I woke up as a King in a Fantasy World

Jareth took a steadying breath, schooling his expression into something more serious. "Alright, let's cut the jokes for a moment. I need to understand this properly." He leveled his gaze at the sword. "What exactly do I need to do during this ritual of yours? And what is its real purpose? You said it's meant to awaken abilities—how does that actually happen?"

The sword hummed in thought before answering, its voice taking on an air of importance. "The Vaelcrest Ritual is a ceremony held every year. It is an integral tradition of this kingdom, one that has been carried out for generations. And at the center of it all…" The sword let out a smug chuckle. "Is me."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Of course, it's you."

"Damn right, it's me!" the sword said proudly. "Listen closely, brat. This kingdom—my kingdom—is built upon my power. I am not just some fancy blade. I am the foundation of this nation, the heart of its strength. Every single person born within my domain carries a piece of me within them."

Jareth's brow furrowed. "A piece of you? What do you mean?"

"The moment a child is born within the kingdom's borders, a seed of power is implanted within them," the sword explained. "This seed lies dormant, sleeping within them until the time comes for it to awaken. That's where the ritual comes in."

Jareth leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "So, the ritual's purpose is to awaken these seeds?"

"Exactly," the sword confirmed. "Every year, all children who have reached the age of thirteen are gathered to participate. During the ceremony, I—being the magnificent artifact that I am—stimulate the dormant seeds within them, triggering their awakening. If the child is compatible, the seed will bloom, granting them an ability."

Jareth narrowed his eyes. "And what kind of abilities are we talking about here?"

The sword chuckled. "Ah, now that's where things get interesting. The abilities within this kingdom are all tied to me."

Jareth gave him a dry look. "Oh, great. More of you."

"Show some respect, brat," the sword huffed. "I am the symbol of this kingdom's power. As such, the abilities that awaken here are heavily influenced by what I represent."

Jareth crossed his arms. "Which is?"

"The sword," the artifact stated simply. "And everything it stands for—power, protection, authority, strength, courage. The abilities people manifest here reflect these qualities. Most are offensive or defensive in nature. Many develop enhanced swordsmanship, physical augmentation, or battle-related skills. It's why this kingdom is filled with knights, warriors, and combatants. Very few awaken abilities that don't align with my domain."

Jareth mulled over this information. "So basically, everyone in this kingdom is built for battle."

The sword let out a sharp laugh. "You could say that. Vaelcrest has always been a kingdom of warriors. Strength is valued above all else, and those who awaken formidable abilities often rise to high positions in society."

Jareth tapped his fingers against the table. "And those who don't awaken anything?"

The sword went silent for a beat before answering, "Some people go through the ritual and remain unchanged. For them, the seed never takes root, and they live their lives without any abilities."

Jareth's lips pressed into a thin line. "And how does that affect their standing in society?"

The sword scoffed. "Use your brain, brat. In a kingdom where power is everything, what do you think happens to those who don't have any?"

Jareth exhaled slowly. "They get pushed to the bottom."

"Not always," the sword admitted. "But it certainly makes life harder for them. Nobles without power lose influence. Commoners without abilities are limited in opportunities. While they aren't cast out, they definitely don't receive the same respect as those who awaken strong abilities."

Jareth's mind was already racing. The more he learned about this place, the clearer it became that power dictated everything here. The strong ruled, and the weak were left behind. That meant Stefan Vaelcrest—his current identity—was supposed to be one of the strongest. But according to what the sword had said earlier, Stefan hadn't been able to properly manifest his ability.

Jareth clenched his jaw. "And what about me?"

The sword gave a low hum. "Now that is the real question, isn't it?"

Jareth didn't like the way he said that. 

"So what exactly?"

The sword let out an exasperated sigh, its voice dripping with irritation. "Are you stupid, or just slow? How many times do I have to repeat myself, brat?"

Jareth scowled. "Hey! I'm trying to understand here! Maybe if you explained things properly instead of talking in circles, I wouldn't have to keep asking!"

The sword huffed. "Fine, listen carefully this time. I am the very power of this kingdom. Everything here—this entire nation—exists because of me."

Jareth frowned, crossing his arms. "That's a pretty bold claim. Care to elaborate?"

"Gladly," the sword said smugly. "The foundation of every kingdom in this world starts with a holy artifact—like me. We aren't just fancy weapons or mystical relics; we are the very core of a nation's strength. A person—your ancestor—formed a blood contract with me, and from that moment on, the legacy of Vaelcrest began."

Jareth's brows furrowed. "So you're saying… every kingdom has an artifact like you?"

"Exactly. Each artifact grants power to those who bind with us, and in return, a kingdom is built around us. It's a mutual relationship—we provide strength, and in exchange, we gain a domain, a land infused with our presence. The larger the domain, the more powerful the artifact becomes. The stronger we are, the more power we can give back to the people."

Jareth rubbed his chin. "So it's like a cycle. The kingdom strengthens you, and you strengthen the kingdom. That's why Vaelcrest has so many powerful people—it's because of your influence."

The sword let out a pleased hum. "See? You can use that brain of yours when you try."

Jareth gritted his teeth. "I will throw you into a well."

The sword ignored his threat and continued. "Now, if you're going to ask where I came from—save your breath. I'm not allowed to tell you. So don't bother."

Jareth narrowed his eyes. "Not allowed? By who?"

"I said don't ask," the sword snapped, its tone suddenly a bit sharper.

That only made Jareth more suspicious, but he filed that information away for later. "Fine. Then answer this—how was my ancestor able to bond with you in the first place?"

"He was chosen," the sword replied simply.

Jareth blinked. "Chosen by who?"

"By fate. By destiny. By the very laws of this world. Take your pick," the sword said lazily. "The point is, only someone from your bloodline can form a contract with me. That bond is absolute. It can't be stolen or broken by force. That's why, even though Stefan—your body's original owner—couldn't use his ability properly, no one dared to kill him or overthrow him."

Jareth tapped his fingers against his arm. "So, as long as I'm still breathing, no one can take this throne from me?"

"That's right," the sword confirmed. "Every ruler of Vaelcrest has always had one direct successor. The moment that child is born, they are automatically bound to me. There can be no replacements, no alternatives. If that successor dies… I die too."

Jareth's eyes widened slightly. "Wait—you die too?"

"Yes," the sword said, its voice taking on a more serious tone. "That's why this kingdom will never allow your bloodline to be erased. If the ruling bloodline is wiped out, the artifact—me—is lost forever. And without me, this kingdom collapses. It's not just a political matter; it's a fundamental truth of how this world works."

Jareth exhaled. "So that means… no one in this kingdom would ever directly kill me, because it would be suicide for them too."

"Exactly," the sword said. "But don't get too comfortable just yet."

Jareth tensed. "Why?"

"While it's true that no one within this kingdom would dare to kill you, the real threat doesn't come from within. It comes from outside."

Jareth stiffened. "You mean… the other kingdoms?"

"Ding, ding, ding! Give the brat a prize!" The sword's voice dripped with mockery. "Now you're finally thinking. The more land a kingdom controls, the stronger its artifact becomes. The stronger I get, the more powerful your people become. More territory means more resources, more warriors, more prosperity. It's a simple equation—one that every ruler understands, whether they admit it or not."

Jareth inhaled sharply, fingers curling into fists. "So what you're saying is… in order for Vaelcrest to grow stronger, it has to crush the other kingdoms?"

"Bingo," the sword said, almost delighted. "Kingdoms don't thrive on peace, brat. They rise and fall based on power—the strength of their ruler and the might of their artifact. If a kingdom wants to expand, it has to take from another. And do you know what happens to a kingdom that doesn't fight for its survival?"

Jareth's throat felt dry. "…It gets devoured."

"Exactly." The sword's voice was smooth, almost sinister. "The moment you hesitate, the moment you show weakness—your enemies will come for you. And they won't just aim for your throne, they'll come for you personally. Because if you fall…"

Jareth's heart pounded. "…Vaelcrest falls with me."

The sword chuckled darkly. "Now you're catching on. And trust me, brat—there are plenty of people who would love to see that happen."

Jareth exhaled slowly, a storm of thoughts raging in his mind. "So if I make one wrong move, I won't just die—I'll be responsible for bringing down an entire kingdom."

The sword practically purred in satisfaction. "Now that is the spirit! No pressure or anything."

Jareth groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Fantastic. Just what I needed—more reasons to lose sleep."