Chapter 121: Hollow Crown

The air inside the underground chamber felt oddly still as Alistair Vayne steepled his fingers once more, leaning forward, as his robes shifted slightly.

“Mr. Arthur we came to know Elaric Bahram has been… troubling you,” he began smoothly, “ever since the incident at the auction house more than a month ago.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s old news,” he said coolly. “And I’ve already dealt with him.”

Alistair chuckled softly, the sound echoing faintly against the stone walls. “Yes, yes you have. Quite spectacularly, in fact. The word is that Elaric hasn’t shown his face in public since.”

He leaned back into the couch, tone growing sharper beneath the politeness.

“But noble pride, Mr. Arthur… it’s not so easily crushed. And Elaric is the epitome of that pride”

Arthur didn’t reply right away, but the slight twitch in his jaw spoke volumes.

“He may have retreated,” Alistair continued, “but I am sure, he hasn’t forgotten the humiliation he faced. And when he finds an opportunity… he’ll strike again.”

Arthur gave a small nod, but then looked Alistair square in the eye.

“And why are you telling me this?” he asked. “You clearly didn’t drag me into this underground lair just to gossip about my life.”

Alistair’s lips curved again, this time into a slightly more self-satisfied smile.

“Because we can help you.”

Arthur’s brows drew together slightly.

There it was, the pivot.

He leaned forward a little, arms resting on his knees. “And who’s ‘we’?”

Alistair’s expression didn’t shift, “We,” he said, “are the Hollow Crown.”

Arthur’s mind turned it over, slowly. ‘The Hollow Crown.’ The name sounded poetic, and dramatic.

“We are a decentralized resistance,” Alistair continued. “A network of mages, warriors, scholars, and displaced nobles, all united in one belief, the stranglehold of noble bloodlines and the corrupt Church must be broken. We fight against their oppression.”

Arthur listened quietly, his expression unreadable.

“We offer safe havens for the oppressed. Protect refugees from unjust persecution, and expose corrupt officials and assassinate tyrants.”

Alistair’s voice was calm, not desperate or passionate, but there was a resolve behind his words.

“And now,” he said, “we will like you to join us.”

Silence settled like dust as his words faded.

Arthur leaned back slowly into the couch. His eyes drifted to the crystal lamp at the center of the room.

‘In simple terms,’ he thought, ‘they’re a rebel faction. An underground movement, sounds noble at first glance… but politics always comes with a blade behind the back.’

He didn’t answer immediately.

The silence dragged just long enough before Arthur finally looked back at Alistair.

“Who do you fight for?” he asked softly.

Alistair blinked his eyes in confusion, then tilted his head. “I already told you,” he said. “We fight for the people. For every human on this continent who suffers under tyranny.”

Arthur chuckled, like he knew this was coming.

It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t subtle either.

Alistair’s brow furrowed slightly. “…Is there something funny?”

Arthur sat up again, and his expression changed, the casual indifference melting into something cooler and sharper.

“So, you fight for humans only? What about the beastkins, you don’t consider them worthy of your protection?” he asked.

Alistair froze for a second, his eyes narrowed and voice quieter as he said, “They were never part of us.”

Arthur didn’t interrupt, he let the man speak.

“There was a time in history, maybe you don’t know, when beastkin and humans fought against each other. Years of war, cities reduced to ashes. Our ancestors fought tooth and nail just to keep them from taking everything we built.”

His hands were folded again, tighter this time.

“And now that they have the short end of the rope they beg for scraps under our banner, we give them shelter and protection. Not because they’re part of us, but because we are merciful.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened.

There was a part of him that sympathized with Alistair’s words, the wounds of old wars never really vanished. They leave scars across time. He can understand it is difficult to accept a past enemy to your land and give them protection. But even so…

‘It’s always the same,’ he thought. ‘Someone always decides who deserves kindness… and who doesn’t.’

He thought, was it the innocent's fault that their leaders waged war for land and resources. Even many soldiers die due to the order of their leaders just because the resources the leaders have are not enough or they have some disagreement against some other leader.

Though some might argue against him, he still believes one should never be blamed for the wrongdoings of their ancestors.

He exhaled slowly and stood up from the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “But I can’t join you.”

Alistair’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t look surprised. More like he was… disappointed. He really wanted Arthur to join them as he saw potential in him and even after doing some background checks on Arthur they found nothing on him, and he seems to possess a lot of wealth.

Even if they are doing good work, Arthur did not want to involve himself in the politics of this world so he rejected.

He looked the man square in the eye again.

“And I don’t trust people who put a criteria on who gets to be protected.”

Alistair was silent for a long moment.

Then he sighed and slowly stood up.

“Your principle, I can respect that.” He stepped forward, offering a hand. “We won’t pressure you to join us. But if you ever change your mind… the Hollow Crown will always welcome you.”

Arthur shook his hand briefly.

As he turned to leave, Alistair called out behind him.

“Oh, and Mr. Arthur…”

Arthur paused at the door.

Alistair’s tone darkened slightly. “Be careful of Elaric. Men like him don’t forget humiliation easily.”

Arthur didn’t turn around, he just nodded and left the room.

…

The heavy door creaked shut behind Arthur, as he left the room.

Inside the chamber, the soft glow of the crystal lamp flickered slightly, highlighting the sharp line of Alistair’s face. He slowly turned toward the hooded figure behind him.

The silence stretched until finally, the figure pulled down his hood, revealing a young man, maybe Arthur’s age, with pale blond hair and tired but calculating eyes.

He spoke with hesitation, his voice edged in concern. “Master… was it wise to reveal your identity to him? Now that he’s rejected your offer, what if he snitches to the nobles?”

The boy’s name was Tristan Corwyn. Once a son of a respected noble family, they had been known for their contributions to magical research and border defense during the previous generation.

But power rarely comes without rivals. Their rivals and enemies, jealous of their influence, orchestrated their downfall through forged decrees and planted scandals. The Corwyns were stripped of their lands, demoted to Barons of some forgotten countryside, and labeled irrelevant by the noble courts.

Since then, Tristan had joined Hollow Crown and followed Alistair, seeing him not only as a mentor, but as a chance to one day reclaim the dignity of his bloodline.

Alistair remained seated, fingers tapping slowly against the couch arm.

“Don’t worry, Tristan,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Arthur is not the type of person who would snitch to save his skin. I’ve seen the kind of people who would… he’s not one of them.”

“But still…” Tristan started, brows furrowing.

“I had to show him trust,” Alistair cut in gently. “If we ask for allegiance, we have to give some of it first.”

Tristan exhaled, reluctantly nodding. “Still a shame though. Someone like him… he could’ve made a difference.”

Alistair looked toward the painting across the room, a swirling image of a burning crown dissolving into roots.

“Yes,” he said softly. “But not everyone is ready to choose a side.”

There was a brief pause.

“So…” Tristan asked, his voice dropping, “Are we still helping him with Elaric?”

Alistair’s gaze didn’t waver. “Of course. We’re not petty.”

“But he refused…”

“That doesn’t matter,” Alistair said, standing and walking toward the table to refill his glass with an aged fine wine. “We don’t help only those who swear allegiance. That’s what the nobles do. Besides…”

He glanced back, expression darkening. “We’ve already received information that Elaric is involved in slave trading. He was already on our list to eliminate.”

Tristan sighed again, running a hand through his hair. He has always been running around ever since he arrived at Brightwater City. Dealing with crooked noble merchants, corrupt officials, human trafficking disguised behind "noble-sponsored orphanage shelters." He had been chasing shadows for weeks.

And he missed home.

“…I’m just tired,” Tristan muttered, more to himself than to Alistair.

“I know,” Alistair said quietly, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “But we’re not done yet. Soon… maybe.”

…

The air outside the warehouse felt almost too fresh after the stale underground chamber. Arthur pulled his collar tighter as he walked, the night breeze brushing through his hair.

His boots thudded against the stone streets as he made his way back toward the academy, but his thoughts remained behind what Alistair told him.

‘Be careful of Elaric.’

The words echoed in his mind.

Arthur frowned slightly, he would have to be careful against Elaric. Now he could just kill Elaric and be done with it, it would be far simpler.

But that was a dangerous move, not because he couldn’t handle the backlash, but because others might pay the price.

If he did so, he would be one of the main suspects. And killing a noble is one of the worst crimes. He does not want to affect the orphanage with his actions.

If the nobles caught wind of it, the orphanage would be the first place they would target. The one thing he wouldn’t risk.

His hands curled slightly at the thought. Elaric was dangerous, not because he was strong, but because he had a lot of influence.

‘No… not now. But if he comes after the kids again.’

His jaw clenched.

He looked up, as the academy walls now loomed ahead. The gates are still open, though just barely. A few other late-returning students rushed past him in coats and boots, most carrying books, scrolls, or takeout boxes from the food stalls.

Arthur walked slower.

His mind drifted to the orphanage.

In the last few months, it has transformed. What was once a fragile group of forty to fifty lost kids, living day by day, had now become something stable. Over a hundred beastkin and human children now lived there together, ranging from toddlers just learning to speak to teens nearly ready for the academy exams.

They came from everywhere, beastkin villages burned in bandit raids, slums of cities plagued by famine, even a few from the outskirts of noble territories where “adoptions” often meant trafficking.

At first, the older kids didn’t trust the place. They’d seen too many fake promises. But slowly, with time, they came to trust the place and stayed.

‘There’s no way I’m letting any noble power game ruin what I’ve built.’

His expression steeled as he stepped through the academy gates, his shadow stretching long under the golden lamps lining the walkways.

***

------------------------------: END OF BOOK II :------------------------------

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