Reinhard's declaration dropped like ice across the hall.A frozen wave swept through the ranks of nobles and knights. Whispers died instantly. Even the stained glass seemed to dim.
Guts, however, let out a low, almost feral smirk.Guts (inner monologue, dry):Now this gets interesting. A bit of chaos in their little theatre… I knew this charade would blow up eventually.
From the back of the room, a figure walked forward with a slow, casual stride.Felt, wrapped in a dress far too elegant for her defiant gaze, advanced without haste, her face set, eyes locked onto Reinhard. No smile. No curtsy.
Reinhard (bowing slightly):"Thank you for honoring us with your presence, Lady Felt."
A brief, knowing smile flickered between them.Then, without warning, Felt jumped and aimed a swift kick at his head.
Felt (furious):"You've got some explaining to do, asshole!"
Reinhard calmly caught her foot in mid-air, holding it gently but firmly.Reinhard (genuinely):"You caught me off guard. What's wrong?"
Felt (gritting her teeth):"Don't touch me like nothing's wrong! I've had it with this whole thing!"
Reinhard (trying to lighten the mood):"Not a fan of the dress? Though I must say, it suits you quite well."
Felt:"That's not the point! And I don't care about the dress!"
A few steps away, Guts folded his arms, amused.Guts (muttering):"Didn't think I'd see you here again. Found your calling as a princess, or is this another twisted trick?"
Felt (surprised, then smiling):"You? What the hell are you doing here, big guy?"
The master of ceremony cut in sharply.Marcos (stern):"Lady Felt, if you're done catching up, step forward, please."
Felt (sighing):"Alright, alright… What do you want me to do, exactly?"
Reinhard (solemnly):"I would ask you to act like a lady… But for now, that can wait."
He bowed and placed the dragon insignia into her hand. It lit up instantly — intense, radiant, divine.Another wave of stunned silence rippled across the room.
Reinhard (loud and clear):"The Dragon Stone has acknowledged Lady Felt's legitimacy. With her participation confirmed, the royal selection can now truly begin."
One noble couldn't contain himself.Noble (indignant):"Even if the stone accepted her, isn't her candidacy… problematic?"
Marcos (ice cold):"Are you implying the Imperial Knights made a mistake?"
The room tensed at once.Eyes sharpened. Murmurs began again.
"She lacks proper education.""A commoner… not fit to rule.""She's just some gutter brat!"
Sir Miklotov (striking his staff):"Silence! Knight Reinhard, explain the circumstances."
Reinhard:"I met her in the lower districts, about a month ago."
Noble (outraged):"A street urchin?! Is that who we're supposed to follow?"
Felt (snapping):"So what?! You're the ones who kidnapped me, remember?!"
Priscilla (sweet and venomous):"This speech is tiresome… I imagine you lived in filth because of your filthy tongue."
Felt (clenching her fists):"If you want to settle this here, I'm game!"
Priscilla (lofty gaze):"Such vulgarity. You think yourself my equal, you little bastard?"
Al (nervous, stepping in):"Princess… not the time. Please calm down."
But Priscilla raised her fan, ready to strike.Reinhard stepped in instantly, without force but firm.
Reinhard (respectful):"A thousand pardons, Lady Priscilla. But this is neither the place, nor the time."
Emilia (rising indignantly):"How could you act like this in a sacred place?"
Priscilla (cold):"I was merely trying to teach respect to an illiterate wench."
Emilia (shocked):"And you won't even apologize?"
Priscilla (syrupy, cruel):"Then would you apologize for being born, half-elf?"
The jab hit hard.Emilia (breathless):"I… I have no link to the Witch!"
Guts (inner monologue, fierce):Again… They tarnish what they don't understand. These silk-wrapped parasites deserve a taste of steel.
Al (desperate):"Princess… please stop. You're making enemies left and right. And I'm the one who'll pay for it…"
Sir Miklotov (exasperated):"Have you two… calmed down?"
Marcos stepped forward again, his voice solemn, slicing through the returning silence.
Marcos:"We shall now hear from the royal candidates. Each will speak before the assembly — to declare her voice and her ambition."
A murmur of anticipation rippled across the hall.
Marcos:"First, Lady Priscilla Barielle… accompanied by her knight, Sir Al."
Priscilla advanced slowly, her fan gliding through the air like a blade. Her posture was that of an empress already crowned. Her haughty gaze swept over the entire room.
Priscilla (imperial, arrogant):"This selection is a farce. A waste of time. I was born to rule. There is no debate. Just kneel and serve me."
She waited for no reaction. Only smiled — sharp, confident, cruel.
Marcos:"Lady Crusch Karsten, head of House Karsten. And her knight, Sir Felix Argyle."
Crusch stepped forward with firm precision. Straight as a sword, eyes unwavering. Her determined gaze sliced through the noble ranks like a promise of steel.
Crusch (resolute, patriotic):"When I am queen, I will end our dependency on the Dragon's Covenant. Lugnica belongs to neither gods nor sacred beasts. It belongs to its people, and to them alone."
A ripple passed through the audience. Some nobles nodded. Others stiffened.
Marcos:"Lady Anastasia Hoshin, of the Hoshin Company. And her knight, Sir Julius Juukulius."
Anastasia, wrapped in light furs and a merchant's smile, raised a hand in greeting. She spoke the way she sold: sharp, charming, and direct.
Anastasia (shrewd, ambitious):"I've always been hungry. My business success isn't enough anymore. What I want now… is a country to lead. My own."
Surprised glances. A few amused smiles. No one indifferent.
Marcos (with ceremony):"And finally… Lady Felt, presented by her knight, Sir Reinhard van Astrea."
All eyes turned to Felt, who remained upright, still burning with quiet anger. She lifted her chin, her defiant gaze sweeping the nobles without the faintest bow.
Felt (cold, almost spat):"I won't pretend to enjoy this. I'm here because I'm sick of watching the same corrupt bastards tear each other apart for power. If I take that throne, it won't be to play queen like the rest of you… It'll be to burn this whole damn system down. Nobles, knights, traditions — I want it all gone. And we start over."
A sharp gasp surged through the hall. All eyes turned to Marcos, who stood in tense silence for a few seconds… before moving on without comment.
Marcos (neutral, slightly strained):"…Lady Emilia, supported by her sponsor, Count Roswaal L. Mathers."
A light hush followed the announcement. A cold shiver passed through the crowd — almost tangible.Among the nobles, some struggled to mask their discomfort. Others displayed outright hostility.
Guts, still in the back, arms crossed, observed quietly. He hadn't moved an inch since the entrance. He had refused any title. No mask. No chain.
Guts (inner monologue, biting):Bows, ribbons, hollow speeches… Let them choke on it. I'm not here for their honors.
Emilia stepped forward, graceful but firm. Her white-and-violet dress trailed behind her like a banner walking through a field of blades. Her voice rose — soft, but clear.
Emilia:"I seek only one thing: to build a kingdom where all peoples — humans, demi-humans, spirits — can live as equals. A place where no one is cast out for what they are."
Silence.Then, whispers.More and more of them.Bitter. Poisonous.
Roswaal (with exaggerated lightness, smiling):"After such a fine parade of noble knights serving fine ladies… I must say, I feel ashamed being the only sponsor without a sword~"
But no one laughed. No one smiled.
The murmurs were growing — quiet at first, then louder, more pointed.
Noble #1 (softly, regretful):"A half-elf, you say? That's bound to trouble our more… traditional minds."
Noble #2 (adjusting gloves):"The symbolism is delicate. History hasn't been kind to that lineage."
Noble #3 (to his neighbor):"Bold move by Roswaal… To bring a candidate like this without anticipating the backlash. I'd have chosen differently."
Councilor #1 (calm but firm):"Is this a serious bid or a provocation? A half-elf on the throne… The implications are grave."
Noble #4 (frowning, concerned):"The people may not accept her. Her presence alone may fracture the realm."
Noble #5 (outraged):"The people will never accept her. Her very existence here is a threat. A provocation!"
Guts clenched his fists. His jaw tightened.Not yet. Not now. But the fury inside him swelled.
He looked toward Emilia.
She said nothing.She stood still, shoulders trembling faintly.Not out of guilt… but from carrying the weight of their hatred.
Guts (inner monologue, low and rising):She stays silent… Because she thinks they might be right? …No. Not her. Not this time. I won't just stand here.
He took a step forward.His boots echoed across the marble floor.