Part I – The Throne That Broke the World
Somewhere beyond time, buried in the ruins of a forgotten realm.
The King was dying.
Not in the quiet way noblemen passed, but in the violent, apocalyptic way gods fall.
His crown—a twisted halo of silver and obsidian—lay shattered at the base of his throne. Mana poured from his chest like starlight unraveling, carving glowing runes into the broken stone beneath his feet.
He had ruled longer than memory could measure. Not a man, not a beast, but a sovereign force—shaped by conquest and sealed by ancient pacts. His dominion stretched across realities. His voice reshaped dungeons. His footsteps carved ley lines into the bones of the world.
And yet, here he was. Kneeling. Breathing ragged breaths into a ruined hall filled with smoke and silence.
"I should have seen it coming," he whispered. His voice echoed—once thunder, now crumbling ash. "They were never mine to rule."
He reached toward the broken crown. His fingers hovered just above it—but they didn't close.
Not this time.
He smiled. Not out of peace. Out of defiance.
"Let someone else try."
The final flare of his magic surged up from his core—raging against the end, lashing out through the cracks of reality. Threads of power tore free, shooting out into the void, each carrying fragments of him: a piece of will, of memory, of sovereignty.
His final curse wasn't destruction.
It was inheritance.
And somewhere, across time and space and far from this dying throne—
—someone else was about to get very, very unlucky.
Part II – Arjun Mehra, London, Present Day
Here's the thing they don't tell you about ancient magical legacies:
Sometimes they pick the wrong idiot.
Like, for example… me.
I wasn't trying to become some kind of mythic king. I wasn't even supposed to be in that dungeon. I was just a broke, non-awakened twenty-three-year-old with rent due and a borrowed dungeon mop from a cleanup crew that forgot I existed.
And now?
Now I've got a glowing mark on my chest, a system whispering creepy royal-sounding nonsense in my head, and a new job title I never applied for: "Heir to the Broken Crown."
No idea what that means, by the way. The system won't explain. It just keeps popping up messages like:
"Power recognized. Witness required."
"Your throne awaits."
"Do not die until your dominion is reclaimed."
Very encouraging. Especially when I can't even enter a dungeon alone anymore without getting magically slapped in the face and told "A king is never unaccompanied."
So now I've got to party up with actual Awakened people just to get through a gate, pretend I know what I'm doing, and then somehow steal the final boss kill before they finish the job themselves.
Because apparently that's the only way this "inheritance" levels up.
It's fine. Everything's fine.
I'm not dead (yet), I've only been accidentally possessed by one dungeon boss (so far), and the terrifyingly competent women who keep joining my party are definitely not forming some kind of accidental reverse harem around me.
…
Okay, maybe a little.
But none of this is my fault.
I didn't ask for this class. I didn't choose this system. And I sure as hell didn't pick up that crown.
I just tripped and killed a boss by accident.
That's it.
And somehow… that was enough to start all this.
So yeah. Call me a king, call me cursed, call me whatever you want.
But if this is what they call a starter kit?
Then someone in the universe has a terrible sense of humor.