Murmurs spread through the throne room. The cause of this exchange of
whispers was obvious. The uproar had begun when Marcus, receiving a report
from the guards, dragged a vagabond who had infiltrated the castle into the
throne room. At first, many doubted the judgment of the captain of the guard,
but one look at the intruder made numerous participants understand the
reason for his decision.
And then…
"I told you, let Old Man Rom go. That's all I'm asking."
"—Unfortunately, I cannot comply."
In the center of the chamber, a tense deadlock continued, with Felt and
Marcus squared off against each other. A vein bulged on Felt's forehead at the
way Marcus dismissed her demand.
Reinhard raised his voice in an attempt to mediate.
"Captain, I believe that explanation is insuffi—"
But Marcus rebuffed his intervention.
"Silence, Reinhard. I understand you wish to support the master you have
sworn your sword to, but her acceptance of your sword is premised on her
willingness to become your king. During the proceedings of this conference for
the royal selection, Lady Felt publicly announced she has no intention of
participating in the selection process. Abandoning her qualifications means
abandoning any right she might have to give commands to us Knights of the
Royal Guard… Do you understand?"
Marcus laid out the logic of his refusal to comply with Felt's demand. His
words brought a scowl to the former thief's face as she furiously clawed at her
own blond hair.
"This is getting annoying, so let's sum it up, 'kay?—In other words, you won't
do as I say because I don't wanna do this royal selection thing?"
"—That is indeed the crux of it."
"Ohhh, I see. I get it… You are so annoying."
Felt's catlike eyes glared fiercely at Marcus. Marcus easily maintained his
usual poise under the pressure of the young girl's near murderous gaze.
Then the old man, having kept his silence up to that point, made a plaintive
yell that echoed throughout the chamber.
"Never mind all that…!—Hurry up and save me!! Felt, it's me! The Old Man
Rom you lived with in the slums! I don't really get all this, but you can save me
now, right? Then save me! I don't wanna die!!"
Kneeling on the carpet spread across the floor, the old man made the most
amicable smile he could as he pleaded to her. The shameful display left Felt
speechless. Even the attendants showed hints of disgust at the miserable old
man.
"I always saved you when you were in trouble! Many, many times over! Pay
those favors back, now! Now, I say! Quick, quick!! Do something, will you?!"
The old man sent spittle flying as he cried out for a quick rescue, flailing
around with self-serving logic. It was such a mean and disgraceful sight that
even those predisposed to sympathy and compassion would be sorely tempted
to walk away.
In a brief span of time, the old man had made enemies out of most occupants
in the hall.
Reinhard, sensing danger in the old man's behavior, instantly began to step
forward.
"This is bad—"
The red-haired knight instinctively realized the old man's true intent and
judged he needed to adapt to the circumstances.
"—Do not move, Reinhard. 'Tisn't good to do anything untoward here…"
But his efforts were frustrated from the outset by Priscilla, smiling craftily as
she hid her mouth with her fan.
"Why do you act in such haste, Reinhard? …It almost looks as if you wish to
silence this elderly man before he says something troublesome for you. Simply
frightening…"
She got me, thought Reinhard, clenching his teeth as he realized his mistake.
Priscilla shrugged her shoulders in a manner more typical of her. Around them,
people seemed to recover from their stupor, whispering about what they had
just seen—an old man pleading pathetically for his own life.
"Did you see? How unsightly."
"And that face is even worse. I cannot even feel sympathy. It is the spitting
image of a thief."
"He shouldn't be released, though Lady Felt defends him…"
Even the knights hoping to have the crime dismissed began to faintly scowl at
the old man.
"Lady Felt was raised in the slums…where people like him live?"
"Even if she really does have royal blood, can someone with such an
upbringing handle royal duties…?"
"We need to rethink this. Or just do what the Dragon Tablet says in name
only…"
Reinhard bit his lip as the spreading murmurs confirmed his worst fears. He
had been too late, denied any opportunity to refute the words putting down
the girl he revered as his master.
Then, with the knights' murmurs all around her, he watched from behind as
the girl slightly lowered her head—
Finally, unable to listen to any more, the young girl let loose with a high-
pitched, foul-mouthed shout, "—Would you all shut up, you ball-less jerks!!"
A wave of shock plunged the chamber into silence. Attendees looked at one
another, seemingly unable to believe what their ears had heard, when the girl,
her shoulders slumped, marched forward. The giant old man was kneeling, and
she was a little girl, but she still had to look up at him. Her red eyes filled with
grief.
"What's with you here? That's the worst-looking, most pathetic plea for your
life, ever, and I really, really hate it."
"—"
The old man's amicable smile at her approach froze over.
"Hey, Old Man Rom. We people from the slums, there's no help for us, right?
We know the people above us look down at the poor lives we lead, and we all
have rotten personalities, me included. It's a terrible place to live."
Having rated so many things so lowly, including herself, Felt paused for breath
and added, "But…
"Yeah, we're a pile of garbage at the bottom of the trash heap…but even if we
do live in a place like that, we've come this far by having at least a smidgen of
pride in ourselves. No matter how lowly other people see us, we don't lower
our heads."
"Felt…"
"I wish I could show you your face in the mirror right now. Looking all meek
and submissive, wagging your tail and eager to please, just to save your life…
You can't call that living!"
Many of the attendants gravely nodded at Felt's words, with Crusch among
their number. The ideas Crusch had voiced were very much in tune with Felt's
words.
The small girl put her hands on her hips and bluntly stated, "If you wanted me
to spare your life, you went about it all wrong. There's no way I'd give up my
right to run from a crummy place just to save you, if that's how you're gonna
be."
The red-haired young man watched. Her declaration meant she was
abandoning someone very close to her, abandoning her right to issue
commands—and refusing to participate in the royal selection.
"…Lady Felt."
Reinhard couldn't bear the pain that her declaration sent running through his
heart. He'd seen it coming. He'd guessed what reaction the proud girl would
display when she saw the old man's behavior. In that sense, she was playing
right into the hands of Priscilla and the old men—no, of one old man.
Now abandoned, the old man's shoulders fell, bending forward onto the floor
as if all strength of will had left him. But Reinhard did not miss the faint,
instinctive slackening of the old man's lips. This was a display of neither despair
nor regret; no, he was filled with a sense that his actions had achieved their
intended result.
The old man had gambled his very life, and had succeeded in grand fashion.
Truly, Reinhard wanted to expose the old man's scheme even then, to tell Felt
that she needed to change her decision. But Reinhard could do no such thing—
His hands were tied, precisely because of who, and what, he was.
Marcus, watching the old man hang his head before the girl, must have
decided the discussion was over. The knight pulled on the old man's manacles,
sending the clink of the chain echoing through the chamber.
"I deeply apologize for causing this uproar before the throne. I shall
immediately remove this—"
Suddenly, Felt interrupted Marcus's apology and attempt to leave.
"Or something like that, I guess. I was waiting for someone to jump to
conclusions…"
Marcus's mouth closed with a rare look of shame. Seeing his solemn facade
crumble, Felt beamed, feeling very proud of herself. She twirled before the
dumbfounded audience.
"Sooo, get his hands loose, captain. Those shackles are way too small for him.
It hurts just to watch."
"I have already informed you several times over, Lady Felt, I cannot comply
with your comma—"
"Because I didn't wanna do this royal selection thing, right? Then it's simple.
—I'll do it, the royal selection. I just gotta try to be king, right?"
"—!"
The declaration, accompanied by a laugh showing off her snaggletooth, sent a
shudder throughout the entire chamber.
Many of the onlookers seemed aghast at how lightly she made such a critical
decision. But naturally, the old man's reaction was even greater, his feelings
about her announcement plain on his face.
"Wh-what are you saying, Felt? I-I accepted it. What you said is right. You
can't live by losing your pride. Having you cut me loose couldn't be hel—"
"Cut the crap, you shitty old man. What, you've lived this long without
knowing you can't act worth a damn? I've been with you long enough to know
all sorts of things about you, like—when you tell a lie, the swirl on your
forehead turns backward!"
Felt raised her cheeks and drew a little pattern on her head to demonstrate.
Her gesture made Old Man Rom's face go pale. He cried out, "You're lying!" and
touched his bound arms to his own head in haste.
Felt watched him and said, "Yep, I'm lying. Wow, do you look stupid. No
sympathy from me."
"—Ah?!"
Old Man Rom was beside himself at falling so easily for her trap. Felt shook
her head.
"So there you have it. Get those shackles off him. Everything up to now was
just the wild fantasy of a senile old geezer."
Marcus dragged his feet even then.
"We cannot simply let him go on such flimsy grou—"
"—This old man's my family," Felt resolutely stated. "Let him go, now."
Hearing these words, Marcus's face registered surprise for a brief instant. The
next moment, the hesitation vanished.
"As you command."
Marcus stood at attention and let go of Old Man Rom's shackles. Then, he
ordered the guards behind him, "Unlock the manacles." But Felt raised a hand
to stop them.
"Too slow—Reinhard!"
"Here."
Reinhard responded instantly to the girl's sharp voice, his tall frame advancing
to the chamber's center. As the red-haired young man stood at Felt's side, Felt
didn't even look at him. Instead, she crossed her arms and motioned with her
chin.
"Do it."
It was the world's shortest command.
"Yes, my Lady—"
Reinhard raised a hand up to the sky, fingers straight, slicing down through
the air like a knife. The old man's wrists were bound by metal shackles, but the
knight's hand sliced through them as if they were paper. The manacles, cut
clean in two, slid off as if they melted, falling to the floor. A high-pitched clink
echoed in the chamber. In a true sense, this sound announced this was the
moment the two had become lord and vassal.
Felt remarked, "So this all went the way you wanted, didn't it?"
"Not at all. This was guided by the hand of Fate."
"Ha! Fate again. What, are you a slave to fate?"
"No—I am, more than anything, your knight, Lady Felt."
Felt seemed to yield in the face of his unrelenting support as she murmured,
"You're no fun…"
Old Man Rom was still prostrate as the two bantered right in front of him.
"Why, Felt… I—I wanted you to…"
Felt replied, "I have a pretty good idea why you said all that embarrassing
stuff and what you were after—You saw how I hated being here so much I
couldn't stand it, right? So you thought you'd give me a helpful nudge."
"If you understand that, then why—"
When the old man tried to pose the question, Felt broke into an awkward
laugh.
"What, you think I can sneak back into the city after abandoning my own
family? There's no way I could be that shameless."
When Old Man Rom heard these words, his face broke into an expression
different from bitterness. He turned his back to her, rubbing an arm over his
face to hide it.
"I-I've lost! And all because…"
Old Man Rom looked up to the heavens, his hoarse voice quivering with
chagrin and something powerful and inexpressible.
"…I raised her too well—!!"
9
Rom's plaintive cry about how he had raised the girl resounded in the hall.
Miklotov, perhaps moved by the lament, cleared his throat, seeking to clear the
air in the process.
"Well, then, Lady Felt, Sir Reinhard, may I conclude that you both intend to
participate in the royal selection?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"Yes, as my Lady wills it."
Felt's behavior was insolent to the end, with Reinhard following her. The
lenient sage let the incongruity pass without comment, quietly replying,
"Understood," as he nodded. He continued, "Though there have been some
minor uproars, I judge that all the preliminaries have concluded. Lady Felt, do
you have anything else to add?"
Surely he thought it proper to give Felt the same chance to give a speech that
the other candidates had received.
She answered the prompt with a, "Hmm," and thought about it a bit. "One
thing, then."
Landing on a proposal, Felt raised a finger and looked up, bathed in gazes
from the dais. Her red eyes flared as they surveyed the faces of those
assembled. Finally, she took a deep breath and smiled buoyantly as she swept
one hand toward the Council of Elders.
"—I hate nobles."
She kept that smile on her face as she pointed at the Knights of the Royal
Guard with her other hand.
"—I hate knights."
Then, with both arms still spread wide, she said, with a spectacular smile and
maximum venom…
"—I hate this kingdom!"
She continued.
"—I hate all of you in this room, I hate the structure you built, I hate every
little thing here. That's why I think I'll break it all. How 'bout it?"
Felt inclined her head. For a single moment, her behavior brought time itself
to a halt. Then, the chamber exploded.
"Wh-what is she saying?!"
"This is where the king is selected, and she says she'll destroy the nation?!"
"What have we spent all this time for!!"
Felt blew off the vociferous, angry shouts of the onlookers all at once.
"Ohh, where's all your high-and-mighty talk now? What about that proud
history? Now look, when I become king, I'm breaking all of it. I'm smacking
down the lot of you knuckleheads who still can't see the floor crumbling
underneath. You all need a breath of fresh air."
The speech of the bright-faced girl threw the hall into chaos like never before.
Miklotov, listening to the proclamation that was reckless without precedent,
nodded generously, his expression unchanged as he glanced at the knight
standing beside the girl.
"Your lord is quite a feisty one. Having heard her words, what do you think of
them?"
"—Truth be told, I believe Lady Felt's wishes are, unfortunately, still in the
realm of fantasy."
"Hey, you!"
"However, someday, Lady Felt's words will reach everyone. It is my duty to
give her my full support until that day comes."
Miklotov countered, "But Lady Felt counts you among those things she
intends to destroy, does she not?"
Reinhard bowed deeply on one knee toward Miklotov, showing no sign of
relenting.
"Surely after destruction, there will be renewal. If she will have me, I have no
greater desire than to be at her side during that time."
Felt furiously scratched at her hair as she watched his chivalrous profile.
"So in the end, which one are you, my ally or my enemy here?"
"Your ally. Yours, and yours alone."
"…Fine, then. I'll put you to good use."
With her acceptance, the final candidate for the royal selection declared them
lord and vassal.
Miklotov dipped his head as he gazed at the radiant row of royal candidates.
"Finally, all the candidates have been assembled. I ask the Council of Elders,
do we have a consensus?"
As Miklotov closed his eyes, the atmosphere around him shifted. The old
man's voice carried the power of a strong will.
"—My brethren, I ask for your consent to announce that this royal selection
shall begin with the five candidates assembled to date."
"—By the authority of the Council of Elders, I assent."
"And I."
"I assent as well."
One by one, the members of the Council of Elders agreed to Miklotov's
proposal with solemn nods. Listening to them until the end, Miklotov finally
rose from his seat, walking beside the empty throne before opening his eyes.
"—Then, I shall announce the rules for the royal selection!"
Crusch Karsten, lord of the House of Karsten.
Crusch's foremost knight, the Blue Knight, Felix Argyle.
"The candidates are Crusch Karsten, Priscilla Bariel, Anastasia Hoshin, Emilia,
and Felt. All of these five bear the qualifications to be Dragon Maidens!"
Priscilla Bariel, the Bloody Bride.
The mercenary Al, one-armed wanderer from another world.
"The day shall be one month prior to the Dragonfriend Ceremony in three
years, renewing the pact with the Dragon!"
The young company president from a foreign nation, Anastasia Hoshin.
Anastasia's foremost knight, the Finest of Knights, Julius Juukulius.
"The selection shall be made according to the guidance of the Dragon via the
radiance of the Dragon Jewels and the combined will of the nation's people!"
Felt, of the lost royal bloodline (unconfirmed).
Felt's foremost knight, Reinhard van Astrea, the Sword Saint.
"Until the appointed day, all candidates for the throne shall work to uphold
their own lands and the kingdom to the greatest possible extent!"
The silver-haired half-elf, Emilia, the Freezing Witch.
And absent from that place, her self-declared knight, Subaru Natsuki.
"With the minimum conditions fulfilled, I hereby announce the royal selection
has begun—!"
Miklotov's great shout filled the chamber with an incredible fervor. No one
spoke, but they all were unable to contain their heartfelt cries.
Miklotov, feeling the waves of excitement rolling against him, straightened
from his stoop and declared—
"Let the royal selection—commence!!"