Lord of Caldera - Chapter 174

Chapter 174: Chapter 174

“I’ll go last,” he said. “Decide the order amongst yourselves.”

“Well then, if that’s the case,” muttered the candidates, not refusing Ragnar’s gesture to go last. After all, he was the one who had introduced this trial in the first place; he might even know how to succeed already.

‘But if it’s just a matter of being first, the game changes,’ thought the nobles, eyes gleaming with barely restrained greed. They exchanged glances, each thinking the same thing: as long as they went in first and claimed the dragon’s heart, they would have the advantage. Ragnar caught their expressions and chuckled to himself.

‘Go on, dance for me, clowns,’ he thought. He knew that gaining the dragon’s heart required reverence, something none of these power-hungry candidates seemed capable of showing. ‘And when you all fail, I’ll prove myself the true king.’

As Ragnar’s lips twisted in a smirk, Sylas cast a sideways glance at him, smiling faintly. There was no greater pleasure than undercutting someone so sure of their victory.

The order was quickly decided. Karl was first, followed by two other nobles as the second and third candidates, with Bjorn, Sylas, Loghain, and finally, Ragnar himself.

‘So the native Northerners go first, and the outsiders like me and the barbarians are last? How transparent,’ Sylas mused, finding their little scheme almost endearing.

“Ahem, then I shall go first,” Karl declared, coughing as he stepped confidently toward the stone chamber. He descended the steps, disappearing from view as the heavy door rumbled shut behind him. The chamber would remain sealed for a full day.

“Now, let’s see if he has what it takes to be king,” Ragnar sneered, his voice dripping with mockery, but no one challenged him. The nobles waited in tense silence, eyes fixed on the chamber, wondering if Karl would emerge victorious.

The campsite for the week-long stay was completed quickly. The nobles, having spared no expense, had ensured that the accommodations were fit for their rank and power.

‘Please succeed,’ the Marquis thought, clenching his jaw as he stared at the sealed chamber. He had placed his heir, Karl, in the first slot as a gamble, but the stakes were now uncomfortably high.

‘If someone else becomes king, our entire family will be forced to bow. You wouldn’t want that, would you, Karl?’ At least, thanks to his influence, he had secured the first turn. If Karl succeeded in obtaining the dragon’s heart, the other candidates would be nothing more than afterthoughts. Even with two trials left, the prestige of possessing the dragon’s heart would be unmatched.

‘So please, don’t fail,’ he silently urged.

The chamber rumbled.

“The door is opening!” a noble exclaimed, snapping the crowd to attention.

A few hours before a full day had passed, the heavy door creaked open. Nobles rushed forward, eager to see the results, and out stepped Karl Leiningen, looking weary but otherwise unchanged.

“How did it go?” someone asked anxiously. “Did you succeed?”

Karl remained silent, his face tight. The Marquis, realizing the answer, sighed heavily.

“You failed, didn’t you?”

“I apologize,” Karl replied quietly before retreating to the camp, clearly shaken. The Marquis, looking ten years older, addressed the waiting crowd.

“My heir has failed. Let the next candidate enter.”

Some nobles stifled coughs, barely managing to hide their satisfaction.

“Then I’ll go next,” said a young noble, Doris Boden, stepping forward with a smirk. Having recently inherited his title after his father’s early death, he was a count from a well-regarded family. As he approached the chamber, he glanced back at the Marquis.

“Anything you want to share before I go?”

“Just go take the trial,” the Marquis replied coldly, dismissing the hint request. Shrugging, Doris entered, and the chamber door rumbled shut again.

A day later, the next candidate was summoned, as Doris, his expression tense, exited the chamber, his silence speaking volumes. The third candidate faced the same fate, emerging with a flushed face and tight lips, signaling his failure.

When Bjorn’s turn came, he looked over at Sylas with a wry smile.

“Any words of advice?”

“Not this time.”

“You’re too cruel,” Bjorn muttered before heading in. A day later, he reappeared, sighing with frustration.

“Damn it,” he grumbled as he left, another failure among the candidates. With four unsuccessful attempts, all eyes now turned to Sylas, who grinned, directing his gaze at Ragnar.

“Hey, Great Chief.”

“…What is it?” Ragnar replied, watching him warily.

“Must the dragon’s heart be brought back? Or, say, could I consume it on the spot?”

In other words, could he simply eat it as soon as he found it? Ragnar, though unsettled, gave an answer.

“Finding the dragon’s heart is all that matters for the trial. It’ll be announced to everyone, so whether you consume it or not is your choice.”

“That’s good news,” Sylas replied, nodding. If a treasure lay in plain sight, it was best to seize it before anyone else had a chance to lay claim. With Ragnar’s answer in mind, Sylas disappeared into the chamber, and the door closed behind him. Ragnar’s eyes flickered with uncertainty.

‘…No, it can’t be,’ he reassured himself. Of all the trials, this one would be impossible for Sylas. Gaining the dragon’s heart required showing true reverence, something Ragnar couldn’t imagine Sylas, so full of pride, would be capable of.

‘There’s no way he’d show respect to anyone.’

He reassured himself that all he had to do was wait patiently. Sylas would fail, then Loghain could “fail” intentionally, leaving Ragnar as the final candidate to triumph. Pushing down a surge of unease, Ragnar closed his eyes, chalking up his instinctive fear to a passing feeling.

The chamber beyond the narrow entrance was unimaginably vast. Sylas marveled at the sheer scale, wondering how such a large space had been constructed beneath the tomb. But it wasn’t just the size that impressed him.

“Wow, it’s incredibly lavish,” he murmured.

Despite the absence of any natural light, the underground hall was brilliantly illuminated. Golden patterns on the walls, engraved with some kind of magic, glowed, filling the space with a radiant light. The intricate designs and the lavish decorations were clear signs of someone who had an affinity for grandeur and self-glorification.

‘A magical light display instead of torches, walls full of golden engravings, and ornamental decorations everywhere,’ he thought, smirking to himself. This “Godfrey” certainly seemed like a man who relished flaunting his accomplishments.