Chapter 197: The Crown Trial (3)

Astrid was looking at her with her lips pressed tightly together, and her shoulders trembling with the effort of holding back her laughter.

The moment Misha approached, the girl turned her face toward the audience, apparently under the impression that looking somewhere would somehow make her amusement less obvious.

"Don’t," Misha murmured as she fell into step beside her. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, determined to salvage whatever dignity remained after that unfortunate encounter with the arena floor.

"I haven’t said anything." Astrid’s voice was admirably steady, although the slight upward curve at the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

"I can see it on your face." Misha glanced sideways, narrowing her eyes behind the mask. "You’re practically laughing at me."

"I was only wondering whether that was part of your entrance." Astrid finally turned her way, her eyes bright with amusement. "The way you swept your cloak was rather impressive."

Misha stared straight ahead. "Obviously. I thought the audience deserved a proper entrance."

Astrid’s shoulder shook again, and she pressed her lips together even harder. She clearly wasn’t buying a single word, which was unfortunate because Misha had committed herself to the lie and had no intention of abandoning it now.

"Not a word," Misha warned, keeping her voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear. "Especially when we get back."

"I wouldn’t dream of it," Astrid replied, though the laughter she was trying to suppress made the promise considerably less convincing.

Misha sighed inwardly and continued toward the center of the arena, where the other contenders were gathering beneath the enormous floating crown. Judging by the way several spectators had begun imitating the pose, Misha suspected she had just created a problem that would follow her for a very long time.

At least nobody appeared to have noticed the stumble itself. Or perhaps they had, and the cheering was simply their way of appreciating her desperate attempt to disguise it. Misha decided that was a question she never wanted answered.

The contenders were arranged in a broad semicircle facing a raised platform at the northern end of the arena. Ninety-six people stood beneath, their shadows stretching across the pale stone while attendants moved along the other edges to ensure everyone remained within their assigned positions.

At the center of the platform stood a high-backed ceremonial seat beneath Ashmoor’s crown crest. An elderly man occupied it, one hand resting on the polished head of a cane while the other lay comfortably against the armrest. His white hair was cut close tot his head.

He looked old in perfectly ordinary ways. His shoulders were slightly stooped, his hands were thin, and the cane beside him seemed worn from genuine use rather than carried as an ornament.

Yet the atmosphere around the platform was different.

Even the guild representatives who had spent the morning speaking over one another had fallen quiet. The attendants moved with greater care whenever they passed near his seat, and several older spectators in the reserved galleries had already risen to their feet.

"He’s Noob Slayer 69," Astrid whispered beside her.

She said the name with such casual familiarity that Misha initially wondered whether she misheard.

"..."

Misha stared at her niece for several seconds, waiting for the faint smile that would reveal the joke. Unfortunately, Astrid looked entirely serious.

’Seriously?’

Her gaze snapped toward the enormous projection floating above the platform.

| THE KEEPER OF THE SECOND MORNING |

Just by hearing that name, she could already tell that he was part of the First Generation.

She pressed her lips together beneath the mask, struggling to reconcile the dignified elderly gentleman on the platform with that name.

Astrid glanced at her. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Misha faced forward again, though her voice came a little strained. "I’m just appreciating the historical significance of his name."

Astrid considered that answer for a moment before nodding. "He’s one of the oldest surviving First Generation Awakeners in Ashmoor. My mother said he was already famous before the settlement was established."

’Of course he was.’

Noob Slayer 69 rose from his seat. The movement was slow, but nobody rushed forward to assist him. He adjusted his grip on the cane, took one step toward the front of the platform, and waited while the enormous projections above the arena shifted to display his face.

The cheering gradually subsided.

When he spoke, his voice was rough with age, yet it carried clearly throughout the arena through the amplification enchantments surrounding the platform.

"Citizens of Ashmoor, honored guests, and contenders who have come to stand before us today, welcome to the Crown Trial."

He paused, allowing the final echoes of the audience’s applause to fade before continuing.

"It has been many years since this city first opened its gates to those who survived the climb, and each year, I find myself looking upon faces that remind me how much has changed."

Misha glanced toward Astrid. The girl was smiling, though her attention remained fixed on the elderly man.

"Some of us believed this place could become a home. Others believed we were fooled for attempting it, and I cannot say they were entirely wrong.

The Tower had already taken much from us. We had buried friends, abandoned loved ones, and watched promises of safety disappear beneath circumstances no one had anticipated. We built anyway, not because we were certain of success, but because there were people behind us who needed somewhere else to go."

He rested both hands against the head of his cane.

"Every Raider who climbs beyond Ashmoor carries the possibility of discovering something that may help those who remain, and every Raider who returns brings knowledge that cannot be purchased with Tower Coins alone."

His gaze moved across the semicircle of contenders.

"That is why the Crown Trial was established. It was never intended to be a simple contest of strength, nor a celebration of those who can strike the hardest or stand the longest. We seek individuals capable of making decisions when the path ahead is uncertain, when resources are limited, and when the person beside them may become either their greatest ally or their dangerous opponent."

Misha listened more carefully. That sounded uncomfortably relevant to the rules they had been given.

Noob continued, his voice gaining a little strength.

"Victory is an achievement, but the manner in which it is obtained matters just as much. Strength without judgement can destroy what it was meant to protect, and ambition without restraint has brought ruin to more than one promising Awakener.

Remember that when the competition begins. You stand here because you have already demonstrated the courage to continue climbing, but courage alone will not carry you through every Floor. Learn from those around you, recognize the limits of your own abilities, and never mistake the applause of a crowd for proof that you have made the right decision."

Misha’s fingers tightened slightly against her palm.

For a moment, she remembered the blood on the floor of the facility where they had fought Floor Twenty’s boss. She remembered the way frightened people had looked toward her after the System confirmed she had killed the Gragura, and how quickly certainty had become something the others expected her to provide.

The memory passed, but the discomfort remained.

Besides her, Astrid leaned closer.

"He helped establish Ashmoor," she whispered, keeping her voice low enough that it would not disturb the contenders around them. "During the first settlement crisis, people thought the city would be abandoned. The water stations had stopped working, several districts lost power, and most of the remaining defenders were preparing to leave."

Misha glanced toward her.

Astrid continued, "He kept the water stations open and the district lamps burning. Even after the evacuation order, he stayed behind with a few others to maintain the barriers. Father and uncle were one of those who helped him. The people who returned on the second morning found the lights still on because of them."

Misha looked back toward the elderly man.

That explained the title. It was a strange kind of achievement compared with the feats usually celebrated in the Tower. He had not earned the name by defeating a legendary monster or conquering a Floor nobody else could clear.

He had kept the lights on for people who needed somewhere to return to.

Aside from that, he knew her brothers.

"We can meet him after this event. I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you more about your brothers," said Astrid with a faint smile. "My mother says he dislikes people exaggerating what happened. Apparently, he insists the engineers who were with them deserve most of the credit."

Misha’s gaze returned to the name displayed beneath his projected face.

’And yet he willingly goes by Noob Slayer 69.’

She decided some mysteries were better left alone.

On the platform, Noob had moved on to acknowledging the households and organizations responsible for supporting the Crown Trial. Representatives of the city’s major guilds were named alongside several influential families, each receiving a polite round of applause when their emblems appeared above the arena.

Misha recognized the Faust household crest immediately. It appeared among the supporting families, followed by several organizations whose representatives had already attempted to contact her through the letters and intermediaries. Noob thanked them for their contributions to Ashmoor’s continued development, emphasizing cooperation, opportunity, and shared prosperity.

The phrase shared prosperity appeared again two minutes later, then a third time.

Misha had begun to suspect somebody had written the speech with a contractual obligation to repeat it.

Her attention wandered toward the stands.

She spotted Elyes first.

He sat near the railing of a reserved section, his messy brown hair making him easy to recognize even among the well-dressed spectators nearby him. What caught her attention more, however, was the doll resting in his arms.

Nyxie’s doll version.

Nyxie was no longer possessing it, which somehow made the sight even stranger. There was something mildly ridiculous about a grown man sitting in the stands while carefully holding a doll like it was something precious.

Misha looked at it a little longer and noticed the doll had changed from its initial appearance.

The blue gemstones used for the eyes were properly aligned now, the hair had been nearly fixed, and even the face looked closer to Nyxie than it had before.

She narrowed her eyes.

Apparently, money could buy a surprisingly accurate custom doll.

He was speaking to Sebastian, who had changed back into his usual formal coat and stood beside the seats with his hands folded neatly behind him.

Elyes looked as though he would rather be somewhere quieter. That was normal.

Misha almost looked away.

Then she noticed the smaller figure sitting beside them. Carl.