The Superior Rebirth: A Hero's Awakening

Judgment in the Ruins

From a far edge of the ruined city of London, miles away from the heart of the chaos, Percival sat calmly atop the shattered roof of a building. In his left hand was a bagel he chewed on lazily, while his right supported his cheek as though this devastation were nothing more than a passing show. Below him, people lay buried under rubble, flames devoured the streets, and the cries of the dying rang out like a chorus of despair.

Yet he cared nothing for it. To him, the tragedy was merely a spectacle—something to sit back and enjoy without guilt, without remorse. Every scream, every flame, every collapsed building—it all stemmed from his orders. His will. His actions.

What a cunning monster the man was. Once in a lifetime.

"Well, this is getting quite boring," Percival muttered, his eyes locking on a victim who reached out to him with trembling, bloodied fingers. They begged for aid with what little strength remained, but Percival only answered with silence and an empty, unblinking stare. "Since I've already accomplished what I came here to do, I suppose it's time for me to leave."

He stretched with a sigh. "My back's killing me—"

From his pocket, Percival pulled a strange metallic device, no larger than his palm. Feeding a trace of ethereal energy into it, the mechanism glowed, pulsing like a beacon calling to something far beyond.

He rose, turning his back on the ruins and the dying below. But before he could take a step, an overwhelming presence erupted behind him—so divine and suffocating that it froze him in place. His entire body stiffened, as though a god had descended to earth.

"That aura..." Percival whispered, cold sweat running down his temple. "I know that scent. There's only one man with that kind of overwhelming presence..."

A blinding light split the heavens above, radiant and pure, more brilliant than the stars themselves. From that heavenly blaze descended a legion of knights in white armor, astride majestic horses, their combined presence crushing and holy.

At their center shone a figure so radiant it was painful to behold. His silver hair caught the divine light, his royal attire shimmering with unearthly brilliance. Above his brow rested a lavish golden crown, and in his hand he carried a blade forged entirely of pure light, its brilliance surpassing mortal comprehension.

The Lord of Light. The Tsar of Russia. The Grand Monarch of Illumination—King Graviil Ivanovich.

Upon seeing him, Percival smirked, hiding his tension behind a mask of nonchalance. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Graviil's voice cut through the air with calm authority as he turned to his soldiers. "Help the civilians. Get the wounded to the nearest hospitals. Quickly."

"As you command, Your Majesty!" the knights answered in unison, bowing deeply before riding off. Their horses touched the ground with a grace that seemed destined by nature itself.

Now only Graviil remained, his gaze falling on Percival. His blue eyes burned with a divine fury, restrained but unmistakable, as his body glowed with a faint golden aura. He hovered effortlessly in the air, gravity itself bending around him.

"Yo!" Percival greeted cheerfully, flashing a warm smile as though nothing were amiss. "It's been a while, father-in-law. How've you been?"

Graviil's reply was edged with ice, his face devoid of warmth. "I've not been doing well at all, lately."

"Why's that? Worrying about whether Aleksander is ready to take the mantle of Grand Tsar of Russia?" Percival teased. He chuckled lightly. "I'd be stressed too if I were you. Tough job, being king. I completely understand."