Hollow Crown: SSS-Ranked Godslayer’s Rise

Unknown to Veyron, Lirael's meek and subservient behavior was not a crack in her pride, but a carefully crafted performance. Every lowered gaze, every submissive word — all of it was part of a plan they had laid out in advance. They had already prepared their roles, their future acts, and the masks they would wear.

While Ethan, Lirael, and the guild employee moved toward the examination grounds, Ethan suddenly stopped. With a casual flick of his wrist, he pulled out a gleaming golden bow from his storage and handed it to her.

His tone carried no softness — only command.

"Use this properly," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And don't you dare damage it."

The weapon shimmered in the sunlight, its runes catching faint glints of gold. Lirael lowered her head deeply, her hands wrapping around the bow with deliberate reverence.

"I will keep that in mind, Master," she replied, her voice low, obedient.

From the distance, Veyron watched. Though the distance muffled their words, he could read enough from their posture, from the dynamic between them. His brows knitted tightly. That girl… why is she so unnaturally compliant? Even if she's bound to him as a maid, this is… excessive.

His gaze hardened. Am I imagining things? he muttered under his breath, uncertainty gnawing at the edge of his confidence.

Ethan and his small entourage eventually slipped from his sight, disappearing past a row of hedges and wooden posts. What awaited them was a sprawling field. The air buzzed with noise — the clash of training weapons, the bark of instructors drilling formations, and the chatter of onlookers who had nothing better to do than speculate.

The field itself was vast, partitioned into sections: one where groups sparred in dust clouds, another where novices struggled under the sharp criticism of guild officers, and a far corner where a cluster of spectators gossiped about the candidates for today's test. The atmosphere was alive, like an open-air version of the guild hall.

Ethan's group drew a few curious glances as they strode through. Some eyes lingered on Lirael's golden bow, others on Ethan's composed stride that carried no hesitation. But none dared speak openly.

The guild employee cleared his throat, guiding them toward a long table beneath a canopy where several stern-faced examiners sat, quills scratching against parchment. Behind them, assistants checked ledgers, while a few veterans leaned on their spears, sizing up each candidate with sharp eyes.

The closer they came, the quieter the air seemed to grow. The idle chatter of nearby adventurers dulled, replaced by the weight of expectation.

"Over there," the employee said, gesturing with respect. "The examiners are waiting."

Ethan simply nodded, his expression calm, almost indifferent — yet his eyes swept the field, sharp and measuring, as though every detail mattered. Lirael kept her head lowered, following one step behind him, her bow gleaming faintly in the sun like a dangerous secret.

---

There were always many who attempted rank promotion each day. For most, the process was simple: pay a fee, register, and wait for their turn. The cost varied depending on the rank one sought to achieve — small for lower ranks, but painfully expensive for higher ones.

But then there were the rare few like Ethan and Lirael. Those personally recommended by the guild didn't need to pay a single coin. Not only that, they were granted priority over the rest, for most recommendations came from guild veterans who rarely erred in their judgment.

As Ethan's group advanced, the employee guiding them bypassed the waiting line with practiced ease.

They passed several adventurers already queued for their turn. Dust clung to their boots, sweat dripped from their brows, and their armor showed dents and scratches from long hours of fieldwork. Seeing Ethan stride ahead — his clothes clean, his presence calm, with an elf trailing obediently behind him — stirred bitterness like smoke in dry grass.

"...Tsk. Damn nobles," one muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to carry.

"Yeah," another added, jaw tightening. "Bet he tossed a sack of gold for that kind of preference."

A third, less discreet, spat to the side. "If they cut in line, why shouldn't we teach them a lesson?"

The words earned a sharp hiss from a companion.

"Are you insane? Offending nobles will have you swinging from a rope before sundown."

"Still—look at him," a different man said, his voice tinged with envy. "Not a scratch on his attire, walking around like he owns the place. And that maid… gods above, an elf of all things." His tone dropped into a bitter growl. "I'd kill just to have a woman like that standing beside me."

The murmurs swirled around Ethan as he walked, the jealousy palpable. Yet he didn't so much as glance their way. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his stride measured and calm, as though the buzzing of the disgruntled crowd were nothing more than flies in summer air.

Lirael, for her part, kept her head low, her steps quiet and submissive.

By the time they reached the front, the atmosphere in the line behind them had soured into quiet resentment. No one spoke openly anymore, but the weight of their glares clung like smoke as Ethan's group came to stand before the canopy of examiners.

"Hoh? Recommended candidates?" one of the examiners muttered as Ethan and Lirael approached the registration table. He leaned back slightly, surprise flickering across his middle-aged features. His sharp eyes narrowed, studying them as the scribe copied their names onto the parchment.

The man had the rugged look of someone who had spent more of his life outdoors than indoors. His dark brown hair was tied back carelessly, streaks of silver showing at the temples. A short beard framed his jaw, rough and uneven, while a bow rested against the table near his side, its string taut and worn from long use. His leather bracers bore faded marks of past battles, and his posture — relaxed but alert — spoke of a hunter who had seen too many seasons to be easily fooled.

"Not just one, but two… and one's a maid," he murmured with faint amusement. His gaze lingered on Lirael's golden bow, then flicked back to her lowered head.

The man seated beside him let out a low grunt. He was broader, with a heavy presence, and carried himself like a swordsman who had cut down more than a few fools in his time. His eyes slid to Ethan, then down to the blade strapped at his waist.

"A sword user..no more like a blade?" he said as he observed. "The boy's mana flow isn't weak. I'd say he's already sitting somewhere between mid and peak B-rank. If he's here to test for A-rank…" His lips curled in disapproval. "I'll be very disappointed. Nothing irks me more than arrogant youths who overestimate themselves."

The archer chuckled under his breath, though his gaze sharpened as he leaned forward, squinting slightly at the forms being filled out.

"No… you're wrong. Look closer." His eyes darted between parchment and candidates. "The elf maid is D-rank, testing for C."

He shifted his gaze, scrutinizing Ethan for a long moment. "And that boy… currently C-rank, here for B." A small nod followed, his expression softening into something closer to approval.

"Hmm. Sensible."

"Oh?" the swordsman's brows lifted, the edge in his voice easing. "So it's like that." He leaned back, folding his arms. "Good. Let's see how they perform, then. Perhaps these recommendations weren't wasted after all."

The archer tapped the table lightly, still watching Ethan and Lirael as they completed registration. "A bow too fine for an ordinary servant… and a boy who walks like he's already tasted real combat. Interesting pair."

The swordsman grunted in agreement, though his eyes lingered on Ethan a moment longer, as if weighing something unseen.

"Let's just hope they prove worth the attention they've drawn. Too many eyes are already on them."