The Monarch Crown System

5. The Monarch Crown System

Elias forced himself to stay conscious. Mira had been his closest friend since childhood—the one person who never left him. When he lost his job, she secretly supported him, slipping him money when he was too ashamed to ask.

“Mi… Mira… I’m dying,” Elias whispered, barely audible. “The mob… they beat me. Please… come get me…” His voice faded as the phone slipped from his hand and hit the muddy ground.

On the other end, Mira shot up from her seat.

“Elias! Where are you?” she shouted, already grabbing her car keys. She didn’t care that she was still on duty. Elias needed her.

She drove straight to the location he’d sent earlier. It didn’t take long to find him lying on the ground, beaten and barely recognizable. A small crowd lingered nearby, murmuring.

“Elias!” Mira dropped to her knees beside him. His breathing was shallow, his pulse faint, his face swollen and bloody.

“Stay with me. I’ve called for help,” she whispered, brushing dirt from his cheek.

Even a healthy man would struggle to survive such injuries—but Elias was already battling lung cancer. The thought made her chest tighten.

An ambulance arrived quickly. As paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher, Mira climbed in beside him, gripping his cold hand.

At the hospital, he was rushed into the ICU. Mira waited outside the doors, pacing restlessly. She deposited the little savings she had—enough to start basic treatment.

After what felt like hours, a doctor approached.

“How is he?” Mira asked, voice unsteady.

“The beating caused multiple broken ribs and internal bleeding,” he said. “And he has advanced lung cancer.”

Mira froze. “Cancer?”

The doctor nodded. “His father told us he was diagnosed months ago. Elias refused treatment due to the cost. Today’s injuries made the condition worse.”

Mira blinked back tears. Elias had carried this alone.

“The surgery he needs is high-risk and urgent,” the doctor continued. “Stopping the internal bleeding and starting treatment will cost around twelve million dollars.”

“Twelve million?” Mira whispered, shaken.

“I’m afraid so. Without it, he may not survive the week.”

Mira sank into a chair, overwhelmed. Losing Elias was unthinkable.

“Can I see him?” she asked quietly.

The doctor nodded.

Elias stirred when she entered. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Mira… you came.”

She took his hand. “Elias, why didn’t you tell me about the cancer? I asked you so many times.”

He exhaled weakly. “I didn’t want to drag you into it. I thought I could manage on my own.”

“You shouldn’t face this alone,” she said softly. “You need the surgery today.”

“I only have the five million my father left,” he murmured. “I don’t know if they’ll take part payment.”

“They won’t,” she said. “And five million isn’t close.”

She hesitated, then straightened. “I have seven million saved. Take it. Let’s pay for the surgery.”

Elias stared at her, shaken. “Mira… that’s everything you have. I can’t let you—”

“You’re my family,” she interrupted gently. “I’m not letting you die.”

Elias’s eyes filled. “…Alright. Thank you.”

Mira squeezed his hand. “I’ll talk to the doctor now. They’ll start tests soon. If all goes well, you’re going in this evening.”

With one last look at him, she hurried out of the room.

Later that day, Elias got tired of lying on the bed.

Elias winced as he descended the stairs, each step sending a cutting wave of pain up his battered leg. His entire body felt like it had been run over repeatedly—bruises layered over deeper bruising, bandages tightening around cracked ribs, stitches tugging at torn skin. Even with the handrails the doctor had provided, the trip down felt endless.

Every movement echoed through him like a drumbeat of agony.

He passed the rows of hospital wards, the soft beeping of machines and low murmurs of patients wrapping the corridor in a heavy silence. Then—he heard it.

A sound that didn’t belong.

A deep, strained groan.

Followed by a raspy whisper for help.

Elias paused, gripping the rail tighter as his chest rose and fell sharply. Part of him wanted to ignore it, to focus on barely staying upright. But something in the man's voice—weak, fading—pulled at him.

He forced himself toward the door.

When he pushed it open, the sight froze him.

An elderly man lay on the hospital bed, chest heaving shallowly. His skin had the pallor of someone moments from crossing over. And just as Elias stepped closer—

The old man exhaled a final, shuddering breath.

Silence swallowed the room.

Elias took a step back in shock—but before he could move again, something impossible happened.

The strange tattoo on the man’s forearm suddenly flared to life, glowing with a deep, molten red. It pulsed once… twice… and then shot forward like a streak of fire.

“W-What—?!”

The burning sigil slammed straight onto Elias’s left arm.

He screamed.

The pain was blinding—like molten steel was being branded into his flesh and then forced through his bloodstream. He staggered backward, clutching his arm as the burning sensation ripped across his torso, up his neck, down his spine.

Then the world shifted.

A luminous digital interface exploded into view before his eyes—floating, flickering, shimmering with symbols and runes he had never seen before. It was so bright he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

A thunderous voice roared directly into his mind:

“Elias Rowan!”

His heart nearly stopped.

“You have been chosen.

Recognized as the sole successor of the Monarch Crown System.”

Elias froze—breath trapped in his throat. He didn’t know whether to run, collapse, or scream for help.

He could only stare, trembling, as reality unraveled around him.

“What the hell is this?”