CHAPTER 169: THE CROWN FRAGMENTS

The sun was lower now, brushing golden light along the treetops. The forest had gone quiet again—but not the eerie kind. This was the quiet of something large turning its attention elsewhere.

The group made their way back to the school building.

The school had changed.

Not completely—its bones were still there, the shape of old corridors and rusted lockers barely visible beneath layers of creeping ivy and moss—but it didn’t feel like a building anymore. It felt like something grown. Like the forest hadn’t taken over so much as claimed it, fusing with it rather than breaking it down.

But none of that slowed the group as they stepped through the arched entryway and into what used to be the cafeteria.

The long tables had been moved to one side, replaced with a scattered mix of furniture they’d scavenged over the past month—sturdy benches, camp stools, some tree-stump seats still half-embedded in root. Lights dangled from the ceiling on long cords rigged to a backup generator powered by Joon’s custom-built node, and the smell of onions, garlic, and broth filled the space like something familiar had returned from a dream.

A pot clattered in the back.

Seul stood near the repurposed stove, apron tied over her usual fieldwear, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Steam rose in gentle spirals behind her, a pan of chopped onions sizzling under her spoon.

Echo leaned on the counter beside her, pretending to be useful. He was mostly tossing peeled eggs from one hand to the other. One hit the edge of a bowl and cracked mid-air.

Seul didn’t turn. "That was your last one."

"I’ve got fast hands," Echo said, catching the shattered yolk before it fully split. "Accidents build character."

"They build hunger." She shoved a bowl in his direction. "Mash that."

Jin stepped inside and took the scene in with a glance. He didn’t speak right away. Just watched them for a second, then moved to sit at the corner of the largest table. Joon was already there, arms stretched out across the back of the bench like he owned the place. Yujin sat a few seats down, poking through a map interface on her tablet.

"Where’s Jisoo?" Jin asked.

Seul didn’t look up from the pot. "She’s left into the forest," she said, ladling broth into the last bowl. "Said she needed a better space to train."

Echo raised an eyebrow as he ripped off a chunk of bread. "Didn’t even stop in?"

"Left a little while ago," Joon added. "Said she didn’t want to waste the daylight. And wasn’t hungry."

Jin nodded to himself. That tracked.

He’d been there when she unlocked her reward after the third trial—an achievement-issued item called Talaria, stylized combat shoes with system-grade enhancements. They weren’t just for speed. They converted directional movement into mid-air control. Momentum became weaponized trajectory. In Jisoo’s hands—or feet—they were more than mobility gear. They were precision.

Combined with her skill, which had evolved mid-trial into something faster, sharper, more impact-driven... training made sense. Alone, focused, with no distractions.

She was taking it seriously.

They all had to.

Jin looked around the table.

The food was good. Familiar. A small piece of what normal used to feel like. But the quiet in the room wasn’t comfort. It was caution. Everyone knew things were changing. Even if they didn’t have the full picture yet.

Echo leaned back, chewing slowly. "Well, I guess the silver lining is that it’s over for now. It should be a while before we get another quest."

"It’s not over," Jin said.

The words cut through the room like a dropped blade.

Echo stopped mid-chew.

Joon raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

Jin sat forward a little, resting his forearms on the table. "The third trial ended, yeah. But that wasn’t the end of anything. That was the start."

He tapped the wooden table once. Quiet. Measured.

"We’re already in the next quest."

Seul narrowed her eyes. "No announcement came through."

"It wouldn’t. This one doesn’t come with fanfare. I was the only one present when the Arbiter explained it. The others—whoever leads the other top territories—were brought into the same space."

Echo frowned. "What space?"

Jin shook his head. "Doesn’t matter. What matters is what he said that the trial sorted us. Marked us. And left behind the pieces of something called the Crown of the New Era."

Joon tilted his head. "Crown?"

Echo frowned. "Wait—like a title or something?"

Jin looked at all of them. "Not a metaphor. An actual thing. A real crown. Twenty fragments, scattered. The Arbiter gave one to each leader of the top territories that survived the third trial. I got one."

He opened his interface briefly and let the soft glow of the artifact fragment flicker above his palm for just a second—an orb no larger than a coin, etched with lines like roots growing inward. Then he closed it.

Seul leaned forward, voice measured. "You’re saying... there are nineteen other people out there, all with pieces of something that can be combined?"

"Yeah."

"And if someone puts them together?" she asked.

"They reach something the Arbiter called the ’Throne of Korea.’"

Silence spread across the table.

Joon leaned back with a low whistle. "You weren’t kidding about this being the start of something."

Echo narrowed his eyes. "So this throne... what, system-level power? Territory control?"

Jin shook his head again. "He didn’t explain. Just that whoever assembles the Crown will shape the next era."

"The next era of what?" Echo asked. "Humanity? Territories? The whole world?"

"I don’t know," Jin said. "But the way he said it... it didn’t feel small."

Seul folded her arms. "Why didn’t we get a system message about any of this?"

"Because it’s not for everyone. It’s not public. Not yet."

Joon raised an eyebrow. "So we’ve been walking around thinking the trials were done, when we’ve already been in the next phase this whole time?"

Jin nodded once. "Exactly."

Echo leaned forward again. "So these fragments—do they pull toward each other? Glow when they’re nearby? Give you a compass to track the others?"

"No," Jin said. "Not that I’ve seen. They’re inert. But that doesn’t mean others won’t be hunting. And if any of them are smarter than average... they’ll come looking."

Seul was quiet for a moment. Then: "You think they know we have one?"

"I doubt it," Jin replied. "But they’ll start guessing. Sooner or later. Especially once movement starts."

Joon tapped the table once with a knuckle. "You think Seo has one?"

Jin’s jaw tightened. "I know he does. He was there when I was. Which means if he’s out there... he’s one of nineteen who could take everything from us."

Yujin looked up from the side. "So what do we do?"

"Two things," Jin said. "First—we prepare. Master what we’ve earned. No exceptions. If someone’s got a skill you don’t fully understand yet, you fix that now."

"Second—we get ahead of this. If other fragments are out there, and the Arbiter meant what he said, then waiting isn’t an option."

Echo blinked. "You’re saying we go after the other pieces?"

"I’m saying we have to," Jin said. "Because if we don’t, someone else will. And we’ll be left defending one fragment against whoever has ten."

Seul’s voice came quiet, but steady. "You said whoever assembles the Crown shapes the future."

"Yeah."

"So who shapes it if we lose?"

Jin didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

They all understood.

The weight of it lingered for a moment—no need for more words. They knew what was coming. Knew it in their bones.

But the smell of food still hung in the air, and their bowls were still warm.

Jin leaned back, letting the silence stretch for just a beat longer, then said, "It’s been a long day. Eat. Rest. Tomorrow, we start locking in."

Joon was the first to move, scooping another helping of soup with zero hesitation. "Guess that means I get dessert guilt-free."

"There is no dessert," Seul said flatly, already reaching for her bowl again.

"There could’ve been," Echo said, pointing at the cracked egg he’d ruined earlier. "But someone doesn’t believe in second chances."

"I don’t believe in wasting ingredients," Seul replied. "Fast hands don’t make up for dumb ones."

Echo just smirked and went back to eating.

Yujin sat quietly, sipping her broth and watching the conversation move around her like a current. She didn’t speak often, but when she did, it usually landed. Right now, though, she seemed content to listen.

Jin let himself relax a little.

The food helped. Seul’s cooking always did. Simple but sharp. He could taste ginger, pepper, probably some local greens from the forest that had become staple fare since the sapling grew.

It wasn’t a feast.

But it was good.

More than that—it felt earned.

He watched his team eat. Not just his teammates anymore. Not just survivors. These were his people. His core.

Seul, quietly commanding. Joon, reckless but reliable. Echo, loud but more observant than anyone gave him credit for. Yujin, sharp-eyed and steady. Jisoo—even if she wasn’t here—committed enough to skip a hot meal for more time on her feet.

They’d held together through the trials.

They’d hold through this.

Jin stood, grabbing his bowl in one hand. "After this, take the night. Whatever you need—rest, solo drills, gear work. Just don’t exhaust yourselves."

Echo nodded, mouth full. "Got it, Coach."

Joon leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead. "I’m sleeping like the dead."

Seul didn’t say anything, just nodded once and kept eating.

Jin’s gaze swept the room one last time, then drifted toward the open archway that led back into the halls. Vines coiled gently along the walls now, not invasive—just present. Like the forest was breathing along with them. A reminder of what they’d built. What they were protecting.

And what others might try to take.

He didn’t speak the thought aloud.

No need.

They’d already understood.