Chapter 198: The Crownless Faction

The small boat cut smoothly through the dark, heavy water, carrying Nathan and his team away from the Deep Fleet’s iron fortress.

The sun was setting—or at least, the sky was changing color. In the Shattered Throne, there was no real sun, just a pale light that slowly faded into a dark, bruised purple. The sea around them was perfectly calm, almost too still. The water lapped quietly against the wooden hull, but Nathan couldn’t shake the creeping, icy feeling that something massive was watching them from deep below the surface.

Captain Rhea stood at the steering wheel, acting as their temporary guide. Her bright sea-green hair whipped wildly in the cold wind. She stared straight ahead, her face completely blank.

"The Crownless territory is about three days east of here," Rhea said over the sound of the wind. "They live in the ruins of the old capital city. Broken towers. Collapsed stone walls. The streets are completely buried under rubble and packed with traps. They don’t fight fair. If they think they can kill you without you seeing them, they will."

"Then we’ll just have to keep our eyes open and watch our step," Nathan said, leaning against the wooden railing.

"Keeping your eyes open won’t help much if they decide they want you dead," Rhea said, her voice completely flat. She didn’t sound angry, just tired. "The Crownless aren’t like the Iron Court or the Vine Council. They don’t want power. They don’t want to rule the sky. They don’t even want the Throne. They want absolutely nothing. They truly believe the empire should stay broken. They think this entire World deserves to die."

Garrett frowned deeply, crossing his massive, armored arms. His heavy mace, Volcan, rested on the deck next to his boots. "Why would anyone want that? Why just give up?"

"Because they lost everything first," Smithy said quietly from the back of the boat. He was staring down at his hands. "The Crownless took the absolute hardest hit when the Throne broke all those years ago. They watched their families die. They watched their cities burn to the ground. The Shepherd didn’t just ruin their homes; he ripped out their hope. Now, they think trying to rebuild is just a sick joke. They probably believe that any attempt to fix things will just end in more pain and more death."

Nathan looked out at the dark purple horizon, feeling his newly advanced B-Rank mana humming warmly in his chest. It gave him a steady, calming focus against the cold wind. "Then we just have to show them they’re wrong. We have to give them a reason to try again."

Rhea glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She looked like she was looking at a crazy person. "You really believe you can do that, don’t you? You actually think you can fix people who want to be broken."

"I have to," Nathan said simply. "If I don’t believe it, none of this works."

The ruins of the old capital were a giant, silent graveyard.

The boat finally bumped against a cracked, broken stone dock. The team carefully stepped off the deck, their boots crunching loudly on centuries of dried ash and dirt.

The ruined city stretched out in front of them, silent and dead. Giant stone towers were knocked over, leaning against each other like tired drunks. Thick defensive walls had huge, jagged cracks running down their centers. The streets were completely buried under dirt, broken rocks, and twisted metal. There were no flags flying. There were no banners. There were no sounds of talking, no fires burning, no signs of life at all.

But Nathan didn’t trust the silence. He blinked and turned on [Hunter’s Insight].

Instantly, his vision shifted. The world turned grey, and faint, cold blue auras lit up the shadows. He saw dozens of moving shapes hiding in the dark ruins. People were crouched on broken rooftops, hiding behind piles of rocks, and squeezing into the cracks of the walls. They were completely surrounding the docks.

"The Crownless are here," Rhea warned in a low whisper, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "They know we’ve landed. They’re watching us right now."

’They are breathing very quietly,’ Kuro’s voice echoed in Nathan’s mind. She was in her human form, standing right behind him, blending perfectly into the shadows of the broken dock. ’They are holding throwing knives. They are just waiting for a reason.’

"Let’s be polite, then. Give them a reason to talk," Nathan said. He took a deep breath and raised his voice so it echoed down the empty, ruined streets. "We come in peace! We don’t want a fight! We just want to talk!"

Complete silence answered him. The wind howled through the broken towers, kicking up dust.

Then, after a long, tense minute, a man stepped out from behind a collapsed brick wall. He wore dirty, tattered grey clothes that blended perfectly with the dust. A torn hood covered half his face, hiding his eyes. He didn’t hold a weapon in his hands, but his shoulders were tight. He looked like a cornered animal ready to bite.

"Talk?" the hooded man said, his voice raspy and dry. "We don’t talk. We just survive."

"Then let us help you survive a little better," Nathan said, taking one slow, careful step forward. He kept his hands away from Moonlight. "We’re outsiders. We are trying to bring the factions together. We want to fix the Throne and end this war for good."

The hooded man let out a harsh, ugly laugh. "Fix the Throne? You sound exactly like the Legion. Just another group of blind fools who think they can glue back together what the Shepherd smashed." He took a step closer, stepping out of the shadows. His eyes were totally dead. There was no light in them at all. "The Throne is poisoned, outsider. Whoever sits on it gets hit with the Shepherd’s anger. That is exactly why the empire died. And it’s exactly why it will never, ever come back."

Nathan felt a cold chill run down his spine, despite the warm mana in his chest. "What do you mean, poisoned?"

The man’s dead eyes glinted in the dark. He pointed a skinny finger toward the center of the city. "Come see for yourself. We are willing to talk, but only in the old palace. That is where the Throne is. If you really want to understand why this world has to die, follow me."

Nathan looked back at his team. Garrett tightened his grip on his mace. Dillon crossed his arms, looking annoyed. Elise frowned, her staff glowing faintly. Mirko had her hand resting on Dragon’s Fang, ready to draw. It was obviously a trap. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. But it was also the only way forward.

"Lead the way," Nathan said.

The old palace was completely destroyed. It was a ruin sitting in the middle of a hundred other ruins.

Dead, grey vines choked the cracked stone walls outside. Huge chunks of the ceiling had caved in, letting the dark purple sky shine directly down into the main hall. The floor was a complete mess, covered in smashed marble statues, broken glass, and piles of dirt. The air inside smelled like dust and very old, dried blood.

At the very back of the massive room, sitting on a raised block of solid black stone, was the Throne.

It was broken. The giant stone chair was split perfectly down the middle. The two halves were leaning away from each other, like wounded enemies trying to escape.

But even broken, it gave off a heavy, suffocating pressure. Nathan could physically feel it pushing against his mind. His B-Rank core flared up automatically, trying to fight off the cold, sick feeling the chair was radiating into the room.

"The Throne of the Old Kings," the hooded man said softly, stopping at the bottom of the black stone steps. He didn’t look at the chair. "The Shepherd broke it when he ripped our world apart. But he didn’t just break the physical stone. He broke the bloodline of the kings. He broke the magical connection between the World and its leader. Anyone who tries to sit on that Throne now inherits that broken connection. Madness. Rot. Death."

The man turned around to face Nathan. His face was deadly serious. "That is why we fight to keep it empty. We aren’t just crazy people who want to watch the world burn. We are guards. We protect the World from the Throne’s curse."

Nathan stared at the broken stone chair. Something about it felt completely wrong. The Shepherd’s dark, twisted magic was still buried deep inside the rock, humming like a sick heartbeat.

"There has to be a way to clean it," Nathan said slowly, thinking out loud. "To break the curse and fix the connection."

The hooded man laughed again, shaking his head. "You are welcome to try, Outsider. But the last guy who tried sitting there died screaming."

Before Nathan could say another word, the stone floor shook hard.

It wasn’t a small tremor. The whole palace vibrated violently. The broken statues rattled against the ground. Dust fell from the ceiling in thick clouds.

Then, a voice echoed through the empty hall. It didn’t come from the hooded man. It seemed to come from the walls, from the floor, from the broken Throne itself. It was freezing cold, ancient, and horribly familiar.

"Little rabbit king. You have come so far. But you are still playing my game."

Nathan’s blood went ice cold. He knew that voice perfectly. He had heard it in the field of endless flowers. He had heard it when his body was tearing itself apart in the Verdant Depths.

The Shepherd.

A new figure slowly appeared right in front of the broken Throne. It wasn’t the Shepherd himself. It was a tall, pale, bone-white shape wearing clean white robes. Its face was completely smooth and blank, except for two dark, empty holes for eyes. Its mouth was sewn tightly shut with black thread.

"The Shepherd sends his regards," the pale figure said, speaking without moving its sewn lips. It slowly raised one skinny, white hand. "And he wants you to know something. This throne is not yours to fix."

The shadows in the room suddenly peeled off the walls and lunged forward.