REINCARNATION OF THE WAR LORD

SUNLIGHT AND SILVERWARE

There are many ways to die, Some quick and merciful just a blade to the heart or a spell to the skull.

And then there’s my way, being slowly roasted alive by the damned morning sun every single day.

The first golden ray sliced through the narrow c***k in my attic window and slammed directly into my face like a fiery slap. I groaned and rolled over, burying my head under the thin, scratchy blanket that smelled faintly of mold and regret.

“Perfect,” I muttered to myself. “The mighty warrior reborn… defeated by the sun again, how noble and how dignified.”

The light didn’t care, It crawled across my cheek, hot and unrelenting.

The Academy’s architects, in their most infinite wisdom, had built the servant quarters directly beneath the eastern towers, which meant I was blessed with the sunrise every morning whether I wanted it or not.

And I never wanted it.

I lay there for a moment, savoring the illusion that I could ignore the day into nonexistence. Maybe if I stayed perfectly still, the sun would give up and leave. Maybe they’d forget I was here. Maybe—

“DAVID!”

The voice shattered that fantasy instantly. It came from the hallway beyond my thin wooden door, the vioce was shrill, impatient, and far too awake for this hour.

“DAVID! Up! Now! The kitchens need you!”

I sighed, staring at the ceiling. "I curse whoever invented doors," I thought. "I curse whoever invented people who knock on them. I curse—"

“DAVID!” The door banged again, this time hard enough to rattle the loose hinges.

“I’m coming,” I called back, my voice muffled by the blanket.

I wasn’t, though, not yet. I had at least thirty more seconds of lying there and resenting the universe before I had to move.

Finally, I swung my legs over the edge of the cot and planted my feet on the cold stone floor. The chill bit into my soles, a reminder that the academy hadn’t bothered heating the servants’ quarters since the reign of Emperor Elithar IV which, incidentally was me, I died and boom the next authority change every single thing about me.

Funny, isn’t it? You save the world once, and three centuries later you’re not even worth warm floors.

I pulled on the same threadbare tunic and trousers I’d worn yesterday and the day before that, you don't actually wanna know how many times I've worn it do you ?.

I ran a hand through my mess of dark hair. there was no point trying to look presentable. Nobody here looked at me long enough to care.

The door screeched in protest as I pushed it open like it was my fault they built it here. “I curse you too,” I muttered to the hinges.

The kitchen was already a flurry of motion by the time I arrived. Steam hissed from enormous brass pots, enchanted knives floated in midair, and copper servitors scuttled across the countertops like oversized insects. The air smelled of spices and sizzling meat, a smell I had learned to associate not with hunger, but with work.

“About time,” barked Mistress Elda, the head cook, she is a squat woman with arms like battering rams and a personality to match. “You think the dishes serve themselves?”

"Oh, if only", I thought. " Maybe then I could go back to arguing with the sun."

“Yes, Mistress Elda,” I said instead, bowing slightly.

“Start with the breakfast hall,” she ordered, thrusting a tray into my hands.

“The nobles want their morning feast on the tables before the first bell, And for the love of the Founders, don’t drop anything this time.”

“I’ll try my best not to ruin anyone’s golden morning,” I murmured, too low for her to catch. She was already shouting at another servant anyway.

The tray was heavy with three silver platters stacked with crystal bowls of fruit, charmed bread that never cooled, and goblets of sparkling mana-infused wine.

All of it for children who thought starvation was just a word from history books.

Balancing it carefully, I made my way down the servants’ corridor toward the grand dining hall. The closer I got, the more the noise grew, there laughter, arguments, the occasional flare of mana as a spell misfired in someone’s impatience.

The doors to the hall loomed ahead, carved with the crests of the Twelve Noble Houses. I nudged them open with my shoulder and stepped inside.

The dining hall was the size of a cathedral, it had vaulted ceilings painted with constellations, chandeliers of glowing mana crystals suspended like frozen stars. Long oak tables stretched from end to end, already packed with students in gleaming uniforms. The air buzzed with chatter and ego.

I moved silently between the tables, placing dishes and filling goblets. Most didn’t acknowledge me. A few went out of their way not to.

“Careful, servant,” one boy sneered as I leaned past him to set down a tray. “You almost touched my sleeve.”

“Apologies, young master,” I said, stepping back. "I’d hate to contaminate your silk with my filthy existence.".

Two girls nearby were giggling as I passed. One of them, a blonde with sharp green eyes, stage-whispered loud enough for half the room to hear, “Do you think he understands us? Or do they just train them to nod and bow?”

Her friend snickered. “Probably both, Poor thing probably doesn’t even know what a spell circle is.”

I kept walking not sparring them a glance, Their laughter followed me like a buzzing insect.

"You’re right," I thought. "I don’t know what a spell circle is, I only designed the first one ever created, But please, continue enlightening me with your brilliance."

“Hey, slave.”

The voice was Jareth’s Of course it was. He lounged at the head of House Valen’s table, looking every inch the noble heir polished boots, crisp uniform, the faint blue glow of mana running beneath his skin. The same smug smirk from yesterday played on his lips.

“Yes, young master?” I asked, setting a platter before him.

He tapped the table with one finger. “You forgot the salt.”

I blinked. “There’s salt in the kitchen, young master, I’ll bring some.”

“No,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “There’s salt on that table over there.” He pointed across the hall to where another servant had just placed a small dish. “Fetch that one.”

I stared at the dish, It was maybe twenty paces away.

“That one?” I repeated, because apparently stupidity was contagious.

“Yes, That one...Go on already, We’re waiting.” he sing-song it.

My jaw tightened, I could feel dozens of eyes on me now, students watching to see if I’d obey of course I would. That’s what servants did. That’s what slaves did.

“As you wish,” I murmured, crossing the hall.

The salt dish was light in my hands lighter than the rage boiling under my skin. I set it down in front of Jareth, who smirked wider.

“Good,” he said. “Now sprinkle some on my eggs.”

I glanced at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” He leaned forward, enjoying this far too much. “Sprinkle. Some. damn. Salt.” he gritted.

I picked up the tiny spoon and did as he asked, carefully dusting his plate.

“More.”

I added more.

“More.”

I kept going, even as whispers broke out among the students. When the eggs were practically buried under a snowy mound, Jareth waved a hand.

“Ugh it's too much, Now take it back and get me a fresh plate.”

For a heartbeat, the world was silent, The only sound was the thundering of my pulse in my ears. My mind was screaming a thousand curses I couldn’t say aloud.

"In my last life, I cut down kings for less than this."

But this wasn’t my last life.

“Yes, young master,” I said evenly, picking up the ruined plate.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of commands and mockery, the usual fetch this. Carry that. Clean up the spill. Watch your clumsy hands. I did it all with a blank expression and a storm of sarcasm brewing beneath the surface.

When the final bell rang and the students filed out to their morning lectures, I stood alone amid the wreckage of their meal crumbs, spills, scraps of wasted food that could’ve fed an entire village.

Mistress Elda entered moments later, hands on her hips. “What are you standing around for? Clean it up.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And after that, the professors’ chambers need dusting. Then the training yard. Then the north hall conduits.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy,” she said, already turning away.

"Good boy", I repeated silently. "Good dog. Good little obedient nothing."

My fingers tightened around the rag as I began wiping the tables. Each swipe was slow and deliberate, like the draw of a blade from its sheath.

They thought I was harmless. They thought I was weak. They thought I was beneath them — and right now, I was.

But every insult, every humiliation, every order I swallowed was a step closer.

Closer to the day when I wouldn’t be cleaning their tables.

I’d be flipping them.

When the hall was finally clean and empty, I allowed myself a moment by the window. The training fields beyond stretched into the distance, dotted with students practicing combat spells, their mana colliding in bursts of color and light.

Once upon a time, I could’ve leveled those fields with a flick of my wrist.

Now, I couldn’t even light a candle.

I placed a hand against the glass. Somewhere, deep inside, something stirred the faintest echo of who I used to be. A heartbeat beneath the weakness. A spark beneath the ashes.

"Not yet," I told it again. "But soon.'