"...Hollowlands."
The word echoed in everyone’s mind, bouncing off the gilded walls and settling like a heavy shroud over the assembly.
For a heartbeat, there was absolute silence. It was the kind of silence that precedes a catastrophe, where the brain struggles to process the sheer absurdity of what it just heard.
Then, the dam broke.
"Hollowlands?!"
"Your Majesty! You cannot be serious!"
"That place is a graveyard! It is a cursed zone!"
The Great Hall, usually a bastion of decorum and restrained whispers, erupted into a cacophony of panicked shouts. The nobles lost their composure completely. Dukes, Counts, and Ministers alike stepped forward, their faces pale and their voices trembling with genuine fear.
"Your Majesty, please reconsider!" a portly Duke from the Southern territories shouted, wiping sweat from his brow. "The Hollowlands have been forbidden for a reason! The atmospheric toxicity alone is enough to kill an ordinary person in hours!"
"Sending the Royal Heirs there is not a trial!" another voice rang out, sharp and accusatory. "It is an execution! Do you intend to end the Royal Bloodline in a single stroke?"
"I agree with the Duke!" a woman cried out, clutching her chest. "It is madness! We cannot risk the future of the Kingdom on such a gamble!"
However, amidst the sea of dissent, a few voices of agreement cut through the chaos.
"The King is right!" a scarred General of the Border Army roared, slamming his fist against his breastplate. "If they cannot survive the darkness of our own land, how can they lead us against the Empire? A King must be forged in fire!"
"Silence! The King has spoken!"
"But the risk is too great! The monsters there—"
"The corruption—!"
"Madness! It is madness!"
I watched the scene unfold from my corner, my half-eaten tartlet forgotten in my hand.
’They aren’t wrong.’
The Hollowlands.
It was a desolate region to the far North, a scar on the face of the world left behind by an unknown catastrophe. It was a place where the laws of physics were merely suggestions, where aura storms tore the sky apart, and where beasts warped by void energy roamed freely. Well, according to the rumours.
The noise in the hall reached a fever pitch, threatening to turn into a riot.
King sat on his throne, unmoving.
He watched his subjects panic with calm, tired eyes. He listened to their fears, their outrage, and their desperate pleas. He let them vent their terror until the crescendo reached its peak.
Then, he simply raised his right hand.
"..."
Instantly, the shouts died in the nobles’ throats. The General lowered his fist. The weeping Countess stifled her sobs.
Within three seconds, the Great Hall returned to a suffocating silence, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing and the glistening of the glass.
The King lowered his hand slowly.
"Are you finished?" he asked, his voice low but cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"..."
Silence was the only answer he received.
The portly Duke who had shouted earlier shrank back into the crowd, his face draining of color. The weeping Countess pressed a handkerchief to her mouth, stifling even her breath. To offend the King in this state was to invite ruin, and everyone in the hall knew it.
"Haa..."
The King let out a long, ragged sigh, the sound echoing with the weight of a mountain.
"I understand how my decree sounds to your ears," he said, his voice weary but resolute. "However, the decision is final. I will not retract my words."
He gripped the armrests of his throne, his knuckles turning white as he leaned forward, his gaze piercing through the assembly.
"And if you believe reaching this conclusion was easy for me... if you think I made this choice without agonizing over the cost..."
His voice began to drop in pitch, vibrating with a dangerous, rising tremor as he glared at the noble who had spoken of ’execution.’
"To hear you call it a death sentence... to hear you imply that I am callously marching them to their graves..."
He slammed his hand against the armrest, the sudden crack making the entire front row flinch.
"Do you take me for a monster?! Do you really think I desire to kill my own flesh and blood with my own hands?!"
The roar slammed into the assembly like a physical blow.
The raw emotion in his voice, the pain of a father forced to make an impossible choice, stunned the room into shame. The nobles lowered their heads, unable to meet the burning gaze of their sovereign.
"Your Majesty..."
The First Queen, a woman of elegant poise standing to his right, stepped forward immediately. She placed a gentle, calming hand on his trembling shoulder, whispering soft words to soothe his rising temper.
The King closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
When he opened them again, the fire had dimmed, leaving only cold ash.
"And besides," he continued, his tone regaining its composure, "I am not sending the heirs to that place without support."
He scanned the faces of his children, his expression softening slightly.
"They will, of course, be accompanied by others. They will be allowed to bring their retinues, and the Kingdom will provide protection until they reach the trial grounds. They will not march into the abyss defenseless."
He paused, looking around the hall one last time with a look of profound exhaustion. The burst of emotion seemed to have drained the last of his remaining vitality for the night.
"I have said all I needed to say."
He waved his hand dismissively at the Prime Minister.
"I will let the Prime Minister reveal the specific contents and rules of the trial. My mood has been thoroughly ruined."
"Ugh."
With a groan of effort, he stood up, leaning heavily on his staff. The Queens immediately moved to support him, flanking him on both sides as he descended the dais.
"Make way!" the herald cried out.
The assembly bowed low, parting like the Red Sea to let the Royal Family pass.
I watched my father’s retreating back, noting the slight, painful limp in his step.
’His acting is great as ever,’ I thought, taking a slow sip of juice. ’Guess I got that from him.’
As the heavy doors closed behind the King, the suffocating pressure in the room finally lifted, only to be replaced by anxious anticipation.
All eyes turned back to the dais.
The Prime Minister, an elderly man who had served three generations of kings, stepped forward into the spotlight. He adjusted his spectacles, cleared his throat, and unrolled a fresh scroll with practiced precision.
"Ahem."
His voice cut through the lingering tension.
"As per His Majesty’s command, I shall now outline the rules and regulations for the Final Trial: The Crown’s Trial."
"First of all..."