From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 194: The System’s Origin? [FIXED!]

Byung had been kidnapped, ripped from the battlefield through magical means he couldn’t counter or resist, and now found himself lost in an unknown location that bore no resemblance to anything he’d encountered before. The chamber of white stone surrounded him, its surfaces covered in glowing runes that pulsed with rhythmic light like a heartbeat. Slowly, he was beginning to wonder why he didn’t come with Grishka or Maui—their strength would have been reassuring, their presence a buffer against this overwhelming sense of isolation.

Grishka could have torn through these stone walls with her bare hands, her legendary power enough to make even magic users hesitate. Maui’s tactical mind would have already identified three escape routes and contingencies for each. But he knew he had made the right choice in coming alone, despite the current circumstances. There was no way he would want his choices to affect what he had built back at the settlement. If this went wrong—if he died here or worse—the consequences would fall on him alone rather than destabilizing everything he’d constructed.

This was a decision he had made with full awareness of the risks, and Byung was confident he would come out of this alive despite the dire situation. There was no way his system would let him die permanently—it had already brought him back once, transformed him through death into something stronger. The pattern suggested purpose, investment, a design that required his continued existence.

He noticed his last mutation didn’t even require traditional experience points. All he had to do was be near death, push his body beyond its limits, and the system responded with evolution. The realization was both comforting and disturbing—it meant he was being shaped through trauma, sculpted by suffering into whatever form the system deemed necessary.

But Byung also wondered what his next evolution would entail. Would he grow even bigger, surpassing his current height to match orcs or even exceed them? Would new abilities manifest—perhaps magical resistance, or enhanced regeneration, or something completely unexpected? The possibilities were now endless with the discovery of this part of the world.

The anticipation was almost exciting despite the danger. Byung looked forward to it with the dark humor of someone who had already died once—what was one more brush with oblivion if it meant becoming stronger?

The elf in front of him seemed to be preparing something elaborate, moving around with practiced precision, adjusting runes and muttering incantations in her melodic language. She was getting him ready for some kind of sacrifice or ritual, that much was obvious from the ceremonial nature of her movements. They all looked so damn youthful that age might truly be a number to these creatures as they could live thousand of years.

Byung was left frozen within an inscription carved into the floor—a complex circular pattern that surrounded him completely, symbols he couldn’t read glowing with malevolent purpose. He couldn’t move an inch, not because he was bound by anything physical like chains or ropes, but by everything magical. The runes held him more completely than steel ever could, locking his muscles in place, preventing even the slightest twitch of resistance.

This elf was different from Aelindra, Byung could tell right away from how she moved and the weight of power that radiated from her presence. He knew instinctively he was in genuine danger here, facing a threat beyond what he’d encountered before. This elf wasn’t average by any measure—she might not be among the absolute strongest of the strong that the Queen kept as her champions, but she was definitely a rank above the one Byung had just fought. Where Aelindra had been dangerous, this one was lethal. Where Aelindra had commanded respect, this one demanded terror.

The plan had always been to isolate both targets, Byung realized with growing understanding. The elves wanted to remove him from the board through teleportation while simultaneously dealing with the dwarf separately. Divide and conquer, the oldest strategy in warfare, executed with magical precision that made resistance nearly impossible.

"What do you plan to do with me?" Byung asked, his voice steady despite the circumstances. Better to gather information than die in ignorant silence.

The elf froze in place mid-gesture, her entire body going rigid with shock. Her platinum hair swayed with the sudden stop, and her glowing eyes snapped toward Byung with an intensity that made his skin prickle. Because Byung was no longer speaking the common tongue used between orcs and goblins, nor the rough dwarvish he’d picked up. He was speaking the language of elves—fluid, musical syllables that flowed from his mouth with perfect pronunciation and grammar.

A language that no other being should even be able to utter because of the elves’ complete lack of communication with the outside world and the world having virtually no recorded history of elven linguistics. The tongue had been kept secret for millennia, protected through isolation. Yet here was a goblin speaking it as if he’d been born to it.

The elf leaned in closer, her beautiful face inches from his own, studying him with new intensity. Byung could tell this one was old—not from her skin, which remained flawless and ageless, but from the way she carried herself. There was weight to her movements, gravitas that came from centuries of existence, wisdom and weariness mixed in her luminous eyes.

"How do you speak our tongue?" she demanded in the same language, her voice sharp with suspicion and genuine curiosity.

"No outsider has learned it in three thousand years. How does a goblin possess knowledge forbidden to your kind?"

Byung’s brain had switched off for a second, momentarily confused by his own capability. He had forgotten he could do this—the system’s translation ability or knowledge implantation, whatever mechanism allowed him to understand and speak languages beyond his original scope. It was so natural, so seamless, that he hadn’t consciously activated it.

"I... don’t know," he admitted honestly, still speaking elven. "I just can. The same way I know many things I shouldn’t."

"The sword you wish to recover," she said carefully, watching his reaction, "is not merely a weapon. It is the core holding the barrier together between our world and the dark continent. The blade itself serves as anchor point, keystone, the fundamental structure upon which the separation was built," This elf was far more lenient than the rest of her kind otherwise Byung would have been killed but she wanted to let him know why he was going to be killed.

She paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "If you retrieve it from its resting place, the barrier would crumble immediately. The dark continent would merge with our reality, and everything you know would be consumed by what lies beyond. But also—" her eyes narrowed, "—the sword cannot be used by just anyone. It selects its wielder. If anyone unworthy touches it, makes contact with its essence without being chosen, they would cease to exist entirely. Not death, not transformation, but complete erasure from reality itself."

Then it hit Byung like a physical blow, understanding crashing through his consciousness with devastating clarity. Was the sword part of the system? The pieces were beginning to align—the memories of a goblin king, the dwarf’s insistence that "it" chose him, the way his evolution seemed directed toward specific purpose rather than random mutation. Everything was beginning to make a lot more sense through this lens.

But a critical question remained that made his confidence waver: why would the system want Byung to retrieve the sword if doing so was going to blow open the barrier that separated both worlds? What purpose could possibly justify unleashing whatever horrors existed on the dark continent? Unless... unless the system’s goals weren’t aligned with preserving the current world at all. Unless it wanted something else entirely.

The elf seemed to read some of this conflict on his face. She straightened, backing away from him slightly, and raised her hand. The elf generated a sword made of pure light, the blade materializing from nothing with edges so sharp they seemed to cut the air itself. The weapon hummed, radiating heat that Byung could feel even from several feet away.

Byung knew there was nothing he could do at this moment—frozen by runic magic, unable to move or dodge or defend himself in any meaningful way. His armor wouldn’t matter against a blade made of concentrated magical energy. His speed was useless when his muscles wouldn’t respond. His cunning had no application when his opponent held every advantage.

The sword came down in a smooth arc, ready to decapitate him cleanly. The elf’s face showed no malice, no satisfaction, just clinical efficiency—the expression of someone performing an unpleasant but necessary task. The glowing blade descended toward his neck, light reflecting off its impossible edge, and Byung’s mind raced through final thoughts.

The system wouldn’t let him die. He was confident in that. But confidence and certainty were different things, and as the sword closed the final inches toward flesh, Byung wondered if this time his faith would prove misplaced.

The blade touched his skin—