CHAPTER 288: CHAPTER 288: NOT EVERYTHING IS AS GOOD AS IT SEEMS...

The arena still thundered with cheers when Balthor descended the stone steps, his massive frame impossible to miss. The new King of Tharvaldur wore no pompous ceremonial armor—just his usual normal clothes. At his side, as always, walked Noriel, the dwarf with a braided beard and stern face, carrying a heavy scroll in both hands.

In the center of the arena, Noel still stood tall, Revenant Fang hanging at his hip, the crowd chanting his name over and over. The echo of thousands of voices inside the mountain was deafening.

And cutting through that roar came a single, shameless voice.

"He’s my boyfriend!"

Charlotte, standing high in the stands, waved her arms with not a hint of embarrassment. Gasps and laughter rippled through the crowd, people turning to spot the red-haired girl shouting loud enough for the whole of Tharvaldur to hear. She froze for a split second, eyes flicking toward Elena and Elyra beside her, then raised her voice even higher.

"He’s our boyfriend!"

The words carried like a hammer strike. The audience erupted into chatter, some laughing, some clapping, others exchanging bewildered looks. Elena covered her face with her hand, Elyra sighed deeply, and Charlotte only doubled down, cupping her hands around her mouth to make sure there was no mistaking it.

Balthor reached Noel, leaning down with a grin broad enough to split his beard. His voice rumbled low so only Noel could hear. "Good, lad, good. I’ve doubled my fortune thanks to your performances. Hahaha."

Noel didn’t smile. "Don’t you think there are plenty of eyes who can read your lips right now?"

"Ah, don’t worry. Nothing to fear." Balthor chuckled, unbothered by the thought.

The celebration roared on, Charlotte still screaming, while Noel stood in the spotlight of the entire kingdom.

Noriel stepped forward, scroll tucked under one arm, his voice booming with the authority of a seasoned herald. "With this, the Tournament of the Academies of Tharvaldur has come to an end! Our new reigning king will now announce the group results!"

The crowd hushed almost instantly, thousands leaning in to hear.

Balthor snatched the scroll from Noriel, his grin sharp. His voice carried effortlessly across the arena, amplified by the runes carved into the stone walls. Yet before he began, he leaned close to Noel once more, whispering with a laugh. "Well done, lad, well done. Hahaha."

Noel muttered back, his tone flat. "You couldn’t have saved that for the end?"

Balthor’s eyes glinted. "You forced me into being king against my will. You don’t deserve surprises." He barked another laugh and turned back to the crowd.

The arena waited, silent as a tomb.

"In fourth place," Balthor’s voice rang out, "due to all that transpired and the disqualification—Tharvaldur Institute of Arcane Might."

Not a sound. No cheers, no jeers. The crowd simply bowed its collective head, a rare silence of respect for those who had fallen or suffered.

"In third place," Balthor continued, "the Academy of Velmora!"

A roar split the silence. The demons in their unique uniforms howled and stamped, proud of their position.

"In second place..." Balthor let the words hang, savoring the anticipation. "...Luceria Grand Academy!"

The section of violet uniforms erupted in cheers, their students celebrating wildly. None louder than little Anastasia, the red-haired prodigy who had fallen early to Noel yet cheered harder than anyone.

"And in first place—" Balthor’s voice hit like a hammer. "The Imperial Academy of Valor!"

The coliseum exploded. Valor’s banners waved furiously as thousands screamed Noel’s name. For the first time in history, their academy had conquered Tharvaldur’s grand tournament.

The thunder of celebration still echoed through the mountain when Balthor clapped Noel on the shoulder. "Come, lad. You’ve earned a prize."

Noel blinked. "Now?"

"Now," Balthor grinned, already turning away. "You can pick what you like. And since you’ve lined my pockets with gold, I’ll even let you choose from the good stuff."

Selene appeared from the corridor that led to the finalist’s chambers, her short blue hair disheveled but her cyan eyes as sharp as ever. Noel slowed at the sight. "Selene?"

Balthor gestured casually. "Of course. Every member of the top eight receives a reward. But you two? You get to pick."

Without waiting for debate, the new king led them through the winding halls of the fortress, up past torchlit corridors and down again into deeper chambers. Guards opened massive iron doors as they approached, and soon the three of them stood in a cavernous vault carved directly into the heart of the mountain.

Shelves and pedestals stretched out in rows, glittering with weapons, armors, trinkets, and relics—each humming faintly with enchantments. The air itself smelled of mana, thick and ancient.

Balthor spread his arms wide. "Choose what you like, but only one, hmh lad? Don’t be greedy."

Noel smirked. "Don’t know me well enough already, dwarf drunkard?"

Balthor raised a brow. "Is that how you speak to a king?"

"You’re no king to me. Just a friend. Right, half-pint?"

Balthor clicked his tongue, choosing not to answer.

Noel moved among the artifacts, scanning carefully. The craftsmanship of the dwarves was second to none—each item looked priceless. Revenant Fang weighed heavily at his side, but his eyes searched for something unique.

Then, from his shadow, Noir emerged. She padded forward, silent, her violet eyes locking onto a display at the far end. She flicked her head toward it, urging Noel to look closer.

Noir’s shadow stretched across the stone floor, pointing Noel toward a pedestal tucked between two racks of enchanted blades. Resting atop black velvet lay a collar wrought from silver-black chain, its centerpiece a dark gem that seemed to swallow the light around it.

The closer Noel stepped, the colder the air became—not like Selene’s frost, but something heavier, deeper, as if the stone itself remembered the void.

He reached out, brushing the surface with his fingers. The gem pulsed faintly, as though answering his touch.

A message flared before his eyes:

[Item identified: Umbral Nexus Collar]

An ancient dwarven relic, forged with shadow-aspected mana. Grants its bearer enhanced affinity with shadow magic, stability when shifting between light and dark, and partial resistance to gravity manipulation.

Noel exhaled slowly, slipping the collar into his pouch. He didn’t miss the faint flicker of approval in Noir’s violet gaze before she melted back into his shadow.

Across the vault, Selene had already finished her search. She held something close to her chest, her expression unreadable as always. Noel tilted his head. "What did you pick?"

She didn’t look at him. "I won’t say."

Noel let it go. Pressing her would only draw silence.

Balthor clapped his hands together, his laughter booming against the stone walls. "Good, good! Two prizes fit for champions! Now—back to celebrating!"

But before Noel could take a step, the familiar weight of the system pressed into his mind.

[New Quest: Save Nicolas von Aldros’s Life.]

[Time limit: 15 minutes.]