CHAPTER 301: CHAPTER 301: A WORLD WITHOUT NICOLAS

"You should rest," Noel said softly. His voice carried no command, only quiet insistence. "You need it."

Nicolas gave the faintest of nods, closing his eyes with a weary exhale. The wrinkles on his face deepened as the tension left his body, sleep already pulling at him. For once, the proud Archmage looked almost fragile—just another man worn down by time.

Noel lingered for a moment, his gaze heavy, before turning toward the door. The hinges creaked as he pulled it open, stepping into the corridor beyond.

Someone was waiting.

Redna stood there, poised as always, her eyes sharp but unreadable. She wore her Luceria Grand Academy robes, pristine despite the chaos of the night before. Her presence was calm, yet something in her gaze carried an unfamiliar weight.

Noel blinked, a little surprised. He didn’t know why she was here, but he assumed the obvious. Straightening, he gestured toward the door.

"He’s awake," Noel said simply. "You can go in."

Redna inclined her head, just slightly. "Thank you."

Without another word, she stepped past him, entering the chamber with measured grace. Noel watched her for a brief moment, his mind curious but unwilling to pry. ’She must want to see him. That much is obvious.’

With a quiet sigh, Noel turned away and began walking down the corridor, the heavy stone walls closing in around him as he left them behind.

The corridors of the dwarven stronghold stretched long and dim. Noel’s footsteps echoed, the sound swallowed quickly by the weight of the mountain around him. Every so often, a guard passed by, offering him a quick bow before continuing their patrol.

Noel’s eyes stayed fixed ahead, his thoughts turning over like restless gears.

’Hmm, I don’t like how this ended at all... I didn’t expect someone so strong to act. Normally, novels go from bad to worse, right? Why give me a endgame boss now...’

He clenched his fists as he walked. The image of the old man lying frail on the bed would not leave his mind. Just hours ago, Nicolas had been a pillar of Valor, someone unshakable. Now he was just a man stripped bare.

The system’s cold messages from the night before echoed alongside the memory of the First Pillar’s words.

’They want me to grow stronger. Faster. To use me. That much is clear.’

His jaw tightened. ’But I’ll keep growing anyway. For my own reasons. For the people who need me.’

A pair of dwarven servants hurried past, arms full of scrolls and supplies, nodding respectfully. Noel barely noticed them. His path was clear in his mind, though it weighed heavy on his chest.

At the next corner, a guard stepped forward, clad in polished armor etched with the sigil of Tharvaldur.

"The king is waiting in the throne hall," the guard said.

Noel nodded. "Good. Take me there."

The guard turned, leading him through another corridor. The sound of boots on stone echoed again, steady and deliberate.

As the doors to the throne hall loomed closer, Noel’s expression hardened. He knew what news he had to deliver—and he knew it would not be easy for Balthor to hear.

The heavy doors swung open, revealing the throne hall. The chamber was vast, carved into the heart of the mountain, with pillars of black stone rising high into the gloom. Torches licked at the walls, their flames steady but dim against the weight of the chamber.

Balthor sat on the throne, broad shoulders stiff against the golden frame. He looked out of place there—like a smith forced into noble robes. A half-empty mug rested at his side, though untouched. Noriel stood beside him, posture straight, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

Balthor’s eyes narrowed when Noel entered. "Lad. Finally decided to crawl out of that room?"

Noel didn’t rise to the bait. He stopped in the center of the hall, his voice steady. "Nicolas woke up."

Both dwarves listened in silence as Noel continued. "He’s alive, but his mana core is gone. He looks... aged. Like an old man."

Balthor slammed a fist against the armrest, his voice a harsh growl. "Damn it all..."

Noel let the words hang before speaking again. "There’s nothing we can do. It’s already done. What matters now is how King Alveron will react. Nicolas was a symbol of Valor’s strength. That’s changed."

The hall went still.

Balthor’s jaw clenched, but Noel pressed on, his tone sharper. "You have your own burdens now. A kingdom to rule. After what your brother left behind, your people need you focused here."

Noriel nodded faintly, his calm voice cutting the silence. "The boy is right. It may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. Nicolas must recover in peace. You, Majesty, must govern."

The tension in the throne hall eased just slightly. Balthor exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the throne with a grunt. His eyes found Noel again, and this time the edge in them was less sharp.

"Where are the others?" Noel asked at last.

Balthor rubbed his beard. "In the reception hall. A guard will take you there when you’re ready." He paused, then added with a small smirk, "And... lad, remember what I told you about my place in Valon? I’ll send word to the girl that works for me. Tell her I said you can take whatever you want. Bring your friends too. Might do you all some good."

Noel blinked, a little caught off guard. "...That’s generous."

Balthor chuckled, though the sound was tired. "Hah. Don’t get used to it. Think of it as... a reward for making me king against my will."

Noriel shook his head faintly but allowed a rare smile. "He may complain, but he means it. Take the offer, Noel. You’ll need every advantage moving forward."

Noel gave a short nod. "Thank you. Both of you."

Balthor waved him off with a grunt. "Go on, lad. Don’t linger here."

A guard stepped forward, ready to escort him. Noel followed, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor.