CHAPTER 150: THE KING’S TABLE

The second day of the King-Maker scenario dawned on a city transformed. The plaza was no longer a chaotic mess of barricades; it was an armed camp. Vexia’s runes glowed on the pavement, and Elisa’s newly-equipped soldiers patrolled the perimeter with a grim, newfound confidence.

Nox stood on the courthouse balcony, his new armor a silent, imposing presence. He watched his kingdom work, a quiet satisfaction settling in his gut.

’This is better,’ he thought. ’Organized. Efficient.’

A knock came from the door behind him. "Enter."

Serian walked in, carrying a simple wooden tray. On it were two steaming mugs. "I thought you might want some of this. It’s not coffee, but Vexia found some herbs that have a similar effect."

She walked over and stood beside him, handing him a mug. The warmth seeped into his gauntleted hands. "Thank you."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the sunrise.

"You have changed them," she said quietly. "These players. Yesterday, they were a mob. Today, they are an army."

"They’re tools," he said, his voice slightly muffled by his helm. "I’m just sharpening them."

"Is that all they are to you? Tools?" She looked at him, her expression searching. "Is that all I am to you, Nox? A tool?"

He turned to look at her. He could see the hurt in her eyes, the question she was really asking. ’Are we just pieces in your game?’

He thought about it. The old him would have said yes. It was the logical, efficient answer. But something had shifted.

"No," he said, his voice quiet. "You’re not a tool." He looked back out at the plaza. "You’re... the reason the tools have a purpose."

He didn’t know where the words came from, but they felt true.

She stared at him, a slow, beautiful smile spreading across her face. "I see."

Their quiet moment was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps. Mela appeared in the doorway, her face grim. "A scout has returned. There’s a new player in the city. A big one."

"How big?" Nox asked, his attention snapping back to the game.

"Big enough that he took down a dozen other Candidates this morning without breaking a sweat," Mela reported. "He’s not collecting Flags. He’s just... killing everyone who gets in his way." She held out a small, hastily drawn sketch. "He looks like this."

Nox took the sketch. It was a crude drawing of a man in dark, heavy armor, a massive axe slung over his back. He had long, messy dark hair.

’Kenchi,’ Nox thought, his eyes narrowing. ’Gorok’s attack dog. So he’s finally making his move.’

"He’s not a Candidate," Nox stated. "He’s an enforcer. He’s here to clear the board."

"He is heading this way," Mela added. "He moves with a purpose."

"Good," Nox said, a cold grin on his face. "I was getting bored of waiting."

He turned to Serian. "Stay here. Protect the spire. This one is mine."

"Nox, no," she started to protest. "You cannot face him alone! He is not like the others!"

"That’s the point," Nox said. He walked past her, his black cape billowing behind him. "It’s time I had a real conversation with our mutual friend, Gorok."

He walked out of the throne room, his steps heavy and purposeful. Elisa was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, her warhammer held ready. "I’m coming with you."

"No," Nox said. "You’re my last line of defense. If I fall, you hold this place until the scenario ends. Protect the princess."

She looked like she was about to argue, but she saw the look in his eyes and just nodded. "Kick his ass for me, then."

"That’s the plan."

He walked out into the plaza alone. The players, his new army, parted for him, their faces a mixture of fear and awe. He walked to the main gate in the barricade and looked out at the empty street.

"Liona," he said, his voice a low command. "Show me where he is."

A red marker appeared on his internal map, a few blocks away and moving steadily toward them. ’Good. Let’s not keep him waiting.’

He flickered.

He appeared on a rooftop overlooking a wide, four-lane street, the same one where the forest had been. He sat on the ledge, his legs dangling over the edge, and waited.

A few minutes later, Kenchi appeared. He was just walking down the middle of the street, his massive axe resting on his shoulder, not a care in the world. He stopped in the middle of an intersection and looked around, as if sniffing the air.

"Come on out, little king," Kenchi called out, his voice a cheerful boom. "I know you’re here. I can smell the void-stink on the wind. Let’s have a chat before we get to the messy part."

Nox dropped from the rooftop, landing silently on the pavement behind him. "You wanted to talk? I’m here."

Kenchi turned, a wide, friendly grin on his face. "There you are! I have to say, kid, you’ve made a real name for yourself. The ’Void Monarch’. Very dramatic. I like it."

"What do you want?" Nox asked, his voice cold.

"What do I want?" Kenchi leaned on his axe. "Well, my boss, Gorok, he wants the princess. And he wants your head on a spike. Preferably in that order." He shrugged. "Me? I just want to get paid. And maybe have a little fun."

He looked Nox up and down, his eyes lingering on the new armor. "Nice outfit, by the way. Very intimidating. You get that at the big-boy store?"

"Something like that."

"Look, kid," Kenchi said, his friendly tone dropping away. "I’m going to give you one chance. Hand over the princess, give me your Flags, and walk away. You do that, and I’ll even tell Gorok you put up a good fight before you died. It’s a good deal. The best you’re gonna get."

Nox just laughed. "You think you can beat me?"

Kenchi’s grin returned. "Oh, I know I can’t. Not in a straight fight. That little trick you pulled on Fena? The void-thingy? Very impressive. No, I’m not here to fight you."

He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

The world went silent.

The distant sounds of the city, the wind, everything just... stopped. The air grew thick and heavy. From the shadows of the surrounding buildings, figures began to emerge. They weren’t players. They weren’t monsters. They were elves. Ashen Elves. Dozens of them, their faces grim, their weapons drawn.

And at their head, his face a mask of cold fury, was Elder Theron.

"You are not the only one with an army, little king," Kenchi said, his voice the only sound in the sudden, dead silence. "And Elder Theron here is very, very eager to have a word with the boy who humiliated his clan."

Theron stepped forward, his eyes, burning with a cold, dark light, fixed on Nox. "You have made a grave mistake, human. You have made an enemy of the Blackwood. And the Blackwood does not forgive."

He raised his hand, and the shadows in the street began to writhe and coalesce, forming a pack of massive, slavering shadow hounds.

"I am not here to fight you, Nox," Kenchi said cheerfully. "I’m just here to hold you down while they take you apart."

Nox just looked at the army of dark elves, at the snarling shadow hounds, at the powerful Elder who was radiating an aura of pure, cold death. He looked at Kenchi, who was leaning on his axe, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

He was surrounded, outmatched, and utterly alone.

And he just started to laugh.

"You think this is enough?" Nox asked, his voice full of a genuine, joyous amusement. "You think this is all it takes to kill a king?"

He raised his own hand. "You’re right about one thing," he said to Kenchi. "This is going to be fun."

He dropped his hand. "Monarch’s Dominion."

The world went black.