Rocot: Reborn

And when the visitor actually jumped up in front of Rocot's warship, a strange thing happened - all the Shadow Kingdom soldiers still maintained their original postures, and only Rocot himself felt the distorted fluctuations in the air.

When he looked up, Fang Ke had appeared in front of him like a ghost. Fang Ke's appearance made Roccod stunned: that face was exactly the same as his own!

"Who...are you?" Rocot stared at this inexplicable replica, with a hint of temptation and doubt in his voice.

The replica smiled brightly. "I am your past self, Rocot. Do you really think you can win? Look around you. You did everything you could to gain power, but in the end, all you got was a cold throne."

"You...why are you here?" Rocot's voice trembled more and more, and his kingship seemed to be under unprecedented threat.

The replica's expression suddenly became serious. "Let go of your hatred and your desire for power, Rocot. Only in this way can you gain true power and become the protector of this world, rather than a king."

At that moment, Roccod's soul seemed to be summoned by some force, and he seemed to see the shadow of another world, another destiny that might belong to him.

Astonishment gave way to rage as Rocot stood face to face with the mysterious replica, a man who claimed to be his past self, who looked exactly like him, whose tone and breath were so similar that it seemed as if the mirror of time was reflecting his deepest secrets.

"What kind of magic is this? What do you want to do with my face?" Rocot's voice was low and there was a hint of murderous intent in his eyes.

The replica smiled, with a kind of detachment and sadness in that smile. "Lockold, have you really forgotten your oath? Back then, you vowed to be a protector, not a destroyer. But now you are only addicted to the game of thrones."

"Nonsense! Everything I do is for the strength of the Shadowlands!" Rocot retorted, his voice unconsciously revealing defensiveness.

"Really? Then why is there only fear and suspicion in your heart? Your country trembles under your iron hoof, and your people cry under your decrees." The words of the replica were like a sharp sword, pointing directly at Rocot's heart.

Roccod clenched his fists in anger. He wanted to deny it, but the voice in his heart reminded him that it all made sense. He tried to change the subject, "Who are you? Who sent you?"

"I am you, or rather a part of you that once was. I am made up of your memories and conscience." The replica slowly approached, his voice softening. "I am here to remind you that it is not too late. You can still choose a different path."

At this moment, Roccod suddenly felt a strong energy gushing out from this replica, rushing straight into his heart. He had felt this kind of power in a battle long ago, and it was an extremely pure and powerful magic.

"Do you want me to give up? Give up everything?" Rocot's voice was filled with struggle. He looked at himself who was like a reflection in the mirror, and his heart was in turmoil.

"I am only reminding you that true power comes from the love and respect of your people, not from fear and oppression. You can be a true protector, not a tyrant's nightmare."

The words of the replica were like the sunshine in winter, which began to melt the frost that had accumulated in Roccod's heart for a long time. He began to doubt whether the wars and brutality over the years were really worth it.

At this moment, an unprecedented regret began to rise in his heart. But at this moment, the sound of war drums suddenly sounded in the distance, and the enemy's flag appeared in the mist in front of the warship - the vanguard of the Eastern Rebels had arrived.

Rocot suddenly came back to his senses. He had to make a choice. He turned to look at the replica, "You left me with a choice, but now, I must face the upcoming battle."

The replica nodded, and the expression on his face seemed to indicate that this was his final farewell. "Remember Rocot, everyone can control their own destiny, even a king trapped in darkness."

As the replica dissipated, Rocot stood at the bow of the warship, staring at the rolling waves ahead. In his heart, the replica's words still echoed, and the upcoming battle would be a turning point in his fate.

As the drums roared, the chaotic night was no longer a curtain to hide Rocot's brutality. The warship split the waves, and he stood on the deck, as if the former empire was crumbling under his feet and turning into foam.

The army in front of him, the soldiers he had carefully trained, fell one by one under the fire of the rebels. Their shouts merged into a tragic symphony, but they could not cover up the pain that gradually spread in Roccod's heart. He began to question what all these years of governance had brought him.

Yes, he became a tyrant in the eyes of the people, addicted to the quagmire of power and fear. He could no longer distinguish whether those around him were loyal ministers or flatterers. His cavalry trampled through the enemy cities, but he could not find the comfort of a ceasefire, and only reaped the bitterness of being trapped in his own cocoon.

In the mist, the artillery fire continued to rage. Rocot tightly grasped his scepter, which was a symbol of power, but it seemed so heavy at this moment. Lightning flashed across the sea, reflecting the soldiers' meaningless shouts and grief.

Rocot suddenly found himself on a road of no return. He had long forgotten when he began to fight for the sake of fighting, to conquer for the sake of conquering. The oath he had made, the oath of protection above all else, had long been lost in the game of power.

He looked up at the night sky, and the stars seemed to be mocking him, reminding him that his empire had long been ruined, and that his past sacrifices were in vain. And the current battle was just for the last bit of pride, the last bit of stubbornness.

Perhaps, this is the end of his fate. The storm is coming, and the dark clouds are pressing down on the city, but it also makes him see the cracks that he once ignored. In this chaotic fog, can he still find the lost self, can he still pick up the ashes of the empire and rebuild its glory?

Rocot's sight moved from one end of the battlefield to the other. He saw the desperate eyes of the soldiers and the ferocious faces of the rebels on the other side. He knew that this would be an unavoidable battle. But before that, he might be able to make a decision, a decision that could change everything.

Rocot's eyes were fixed on the chaotic sea in the distance. The storm was roaring recklessly in the dark night like a trumpet foreshadowing the end of the world. He stood on the deck of a damaged warship. The cracked planks were like a microcosm of his empire. One wrong step led to another.