Chapter 69: The Throne Room, The King’s Offer

The guards came for him at exactly 9:00 AM.

Alvian had been awake for two hours already. His INT 142 had spent the night thinking through plans, mapping guard paths, calculating Essence costs for every Skill combination, and planning seven escape routes through the palace. He had slept for four hours on the silk bed and felt fully rested. VIT 855 did that to a body. Sleep was a choice, not a need.

The door opened. Two Level 55 Royal Knights stood in the doorway with their hands on their sword hilts. Their faces were calm, but Alvian could smell their fear. They had seen the video. They knew what he had done to the Colossus.

"The King will see you now," the guard on the left said.

Alvian stood up from the bed. He left his broken sword on the silk sheets. It could not fight anymore, and carrying a useless weapon into a throne room would make him look weak. He fixed his torn shirt, realized it was ruined, and decided he did not care.

’Let them see me as I am. Undercity kid in ruined clothes. That’s the truth.’

The guards walked beside him. The palace halls were full of wealth. White marble floors were polished like mirrors. Crystal lights hung from high ceilings painted with gold. Flags showing Royal victories lined the walls, each one worth more than Alvian’s whole childhood.

His INT 142 tracked everything automatically. Guard positions: twelve Level 50+ Knights in the hall, spaced eight meters apart to cover all angles. Magic barriers every twenty meters checked his Talent signature as he passed through. Structural weaknesses: the marble pillars held up the ceiling, and destroying any three of them would bring down the entire hall.

’If I need to fight my way out, I destroy pillars four, seven, and twelve. The falling roof gives me eight seconds to Void Step through the rocks. The Knights will not follow me through a dangerous zone.’

He stored the plan and kept walking.

The throne room doors were huge. Ten meters tall, made of white wood bound with strong steel, carved with the Royal symbol of Vaeloria. Two Level 65 Royal Knights stood guard. Their armor was fancy gold and white, but their swords were real, and their eyes were hard.

The heavy doors opened.

The throne room was a massive hall of marble and crystal. The ceiling arched thirty meters high, painted with pictures of the Royal family’s greatest wins. Alvian recognized some from Academy history lessons. The Battle of the Shattered Plains. The Siege of Thornwall. The Sealing of the First Calamity Rift. Kings and queens of the Valdus line stood in hero poses with their Talents glowing.

The floor was made from a single crystal of pure Essence, polished so high it reflected everything like water. The walls were lined with advisors, Guild leaders, army commanders, and rich nobles in their best clothes. Every face turned toward him as he walked in.

Alvian counted sixty-three people in the room. Thirty-seven were Level 40 or higher. Eight were Level 55 or higher. The King’s personal guards around the throne were all Level 60+.

At the end of the room, sitting high on a raised platform of white marble, was the throne. It was carved from a blue-white crystal of pure Essence that glowed softly. The throne itself boosted the power of anyone who sat on it.

King Alistair Valdus sat on the throne like he owned the world.

He was tall, even while sitting. Silver hair was combed back from a face worn by sixty years of political battles. His pale blue eyes were sharp and smart. He wore the Royal Crown of Vaeloria, a dark ring of metal holding seven Essence stones from conquered Calamity Rifts.

His Talent was secret. His Level was 72. His power was total.

Alvian walked across the long throne room. Fifty meters of shiny crystal floor. Every step made a sound. Sixty-three pairs of eyes watched him. The nobles whispered to each other. The army leaders studied how he moved. The Guild leaders calculated how much money he was worth.

He stopped at the bottom of the throne steps. The King looked down at him from three meters above. The height difference was meant to make visitors feel weak.

Alvian did not feel weak. He looked up at the King and waited.

Silence lasted for ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. The King was testing him to see if the boy would speak first or show fear. It was a simple mind game that worked on nervous nobles.

Alvian had faced Sludge Beetles in total darkness with only a broken tool. He could wait longer than an old man in a chair.

The King spoke first.

"Alvian Vance," he said. His voice was deep and filled the room easily. "E-Rank Clearwater. Tournament Champion. Slayer of the Obsidian Colossus. You have become famous very fast."

"Your Majesty," Alvian said simply. He kept it polite and short.

The King’s light blue eyes studied him. "You are younger than I thought. And much stronger than your file says." He stopped for a moment. "Every power in the world has studied the video of your battle. My advisors say your power is higher than A-Rank. Some say it is higher than S-Rank."

The court whispered. Alvian stayed silent.

"I will be direct," the King said. "You are valuable, and I am a practical man. The Magnus Lord title is empty. Its land, money, and power are up for grabs. I offer you the title of Lord, the Magnus land, and a seat at my side."

He stopped again to let the big offer sink in.

"Also, I offer a marriage. My niece, Princess Elara Valdus, is old enough to marry. Joining the Valdus bloodline with your... unique power will create very strong children."

The court gasped with shock. A Lord’s title AND a Royal marriage? For an E-Rank poor kid? It was unheard of. The nobles looked at Alvian with envy, shock, and pure hatred.

Alvian analyzed the offer in a second. It read the tiny details on the King’s face—the tight skin around his eyes, the set of his hands, his slightly faster breathing.

The King was afraid.

He was not afraid of Alvian’s raw strength. The King had Level 60+ Knights, army war machines, and his own Level 72 combat power. He could stop a Level 70 threat if he had to.

He was afraid of what Alvian proved. The Talent system was the foundation of the King’s power. Nobles ruled because they had high-Rank Talents. Poor people served because they did not. If an E-Rank could reach S-Rank power, the whole system was a lie. The King’s rule depended on a lie that Alvian had just destroyed in front of everyone.

The land was a leash. The marriage was a chain. The King wanted to tie Alvian to the throne so he could never act against him.

’He is offering me everything a poor person wants. Power, money, a royal wife. But it costs my freedom.’

The King waited. The whole room waited.

Alvian looked up at the throne, at the Crown of Vaeloria, and into the pale eyes of the ruler.

"No," Alvian said.

The word hit the throne room like a heavy rock.

[DING!]

[Host has formally rejected a Royal Decree.]

[Political consequences: EXTREME.]

[The System notes that refusing a King is statistically inadvisable.]

[The System also notes that the Host has never cared about statistics.]

The whispers stopped instantly. The room became so silent that Alvian could hear people breathing. The army leaders went stiff. The Guild leaders looked shocked. The nobles stared with open mouths.

King Alistair’s fingers squeezed the armrest. The Essence crystal under his hands cracked slightly. His light eyes did not move.

"Explain," the King said coldly.

Alvian looked right into the King’s eyes. "I did not come here for a title. I did not come for a wife. I came because my mother is dying, and you have the only cure."

The King’s face stayed calm, but Alvian’s INT 142 saw his eyes shift. The old man was changing his plan.

"The Tears of the Phoenix," Alvian said. "Three bottles in your Royal Vault. I need one."