The Tyrant's Infinite Rebirth System

Chapter 7

The First Political Move

The flickering candlelight cast a delicate glow across the room, its weak flame dancing as though trying to escape the cold grasp of the evening air. The shadows on the walls stretched long, creeping like silent witnesses to the quiet despair of Lord Edgar Varelis' study. Riel’s fingers brushed against the brittle pages of an old ledger, ink smudging as he flipped through them with a mix of urgency and frustration. His arms throbbed from the grueling training session earlier, yet this task — this study of the past — demanded his full attention. It was a duty that transcended mere physical pain.

If he wanted to change fate, he needed to understand how it had unraveled the first time.

The Varelis family, once a proud house, now lay on the verge of obliteration. His father, Lord Edgar, was a minor noble, the last living branch of a house that had seen its better days long ago. Over the generations, the family’s lands had shrunk, their influence had waned, and their political standing had faded into obscurity. Now, in the shadow of an impending storm, Riel could feel the weight of his family’s history pressing down upon him.

In three months, his father would be accused of treason. The accusations would be fabricated, the case carefully constructed. And then, after a swift and unforgiving trial, Lord Edgar Varelis would be executed, and the Varelis name would be wiped from the annals of history.

Riel clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms. The rage he felt was consuming, but it was tempered by a chilling realization: he had expected betrayal, yes, but not this — not this calculated cruelty. The treachery was not an unfortunate accident. Someone had orchestrated this downfall. His family’s demise wasn’t an isolated incident. It had been an elaborate purge, a methodical, cruel campaign to wipe out all who might stand in the way of a new power.

The pieces clicked together in his mind, each one fitting more perfectly than the last.

His father, Lord Edgar, had always been loyal to Duke Castellen, a powerful noble who, at the time of the Varelis downfall, was locked in a bitter struggle for supremacy against a faction led by the shrewd Marquis Reynard. Reynard, known for his cunning and ambition, had been working for years to dismantle the old power structures and replace them with his own.

Three months from now, Reynard’s faction would create a false case of treason against Duke Castellen. But rather than going after the Duke directly, they would start with his supporters, eroding his base of power piece by piece. And among the easiest targets was the Varelis family.

Riel’s chest tightened as he breathed out slowly, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. Three months wasn’t enough to save Castellen. The Duke was already doomed, and he could do nothing to change that. But three months was more than enough time to save his family.

His mind ran as he began to think through the possibilities. He needed allies. Allies who would be willing to stand with him—at the right time—and not before. They had to be chosen carefully. He needed to play this game strategically, to pull the strings without letting anyone see his hand. As he scanned the list of nobles who had survived the purge, one name jumped out at him: Lord Adrian Falken.

Falken’s rise had been one of the kingdom’s most remarkable political stories. At the time of the Varelis family’s fall, Falken had been nothing more than a minor baron, easily overlooked by the more powerful houses. He had been underestimated by nearly everyone. But by the time Riel had died in his previous life, Falken had risen to a position of considerable power. He had played the political game with subtlety and precision, surviving when others had fallen and accumulating power as a result. He was a strategist, a survivor — exactly the kind of person he needed on his side.

Riel studied the parchment in front of him, his finger tracing the name of Lord Falken. The man was a master at staying in the shadows, at making calculated moves. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t listen to an offer. It didn’t mean Falken wouldn’t appreciate the value of an alliance.

But how could he approach him?

A weak, crippled noble like him would be of no interest to Falken. He couldn’t approach the man with nothing but desperation and empty promises. He needed to offer something of value — something Falken would recognize as important.

A smile spread across Riel’s face as an idea took shape. He wouldn’t approach Falken as a weak, dying noble. He would approach him as a man with something valuable—something no one else could offer.

He would approach Falken with information.

Riel arrived at the Falken estate early in the afternoon, the heat of the sun pressing down on him. He was there under the guise of delivering a personal letter from his father, Lord Edgar. It was a small and insignificant lie, but it would serve its purpose.

Falken’s estate was a well-maintained manor, tucked away on the outskirts of the city. The grounds were quiet, peaceful even, and it seemed as though nothing could disturb the serene order of the place. But Riel knew better. Beneath the surface, power games were constantly in motion, and Falken was no stranger to them.

He was ushered into Falken’s study, a large, book-lined room that smelled of aged paper and faintly of leather. Lord Falken himself was standing by the window, his back to Riel. The man turned slightly as he entered, his eyes sharp and calculating. He didn’t seem surprised by the visit.

“A Varelis boy?” Falken’s voice was laced with disdain, though it was tempered with an air of curiosity. “What does your father want?”

Kael didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Im not here because of what my father wants,” he said softly, lowering his voice. “It’s what I know.”

Falken’s expression shifted slightly, and for the first time, he fully turned to face Riel. The change was subtle but telling. Riel stepped closer, lowering his voice even further. “Your house is neutral, but that won’t save you from the chaos that’s coming. Three months from now, the noble factions will tear the kingdom apart. The streets will run red with blood.”

Falken’s brow furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “You speak as if you’ve seen the future.”

Riel smiled faintly, though his eyes remained serious. “I see patterns. I see the subtle shifts in the wind before the storm arrives.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. The silence in the room seemed to stretch, thickening the air between them. Finally, he added, “If you want to survive what’s coming, I suggest we talk.”

As the words left his mouth, a soft chime echoed in his mind.

[System Notice: Skill Unlocked – Noble Intrigue (Basic Political Manipulation).]

Riel suppressed the instinct to smile. This was only the beginning.

The conversation continued well into the evening, with him revealing only fragments of the truth. He didn’t tell Falken everything, but he gave the man just enough to spark his interest, to make him start thinking more carefully about the future.

By the time he left Falken’s estate, the sun had long since set, and the world outside was cloaked in darkness. But Kael felt something stir within him. He had done something that, in his previous life, had seemed impossible.

He had made his first political move before the war had even begun.

And with that single conversation, Riel had planted the first seed of hope — the first seed in the effort to change his family’s fate.