana reserves allowed him to accelerate quickly. The chase was on.

Mikhail's mind whirled as he navigated the familiar corridors of his villa. He couldn't hear the assassins behind him, their movements unnaturally silent, but he knew they were there. The lack of sound was deeply unsettling.

As he ran, Mikhail tried to formulate a plan, the guard’s barracks were on the other side of the villa. Could he make it that far?

He rounded a corner and collided with a decorative suit of armour, sending it toppling to the floor. 

The clash of metal against stone should have echoed through the hallway, loud enough to wake the entire household. But in the grip of the silencing spell, not a whisper of sound reached his ears.

The realisation of how far-reaching and powerful this spell was sent a chill down Mikhail's spine. This wasn't the work of some amateur. This bore all the hallmarks of Vesper's magic, and if Vesper was involved, then the Empress...

Mikhail's thoughts were interrupted as he glimpsed the third assassin rejoining the pursuit. All three undead were now on his trail, their glowing eyes fixed on their young target with unwavering focus.

Mikhail's lungs burned as he ran, his young body pushed to its limits. The mana circulation technique he'd learned helped, but he knew he couldn't outrun them forever. He needed a plan.

As he ducked into a small alcove, gasping for breath, a realisation struck Mikhail. He could simply retreat to his Personal Dimensional Space.

Safety.

Sanctuary.

The temptation clawed at him, nothing could harm him in that space.

But as the thought formed, a memory slammed into him with the force of a battering ram.

He saw himself in his past life - weak, pathetic, always cowering behind others. The useless puppet emperor. The stench of his own fear filled his nostrils, and the taste of bitter bile came up into his throat as he recalled countless moments of cowardice.

"Never again," Mikhail hissed through clenched teeth, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

The pain grounded him, fuelling a fire that burned away more vestiges of that old, spineless self.

His whole body trembled, yes he was afraid, but fear is no excuse for weakness.

"Never. Again."

In that moment, crouched in the shadows with death silently stalking the halls, Mikhail reaffirmed his vow and it seared itself into his very soul. This second chance wasn't an escape route. It was a weapon, and by all the gods, he would learn to wield it.

The Personal Dimensional Space loomed in his mind, still a tantalising promise of safety. But Mikhail now recoiled from the thought of running away, it made him sick.

As the assassins' silent footsteps drew nearer, Mikhail's mind raced, desperation and determination warring within him. These weren't living beings - they were undead, animated corpses. Perhaps...

"System," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, "can I put these undead assassins in my Personal Dimensional Space?"

[System Message: Affirmative. Non-living entities can be stored in the Personal Dimensional Space. However, physical contact is required for transfer.]

Mikhail's stomach lurched. Touch them?

The very thought made his skin crawl, revulsion rising like a tide. But he swallowed it down. This was the fight he had chosen, he must endure and forge himself anew.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Mikhail pressed himself against the wall of the alcove. He could sense the assassins approaching, their eerie silence more terrifying than any sound. But fear would not rule him. Not anymore. 

Never again.