Chapter 14: The Hall of Embers

The Queen summoned me privately that morning.

Her expression was serene but commanding, the kind of calm that carried a thousand battles worth of pressure behind it. She sat on her throne draped in deep crimson robes, her crown glinting in the torchlight. Her voice carried not just authority, but urgency.

"You’ll need to choose your companions for this mission wisely, Jack."

I stood before her, tense but trying not to show it. "How many am I allowed to bring?"

"Only a select few," she replied. "We can’t risk leaving the kingdom vulnerable. Mondunion still stands as a sanctuary do to our people and including mine’s magic barrier , but its borders are no longer safe. If we pull too many of our champions, we will be exposed."

That made sense. Still, it felt like being handed a blade and told to fight while leaving your shield behind.

"There is… one more thing," she continued. "The warriors you’ll be working with—many of them don’t trust the players."

I blinked. "Why?"

Her gaze didn’t waver. "Because of Niobeorth. When he shattered the Veil Accord, it wasn’t just laws and magic that broke—it was trust. The champions see you, the players, as unstable. Reckless. A storm that can’t be controlled."

"…They’re not wrong," I admitted under my breath.

The Queen regarded me, the faintest smile gracing her lips.
"That is why I entrust this task to you. You have shown a discipline rare among many. They will judge your deeds before your words, earn their respect, and they will follow.

I would also have you perform your… ‘magic’ upon our warriors. Since the Niobeorth calamity, much of Mondunion’s magic has been bound. We are permitted only non-lethal arts, winds to guide our sails, wards to shield our kin, the mending of wounds. Yet once, each of us possessed a gift unlike any other… a Magime, our own soul’s signature. Niobeorth sealed them all away.

But you—your defiance of such laws, your nature to break the unbreakable—may yet shatter that binding."

She leaned forward.

"But be careful. The process is draining. You could put yourself in danger if you use in excess. Use it only on those you believe are strong enough to fight back. Don’t waste it on those who might hesitate. They must be brave, Jack. And willing."

I swallowed hard.

"Why are you so determined for us to work together?" I asked. "You speak like you want Niobeorth gone now—no matter the cost."

The Queen turned her gaze toward the window, the light casting shadows across her face.

"Because Niobeorth has my daughter," she said softly. "My only surviving daughter."

I stayed silent for a moment, then finally asked, "What happened?"

"My daughter, Princess Alina, was taken by Niobeorth. He’s keeping her alive—barely—to force my hand. He wants me to send all my warriors to their deaths. But I couldn’t lead my people into a slaughter. Not like that.

"At first, I considered using the outer realmers… but when I saw how unprepared they were, I knew it would be wrong—sending strangers to die for a world they barely understand. I was out of options."

She paused, her voice tightening.

"Then, some of the allied tribes and what remained of our forces chose to fight back. And when I saw that some of the outer realmers could actually defeat Niobeorth’s spawn… I realized this could work. But only if both sides cooperate. I need unity—to protect this world… and to save my daughter."

I hesitated, then asked quietly, "What happened to your other children?"

"One was stillborn. My second child, my son, fell during the war against the Dark Lord. And my third child, the eldest daughter, died from an unknown disease"
"I became overprotective with my daughter… to the point I can hardly bear to let her out of my sight."

The Queen’s voice trembled, her gaze distant, heavy with grief.

"A part of me knows it’s wrong. That I’m only caging her in… But I can’t help it." Her fingers curled into her robes. "I cannot lose another of my children. I just… I cannot bear it."
She looked at me again, her eyes tired.

"A year ago, before the five spawns rose, there was an army of monsters. We pushed them back. Barely. But Niobeorth… he grew stronger. Somehow, he gained power, twisting this world, bending it to his will. He sealed our magic. He enslaved those who fell under his curse.

"So please, dear hero," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "I beg you—work with them. Trust them. Because if we don’t stand together, more lives will be lost. And I can’t lose what little I have left."

I nodded. But deep down, I still wasn’t sure. The weight of this world, its pain, its history, was too much to grasp all at once.
I made my way to the Hall of Embers, the grand subterranean training chamber buried beneath Mondunion’s oldest spire. The place looked less like a room and more like a forge-temple built inside the mountain itself. Lava flowed quietly beneath iron grates, and the air shimmered faintly with heat and raw mana. High above, steel chains crisscrossed the ceiling, from which sparring cages and weapon racks hung.

This is where warriors proved themselves.
This is where I would choose my team.

The moment I stepped through the massive iron doors, all eyes turned to me.

Dozens of them.
Warriors from every corner of the kingdom—tribal raiders, mountain sentries, desert hunters, former knights, and spellblades cloaked in rune-threaded cloaks. Some wore armor, others robes, and some stood shirtless with jagged scars painted across their chests like war-trophies.

And all of them were staring at me like I was a bug they weren’t sure was worth stomping on.

The silence was brutal.
No one moved, bowed or welcomed me.

Okay, cool.
I’m not intimidated.
Not at all.

A tall spear-wielder with painted teeth muttered something in his language and smirked.
A shieldmaiden cracked her knuckles loud enough to echo.
Someone in the back spit on the floor.

Yeah… they’re totally thrilled to work with a "reckless player."

I took a deep breath and walked further in. Even with my Dangatana humming at my side, I could feel the weight of their judgment. The Queen warned me this would happen. These weren’t NPCs, they were proud, living people. Warriors with their own pain, their own oaths, and no reason to trust someone like me.

I stopped in the center of the room.

The lava heat made my skin prickle.
The silence waited like a held blade.

Then I activated the HUD command the Queen had uploaded: Candidate Evaluation Mode.

Light blue rings of magic spiraled out from me, flickering across the room. Some of the warriors instinctively reached for their weapons, others just narrowed their eyes.

On my interface, names began to appear. Titles. Combat compatibility. Mana reserves. Suppressed magical signatures. A lot of red… but also some gold.

These were the ones whose magic had been sealed.
And who might, if I trusted them and if they trusted me, be awakened by the glitch in my system.

The Queen’s words still echoed in my head like a weight I couldn’t shrug off.

"We must defeat all of Niobeorth’s Spawn before we can face Niobeorth himself."

There were only two left now. Two monsters. No one knew their names, faces, or domains. Not even the Queen’s seers could pierce through the shadow they left behind.

And yet I had to choose one champion.

She had already selected two for me. I didn’t know who. But I had to pick the third—the last piece of the trinity for whatever battle was ahead.

No pressure.

I was a player. And to them, that meant nothing.

I cleared my throat. "Uh… I’m Jack. The Queen tasked me to lead a strike team, and she said—"
No one spoke. Not even a single soul utter anything.

Just a wall of living fantasy characters watching me like I was a fly buzzing in their temple.

"Alright…" I whispered. "Let’s see who’s still got the fire."

I shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck.

Until someone applauded
"Oh thank god," I muttered.

It was Terrence and his gang, swaggering in like they owned the place, with their usual ridiculous timing.

Terrence marched to the center, planted his feet wide, and looked around at the silent champions like a man picking a fight at a bar.

Then he shouted:
"Wow. You people are just a bunch of [BEEPS]!"

The profanity filter in my head censored whatever he said, but judging by the glares and tightened fists from several warriors, it definitely wasn’t "nice people."

"Terrence," I hissed, "could you not antagonize the undead banshee knight and the twelve-foot ogre?"

"Look at ‘em!" he barked, ignoring me. "All standing there like they’re better than us. Jack here’s got more power in his glitchy pinky than all of you rolled into one beef burrito you bunch of [BEEPS]."

"Still can’t hear anything past the beeps," I muttered, wincing.

Barnaby elbowed me. "At least he’s honest."

I glanced around and finally asked, "Wait… where are the other players?"

Benson crossed his arms and shook his head. "They’re not coming."

"Not even one?"

"We’re the only five who volunteered," Michael added, serious for once. "The rest bailed. After the last mission, most of ‘em figured out death in this world is real real. They’re not ready to roll the dice again."

I didn’t blame them. I wanted to say something reassuring, but… I couldn’t. They weren’t wrong to be afraid.

I scanned the crowd again. No sign of Ysanthe.

"She’s not here either," I mumbled to myself.

And honestly? I was relieved. Ysanthe was one of the only people here I trusted, and that made her too valuable to risk. At least, not yet.

Suddenly a deep, guttural growl echoed across the hall.

And a voice, thick, booming, and contemptuous, spoke with dripping scorn.

"This… is your champion?"

The crowd parted as Grulk Ironjaw stepped forward.

Towering over everyone, the two-headed ogre gladiator glared at me like I was something he scraped off the bottom of his war boot.

The left head, with a broken tusk and an eye covered in ritual scarring, chuckled darkly. The right head curled its lip.

"The Queen must be desperate," Grulk sneered.
"A soft-boned runt with toys instead of strength. She should’ve let him polish her armor instead of leading warriors."

I froze.

All eyes turned to me again, this time not in indifference, but in judgment. The kind that cut deeper than any blade. I could feel the weight of it pressing into my chest, like I had no right to stand here.

Terrence took a step forward, fists tightening.

But I lifted my hand.

I didn’t want to hide behind them.
Not this time.

I took a breath. A deep one. Then walked slowly toward Grulk, who towered above me like a siege tower about to fall.

"Say that again," I said quietly.

Both heads stared.

"I said," the right one snarled, "you’re weak. A child playing warrior. When real warriors die screaming, you’ll be running like a coward."

The words burned. But I didn’t flinch.

Instead, I said, "You think I’m weak? Good. Then watch me prove you wrong."

The ogre’s eyes narrowed. His hands flexed around the haft of his weapon.

Around the room, I felt the heat shift. Some warriors looked curious now. A few even leaned forward. Grulk had challenged me and I didn’t back down.

No one applauded. No one cheered.

But no one looked away, either.

And for now, that was enough.