MTLNOVEL Chapter 43: The Trial of the Audience
The third chamber was different.
When Jin-woo and Cid ascended the staircase of starlight, they found themselves not in an empty room, but in a perfect replica of the Mitsugoshi penthouse. The velvet sofas, the panoramic window looking out onto Midgar, the tea set on the table—every detail was perfect.
Standing in the center of the room were figures that made them both pause.
Before them stood perfect, living, breathing replicas of the Seven Shades of Shadow Garden—Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta, and Eta.
And beside them stood perfect replicas of Jin-woo's most loyal companions: his father Sung Il-Hwan, his friend Woo Jin-chul, his sister Jin-ah, and the S-Rank Hunter Cha Hae-in.
They were all just standing there, their expressions neutral, their eyes vacant.
The glowing runes appeared on the wall, and Cid's voice was grim as he translated.
"'Third and Final Trial: The Trial of the Audience'," he read. "'A story is meaningless without someone to witness it. Your allies, your family, your followers—they are the ones who give your tale its weight. They are your greatest strength'."
As Cid spoke, the vacant expressions on the replicas' faces changed. Their eyes filled with light, with life, with will. But it was not their own.
The replica of Alpha drew her sword, her face a mask of cold fury. The replica of Woo Jin-chul summoned a blade of pure aura. The replica of Delta let out a savage snarl, her claws extending.
The runes on the wall delivered the final, cruel instruction.
"'Now, they shall be your greatest weakness. Your audience has become your final trial. Defeat the ones who give you purpose'."
The replicas charged.
This was the Author King's most insidious test yet. It wasn't about power, logic, or perspective. It was a test of emotion. A battle against the very people they fought to protect.
"This is..." Jin-woo began, as he easily parried a strike from the replica of his father, the feeling of his own strength meeting a memory of his father's form profoundly unsettling.
"A cheap trick!" Cid finished, ducking under a savage swipe from the replica of Delta. "He's trying to win with sentimentality! He thinks we'll hesitate! He thinks we'll hold back because these puppets wear the faces of our friends!"
The battle was a strange, heart-wrenching dance. Jin-woo moved with flawless precision, disarming the replica of Cha Hae-in without harming her, trapping the replica of Woo Jin-chul in a gentle cage of shadows. He was a master of subjugation, and he held back his immense power, refusing to damage the vessels.
Cid, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of evasive, theatrical motion. He dodged, he weaved, he parried, treating the attacks of the Seven Shades as a choreographed dance he was leading. He would spin away from Alpha's blade, use Gamma's "clumsy" charge to make her trip, and redirect Epsilon's slime techniques back at her. He fought with an almost playful grace, but his eyes were cold and focused.
In their cages, the real Iris and Woo Jin-chul watched in horror.
"He's making them fight their own families... their own comrades," Iris whispered, her voice filled with a disgusted respect for the Author King's cruelty. "This isn't a trial of strength. It's a trial of spirit."
The replicas were relentless. They felt no pain, no fatigue. They were perfect puppets, driven by an endless source of power from the Tower itself. Jin-woo and Cid could hold them off indefinitely, but they could not "defeat" them without destroying the familiar faces.
A sudden, brilliant realization dawned on Jin-woo. He understood Cid's insane logic.
The 'audience,' in this case, was the Tower itself. The will of the Author King. They had to perform an act so contrary to their own purpose, so antithetical to their own stories, that the trial itself would be rendered meaningless.
What is the ultimate rejection of a story?
To refuse to be its hero.
Jin-woo stopped fighting.
He let the replica of his father's blade stop an inch from his throat. He looked at the empty eyes of the man he respected most in the world, and he lowered his own weapon. He dropped his guard completely.
"I concede," Jin-woo said aloud, his voice clear and calm.
The replica of his father froze, its blade trembling, its programming unable to process this action. Its directive was to fight a hero who was protecting himself. What was the correct action when the hero simply... gave up?
At the same time, Cid stopped his own flamboyant dance. He let the replica of Alpha press her blade against his chest. He dropped his slime sword, which dissolved into a puddle on the floor. He looked at the faces of his most loyal followers, the girls who had built a global empire on his misunderstood words, and he smiled a sad, weary smile.
"You're right," Cid said, his voice laced with a perfectly feigned, soul-crushing despair. "It was all just a game. A foolish, childish fantasy. The Eminence in Shadow... was never real. I'm just... Cid Kagenou."
He surrendered his dream. He rejected his own narrative.
He had committed the ultimate act of character assassination... on himself.
The effect was absolute.
The entire chamber shuddered. The replicas, the puppets, all froze in place. Their directive was to fight the "heroes," the ones with purpose. But the two figures before them had just willingly abandoned their purpose. They had refused to be the heroes of this particular story.
The replicas' eyes went vacant. The light within them died. They fell to the floor, becoming lifeless, empty mannequins once more.
They had not defeated their audience. They had made their audience lose interest by staging the most anticlimactic, dissatisfying ending imaginable.
The Author King's voice echoed, and this time, it was filled with something that sounded, for the first time, like genuine, hearty laughter.
The replicas on the floor dissolved into dust. The penthouse setting faded away, returning to the simple, empty starlight chamber.
The final, grand staircase of starlight appeared, leading up to the very pinnacle of the Tower.
As they began to climb, Jin-woo looked at Cid. The feigned despair was gone, replaced by his usual, infuriating smirk.
They reached the top. The final chamber was a simple, circular platform open to the void, where the black sun pulsed gently. In the center of the platform was a single, shimmering font of pure, liquid starlight.
This was the Boon. The gift from the Author King. A chance to grant a single wish, to gain a single power, tailored to their souls.
But as they approached, they realized something. There was only one font.
The boon was not for each of them. It was for one of them.
Their final trial, it seemed, was not over. They had to choose who among them was more worthy of the ultimate prize.