The dimly lit chamber pulsed faintly with mana resonance, the divine circuits humming in silence. Blue light from the Lich’s crystalline conduits flickered against Nolan’s cheek as he hovered over a jagged console, eyes squinting at the glitching divine interface window that had just been pulled open.
His fingers tapped the edge of the cracked panel—not to interact, but to get comfortable.
“Akashic granted us low-level access to dungeon interfacing. If we don’t overload it, we might get a glimpse into surface-level broadcasts,” Nolan muttered, half to himself.
Vaelreth stretched, wings twitching. “Or we might explode. Either way, entertainment.”
The Lich said nothing. His glowing pupils tracked the fragmented stream of divine announcements as Nolan stabilized the feed. Then, with a final spark of mana, the image cleared.
A golden interface pulsed with structured elegance.
ACADEMY BROADCAST SYSTEM – DIVINE LEVEL RELAY
Core Hero Selection Confirmed. Hero Colosseum Phase Initiated. Tournament Begins in Six Weeks. Qualified Heroes: 98. Selection Goal: Top 9.
Location: Academy Grand Colosseum, Domain Floor 10 Visibility: Open to All Kingdom Delegates
—Initiated by Order of the Faculty of Cardinal Blades.
The silence was sharp. Even Vaelreth blinked.
“So,” Nolan said, slowly reading through the glowing text. “The Academy’s decided to go full spectacle.”
“A blood-drenched circus,” Vaelreth murmured, folding her arms. “How traditional.”
The Lich tilted his head. “Hero Colosseum… I remember fragments of the last one. It was… unnecessary. Dramatic.”
“Dramatic is the point,” Nolan replied, gaze fixed on the interface. “They're rallying national attention behind their chosen candidates. Whoever wins becomes one of the Nine Heroes.”
“And the Core Hero?” the Lich asked, still processing.
Nolan exhaled. “Already selected. Probably quietly blessed, maybe even from birth.”
A faint flicker ran through the interface—a smiling youth bathed in light, blade drawn aloft. The image glitched out almost immediately.
Nolan tapped the edge of the console again. “The system’s being careful. No full name. But this is it.”
Then, as if remembering something, Nolan smiled faintly. “You know, it’s actually very nice of the Goddess to include news articles in the system. In my world, we had something called the internet—people would doomscroll endlessly, looking for bad news or cat videos to feel alive. If I couldn’t check the news, I’d probably go insane down here.”
Vaelreth cocked an eyebrow. “So divine gossip kept you sane?”
“It’s not gossip. It’s curated chaos,” Nolan said seriously. “And the design layout isn’t even bad.”
The Lich gave Nolan a slow look, eyes narrowing. “You’re inhabiting a twelve-year-old’s body. And yet here you are—planning divine interference. You children shouldn’t be doing this.”
“According to the Akashic Record,” Nolan said without missing a beat, “I’m the one with the highest IQ in the room. Actually, my world is ranked the most intelligent among the qualified realms. I’m technically overqualified for this body.”
Vaelreth muttered under her breath. “The worst kind of overachiever.”
“I didn’t choose the body. Just the work contract,” Nolan replied, shrugging. “Full dental, but no snacks.”
The Lich sighed, eyes scanning the dimming broadcast. “So... What’s the plan?”
Nolan’s lips curled into a dry smile.
“We crash the party.”
The Lich’s eyes narrowed. “With what intent?”
“To give them the Glory Road,” Nolan said. “To pass the path to someone who actually wants to walk it. Someone the system would never choose.”
The Lich’s expression twisted, part impressed, part horrified. “You’re going to hijack a divine broadcast and deliver a legacy item in the middle of an arena?”
“Pretty much,” Nolan replied. “It’ll be educational.”
Vaelreth smirked. “You’re really embracing the villain role.”
“I’m just an employee under contract,” Nolan said dryly. “Akashic Record wanted controlled chaos.”
The Lich turned away, but not before the corner of his lip twitched upward. “You would’ve been erased in my time. Heretic, danger to society, destabilizer. The whole beast army would’ve been sent after you.”
“I’d leave a very polite contract for them to sign first,” Nolan said. “Clause 5B: No hunting the consultant.”
Vaelreth snorted.
The divine broadcast hadn’t faded yet.
A half-broken interface hovered in the air—slightly cracked, flickering with system latency. The divine windows still displayed the announcement of the Hero Colosseum, a gilded banner of bureaucratic celebration flickering in the top-right corner.
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The news scroll slowly glitched into a replay, looped in a cycle. Cheers of invisible nobles. The Goddess’ ceremonial silhouette. Empty words dressed in divine gold.
And yet, in the background, the Lich was silent.
He stood with his hands behind his back, skeletal fingers twined in quiet thought. His gaze wasn’t on the broadcast. It was on the floor. Or maybe on something only he could still see—something the rest of the world had already forgotten.
Nolan frowned. He didn’t like the silence. It wasn’t the quiet of peace. It was the silence of someone still carrying something heavy.
“You’re not watching the show?” he asked lightly, tapping the edge of the interface. “It’s rare. Government announcements with only half the propaganda.”
The Lich didn’t answer.
Vaelreth tilted her head, her tail curling behind her boots. “You're not sulking again, are you?”
“I’m thinking,” the Lich replied at last, but his voice had gone distant again. Wistful.
And that was when Nolan realized.
He still thought he was forgotten.
The realization clicked like a gear in a machine. Nolan blinked, then narrowed his eyes at the Lich’s back. “You know,” he said slowly, “we already covered this. You’re remembered. Akashic Record fixed the curse.”
“I know,” the Lich replied, but the words rang hollow.
“Then why do you still look like the world left you behind?”
No response.
Vaelreth stepped forward, hands on her hips. “You’re still doing it,” she muttered. “That thing where you speak like no one would remember your name if you vanished right now.”
The Lich gave a faint laugh—barely audible. “Old habits.”
“More like old wounds,” Nolan said.
The interface glitched again, looping back to the part where the Core Hero was named. Nolan ignored it this time.
“You finally realize it now, don’t you?” Nolan asked, more gently this time. “That you’re not forgotten. Or are you still going to keep pretending you are?”
The Lich didn’t look at him, but his voice shifted. A little warmer. A little more tired.
“…I believed it when the cards remembered me. When the dragon remembered me.”
“Then believe it now,” Nolan said. “The system remembers you. We remember you. Even the overworked divine clerk who hates us opened a new file just for you.”
Vaelreth leaned casually against the nearest broken panel. “You’ve got more backup copies than some nobles.”
The Lich finally turned. “It’s strange. I remember all the formulas. The mana routes. The tactics. But not my name.”
“You don’t need a name,” Nolan said. “You’ve already got something more dangerous. A reason to keep moving.”
The Lich smiled faintly. “You really are insufferable.”
“I’m contracted to be,” Nolan replied. “You’re welcome.”
Vaelreth glanced at the screen. “Still looping?”
“Of course,” Nolan muttered. “The Goddess really wants us to watch it. Maybe she’s hoping we’ll be inspired.”
Vaelreth smirked. “Inspired to crash it?”
Nolan shrugged. “Already planning it.”
Behind them, the divine feed continued to repeat—golden script and hollow cheers—but the air felt lighter. The silence had changed.
The Lich didn’t say he believed.
He didn’t need to.
The crystal screens faded one by one, dissolving their light into the stone walls until the dungeon was lit only by the slow, steady heartbeat of its mana veins. No more divine broadcasts. No glowing sky-runes. Just the quiet hum of a system set to standby.
The Lich stood with his arms folded, shadows pooling around him. “If you two keep doing what you just did, you’ll find the Goddess breathing down your neck.”
Vaelreth tilted her head. “That’s a little dramatic. I’ve fought dragons bigger than her temper.”
“Not in this world, you haven’t,” the Lich said sharply. “She erased me for suggesting a better summoning method. You think she’ll ignore actual interference?”
Nolan leaned against a rune pillar, posture casual, eyes sharp. “She already knows.”
That made the Lich pause. “…What?”
“The Akashic Record told her,” Nolan said. “At least the broad version. ‘Cause trouble, cause growth.’ That’s our mission. Logged, signed, sealed, and stamped with Divine Right.”
Vaelreth arched a brow. “So we’re… bureaucratically untouchable?”
“Technically,” Nolan said. “We’re cleared to make small problems, as long as they stay inside the job description.”
The Lich’s voice flattened. “And the real plan?”
“Not in the paperwork,” Nolan said with a smirk. “That stays between us until the meeting in two days. Weekly status check. Until then, no details in the system.”
Vaelreth twirled a card between her claws. “So the Goddess knows enough to let us work, but not enough to stop us?”
“Exactly,” Nolan said. “The Record plays by the rules. The Goddess… colors outside the lines. But here’s the thing—” His voice dropped, calm but weighted. “She can’t touch us, even if she wanted to.”
The Lich narrowed his eyes. “…Why not?”
Nolan straightened, looking him dead in the sockets. “Because she knows her world’s running on borrowed time. Ten years, give or take, before it collapses under its own mess. She’s been told. She’s seen the numbers. The Akashic Record has the projections. She can’t waste time swatting us unless we go too far.”
The Lich blinked slowly, then leaned back, processing. “…She’s screwed.”
“Pretty much,” Nolan said. “She’s got to focus on keeping the world afloat. That means we can operate as long as we don’t start pulling down load-bearing walls.”
Vaelreth grinned. “So… cause trouble, but not world-ending trouble.”
“Right,” Nolan said. “The Goddess can’t burn resources chasing us around when she’s already scrambling to stop the entire system from imploding.”
The Lich’s chuckle was dry, but it carried an edge of satisfaction. “In my time, heretics like you wouldn’t last a week. Now, the Goddess herself has to tolerate you.”
“Yeah,” Nolan said, pushing off the pillar. “It’s called leverage. And we’ve got it.”
Vaelreth flicked the card in her hand, catching it between two claws. “And if she changes her mind?”
“I’ll file a divine grievance,” Nolan said with mock formality. “The Record will bury her in paperwork thicker than her ego.”
The Lich stared at him for a moment, then muttered, “I can’t decide if you’re reckless or terrifying.”
“Both,” Nolan said. “And that’s why it works.”
They moved on, their conversation swallowed by the hum of the dungeon’s mana. No declarations, no system alerts. Just three conspirators quietly setting the board, knowing the Goddess was watching— and knowing she couldn’t afford to make her move.
The locked chamber opened with a slow, grinding sound, releasing a draft of mana so dense it made the will-o-wisps flare brighter. Cards floated lazily in the air, each bearing the faint shimmer of bound contracts. Parchments—yellowed, cracked, and covered in meticulous ink—spun in slow orbit alongside fragments of bone etched with runes. Resentful spirits drifted inside sealed cards, their translucent forms glaring from behind the shimmering layers of magic. Other parchments hung mid-air, tethered to flickering motes of blue flame, their clauses scrawled in tight, precise script.
The Lich stepped inside first, carrying the crystal console from the previous room with casual ease. He set it down in the far corner, right where stacks of untouched records waited, and began aligning it with the rows of floating contracts.
Nolan followed, eyes scanning over the chaos until his hand brushed against one of the drifting parchments. He caught it gently and began reading aloud, his voice dry. “This clause here—you could’ve kept them bound longer if you’d hidden this under a performance review requirement. They’d sign without realizing it.”
The Lich’s skull tilted toward him. “I already figured it out. You don’t have to remind me twice.”
“Uh-huh.”
The skeletal jaw tightened into something close to a grin. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the Lich said, waving a bony hand. “I remember what you said. My next contract will be black-hearted, like you.”
Nolan didn’t bother dignifying it with words—just gave a slow, deliberate nod, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if to say good. Then he pulled his fur-lined satchel from his shoulder, drawing out a neat stack of his own parchments already marked with quick notes and odd diagrams.
He uncapped his ink bottle, dipped his quill, and glanced at the Lich and Vaelreth. “Alright. Let’s talk about what we’re going to discuss at the next meeting.”