The Seat at the Top
There's a saying scrawled across the wall in the Guild's forbidden wing:
"There are thrones carved in bone and fire.
But no one waits to be crowned king."
A week had passed since the Looker mission. My name was being whispered now. Not cheered — whispered.
E-rank Rai, the joke, wasn't funny anymore.
They were scared.
Not of me.
Of what I might become.
Elion called me into a room I'd never been allowed in before. The War Room. Round table. Twelve seats. Ten of them filled.
Every person there had a presence like a tidal wave. Some looked bored. Others looked amused.
None looked kind.
He gestured toward them.
"Meet your fellow God-Class candidates. Or what's left of them."
I stepped forward slowly.
My heartbeat drummed like war.
Names That Could Kill
One by one, they introduced themselves.
Or rather — their ranks and kill counts.
Mira the Crownless – 2nd seat. 7 God-Beast kills. White hair like ash, eyes that didn't blink.
Tarn the Hollow Blade – 3rd seat. Smiled without joy. His sword was still dripping.
Fye of the Red Moon – No rank. No seat. But everyone gave her space like she owned the floor.
And then…
No one sat in the 1st seat.
It was empty.
Even these monsters didn't dare.
Elion pointed to it.
"That's the throne you're all clawing toward."
He looked at me.
"You want it?"
I didn't hesitate.
"I'll take it."
Mira chuckled. Not cruel. Just… entertained.
"You're the one with the cursed fire, aren't you? Ashmael's brat."
I didn't flinch.
"Better than being born with power and doing nothing with it."
Tarn stood. Towered over me. His eyes flickered like blade edges.
"You're in my seat."
I stared back.
"You're not sitting."
The room went still.
Then Elion clapped once.
"Enough. If you want to kill each other, wait for the Trials."
He handed me a sealed scroll.
"Your second mission starts now. And this one's not just survival."
He looked around the room.
"It's a race."
The Mission
The scroll had only one line:
"Enter the Tomb of No-Names. Find the One Who Watches."
Underneath, in smaller script:
"If you speak your name inside the tomb… you die."
Fye walked beside me as we left the War Room.
She didn't talk at first. Just flicked a silver coin between her fingers.
Then she said:
"They'll all try to kill you before the tomb. Especially Tarn. He doesn't like competition."
I kept walking. "Then he should've sat down when he had the chance."
She smirked.
"You're fun."
Path to the Tomb
The Tomb of No-Names lay beyond the Hollow Peaks — cursed territory where voices echoed backwards and shadows had weight.
I traveled by night. The stars above twisted like they were watching me.
By the third day, I wasn't alone.
Tarn's presence sliced through the dark.
He wasn't hiding.
He wanted me to know he was coming.
The Confrontation
We met on a broken bridge halfway to the tomb. Beneath us: a chasm where forgotten demons wept.
He stepped forward, his sword humming.
"You talk like a king. Let's see if you bleed like one."
I summoned Ashmael's spark.
But Tarn didn't wait.
His blade flashed — once, twice, five times.
Faster than breath.
I dodged. Barely.
Felt blood bloom on my shoulder.
But I smiled anyway.
"Is that it? You cut faster than you think."
He narrowed his eyes.
"You've already lost."
Then I felt it.
Something burning on my chest.
I looked down.
He hadn't just cut me.
He had carved part of my name into my skin.
And in this world… your name is your soul.
The Last Laugh
My knees buckled.
The pain wasn't physical.
It was existential.
Like part of me had been removed — and the hole left behind was screaming.
Ashmael stirred inside.
"Let me out."
"You'll die if I don't burn this name away."
I nodded.
Once.
Black fire exploded from my body.
Tarn leapt back — too late.
The cursed flame didn't just burn.
It unwrote.
His blade cracked. His left eye smoked.
He fell.
Hard.
I stood over him, chest heaving.
"You don't get to carve names you haven't earned."
He reached for his blade again — but it was gone.
Melted into ash.
I didn't kill him.
Didn't need to.
I'd already taken what mattered:
His pride.
Before the Tomb
Fye caught up to me at the edge of the tomb.
"You lived."
I shrugged.
"He started it."
She tossed me her coin.
"I think I like you."
I caught it — and felt something strange.
The coin had no name.
Just a single symbol.
A crown.
Cracked in half.
We stood before the tomb.
Dark. Silent. Breathing.
The entrance was a yawning mouth — daring us to speak.
"You go first," she said.
I looked back once at the stars.
And stepped in.