Chapter 4: A Crown I Never Asked For

I sat at the head of the banquet hall, on a throne so oversized and pretentious it might as well have had a neon sign above it flashing:

“BEHOLD, THIS GUY IS IMPORTANT.”

The wood was carved into spiraling roots, polished until they gleamed, the kind of craftsmanship that screamed centuries of tradition and reverence. There were glowing runes etched across the backrest that pulsed faintly, like they were mocking me with every flicker:

King. King. King.

And there I was, plopped dead center in it like some clueless idiot who had accidentally taken the reserved VIP seat at a wedding.

My legs were stiff. My palms were sweaty. And I was very aware of the hundred-plus Dark Elf villagers staring up at me from below, their eyes practically sparkling with reverence.

…Why the hell was I sitting here?

To my left, the long banquet table stretched out, stacked with dishes of roasted meat, glazed roots, and glowing fruit that looked like it came straight out of a fantasy cooking anime. To my right, more tables filled with villagers—hunters, mages, elders, even children. Everyone dressed in their best.

At the very front of the hall, Elder Liraeth strode confidently onto the raised platform, robes sweeping behind her. She raised her arms. The crowd hushed instantly.

Her voice rang out like a queen addressing her kingdom.

“Tonight,” she declared, “we honor the divine bloodline of Ashryn-sama, whose son has returned to us in the form of Amakusa Tengen-sama!”

The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers.

I sat frozen, forcing a stiff nod, while inside my head was screaming:

Why is no one questioning this?! Why am I not being interrogated in a dungeon somewhere? Instead, I’m being paraded around like some celebrity cameo!

The Elder’s voice rose louder.

“Not only has he inherited the strength of Ashryn-sama, but he has already proven his might! He braved the deepest dungeons alone, conquered beasts that would turn even veterans to ash, and...”

She paused dramatically.

“…he slew a Dragon!”

My stomach dropped.

“…Excuse me?!” I blurted before I could stop myself.

The villagers gasped. Then, as if she’d just read a page out of holy scripture, they roared in approval.

“Glory to Tengen-sama!”
“Dragon-slayer!”

I sat there pale, gripping the throne’s arms so tightly I thought I might snap them.

Lady, where the hell did you pull that from?! I’ve killed snakes, rhino-bears, maybe traumatized a centipede or two, but a Dragon?! No way! Don’t write fanfiction about me while I’m sitting right here!

I buried my face in my hand. Are Dark Elves really this gullible? No… no, they’re supposed to be cunning, ancient, smart. So why are they eating this up like gospel?

The Elder wasn’t done.

She kept going, voice dripping with dramatic reverence:

“He has blessed us with evolution, shown mercy even in his greatness, and carried himself with the nobility of his lineage! Truly, we are in the presence of our destined leader!”

And then she dropped the nuke.

“Therefore, as of this moment, I, Liraeth, step down as Elder of the village… and pass the mantle of leadership to Amakusa Tengen-sama!”

The hall exploded. Cheers, chants, voices chanting my name like I was some rock star walking on stage.

“Tengen-sama! Chief Tengen-sama!”

I sat there, soul leaving my body.

“…Huh?”

She beamed, absolutely glowing with pride.

“From this night onward, you will guide us. You, who carry Ashryn-sama’s blood, will be our leader.”

No. No, no, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. My adventurer life—it’s gone. The guild quests, the harem route, the noble road of wandering wherever I want… it’s all slipping through my fingers, replaced with paperwork, disputes over livestock, and endless responsibility.

I forced myself to my feet, putting on the most noble, calm expression I could muster.

“Elder Liraeth-sama,” I said, voice low and formal. “While I appreciate your words, I am unworthy. This village thrives under your wisdom. You are far more suited to such responsibility than I could ever be.”

Noble. Humble. A perfect deflection.

Or so I thought.

The villagers gasped in awe. Then the cheers erupted louder than ever before.

“Such humility!” the Elder cried, tears in her eyes. “Even in the face of destiny, he humbles himself! Truly, only someone of his greatness could lead us!”

The crowd howled in agreement.

“Tengen-sama! Tengen-sama!”

My jaw went slack. Are these people okay in the head?! You just met me TODAY! Ninety-five percent of you didn’t even know I existed this morning, and now you’re handing me the keys to the entire village? What happened to survival instinct?!

I sat back down in defeat, slumping into the throne as if it had just eaten me alive.

To the side, I caught sight of Yoruha, her silver hair gleaming under the lanterns. She leaned back smugly, arms crossed, her expression screaming “See? My human is the best. Obviously.”

When she caught me looking, she stuck her tongue out at me like a spoiled child flaunting her favorite toy.

“Teeengen~,” she mouthed silently, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Dravel, standing like a sentinel behind her, didn’t so much as crack a smile. His silver eyes were steady, sharp, but there was no hostility in them anymore. Instead, there was something worse. Respect.

When his gaze met mine, he gave me the slightest bow of his head.

I nearly choked. No. Don’t look at me like that. You were easier to handle when you wanted to murder me.

The Elder spread her arms wide.

“And now, let the banquet begin!”

The roar of approval shook the hall, and I realized with dread that the real nightmare was only beginning.

Because one by one, villagers began to line up.

With gifts.

And praise.

The line of villagers finally dwindled. I had received more fruit baskets, charms, and handmade daggers than I could carry in three lifetimes. My polite nodding muscles were sore. My smile felt carved into my skull.

I wanted to curl up under the table and disappear.

I sat there, slumped on the throne, when two shadows fell over me.

Yoruha and Dravel.

The siblings strode toward me with the air of royalty, as if the banquet had been theirs all along. Yoruha flopped into the seat at my right without asking, silver hair swishing, her expression smug enough to sell for gold. Dravel took the left, folding his arms, eyes sharp but calm.

I groaned. “Oh good. The peanut gallery has arrived.”

Yoruha leaned forward on the table, chin propped on her palm.

“So, Chief Tengen-sama, how does it feel?”

Her voice dripped with satisfaction.

“Like a nightmare,” I muttered.

“Come now,” she teased, puffing her cheeks in mock offense. “You look perfect on that throne. A true king. Strong, noble, radiant. Just as I predicted.”

I shot her a flat look. “You didn’t predict anything. You literally tried to dump my unconscious body outside the village when we first met.”

She blinked innocently. “And yet, here you are.”

Dravel chuckled low, the sound like distant thunder.

“She’s not wrong. The people believe in you, Tengen-sama. Even I… cannot deny your strength.”

That tone—respectful, sincere—sent a shiver down my spine. Damn it. He really switched lanes fast. First he wanted to slit my throat, now he’s acting like I’m some hero to look up to. I don’t know which is worse.

“Don’t call me that,” I groaned, rubbing my face. “I didn’t agree to this Chief nonsense. I just wanted to adventure, maybe pick up a harem or two. Not… rule a village full of people who think lies are facts.”

Yoruha giggled, silver eyes flashing. “You’re stuck with us now, Tengen-sama. My people love you. You’re ours.”

Spoiled brat.

I scowled, desperate to turn the tables. My gaze flicked down, and a grin crept across my lips.

“You know,” I said casually, “for someone who just evolved into a High Dark Elf, it’s a shame some parts of you didn’t evolve along with the rest.”

I nodded meaningfully toward her chest.

Her smugness froze.

“Yes,” I pressed, grinning wider. “A tragedy, really. All that glowing silver hair, aura of nobility, and yet… still a washboard.”

Her jaw dropped. I leaned back proudly, satisfied, then glanced at Dravel for approval. Man-to-man solidarity.

Except.

Dravel wasn’t grinning.
He wasn’t nodding.

His face had drained pale, eyes wide in sheer horror. He wasn’t looking at me—he was staring behind me.

My blood turned to ice.

Oh no.

A memory hit me like a blade to the gut. My mother, standing in the kitchen years ago, hands on her hips, warning me in her firmest voice:

“Listen, Tengen. A man never comments on a woman’s age or her chest. Not unless you want an early grave.”

My chest tightened. Sweat trickled down my temple. My throat went dry.

Slowly, like a man peeking at his death sentence, I turned my head.

Yoruha sat there, smiling.

But her eyes… oh gods, her eyes weren’t smiling at all.

“Tengen-sama~,” she purred, voice like honey laced with poison. “I’m only eighty years old. I’m still growing, you see.”

Eighty.

The word left her mouth and slipped into my ears before my brain had a chance to filter it.

“So old!!” I muttered aloud.

The air froze.

Her smile vanished.

A dark aura rolled off her like a collapsing sun.

“So… old?” she repeated.

Panic surged through me. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean—”

Her fist crashed into my chest like a comet.

My body lifted from the throne and slammed onto the floorboards hard enough to rattle dishes across the hall.

I lay there, gasping, stunned.

Pain.
Actual pain. Despite my resistance.

“What the hell was that?!” I wheezed.

Yoruha stood, cheeks puffed, pouting like a spoiled child denied her toy.

“Eighty years is young for elves, you gorilla!” she snapped before spinning dramatically on her heel and storming off.

The villagers laughed nervously, pretending this was normal. I stayed sprawled on the floor, clutching my ribs, eyes wide.

That woman is dangerous. So dangerous. Now I get it. Now I finally understand why Dravel looks at her like she’s a ticking bomb.

I dragged myself upright, wheezing, and glanced at him.

He met my gaze, his expression grim, then gave me the slightest nod.

“I understand you, bro,” his eyes seemed to say.

I swallowed hard, then nodded back. What a man. To endure this for eighty years… he’s a saint.

The tension finally ebbed. The music picked up again. The hall filled with chatter and clinking cups.

Then Dravel pushed his chair back, standing tall. His eyes glinted with challenge.

“Tengen-sama,” he said, his voice carrying over the room. “I challenge you… to a dance.”

I blinked. “A what now?”

The villagers erupted in cheers.

Dravel smirked. “What’s wrong? Afraid of losing?”

My jaw clenched.

Afraid?
Me?

I hated losing more than anything. And I especially hated being called a coward.

“Fine,” I growled, standing. “But don’t cry when I crush you.”

The crowd whooped. A circle formed in the center of the hall. Dravel stepped in first.

His movements were sharp, precise, a warrior’s grace woven into rhythm. He spun, kicked, flipped, his footwork crisp, his balance flawless. The villagers cheered, clapping in rhythm, their eyes wide with awe.

When he stopped, breathing hard, he threw his arms wide. The crowd roared.

I smirked. “Not bad.”

Dravel arched a brow.

I let a low chuckle slip. “Amateur.”

Gasps rippled through the hall.

“He called Dravel-sama an amateur?!”

Whispers raced. If that was amateur, then how powerful is Tengen-sama?

I stepped forward slowly, dramatically, every motion deliberate, like a hero walking into the final battle.

Standing tall, I raised my voice:

“Burn this into your eyes. One of the greatest moves known to man!”

And then I began to… dwerk.

Not just any dwerk. The full, perfected art of air-thrusting, my hands clasped behind my head, hips moving with the seriousness of a master monk performing a sacred ritual.

The hall went dead silent.

The women’s faces drained pale, hands flying to their mouths. One by one, they stood and stormed out, muttering furiously about their dignity and their village’s shame.

But the men.
Oh, the men.

Their jaws dropped. Their eyes shone with tears.

Dravel stumbled backward, chest tight, caught by his fellow warriors.

“What technique…!” he gasped. “Such fluid movement. Such precision! He disturbs not the wind, yet he shakes the very soul!”

The men fell to their knees, enraptured.

I snapped to a halt dramatically.

The men gasped as if I’d just sliced a mountain in two.

Covering my right eye with my hand, I revealed only the left, glaring straight at Dravel.

“Do you accept defeat?” I asked coldly.

His jaw tightened. His fists clenched. “Never.”

The men screamed in support. “Dravel-sama! Don’t give up!”

I smirked darkly. “Then I have no choice. Behold… the forbidden move.”

I dropped low, hips rotating in a perfect circle, thrusts spiraling like a hurricane.

“The Dwerk Rotation Play.”

Dravel fell to his knees, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No… no way… such mastery…”

The men screamed his name. He bowed his head.

“I admit defeat.”

The hall erupted in cheers:

“Tengen-sama! Tengen-sama!”

I strode forward like a noble knight, placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke gravely.

“You fought well, Dravel. Yours was not weakness, only being outmatched. Hone your craft, and one day, challenge me again.”

Tears streamed down his face.

“Yes… Master!”

The men wept openly.

The music resumed, the feast rolled on until midnight, and somewhere deep inside, I realized my adventurer dream was slipping further away every second.

Because somehow, some way, I had just become the Dark Elf Village’s dance champion.

And worse… their Chief.