[Chapter 171. The Burden of the Crown]

The oppressive silver light of the dungeon’s moon was instantly replaced by the dim, pulsing violet glow of the spires atrium. The transition was a sensory snap—the sudden shift from the smell of cold grave-dirt to the scent of polished stone and the heat of hundreds of breathing bodies. The absolute silence of the graveyard gave way to the bustling, frantic murmur of the crowd that filled the Spire’s great hall.

"He's already out..."

"Was it too much for him?"

"I knew he couldn't do it on his own. He probably ran as soon as things got real."

Several skeptical voices cut through the sea of survivors as Searanox stepped fully out of the blue vortex. He didn't acknowledge them with a glance. Beside him, the cargo drone followed him through. With a clatter of metal on stone, it began dropping off the gear of the fallen—a pile of rusted breastplates, notched weapons of all kind, and dented helmets began to form at the side of the entrance.

Searanox stopped and turned to the crowd, his dark sunglasses reflecting the violet conduits in the walls.

"My first assessment of this dungeon is complete," he announced. His voice wasn't loud, yet it possessed a cutting clarity that silenced the whispers in the front rows. "Refrain from entering it until I have heard the reports of the others. If their experiences match my own, you will be free to challenge the dungeon at your own risk. Furthermore, be aware: all spoils found within the gate belong to those who claimed them. I do not intend to take away what you have fought for."

As he spoke, the voices of hundreds fell into a deafening silence. Every eye was fixed on him, searching his face for hidden motives or the fine print of a trap. In a world where everything had been stripped from them, the idea of ownership seemed like a distant fairy tale.

"My Lord... you truly won't take the rewards from us?" a middle-aged man asked in stunned disbelief, his hands clutching a tattered jacket.

`I already got the rewards I was after.` Searanox thought, his mind flickered to the silver ring. `Claiming the first clear for myself and portraying this as an act of ensuring your safety will earn me more in gratitude than a few rusty swords ever could.`

He looked the man in the eye. "I am not interested in the spoils of others, especially not those of active citizens. You are the backbone of this city's economy. If you starve or remain unarmed, the city fails. Therefore, what you kill is yours to keep."

At this statement, another murmur rippled through the hall—a volatile mix of burgeoning hope and deep-seated suspicion.

"Each run of the dungeon earns you something called City Points or CP in short," Searanox continued, gesturing to the gleaming silver emblem that had manifested on his coat. "This is a sign of your status in Androxis. Food and shelter may be free in my city, but you should always strive for higher ranks. Bronze gets you a bed; Silver and Gold get you a future."

The crowd erupted again, the word Free echoing through the chamber like a holy mantra.

"Free food?"

"It’s impossible."

"We’re safe... we’re actually safe."

"But what about the death penalty?"

Searanox turned his back on them, looking toward the shimmering portal. A translucent System window floated in his vision, showing the dungeon’s properties. It had entered a six-hour cooldown phase. It had taken him exactly twenty minutes to clear the instance; from that data, he estimated that a regular, unoptimized team would likely need more than two hours of grueling combat to reach the exit.

"One of you mentioned the penalty for crime in my city," Searanox said, his voice dropping an octave as he spoke over his shoulder. "That is correct. I will not tolerate petty crime here. I provide everything you need for survival for free. Your spoils are yours. Your life is yours. Therefore, if you still choose to deviate onto the path of crime, you are no longer welcome in this city."

"Isn't that a bit harsh?" a rough, gravelly voice cut through the murmur. "Could you not simply exile a man for stealing? Does he have to die?"

Searanox turned slowly, his boots clicking on the granite. "And what would happen to the one who is exiled? Would he not die anyway? I offer him mercy in the form of a fast, painless death. Out there," he gestured vaguely toward the massive outer walls, "he will slowly starve in the dirt, if he even survives the beasts that see him as nothing more than a convenient meal. You all seem to have forgotten that we are still in the early stages of the System. Everything out there is currently weak. But that will change in exactly one day and sixteen hours."

The crowd went deathly silent. The reality of their situation—of the predatory world they now inhabited—crashed down upon them with the weight of a collapsing skyscraper. The 'Safe Zone' wasn't a permanent gift; it was a fortress they had to man.

Before any more panicked questions could be voiced, the portal beside Searanox shimmered violently, spitting out Iris. She landed in a low crouch, her Zweihänder held loosely in one hand. Her dark fur was matted with a dark, viscous substance that looked like dried, black blood, and a faint steam rose from her shoulders.

"Well?" Searanox asked. His gaze swept over her, lingering for a fraction of a second on the fresh silver sigil that had materialized on her armor, identical to his own.

"It is manageable," Iris said, her voice level and steady, betraying none of the physical exertion. "For a coordinated team, at least. I encountered several elite skeletons with blackened armor in the mid-section. They hit significantly harder than the regular fodder. The guardian before the exit gate was stronger; it took some focused damage to bring down. I estimate approximately two hours and forty minutes for a coordinated human team to clear it."

The crowd gasped at the timeframe. Searanox’s earlier estimation had been nearly perfect.

"We will wait here for the other four," Searanox said, his tone returning to that cold, baseline indifference. "Until then, you may leave the Spire and seek out a house of your liking."

"My Lord," an older woman spoke up, pulling two children closer to her. "After the System invited us to join this city, it already designated housing for us. I know where it is... I can feel it in my head, even though I’ve never set foot in these streets before."

"I see. So the System already handled the logistics," Searanox muttered. `Efficient. Terrifying, but efficient.` "You know the law and you know the basics of living here. This is good; I would hate to explain the basics to hundreds of thousands of people."

His gaze flicked toward the two children. One was a mere child hardly old enough for school, the other in his early teens, both looking at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"Mmmm..." Searanox hummed, a thought occurring to him. "I may have to change something about the citizenship. I do not want young children entering the dungeon out of desperation." he murmured. They may stay in this city alongside their parents, so long as the parents maintain a Bronze rank or higher.

As soon as the words left his lips, a System window flickered into existence, asking for a formal confirmation of the change to the Androxis Citizen Rights.

`Yes. I confirm the change. Children will automatically share the rank of their lowest-ranked parent.`

He spoke again, his voice softening just a fraction. "You have to forgive me. I had not given much thought to the children until this moment. A lot has happened in the last few hours. The laws and rules may change as we adapt. After all, I am a simple man in the end. I have never governed a city before."

He chuckled softly at the crowd's reaction. They looked at his pale, porcelain skin, his elongated, sharp ears, and the way the violet light seemed to be absorbed by his very being.

"Yes, yes," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I may not look like a typical man with my complexion and my ears, but I assure you, my appearance does not change the fact that I am human inside."

A low murmur rippled through the gathered survivors—a wave of uneasy whispers. Their fear was still a living thing, coiling in the vast chamber, but it was now mingled with a fragile thread of confusion. This self-proclaimed 'monster,' this being who had just established a regime of capital punishment with a single thought, was now worrying about childcare and claiming a common humanity. It was a dissonance they couldn't quite reconcile.

As if on cue, the fourth portal shimmered with a violent, unstable energy. It spat out Lana, Carmen, Vanessa, and Sarah in a tangled, undignified heap of limbs and scraped armor. They collapsed onto the polished granite floor, gasping for air. Their faces were pale and slick with sweat; their gear was battered, leather straps torn and metal plates dented.

Carmen was already fumbling with her limited supply of healing, her hands shaking as she tried to apply her healing magic to a deep, jagged gash on Vanessa. The sight of them—four capable warriors utterly broken by a dungeon that Searanox had cleared in what looked like a leisurely stroll—was a more potent declaration of his power than any speech could ever be.

The murmuring in the crowd died instantly. It was replaced by a heavy, awestruck silence. The survivors looked from the four exhausted, wounded women back to their impassive Lord. The terrifying reality of the power gap became an undeniable, physical weight in the room. Searanox watched them with analytical detachment, his gaze lingering on the way Vanessa flinched away from Carmen’s touch—not out of pain, but out of a raw, simmering resentment.

"Your assessment?" Searanox asked.

Lana looked up at him, her knuckles white as her grip on Wavebreaker tightened. "It was... manageable. The beasts inside are a higher level than the regular level-five dungeons, but they felt weaker than their level indicated. Their patterns are predictable."

"If one of us had not been overconfident and aggravated half the dungeon on her own, we might not have suffered any wounds at all," Sarah added, her voice sharp. Her gaze flickered toward Vanessa.

"Don't you dare start with me, you whore," Vanessa shot back, her face a mask of fury and pain as the healing began to sting.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Carmen interjected, her voice cracking with exhaustion. "Our Lord is waiting for a proper report. Act like professionals."

"It was a standard dungeon," Vanessa spat, her voice strained but holding a note of lingering defiance. "The elites were a challenge. With a proper team, they are easy enough. The final guardian was the problem. We nearly failed because of a lack of communication."

"Interesting. I see your training still has significant holes," Searanox said, turning his gaze toward the other four portals within the Spires first floor. "You will enter again after the six-hour cooldown. I will have Iris personally train with you for the next few days."

He paused, letting the weight of that statement sink in. "You will not stop training until you can clear this instance without a single scratch."

The four women exchanged horrified glances. The thought of enduring that grueling ordeal again was bad enough, but 'training' with Iris—who moved faster than the eye could follow—was a punishment that made the dungeon’s horrors seem trivial. Vanessa looked like she was about to object, but a single, cold look from Searanox sealed her lips.

"I am not a cruel man," Searanox said, though his tone suggested he was perfectly comfortable with the alternative. "I will reward your hard work. Prove your worth to this city, and you will live like queens."

He walked up to Lana and reached into his pocket, pulling out the silver ring he had recovered from the chest. He took her hand and pressed the cool metal into her palm. "This will aid you from now on. It’s a storage ring. Use it to carry supplies for the team."

Lana stared at the ring, her eyes softening. "Thanks, Searanox."

He turned back to the crowd, his voice booming through the hall one last time. "The dungeon is open to you now. But consider this a final warning: this place is designed for coordinated teams. If you enter alone, you will most likely die. Choose your allies wisely."

With that, he turned and began to walk toward the exit of the Spire, his long coat swishing against his boots. The crowd parted for him in absolute silence, a sea of people who were no longer just survivors, but the first subjects of Androxis.