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VoC: B1 — 23. The Weight of Borrowed Crowns
🕑 Added 2025-09-12 00:34:17 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Aria (Our Struggling Lich Sister!)
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Aria clutched the Beginner’s Guide to Dungeons against her chest as she stepped out of The Silver Chalice, the leather binding still warm from her sweaty palms.
The morning sun caught the golden threads in her blue dress—her mother’s gift still grounding her—but she kept her head down, the wide brim of her summer hat casting shadows across her face.
Not that it helped much. The hat had holes cut for her ears, which poked through like golden beacons announcing exactly what she was to anyone who bothered looking. And everyone bothered looking.
Just keep reading. Just keep walking. Pretend you’re absorbed in dungeon lore5, maybe they’ll leave you alone.
She cracked open the book to a random page, squinting at the text while navigating the cobblestone streets by peripheral vision.
“Red dungeons offer increased experience gain but contain monsters significantly above the recommended level range. Parties should be prepared for increased Elites—”
A cart wheel caught in the uneven stones nearby, the driver cursing as he struggled with the load. Aria glanced up reflexively, caught the man’s eyes widening as he took in her features, and immediately buried her nose back in the book.
Great. He’s now saying sorry as if I’ll have him executed for cursing near me. Just great, Aria. Just keep walking… Even when I’m trying to be invisible, I’m a walking spectacle!
The chapter on dungeon classifications was actually fascinating, though. According to the reincarnate author, dungeons were color-coded by difficulty and reward structure. Green dungeons were standard—moderate risk, moderate reward. Blue dungeons offered unique magical resources but required specific resistances. Red dungeons…
“Warning: Red F-tier dungeons are not recommended for parties below Level 15. The 100% experience multiplier may seem attractive, but survival rates drop to below forty percent for unprepared adventurers according to statistics gathered by the Aurelian Everglade College.”
Aria snorted softly. That sounds exactly like something I’d do. I can just imagine Damon already warning me. ‘Oh, it’s more dangerous, but we’ll get stronger faster? Yeah, no, we’ll play it safe!’ Now, if Soph was in there. That’d be a different story. Stupid self-sacrificing—
Her foot caught on an uneven stone, and she stumbled, nearly dropping the book. A nearby merchant reached out to steady her, but froze mid-gesture when he saw her face.
“My lady! Are you—I mean, forgive me for—”
“I’m fine,” Aria mumbled, pulling her hat lower and hurrying past. The man’s stammered apologies followed her down the street, just like the cart driver.
This is ridiculous. I can barely walk without causing a scene—my new body is so awkward. Hot. Elegant. But awkward. I could work out a little. Can I even gain muscle? Huh… Do a little jogging? Get used to it. Though that would require exercising… Mmm. Hard sell.
She ducked into the first shop she saw to escape several lingering eyes—a general goods store that smelled like leather, metal polish, and something that might have been pickled fish. The proprietor, a middle-aged woman with flour-dusted hands, took one look at Aria and immediately straightened.
“Oh! My lady, welcome! How may we serve you today?”
Aria sighed internally, rethinking her previous method. “I need to arrange some deliveries. To The Silver Chalice, room twelve. Is that possible?”
“Of course! Absolutely! What did you have in mind, My Lady?” she asked with bright eyes, not greed but honor and reverence that she’d stop in her store.
Twenty minutes later, Aria had ordered enough supplies to outfit a small expedition: traveling clothes in what she hoped was Damon’s size, dried foods, water skins, basic camping gear, and a sturdy leather pack. Everything practical he’d need for whatever insane plan he was undoubtedly hatching.
Let him focus on the hero stuff. I’ll handle the logistics since I’ve got the privilege. Easy win! GG dark elf racism.
“What an unusual assortment of goods, My Lady—not that I am complaining! Oh, as for the delivery fee—” the woman began.
“No, here you go! No complaints,” Aria said with a strained grin, sliding two steel coins across the counter that made the woman’s eyes go wide with protest, as if she were scamming a holy saintess. “Please, keep the change. And…discretion would be appreciated. Unsavory eyes have been on me.”
The woman’s brow furrowed as if her own daughter had been stalked.
“I will not breathe a word, My Lady. I will be sure your shipment remains discreet—delivered within the hour.”
“You have my heartfelt thanks.”
Her nose reddened as if she’d cry, but she nodded as if she’d been given a royal assignment. “I can call the guards, My Lady, if you feel unsafe—no, I will call my sons to protect you personally,” she stated with fervor. “The king really should have a Paladin detail with you. I cannot imagine the—”
“Oh, no, no, I denied such privileges. It feels…excessive. I do not intend to frame your wondrous city as unsafe.”
“My Lady… Thank you.”
Back on the street, Aria found a quiet spot between two buildings and opened her status menu. Internally, she needed to cool down after that interaction.
Was she really going to send her sons to risk their lives to defend me from stalkers? Wow… I could feel that hatred and the impulse to kill toward someone who was looking at me wrong. Privilege—no, zealot devotion to an image is terrifying!
The familiar translucent interface materialized in front of her, invisible to anyone else. She scrolled to the shared bond section, where Damon’s abilities were listed alongside her own.
Let’s see…
[Dhampir Ancestry] - The dropdown menu expanded, revealing a list of abilities that made her smirk rise.
[Place of Rest] is precisely what we need to hit the requirements for, which means…a coffin. A vampire coffin! Why didn’t he tell me about this? Why didn’t Mom say anything? This is perfect.
She closed the menu with more force than necessary and kept going on her search. Her mental map of the city through the maps she’d copied at the library kicked in. The carpenter’s district was three blocks north.
This is his get-out-of-death-free card. How is this not his priority number one? What if he dies before I get this sorted? Idiot… You’re always making me worried you’re going to get stabbed saving some teen girl in an alley…because she reminds you of me.
The walk to the craftsman’s quarter gave her time to spiral properly. The residential streets here were quieter, lined with workshops where the sounds of hammering, sawing, and grinding filled the air. Smoke rose from forge chimneys, carrying the scents of hot metal and wood shavings.
Compared to anime and fantasy novels, it was a whole lot more lived-in than she imagined: workers with genuine calluses and dirt under their fingernails, the acrid smell of actual sweat mixing with sawdust, and apprentices who looked genuinely tired rather than romantically windswept. No one was artfully posed over their work or had mysteriously clean aprons despite hours of labor.
The noise was constant and overlapping—hammers striking metal in different rhythms, the screech of saws cutting through wood, the hiss of steam from cooling metal. In games, crafting districts always had that pleasant ambient workshop sound. This was…louder. More chaotic. More real.
On the bright side, almost no one looked up from their work to notice a pretty sun elf in a blue dress walking down their sidewalks.
She passed a blacksmith’s shop where a heavily muscled woman was shouting instructions at two apprentices who looked like they wanted to be anywhere else. What must have been her husband, even more muscular, was chuckling and critiquing her hammers to get a thump on the head. Both laughed.
A carpenter’s workshop had wood shavings piled so high outside the door that a small child could probably get lost in them. A wagon was nearby, young boys shoveling them inside to transport out, likely to sell rather than dump. Everything smelled like honest work and mild desperation to meet deadlines.
It was…actually kind of comforting.
Less sanitized than her fantasy expectations, but more human. These people weren’t NPCs waiting to hand out quests. They had their own lives, their own problems that had nothing to do with whatever drama she and Damon had brought to the city.
Of course, that comfort lasted exactly until she spotted the sign for ‘Grimwald’s Fine Coffins & Burial Goods’ and remembered why she was here.
What kind of coffin does a dhampir even need? Does it have to be fancy? Blessed? Uh, unblessed—wouldn’t that be cursed? Mmm. Made of specific wood? The System description was typically unhelpful—‘dedicated resting place’ could mean anything. I guess it could be anything?
The coffin maker’s shop sat at the end of a row of woodworking establishments, its sign creaking in the morning breeze. Through the open door, Aria could smell fresh-cut wood and something else—something that reminded her uncomfortably of funeral homes back on Earth.
Wood polish and mortality. What a combination. Should I really be complaining? I’m dead! My taste buds are more dead than this artificial heart pumping in my chest…
She hesitated at the threshold, suddenly aware of how this would look. A sun elf walking into a coffin shop wasn’t exactly subtle.
But what choice do I have? Damon’s life depends on this! I can figure out some excuse…probably. No hesitation! One step. Two…
The interior was dominated by examples of the craftsman’s work—polished wooden caskets in various stages of completion, some simple pine boxes, others elaborate affairs with carved details and metal fittings. An elderly dwarf looked up from his workbench, his beard so long it was tucked into his belt.
So cool… He’s the perfect fantasy dwarf!
“Help you, miss? Ah, a sun elf… Hmm. Ahem. How can I help you, My Lady?”
Aria cleared her throat. “I need a coffin.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The dwarf’s eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline—it probably meant he was a few hundred years old or something, maybe.
“A coffin,” he repeated carefully; it appeared the dwarves didn’t have the same total reverence as the humans did by his inquiring eyes. Not good. “Hmm?”
“Not for me!” Aria added quickly. “For my, uh…for someone else—who isn’t dead. Yet. Sort of. I mean, he might die, but then he’ll come back because he’s—” She gestured vaguely. “It’s complicated. Magic stuff.”
Magic stuff? Real smooth. Definitely not suspicious at all.
The dwarf set down his carving tools and studied her with the expression of someone trying to solve a particularly confusing puzzle.
“You seem like a young one, My Lady… Shadowing the Solar Incarnas?”
“Something like that!” she added with a smile that was totally not convincing, but a sun elf youth being on their own? Yeah, that was even more unconvincing, it seemed.
“Mmm. Right. Well, I suppose he would have their reasons. What sort of…specifications are we talking about here? Any specific dimensions? Materials? Schedule? Destination? You haven’t given me much, Little Lady.”
“Specifics… Right. Uh, something sturdy—very sturdy. About…this high?” she mumbled, lifting to her tippy-toes and making a vague hand motion. “And this wide, I guess. Something that could survive, like anything—the best material you have that’s, uh, not silver.”
“Uh-huh…” Aria resisted the urge to squirm under his thick, furrowed brows at her motions. “Survive anything. Not silver… And schedule? Destination?”
“The Silver Chalice. As soon as possible—like, tonight?” she asked with a stressed smile. “I’m kind of on a clock.”
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Aria could hear her own heartbeat—wait, could she have a heartbeat if she was technically undead? I mean, she was sweating a while ago. This transformation Feat was weirdly potent. Another thing to worry about later.
“Miss Lady,” the dwarf said slowly, “are you perhaps looking for something more in the way of…storage? Because what you’re describing sounds less like a burial and more like—”
“A bed,” Aria interrupted. “A very specific kind of bed—cushioned, nice interior? For someone with very specific sleeping requirements? Yeah…”
Understanding dawned in the craftsman’s eyes. “Ah. One of those customers…and from a sun elf lass, no less. Even for me, this is a first, although there are no laws governing the creation of such items. It does need to be logged and sent to the magistrate, though. I suppose the Solar Incarnas would know that.”
He thinks Damon is a vampire. Which, technically, he sort of is. This might actually work. Maybe I can even tie it to the Solar Incarnas. It isn’t like anyone will question that! Well, the Archmagus will, but he already thinks I’m a princess, maybe, so… Privilege will carry me through?
“Exactly. What would you recommend?”
The dwarf led her deeper into the shop, past the standard funeral fare, to a section she hadn’t noticed before. Here, the coffins were different—reinforced with metal bands, lined with what looked like silk, and built to last.
“I only have three made-to-order items that are typically outsourced and sent to other cities or towns. Ravenwood with enchanted steel reinforcement.”
He gestured to a coffin that looked more like an ornate fantasy prop than a burial container. “I can recreate a new one before the order needs to go out. Miss Merana Thorne brought in a new shipment of ravenwood at this morning’s auction. Not indestructible, but more than durable. Good for the Solar Incarnas’ basic needs?”
“How much?”
“Three silver.”
Aria’s heart sank. She had five steel pieces left, which were nowhere near three hundred Imperium steel. Even if she sold everything she’d just bought, she’d still be short…way short.
Three silver, and that may even be at a crazy discount for the Solar Incarnas! How can I get around that?
“I…didn’t exactly bring any money. Can we charge it to the Solar Incarnas?” she asked weakly.
The dwarf’s expression softened slightly. “Look, Miss Lady, I can see you’re in a difficult situation obtaining something for the Solar Incarnas. But crafting something like this—with materials like this—doesn’t come by the capital often. I don’t know what it’s like in your isles, but it took a Level 55 reincarnate to deliver that ravenwood from an S-tier dungeon here… I can’t just—”
“That’s quite an unusual request for such a lovely, exotic, and divine young princess.”
The voice behind her was cultured, sophisticated, and made every instinct Aria possessed scream danger. She spun around, her dungeon guide flying out of her hands and landing squarely on her foot.
“Ow!” She hopped backward, directly into the ravenwood coffin display, which rocked ominously on its stands.
Standing in the doorway like something out of a romance novel was possibly the most stereotypically handsome noble she’d ever seen. Early twenties, dark hair that looked professionally styled, the kind of jawline that belonged in a painting, and clothes that probably cost more than her imaginary coffin.
Oh no. Oh no no no. Handsome noble plus coffin shop plus me being suspicious equals very bad things. Did he just call me princess?!
“Are you quite all right?” He stepped forward with fluid grace and bent to retrieve her book. His eyes—sky-blue, because of course they were—held polite concern that didn’t quite hide the sharp intelligence underneath.
“What did you call me?” Her voice came out higher than intended.
He straightened, offering the book with a slight bow that screamed noble etiquette. “I said you looked rather divine. Like a princess, one might say.”
Red flag! Red flag! Why is he saying princess? Does he know? Did Aldwin tell everyone? Is this a test? This is totally a trigger event in an otome game!
“I’m Count Aldrich Ravencrest,” he continued smoothly. “I happen to own a large stake in this establishment. I’ve recently come into my title after a series of…unfortunate accidents befell my family.”
“Accidents? Owning a coffin shop?” The word squeaked out.
I’m screwed!
“Yes, well. I can see the concern. Some say my family is cursed.” His tone was conversational, as if discussing the weather rather than mysterious deaths. “But I prefer to think the Holy Emperor has a plan for all things.”
He definitely knows something. Nobody just walks up to random people in coffin shops and starts talking about being a princess unless they know! He has to know! I don’t care if he’s a partial owner. This is a total green-slash-red flag! What does that make this? An orange flag?!
“That’s…” Aria struggled for words. “Nice? I guess?”
“Forgive my directness, but I was rather hoping to speak with you. There are few people in this city as…interesting as yourself.”
Orange flag—definitely orange flag! That smile. That dangerous curiosity. New status. Probably court plots against him… Oh. My. Gosh! Is this world secretly an otome game?!
“Why?” The word came out more suspicious than she’d intended.
Count Ravencrest smiled, and dimples appeared. Of course, he had dimples.
“How could anyone with sense not seek out the sun elf who’s managed to acquire the fallen prince as a servant? News is spreading fast through legal circles, and the magistrate is eager to review the contract.”
What?! He knows about the contract. He knows about the contract! Everyone probably knows about the contract by now. Tess, I’m going to strangle you! she internally screamed, the image of the teen at the inn popping into her head, showing a cute grin and peace sign. It hasn’t even been an hour! How is it already reaching the magistrate?!
“You seem to be shopping for something rather unusual,” he noted, gesturing at the coffins surrounding them. “I assume this is in response to the divine contract you signed.”
Aria’s brain went into overdrive. He’s pinned me! Wait, am I pinned against the coffin? He’s not close enough, but not far enough away at the same time! What is this situation?! I can smell raspberries on his breath… Focus!
“It’s for him,” she said finally, glancing at the dwarf for a split second, who was stroking his beard with a small smile. “You understand, right?”
The Count’s eyes flickered with a tiny smile. “I do. Halbrdth, I’ll cover the cost for our dear sun elf princess. You may send it to where she indicated.”
“Yes, Count.”
He’s buying it? Oh. My. Gosh! Is he trying to impress me? Does he like me? What should I do? Of course, he likes me! I’m gorgeous! C’mon… But is this bad? I mean, it could be worse… The question is, how far will he push this?
He turned back to Aria, and she found herself caught in that unnervingly direct gaze, sharp and more confident than anyone, except her brother.
“Perhaps I might offer an alternative arrangement.”
She held her breath, fingers curling against the glass at her back, sweat gathering under her armpits, heat rising.
Gear up for the death flags, girl! Tall, dark, and handsome is looking at you—otome game zone activate! Here it comes. The catch. The favor. Is he getting closer, or is it just my perception?!
“What kind of arrangement?” she mumbled carefully.
“Allow me to purchase the coffin for you.”
We already passed that line, so why does it hit my chest like a hammer?!
“In exchange,” he continued before she could process that bombshell, “I would ask for your company at tonight’s royal banquet.”
“Huh…” Her voice went up an octave, air locked in her stinging lungs—psychological more than physical. “A banquet?”
“At the palace. I could arrange everything you might need—a proper gown, jewelry, whatever would befit your station. Not that any of it would match your beauty, or even rags would diminish your radiant royalty. We could conclude this business first, naturally, so you could see to your servant’s arrangements.”
Yeah. Mhm. Screwd. Totally screwed! The crazy thing is…this sounds like so much fun! But I can’t go to the palace! Everyone who wants to kill Damon is there! Grandpa, Grandma—Mom and Uncle Stephen are there! But what kind of sun elf princess turns down a royal invitation? But I can’t say no!
“That sounds…” Her mouth was moving without her brain’s permission. “Lovely? But I’ll need to leave early. Tomorrow morning, actually. Because of, well, you know…the situation.”
AHHHHHHHHH! Why’d I say yes?! Lovely?! Damon is going to kill me!
“Of course. When were you planning to meet with your servant?”
“Later tonight—before dark. After…after he finishes whatever he’s—everything I’m having him do.”
Please, Damon, save me! Tell me what to do! I so want to do this, but I know it’s the worst red flag ever! A dreamy, princely noble just asked me out on a date! This is everything I wanted at the worst possible time! I want to scream!
“Perfect. Then we have the afternoon to prepare before you meet up with him before the banquet.”
“Heh-hehe. Perfect.”
And somehow, before Aria could figure out how to extract herself from this situation, she found herself nodding. The Count was already discussing payment with the dwarf, who looked like he’d won the lottery.
What just happened? How did I go from ‘I can’t afford a coffin’ to ‘I’m going on a date to a royal banquet with a suspicious Count’? This is definitely the worst idea I’ve ever had. Damon is going to strangle me… Well, if I don’t die of terror first…or have my organs harvested and sold. Ha-hahaha. Joke’s on you… I don’t have any! Ugh…
“Shall we begin with the dress?” Count Ravencrest asked, offering his arm like they were characters in some ridiculous romance novel.
I hate everything about this situation. But Damon needs that coffin, and this is the only way to get it…and he really is cute and sweet. No! Don’t get lost in his baby-blue eyes! Resist, you fool! Focus! I see through your agenda. Don’t get it twisted, bud! Battle mode! Right, this is just another game. Any minute, there will be an attack and I’ll—strike!
As they stepped out of the shop together, Count Ravencrest paused mid-stride. His entire demeanor shifted—the polished noble facade cracking as his eyes swept the rooftops and shadowed alleyways surrounding them, a dangerous edge immediately cutting the warm atmosphere.
“We’re being watched,” he murmured, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
I knew it! Aria’s head snapped up, following his gaze to the maze of workshop roofs and chimney stacks. Where? Trigger event two! Palace spies? Assassins? Oh gosh, is it the Archmagus’ plot!
A flicker of movement caught her eye—something small and pale darting between the shadows near the eaves of the cooper’s shop across the street. At first glance, it looked like a bird, but birds didn’t have that particular wrongness to their flight pattern.
“There,” Ravencrest breathed, hand reaching for the sword at his waist. “Scrying familiar. Warlock summon. Not legally acceptable without guard involvement…”
The thing—whatever it was—seemed to realize it had been spotted. It swooped lower, and Aria got a proper look at it: a floating eyeball the size of her fist, trailing wisps of dark energy, with tiny bat-like wings keeping it aloft. Its iris swiveled to focus directly on them.
Oh, that’s disgusting. And definitely not friendly. Evil noble, no doubt!
But before Ravencrest could draw steel, instinct took over.
Time slowed for the creature, [Instant Cast] reacting to Aria’s instincts.
[Time Magic: Slow] activated without conscious thought as she pointed at it, just as she’d targeted imaginary enemies in the shower at home. The floating eye’s frantic escape attempt became a leisurely drift toward the safety of the rooftops.
Got you.
Wrist twisting, finger drawing, [Gravity Magic: Pull] followed immediately, as intense magical force seized the creature and swirled around her form, yanking it back toward them. The eye fought against the invisible grip, its tiny wings beating frantically in the molasses-thick air.
Continuing her fluid movement, her wrist tilted again, finger straightening as ice and flame twisted together into a crystalline shard wreathed in blue-white fire.
[Black Magic: Unity—Frostfire Bolt.]
She released it with the casual precision of someone who’d imagined this moment all their life. The bolt struck the scrying eye dead center.
“Bullseye…”
Ice spread inward from the point of impact while flames consumed its outer surface—freezing and burning simultaneously. The creature let out a delayed sound like breaking glass mixed with a dying scream, then shattered into rapidly evaporating fragments.
Total elapsed time: maybe three seconds.
Aria blinked, suddenly aware that her hand was still glowing with residual magic and Count Ravencrest was staring at her with an impressed expression that wrote romance novels, hand still on the hilt of his sword.
Oh. Oh no. I just did magic. In public. Forgotten magic. In front of a noble! Is that illegal?! I mean, I am a sun elf, so…probably not?
“Well,” Ravencrest said after a moment, his lips curving into a half-smile. “Not a word. Spellcraft faster than thought. [Instant Cast], no doubt. And those spells… I counted two—no, three? Though I cannot identify what those were, and spellcraft is not my forte. Yet, even I can tell that was something special. Sun elves live up to your name, or is that phenomenal display unique to just you, Princess? ”
“I—” Aria’s brain scrambled for an explanation. “It was instinct. I didn’t think—”
“Then it is even more impressive.” His tone warmed considerably, and when she looked at him, his smile was genuine for the first time since they’d met. “Perfect execution, actually. Three-spell combination, all cast in sequence without delay. My own court Wizard would be frothing at the mouth at that display.”
Respect? Did he respect her?
“You’re not…concerned about the law?” she asked carefully.
“Concerned?” Ravencrest glanced at the spot where the eye had died and the clapping crowd that was gathering, then back at her. “My Lady, someone just sent a scrying familiar to spy on us. You eliminated the threat before it could report back. If anything, I’m grateful. I’ll report it to the guards on our journey to the shopping district. You truly are special.”
I’m special… I really am! Wow. Okay, stop getting a big head—and I see you, sumersalting stomach! Chill. Cool down. Be cool. We’re cool! Be humble.
“Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Who do you think sent it?” she asked, trying to sound like this was a normal Tuesday conversation. “Were they after me or you?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? It could be anyone with a reason to watch either of us… Doesn’t seem like a small list to me.”
“Not small at all!”
His expression darkened slightly. “Palace intrigue tends to breed paranoia. Your arrival in the city, combined with your…unique situation involving the former prince, seems to have drawn attention.”
“Well,” Aria showed a blinding smile up at the tall, dark-haired man, “I’m not the type to do things quietly.”
“Clearly. And I appreciate that in a woman. But,” he continued, offering his arm again as butterflies fluttered in her belly, “that display suggests you’re more than capable of handling whatever interest you’ve attracted. Shall we proceed? I believe we have a dress to commission.”
Hmm. How to tell him Mom’s dress means something to me? Well, I’ll figure it out. This is fun!
As they walked toward what was presumably the fancy district, Aria found herself reassessing Count Ravencrest. The polished nobleman act was still there, but underneath it was someone who recognized combat magic when he saw it—and approved.
Either he’s exactly what he appears to be, or he’s a much better actor than I thought, hiding a dark past he won’t let anyone see. Mysterious… Interesting. Interesting. Either way, at least he’s not running away screaming about old magic or gushing over me just because I’m a sun elf.
“Lead the way,” she managed, her brightest smile in place.
Just survive the next few hours. How hard can it be?
Famous last words, probably.
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[ Next POV: Cassandra ]
[ Theme: Uh-oh. Our teen lich is getting a big head! Let’s hope this is a good thing instead of a bad ‘orange flag.’ What about our shark girl who just wants to be happy? ]
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