Chapter 114: Echoes of the Crown

As the last wisps of necrotic energy dissipated into the night sky, a familiar golden panel flickered in Adam’s vision—quiet, almost casual amid the aftermath.

[ Crown of the Hollow Glutton – Souls Absorbed: +32 ]

Adam blinked, startled. ’Thirty-two? From the undead?’

He glanced at the scattered bone dust and the fading green motes still drifting in the air. The Crown pulsed once, warm and satisfied, like a predator licking its chops.

’Even undead souls count...’ he thought, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips. ’Not bad. That’s a decent harvest.’

The villagers’ cheers snapped him back to the moment. They surged forward—cautious at first, then with open gratitude—clapping him on the back, shouting thanks, calling him "hero" and "savior." Farmers who minutes ago had trembled now looked at him with awe and respect.

"Adam—you drove it away! We’re alive because of you!"

Ignis basked in the praise, hands on hips, grinning wide as children gathered around her in wonder.

"Did you see that punch? Boom! Bones everywhere!"

Lilith accepted the villagers’ shy compliments with graceful nods, though her crimson eyes softened at the genuine relief on their faces.

Philip approached last, sword sheathed, face a mixture of pride and disbelief.

"I knew you were strong, lad," he said quietly, voice rough with emotion, "but that... driving back the Deathless King himself? I never thought I’d live to see it."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Deathless King? That lich?"

Philip nodded grimly.

"Aye. One of the old terrors. Centuries ago, he ravaged the Kingdom of Melium—raised armies of the dead, toppled cities. The combined forces of the kingdom and the church finally sealed most of his power in a phylactery hidden gods-know-where. Since then, he can only manifest astrally—possessing corpses, cursing bloodlines. But he’s never stopped hunting the royal line. They say he blames the old kings for his defeat."

Adam’s gaze drifted to the two unconscious women now being carefully carried toward the village hall on makeshift stretchers.

The princess—long golden hair matted with sweat and blood—lay pale and still, the dark curse-veins receding but leaving her deathly weak.

The knight beside her breathed in shallow gasps, armor dented and bloodied, yet her hand still clutched her sword as if ready to fight even in delirium.

The knight stirred just enough to speak, voice hoarse and fading.

"It’s... true. That damned lich... he’s hunted Her Highness for years. The curse... binds her soul... lets him track her... anywhere..."

Her eyes fluttered shut again, strength spent.

Philip exhaled heavily. "Then that’s the royal princess of Melium herself. And her sworn guardian. The Deathless King’s ancient grudge finally caught up to them."

Adam crossed his arms, staring at the unconscious women.

A cursed princess. A vengeful lich king. An ancient seal.

The adrenaline of battle ebbed, leaving only heavy silence and exhaustion in its wake. Adam opened his mouth to speak—to ask about the princess, the lich, the curse—but one look at the villagers’ pale, weary faces stopped him. Eyes ringed with fatigue, shoulders slumped, hands still trembling on weapons. Even Philip’s steady gaze carried the weight of a long night.

He closed his mouth and said nothing.

Torv, the village headman, stepped forward with calm authority, raising his voice just enough to carry.

"Everyone—go home. Rest. The danger has passed. Thanks to the gods... and to our guests... we stand here with only scratches and broken fences to mend."

Murmurs of gratitude rippled through the crowd. Mothers hugged children tighter. Men clasped forearms in silent thanks. They dispersed slowly, casting lingering looks of awe and relief toward Adam, Ignis, and Lilith.

Torv approached the trio, bowing deeply.

"You saved us tonight. Elden Hollow owes you a debt we can never fully repay. Rest now—tomorrow we will prepare proper gifts. Coin, provisions, whatever you need for your journey."

Adam shook his head gently. "We only did what anyone would. No gift is necessary."

Before Torv could protest, a piercing scream shattered the night.

"Aaahhhggg!"

Everyone froze.

The princess—still lying on the stretcher—convulsed violently, back arching as though invisible claws raked her from within. Black veins pulsed beneath her skin like living shadows.

The knight dropped to her knees beside her, face drained of color.

"Your Highness! Princess—hold on! Please!"

Dark energy—thick, viscous, and cold—oozed from the princess’s body, pooling in the air like ink in water.

Lilith’s voice brushed Adam’s mind, sharp with alarm.

’The curse is reactivating. Stronger this time.’

Adam stepped forward. "Lilith—what kind of curse is this? Do you recognize it?"

Lilith’s crimson eyes narrowed as she studied the writhing darkness. "No. It has rooted itself in her very soul. I cannot yet read its nature fully."

Adam moved closer. Villagers shouted warnings.

"Don’t touch her! It might spread!"

The knight looked up desperately but said nothing—only clutched her princess’s hand tighter, hope and terror warring in her eyes.

Adam offered a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry."

He knelt beside the princess, ignoring the protests, and carefully placed two fingers to her wrist. Her skin was ice-cold, pulse erratic.

Even unconscious, she was strikingly beautiful—delicate features framed by golden hair, the kind of ethereal grace that marked true royalty.

’Royal blood really is different,’ he thought absently, then refocused.

Tri-Sense delved deeper—past flesh, past mana channels—into the spiritual layer.

And found... nothing he understood.

The curse wasn’t a foreign parasite; it was woven into her essence, threads of necrotic power fused to her soul itself. Removing it would be like trying to cut cancer from a heart without killing the patient.

The knight’s voice cracked beside him, frantic questions spilling out.

"What’s happening to her? Can you stop it? Please—tell me what you see!"

Adam’s concentration wavered. Irritation flared.

"Could you be quiet for one moment?"

The knight fell silent, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Adam exhaled. "Thank you."

Lilith spoke softly at his side. "The pain may not come from the curse itself... but from the lich’s forced departure. It tore part of her soul to manifest. The backlash is what tortures her now."

Adam’s mind raced.

Then he remembered the Crown—its endless hunger for souls, its intimate mastery over spiritual essence.

’Crown,’ he thought, directing his will inward. ’Can you examine her soul? Tell me what this curse is?’

Silence.

He tried again, sharper. ’Hey. Answer me.’

Nothing.

’Tch. Useless.’

The moment the thought crossed his mind, pain lanced through his skull—a sharp, contracting vise around his temples. The Crown’s retaliation.

Adam hissed, clutching his head.

In that instant, a sliver of the Crown’s true aura leaked out—abyssal gluttony, the devouring void that hungered for all souls, living or dead.

The black curse-energy recoiled as though burned. The dark mist shrieked silently and shrank back into the princess’s body. Her convulsions eased; the screaming stopped. She lay still again, breathing shallow but steady.

Ignis’s voice cut through the haze. "Adam—your nose is bleeding."

He touched his upper lip—warm wetness. Blood.

Lilith was already there, pressing a silk handkerchief to his face with gentle precision.

"Don’t push yourself too hard," she murmured, worry threading her usually composed tone.

The knight stared, eyes wide with sudden hope.

"She... she’s calmer. What did you do? How did you—"

Philip stepped in smoothly, placing a firm hand on the knight’s shoulder.

"It’s late, and everyone’s exhausted. Let the ladies rest properly. Questions can wait until morning, when they’re healed and strong enough to answer."

The knight opened her mouth to argue, desperation clear—then looked at her unconscious princess and deflated.

"...Very well," she said hoarsely. "Thank you... for saving her. Again."

Philip guided her toward the village hall where beds were already being prepared.

Adam stood slowly, wiping the last of the blood away, the Crown’s silent warning still throbbing faintly in his skull.