The Puppet Emperor Regresses

The crisp morning air was filled with the sound of joyful birdsong, a stark contrast to the heavy weight that hung over the Imperial Palace. The royal maids had been up since before dawn, bustling around to finish their tasks, preparing Prince Mikhail for his sixth birthday.

They were surprised when the usually stubborn prince didn't protest at being woken so early. His silent compliance only added to the ominous atmosphere that surrounded them. One of the older maids whispered to her colleagues about how Crown Princess Lyanna had suffered during her Imperial Test, barely able to speak or move due to the intense pain.

The maids didn't know what the test entailed as it was a well-kept imperial secret, and even speculating about its details could earn you a decade's worth of imprisonment - it wasn't their place to question such matters. Their duty was to serve the royal family, and so they continued on with their tasks.

As they were departing, a young servant girl couldn't help but feel sorry for the silent prince and offered him some words of encouragement, "Good luck, Your Highness!"

Smack! The girl received a swift slap from the Head Maid and got dragged out of the room.

"Hush, Bella!" the Head Maid aggressively whispered, "My apologies, Your Highness."

The door closed behind them and the room fell silent. Mikhail was alone again.

As the sun's first rays painted the Imperial Palace in hues of gold, Mikhail stood and walked towards a mirror in his chambers, staring at the reflection of a child's face that housed an old man's soul.

"Today," he whispered to himself, "everything changes."

A soft knock at the door heralded the arrival of Grand Wizard Thorne. He walked in without waiting for an answer, his deep purple robes adorned with constellations shimmered with an otherworldly light. The old man's eyes, sharp and piercing, studied Mikhail with barely concealed curiosity.

"Are you prepared, young prince?" Thorne asked, his voice resonating with power.

Mikhail nodded, his face a mask of determination that seemed out of place on one so young. "I am, Grand Wizard."

A second later they were both standing in front of a metal door with Elite Palace guards on either side of it. 'Teleportation,' Mikhail thought to himself, 'A chantless incantation, he's as impressive as always."

Grand Wizard Thorne nodded at one of the guards, and both men suffused their bodies with Aura, strengthening themselves far beyond human limits, and began the difficult work of opening the door made of Millennium Iron.

"I wish I could've teleported us there directly, it's a long walk, but no magic is allowed within the maze. Past this point the next magic I'll use will be within the Ritual Hall," the Grand Wizard intoned. "Follow me. Keep up, Young Princeling."

As they began their descent through the ancient, winding pathway that led to the Ritual Hall's hidden chamber, Mikhail's mind raced. Torches flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of the past – and warnings of the future.

The path twisted and turned, leading them deeper into the heart of the Imperial Palace. With each step, Mikhail felt the weight of his past lives pressing down upon him. The memories of his first childhood in this world – wasted in frivolous pursuits and wilful ignorance – mingled with flashes of his original life as Albert Mannery, the mild-mannered but depressed office worker.

He remembered the cramped, dingy apartment he'd called home in his past life, the scent of mildew ever-present. The constant humiliation at work, colleagues snickering behind his back, supervisors passing him over for promotions. A life of quiet desperation, going nowhere, being nothing.

Never again.

Grand Wizard Thorne took several turns and backtracked a few times but each detour was intentional, and every step was an essential part of navigating this maze. One wrong step and a man may find himself lost in it forever. The walls of the maze appeared to shift and change, making it difficult to determine which path was the correct one. The spell that built and maintained the maze's illusions was lost to history, to the early days of the Tiberian Empire, but its ancient power still vibrated with an essential vitality.

Finally, they arrived at a massive obsidian door, its surface etched with runes that pulsed with eldritch energy. Thorne placed his hand upon it, murmuring secret words of power, and the door swung open silently.

As Mikhail and Thorne entered, they were met with an air of heavy tension that clung to them as they crossed the threshold of the Ritual Hall. The Emperor and Empress stood at the centre of the chamber, their faces somber and serious. Surrounding them were Mikhail's siblings – Crown Princess Lyanna, First Prince Bartholomew, and Second Prince Aether – each with a different expression on their faces.

Lyanna's eyes narrowed in disdain as she looked upon her brother, clearly not impressed by his appearance. Bartholomew wore a mask of indifference, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at Mikhail with cool detachment. Aether's expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of curiosity in her gaze.

Mikhail took a deep breath and stepped forward. He could feel the weight of their stares on him, but he refused to let it affect him. He had come here for a purpose and he wouldn't let anything or anyone stand in his way.

The Emperor spoke first, breaking the tense silence. "Welcome, Third Prince Mikhail. Glad tidings to you on this auspicious day. Today you will become royalty in the truest sense, today you will receive our ancestor's blessing and be granted a mana heart or an aura core, today you receive the power of rulers."

Mikhail nodded respectfully. "Thank you, fath-- Emperor Tiberius. This unworthy son wishes to receive our ancestor's blessing."

The Empress gave him a insincere smile before gesturing towards the magic circle in the centre of the room. "Please join us in the circle."

Mikhail complied, stepping into the intricate pattern drawn on the ground. He could feel the faint hum of magic under his feet as he positioned himself at the centre of the magic circle.

Thorne stepped forward, his own position mirroring the emperor on the other side of the circle. "Begin."

Mikhail's gaze lingered on each of them in turn. Lyanna, the eldest, whose ambition would one day drive her to poison their father. Bartholomew, whose greed would lead him to attempt world conquest. Aether, whose misplaced sense of entitlement would result in a failed coup. Empress Camilla, who had orchestrated his downfall from the beginning. Finally, his father, the most powerful warrior in the world - Sword Sovereign Tiberius, Blade Emperor Tiberius, the Guardian of Human Civilisation – his titles were endless, that such a man should be murdered by his own daughter…

In his past life, he had been blind to their true natures, too caught up in his own desperate fight for survival. This time would be different.

Thorne spoke, "Kneel, Prince Mikhail," he intoned. "And let the Rite of Imperial Ascension begin."

Mikhail knelt, his small frame tense with anticipation. Thorne began to chant, his words echoing through the chamber as arcane symbols flared to life around them.

Suddenly, pain exploded within Mikhail's chest. It felt as if molten lead was being poured directly into his heart. He gasped, nearly doubling over, but forced himself to remain upright.

[System Alert: Mana Heart formation initiated. Endure to increase potential.]

Gritting his teeth, Mikhail embraced the agony. He had deliberately kept his corrupted garments on to avoid the empresses suspicions, the corrupted mana intertwined with the ritual’s magic – he must endure.

[System Alert: Anomaly detected. The circle has been tainted with corrupted mana, mana heart will be shattered if Host does not endure.]

He had endured the bitter sting of betrayal and the crushing weight of failure in his past life. This pain was nothing compared to that.

As the minutes stretched on, the pain intensified. Sweat poured down Mikhail's face, and veins bulged at his temples.

In his mind's eye, Mikhail saw flashes of his past failures. The day he had failed this test the first time, the day he had given up, cementing his reputation as the weak link in the imperial family - The Crippled Prince. The countless hours wasted surviving this perilous world while his siblings honed their skills and built their power bases.

He remembered the shame of being a puppet emperor, strings pulled by those he should have ruled. The humiliation of realizing, far too late, that he had never truly been in control.

"Never again," Mikhail screamed, shocking the gathered royals, his voice a snarl of defiance against the pain. "I will not be weak."

The agony reached new heights, and Mikhail's vision blurred. In that haze of pain, he saw Albert Mannery – his original self – hunched over a desk in a cramped cubicle. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly pallor over everything. Colleagues whispered and snickered as they passed, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and contempt.

"Pathetic," Mikhail thought, the memory fuelling his determination. "That life is gone. I will not waste this second chance."

[System Alert: Host has endured the corrupted mana. Host's potential is rising]

"Grand Wizard," the Emperor finally spoke, his voice tight with concern. "This has gone on long enough.”

Thorne shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I cannot, Your Majesty. Only the prince himself can end the rite by ceasing to endure the pain."

As the pain reached a crescendo, something unexpected occurred. Deep within Mikhail's chest, in the very centre of his forming Mana Heart, a second core began to take shape. An Aura Core, hidden from detection by the overwhelming magical energies surrounding them.

The dual formation sent waves of excruciating agony through every fibre of Mikhail's being. He wanted to scream, to beg for it to end, but he refused to give in. The faces of those who had betrayed him in his past life flashed before his eyes, fuelling his resolve.

Lyanna, her beautiful face twisted with malice as she poured poison into their father's wine.

Bartholomew, his eyes gleaming with mad ambition as he led the empire to ruin.

Aether, his voice raised in a failed rallying cry as his coup attempt crumbled around him.

Aria, his childhood friend turned empress, auctioning his secrets to the highest bidder.

General Thorn, deliberately sabotaging crucial battles, his treachery hidden behind a mask of loyalty.

Archmage Vesper, admitting to being the cause of Mikhail's shattered mana heart and poisoning him with a curse, his eyes cold and pitiless as they still haunted him.

"You will all pay," Mikhail vowed silently, each memory another log on the fire of his determination. "Every single one of you."

The Emperor and Empress exchanged worried glances as their youngest son continued to endure. Lyanna's face had gone pale, while Bartholomew and Aether whispered furiously to each other, unable to hide their shock.

In the depths of his agony, Mikhail found a perverse sense of satisfaction in their reactions. Let them be shocked. Let them wonder. They had no idea what he was truly capable of.

As the pain threatened to overwhelm him, Mikhail's mind drifted back to his original life once more. He saw himself trudging up the stairs to his dingy apartment, takeout bag in hand, another lonely night ahead. The crushing weight of a life unlived, of potential squandered, pressed down upon him.

"No more," Mikhail thought, his inner voice a roar of defiance. "I will not be that man again. I will not be weak. I will not be forgotten."

Just when it seemed Mikhail could take no more, a new notification flashed before his eyes:

[System Alert: The Host has endured beyond expectation. A reward bonus will be awarded.]

[Critical Exposure Reached!]

[Bonus Reward: Personal Dimensional Space Unlocked!]

With a final, herculean effort, Mikhail opened his eyes. "I... I'm finished," he managed to gasp before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

The chamber erupted into chaos. The Emperor rushed forward, gathering his son in his arms. "What happened?" he demanded, turning to Thorne. "I've never seen anything like this."

The Grand Wizard knelt beside them, his hands glowing as he examined the unconscious prince. "It's... extraordinary," he murmured.