There was just one tiny problem. The more I cheated, the faster and scarier the cosmic horrors would come.
The higher I raised the Imperium, the sooner the nightmares that I conjured with that ultimate edge lord of mind of mine would awaken and come knocking.
I could build an unstoppable war machine based purely on cheats.
But the more power I gained.The sooner the REAL war would begin. I stopped laughing.
"F*CK."
I ran a hand down my face, exhaling sharply, my previous bravado completely collapsing into exhausted reality.
For f*cks sake I was just an average f*ckingjoe. I wasn't some war hero, some d*vine warrior, some great mastermind, or heaven defying genius.
All of that bravado against the g*ds? Loss of temper fully Induced by rage at my situation. And now?
Now, I was sitting in the eye of a cosmic storm, holding the reins of an Empire doomed to war scratch that you can't call the current Spartanum an Empire at best It's an over glorified duchy with a population of 2.2 milion.
Whats the concept of this number? Basically even if you rounded up every able bodied man you would only come up with 100 k manpower tops.
And dont get me started on political stability, the war support among the people, the jumping out and down "freedom fighters", the Industrialization Index, the sorry of a state of an excuse military and the farce that Is the current Imperial Senate.
The more I thought about It the more my face became like I had just eaten s*it. F*ck why the f*ck did I have to make the start an ultra hardcore setting for the MC. F*ck me and my unhealthy obsession of grinding of HOI4.
And dont even get me started on those eldritch horrors waiting for the right moment to consume all that exists. I let out a hysterical chuckle, then slapped myself across the face.
Alright. Focus man. Think. Rewind.
I mentally replayed the plot that I had written out in my mind, breaking it down piece by piece, mapping out every step that I made the MC and let me say this It didnt look good, basically s*it was about to hit the fan, hard and fast.
Alright after getting the cheat the MC who uptill now kept reincarnating without awakening his memory because his soul was repairing Itself and acted purely based on his subconcious mind goes to the Imperial mausoleum to visit his first reincarnations dead body.
Just as I thought this from the corner of my vision, through the tinted armored windows, I spotted something.
A grand, sprawling structure, standing atop a lonely hill, surrounded by ancient white pillars and tombstones that stretched as far as the eye could see.
The Imperial Mausoleum. My breath hitched. I needed to go there. Now. I slammed my fist against the car door.
"STOP THE F*CKING CAR!"
Upon hearing this out of reflex the driver hit the brakes hard, nearly sending the armored vehicle skidding across the dirt road with the truck carrying the rest of praetorians almost hitting the cars rear.
The Praetorian Commander sitting opposite me snapped his head toward me, his sharp eyes narrowing.
"Bloody hell what the f*ck is wrong with you?!"
He demanded not bothering to refer to me by my title, his tone carrying the authority of a man who was as close to the emperor In the pecking order as one could be. But I didn't hesitate.
"Imperial Mausoleum. Right there. I need to go. NOW."
The Praetorians exchanged looks, their hands drifting toward their weapons.
"Prince, with all due respect, we have direct orders to return you to the Imperial Palace. The Praetor is already waiting..."
"I don't give a sh*t."
I snapped. I threw open the car door, my boots hitting the dirt road with a heavy thud, my breath steaming in the cold air. The Praetorians cursed, scrambling out of the vehicle after me.
"COMMANDER, DO WE DETAIN HIM FORCEFULLY?!"
The Commander hesitated, watching as I stormed toward the Imperial Mausoleum, his sharp gaze narrowing as if trying to read my intentions. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gestured to his men.
"Let him go, set up a perimeter around the Imperial Mausoleum"
His subordinates blinked in shock.
"Sir?!"
The Commander's expression darkened.
"If he wants to speak to the dead, let him maybe the dead will knock some sense Into him."
...
MC POV
I marched up the ancient stone steps, passing by towering marble statues of past Emperors, their chiseled faces stern and unwavering. The wind howled between the tombstones, the cold air biting into my skin.
At the very center of the mausoleum stood a massive, black stone sarcophagus with red and white markings, twice the size of a man, carved with golden inscriptions of past wars and conquests.
The golden inscriptions carved into the obsidian like stone seemed to pulse under the dim torchlight, recounting centuries of blood, conquest, and plunder.
And in bold, unforgiving high gothic letters, the final words stood.
ALUCARD VON DEATH
IMPERATOR FOR LIFE
VENI, VIDI, VICI
I stared at the inscription, then exhaled sharply.
"F*ck."
A dark, ugly thought slithered into my mind.
Wait. If My Soul is In this body… Then Where the F*ck Is his?
My hands hovered over the lid of the sarcophagus, hesitating. The protagonist never thought about this in the novel.
Why? Because the moment he awakened his past life memories, he didn't give a sh*t about his own corpse. He just took the armor, took the sword, and walked away like it was his birthright which It was.
But here's the thing, I am not him. And the MC I wrote? He's an absolute f*cking nutjob a g*ddamn all and out mental patient the kind that belonged behind bars.
A man forged in pain, blood, and endless flames of war, tragedy and hardship, stripped of everything he loved, forced to relive his loss until the accumulated rage made his fractured soul whole again allowing him to embark on a road of revenge.
So if his soul was still here… And I just waltzed in to take his sh*t like a looter in a tomb raid? There was a non zero chance that the bloody bastard would crawl out of his coffin and rip my throat out with his bare teeth.
For a moment I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribcage but In the end I clenched my fists.
"Tch. F*ck it. If I die, I die. I already died once."
Then, gritting my teeth, I placed my hands against the heavy lid. And pushed. My fingers dug into the cold, rough stone. My breath came in short, shallow bursts. My heart pounded against my ribs.
The grinding sound of stone scraping against stone filled the silent mausoleum. F*ck Nima for a split second, I thought I saw movement inside. No. That was just my mind f*cking with me. Right?
With a deep, grinding groan, the stone lid of the sarcophagus slid aside, revealing the man who had built an empire from nothing.
Alucard Von Death aka Dracula Von Death.
Even in death, he was a man born and bred for war, his body In a mummified state still looking like he could snap my neck like a chickens.
He was 1.8 meters tall, exactly my height.
His corpse lay clad in blackened Roman Legionnaire armor with red and white markings, but this was no ceremonial relic. This was the real thing, a suit of armor built for war, tested and upgraded In countless bloody battles.
Spiked gauntlets. Brutal knee spikes, perfect for breaking skulls. Reinforced armor plates for bodies vital areas. A fur half cloak, the pelts of extinct beasts draped over his shoulders.
The armor was scarred with battle damage, countless dents, chips, and burn marks from burning arrows and the like.
And in his grip a black greatsword also with red and white markings, forged from a meteorite, its blade still gleaming with a dark, ominous light, basically the accumulated psionic energy formed by Its victims negative emotions and feelings aka the psionic energys evil side.
A blade that could cleave through steel armor and chainmail like butter, Its atomic compasition comparable to a level 1 Interstellar civilizations nanocomposite alloy.
I exhaled slowly, my heart pounding. For the first time, a strange feeling crept into me. Guilt. The Guilt of a Creator. I had written this man's life. I had given him everything.
A family. A brotherhood. A pack of loyal warriors who would follow him to the depths of hell and beyond.
And then, because I wanted the story to be more tragic, more brutal, more "meaningful". I took it all away. I made him lose everything.
I made him loose his battle brothers who were more brothers to him than blood ones, his women and even his children. I swallowed hard, staring at his silent, lifeless form.