Chapter 198: The Crown Trial (4)

Carl wore the jacket the household had given him. His knees were drawn close together, and both hands gripped a folded paper cup.

Noob continued speaking, and she heard almost none of it.

The boy was looking toward the arena, not smiling, and not particularly excited. Just watching.

For a moment, she wondered whether he had come because Sebastian insisted, or because Elyes had offered to bring him along. The possibility that he had chosen to attend on his own felt too hopeful, and Misha had learned enough about disappointment to avoid reaching for it too quickly.

Then Carl’s gaze moved, and it found her.

Misha held her breath.

The distance between them was considerable, but the reserved section had a clear view of the arena floor. She knew he could recognize the mask, and judging by the way his posture changed, he had recognized her almost immediately.

Misha lifted her hand. It was a small movement, kept close to her body so the audience would not mistake it for another performance.

Carl stared for a moment, then he looked away.

Her hand lowered. ’Right. Still angry.’

She should have expected that. Coming to watch did not erase the disagreement at the residence, and Carl had possessed a stubborn streak that became particularly difficult to manage whenever he believed someone had made a decision without considering him.

Misha could hardly criticize him for that. She was guilty of the same habit.

Still, the rejection stung more than she wanted to admit.

’Is this what being a parent feels like? Forget it. I’m never having kids on my own.’

She was already babysitting enough people as it was, most of whom weren’t even children.

She would rather spend the rest of her life alone than risk having children who inherited her personality. The thought of raising someone just as difficult as herself was enough to discourage her. Dealing with herself was already exhausting. She didn’t need a smaller version of herself making it worse.

Misha turned her attention toward the platform again, where Noob was thanking another organization for its commitment to Ashmoor’s future. She managed to hear something about continued cooperation before her thoughts wandered back toward the boy sitting in the stands.

Then movement caught her eye.

Sebastian had leaned toward Carl. The butler said something quietly, his expression remained composed as he gestured toward the arena.

Carl looked at him.

Whatever Sebastian said made the boy frown.

Elyes glanced over briefly, then returned his attention to the projection in front of him with the practiced indifference of someone determined not to become involved in a conversation that might require emotional effort.

Carl looked back toward Misha. For a moment, he simply stared. Then one hand left the paper cup. His fingers lifted in a small, awkward wave before curling inward again, as though he had immediately regretted being caught doing it.

Misha blinked, then she smiled beneath her mask. It was faint and foolish and entirely hidden from view. She wished, for the first time that morning, that her face had been visible.

She raised her hand again, just enough for him to notice.

Carl looked away almost immediately, but not before she saw him lower his own hand into his lap.

’Stubborn little brat.’

The thought carried more affection than irritation.

Misha faced the platform again, feeling considerably lighter than she had a moment earlier.

Noob’s speech was approaching its conclusion.

"To those who will enter the opening round, remember that the Crown Trial is not a battlefield without rules." His voice rose above the gathering noise, drawing the attention of the contenders back toward him. "Ashmoor has established protective measures to ensure that competition does not become needless slaughter."

He lifted one hand toward the enormous projections.

"No contender will be required to stake their life upon today’s opening round. Ashmoor’s protections stand with you, and the officials assigned to this event have been instructed to intervene whenever the established conditions for withdrawal are met. I wish every contender good fortune, and may this year’s Crown Trial reveal individuals worthy of the opportunities awaiting them."

He stepped back, and applause followed.

The ceremonial banners rose. Light gathered above the platform, spreading outward in brilliant streams before converging into the enormous shape of a crown suspended over the arena. Golden radiance washed across the contenders and climbed the surrounding stands, drawing another wave of cheers from the audience.

For several seconds, everyone beneath it was bathed in gold.

Misha looked upward despite herself. The display was excessive, expensive, and entirely unnecessary. She had to admit it was also impressive.

When the light faded, attendants moved along the edges of the semicircle and began directing contenders back toward the entrance tunnel. The formal procession dissolved into smaller groups, their footsteps accompanied by the continuing applause from the stands.

Astrid walked beside Misha, quieter than before.

Misha glanced at her.

The girl had been smiling during the ceremony, but the closer they came to the tunnel, the more thoughtful she became. Her hands were relaxed at her sides, yet her attention seemed fixed somewhere beyond the immediate surroundings.

Misha touched her sleeve lightly. "You all right?"

Astrid looked toward her and nodded. "Yes. I was just thinking about what he said."

"About the competition?"

"About the people who came back to Ashmoor." Astrid glanced toward the memorial plaques lining the tunnel. "I wonder how many of them expected to return when they first left."

Misha followed her gaze. There was no comfortable answer to that question.

"Probably all of them," she said after a moment. "People don’t usually plan on dying when they leave home."

Astrid looked down briefly.

Misha nudged her shoulder. "We’re not dying here so don’t start planning your funeral before the opening round. It’s bad for morale."

That earned a small laugh.

Astrid brushed her hand against Misha’s wrist before letting it fall away. "I’ll try not to."

"Good. I’d hate to lose my only reliable source of common sense."

"You have Elyes."

"Elyes would let me make a terrible decision just to see whether his predictions was correct."

Astrid laughed again, this time more openly.

Misha considered that a small victory.

By the time they returned to the contender hall, the orderly procession had become a crowd of people trying to locate their assigned preparation rooms. Attendants called instructions from several directions while glowing signs shifted above the corridors, displaying registration numbers and room assignments.

Misha watched one contender walk confidently toward the wrong doorway, disappear inside, then emerge a moment later looking considerably less certain.

Looks like even the organized portion of the event had its limits.

Their assigned room stood near the end of a corridor shared by several independent entrants. It contained narrow branches, a washbasin, storage compartments, and a wall-mounted projection displaying Ashmoor’s crest.

There were no windows. Misha noticed that immediately, along with the single entrance and the faint mana markings embedded around the doorframe. Nothing appeared immediately threatening. The room was clean and comfortable enough, but the lack of an outside view made it feel more like a holding area than somewhere people were expected to relax.

Astrid placed Sebastian’s parcel on one of the benches. Meanwhile, Misha inspected the room out of habit, noting the distance between the entrance and the nearest seating area.

The preparation room was not exclusively theirs. Several independent contenders had already claimed seats along the walls, while others wandered between the benches, introducing themselves or examining their potential opponents with varying degrees of subtlety. Misha recognized a few faces from the registration hall, including a broad-shouldered man who had spent most of the time loudly discussing his previous victories and a young woman with a scar across her chin who appeared considerably more interested in observing than talking.

Misha had barely taken three steps toward Astrid when someone approached her.

"Gravekeeper, right?" The speaker was a young man with neatly combed chestnut hair and a pleasant face, dressed in a dark green uniform. He stopped at a respectful distance and offered a friendly smile. "I’m Bleit. Independent, same as you. I was hoping we’d get a chance to speak before the Trial started."

Misha looked at his outstretched hand before accepting it. His grip was firm without being unnecessarily forceful, and he released her hand after a brief shake rather than turning the greeting into some ridiculous contest of strength.

Bleit glanced toward Astrid and offered her a polite nod. "And you must be Astrid Hale. I’ve heard a little about both of you, though I imagine you’ve had enough strangers introducing themselves today."

"You’re the first one who’s acknowledged that possibility," Misha replied. She studied him for a second before adding, "Congratulations. You’re already ahead of the competition."

The man laughed, apparently taking the remark in good humor. "I’ll consider that an achievement. I wanted to ask whether you’d be interested in cooperating if the opening round allows it. I’m not affiliated with a guild, and judging by the number of matching armors outside, independents might have a difficult time competing alone."

That was reasonable enough. Misha had already considered the possibility herself, although she was not particularly eager to enter an agreement with someone she had met less than a minute ago.

"We haven’t heard the full rules yet," she pointed out. "For all we know, they’ll throw us into separate locations and tell us to start stealing from one another."

"Fair enough." Bleit nodded, seemingly unsurprised by her caution. "Then perhaps we can reconsider if we happen to cross paths. I’d rather have someone sensible watching my back than spend hours wondering which guild is planning to rob me."

"That’s a remarkably optimistic assessment of someone you’ve just met." Misha folded her arms, though there was a trace of amusement in her voice. "What makes you think I’m sensible?"

Bleit glanced toward the opposite side of the room, where the broad-shouldered man was still talking. "Compared with some of the introductions I’ve received, that’s a promising start."

Misha followed his gaze and understood immediately.

"Your standards are concerningly low."

"They’ve served me well so far."

Astrid smiled faintly at the exchange. "We’ll keep your offer in mind, Mister Bleit. Good luck in the opening round."

"Likewise." He gave them another courteous nod before returning to his seat, leaving Misha with the impression that he was either genuinely pleasant or considerably better at concealing his intentions than most people in the room.

She watched him for another moment before turning toward Astrid. "Well, that was suspiciously normal."

"He seemed friendly."

"He did." Misha glanced toward the other contenders. "Let’s see how long that lasts once there’s something worth fighting over."