Chapter 381: The King and the Throne

“You have until I reach the throne to decide. If, when I turn, you are still standing there… I will kill you.”

Almost casually, the Midnight King began to walk toward the throne. Each step thundered through the black stone hall. The sound spread, deep and reverent, as if each footfall was stealing the air from the room. Shadows lengthened and moved with him, as though the darkness itself obeyed his tread.

The force radiating from him was suffocating. The air felt thick enough to slice, a physical pressure on the chest, an unspoken warning that something vast and dangerous stood before them. It wasn’t a passing tension. The weight of it settled over skin and thought, making even breathing feel like a choice that had to be measured.

“What do we do?” Jack asked, voice shaking, eyes fixed on the figure. His face had gone pale; sweat tracked down his cheek as he fought to steady his breathing. The archangel’s mere presence made him feel small and exposed.

Erza Grimhart clicked her tongue and was the first to step forward. Her foot hit the dark marble with a dry, sharp sound. Her face tightened, anger, but not only at the enemy; anger at herself for feeling frightened. Still, she moved on.

Jack and Evangeline followed close, rigid and coiled, every muscle ready. None of them lowered their guard. Anne walked beside Erza, sword raised, metal catching the throne’s dull light. Allison came after, cautious, her gaze shifting between the king and their party. One by one their steps beat out a weary, determined rhythm across the hall, like the measured pulse of a tired heart.

The castle seemed to breathe around them. Columns of polished black stone rose like ribs. In the center, the throne loomed, a crystalline monument, magnificent and terrible.

Luke watched from a distance. He caught Charlie’s eye and she nodded without words. She moved forward with the others while he slipped back a pace, keeping just far enough away to avoid being swept into the first clash. He needed a clean line of fire, an angle where he could shoot without putting anyone directly in the arrow’s path.

The bow in his hands felt almost insignificant against what faced them, but he kept it ready, fingers tensed on the string, poised to act.

Everything went still as the Midnight King halted before the throne. For a moment the silence was absolute. He turned slowly, calm, almost ceremonial, and there was something both mesmerizing and menacing in the motion. His stone wings unfurled a fraction, sending up faint motes of ancient dust. A cold blue light traced the fissures across his petrified skin like veins of trapped luminescence.

With one simple, merciless gesture he raised a hand. A translucent notification bloomed in the air before them, hanging like a pane of glass, calm, clinical, impossible to ignore.

[Dimensional Portal (Ancient)]: A crystal throne that activates a Dimensional Portal capable of transporting individuals out of the Midnight Terror Tutorial. It is linked to the corresponding universe and planet of those within this tutorial. Once time runs out, this portal will disappear, and this pocket universe will be lost forever.

The glowing text floated in the air, letters shifting and shimmering, their light flickering across the group’s tense faces.

The archangel smiled.

“I imagine some of you understand how this works,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, too calm. “You only need to place your hand on the throne and channel mana. The portal will open. Simple. Convenient. This is the exit you’ve all been craving.”

His tone was gentle, almost kind, yet every word carried an unnatural weight—authority born of something far beyond human. A king, a jailer, a forgotten judge. Perhaps all of them at once. No one moved. The air around the Midnight King seemed to warp, heavy with a power so dense it strained the edges of reality.

Erza was the first to speak. “We appreciate the guidance,” she said evenly, her voice respectful but steady. “I promise we won’t trouble you as we leave.”

The King tilted his head, studying her with faint amusement.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“You wouldn’t trouble me,” he replied. “Ant bites don’t hurt you, do they? Then you see… no trouble at all.”

He laughed, a dry, hollow sound that echoed off the stone walls, as though the castle itself shared the joke. No one dared move. Even without open hostility, everyone could feel it—that one wrong breath could be fatal.

“Can we use the portal?” Allison asked carefully. “We have no intention of fighting, Your Majesty. We only want to go home.”

The King drew in a slow breath. Though carved from stone, the sound was unmistakably human.

“Home…” he murmured, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling, as if searching the shadows for something long gone.